The Glamorous Life of a Writer

I thought I'd give you guys a little insight as to my daily routine. Especially when I have days like this one. True story.

I rolled out of bed a little after six, pulling on whatever clothes happened to be lying on the floor next to the bed, usually some form of sweatpants and sweatshirt so I don't have to wear a bra. After shuffling around in a stupor for half an hour, I slipped on my fluffy house shoes and somehow managed to get the kids out the door and to school on time. Every day is a miracle.

I was usually awake by the time I got back home. Usually. I made a pitcher of iced tea and had several oatmeal raisin cookies for breakfast (Stop judging. It's oatmeal and raisins. Completely healthy). The weather was beautiful in Texas, so I lugged all my equipment outside and set up on the patio. I checked email, Facebook, MySpace and any other time consuming activity that I could think of before opening my manuscript. My son woke up right as I was about to start doing serious work. And he always made life interesting.

He'd been going through a phase where he takes his diaper off and revels in the freedom of having his privates flapping in the wind. I'm cool with that. Sometimes I wouldn't mind having the occasional au naturel day myself. So I continued to write, and my son's privates continued flapping. The dog napped under my feet, and everything was right with the world. Then my son got a brilliant idea. He decided to poop on the patio. Yes, you heard me right. So I immediately mobilized into action, praying none of the neighbors chose that moment to look out their windows. I was cleaning things up, trying to keep my son out of it when the dog came up and grabbed the biggest piece of poop and ran off. Into the house. Now, I'm six months pregnant, so I don't run as fast as I used to. But I managed to chase the dog through the house and back outside. My naked son thought this was hilarious and was laughing hysterically on the ground, and there was still a big pile of poop on the patio. By this point I was really hoping there were no witnesses. It wasn't one of the best moments in my life.

So the mess was cleaned up, a diaper was put back on and the dog was banished to the farthest corner of the yard. I sat back down to finally get some serious work done on my manuscript, and you can imagine my frustration when I found there was no possible way I could write the love scene that was coming up. To say I was out of the mood would be an understatement of epic proportions. Such is life.

Probably most writers can't live up to the glamour that is my life. Usually at the end of the day, by the time dinner is made and the kids have finished their homework and baths and gone off to bed, I don't have a single sensible thought left in my brain. Nighttime used to be my most productive time. Not anymore. I'm lucky now if I have time to tell my husband good night before my head hits the pillow. I'm told that someday I'll look back on all of this with fondness and sweet nostalgia. We'll see. But I think as soon as my last kid graduates from high school I'm going to throw a party, run around naked in my living room and sleep till noon. Not necessarily in that order.