I’ve found that when trying to write with an otherwise full schedule, something always has to go. It would seem that trying to be a good wife, good mother, good employee, and good writer means being a very bad housekeeper.
Take tonight, for example. After getting off work, I attempted to do the dishes while my husband was at class. I strapped the baby in his bouncy seat, and picked up the dish soap.
I then proceeded to drop the soap and spend the next twenty minutes bruising my forehead with a plastic mixing spoon in a vain attempt to get my tired five-month-old to laugh. This gradually degenerated into other, less violent forms of entertainment, featuring wild dancing, dramatic death-faking, and much making-of-loud-noises. Did the dishes get done? I think not.
Will they get done tonight, after baby is in bed and hubby and I have had some time to unwind together? I wouldn’t bet on it. After all, I’m looking forward to writing at least 1,500 words tonight.
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