A shift in perspective

I didn’t write yesterday. I didn’t edit or work on my query letter. I rose before dawn and cleaned, shopped, cooked, visited parents, worked from home – all with my four-month old and three-year old in tow – then hit the gym. I put the kids to bed and by 9:00 p.m. I realized there’d be no time for creativity (something I try to work in every day). I started glaring at the dishes in the sink and muttering as I packed lunches. I started to feel very, very sorry for myself. Why couldn’t I have an hour a day to write? Why couldn’t I have a studio? How was I supposed to launch a writing career like this? Why couldn’t I have five stinking minutes to myself?!?!

Then I heard my son crying. I went to investigate. Apparently a big work machine tried to smash his bedroom. He laid his head in my lap and, with his three-year old vocabulary, briefed me on his dream. We talked for a good half-hour and then I ran my hands through his hair and watched him fall asleep.

Writing can wait.