Watch your office supplies like a hawk

We had an interesting highlighter episode the other day while I was doing some editing.  I'm not sure whether it was Thing 2 or Emmy who first got their hands on a yellow highlighter, but I spent the next day finding pieces of it all over the house.  Who knew a basic chubby highlighter had so many parts?

Thing 2 first coloured all over his face with it, apparently using it much like face paint.  He was rather proud of himself, and quite miffed at me that it had to come off.  A good scrub with waterproof mascara remover, and it was all off, which was a good thing as we were headed out the door shortly thereafter for the city.  I confiscated the pieces I found, but didn't have anywhere near a complete highlighter.

Later that day, I discovered that Thing 2 had coloured all over his jeans, too.  This in the time since I cleaned him up.  No idea when that happened, but he seems to be very artistic.  Oy vey!  Into the washer went the jeans, along with a bit of stain remover to boot.

Then, I happen to look at Emmy.  She's got a perfectly round, bright yellow patch on the white fur of her back.  Yikes!  Thing 2 gets lectured on why we don't colour on our pets.  Emmy now needs a bath, but with it -20 C outside, I think I'm going to have to resort to either dry shampoo or spot cleaning.

The escapade isn't over yet.  I discover the foam center of the highlighter upstairs in the TV room, and subsequently throw it out.  But I didn't do this fast enough, as the right arm of my glider rocker is now covered in yellow highlighter, too.  Ack!  At least it's washable.

Christmas Eve Chaos

I'm not feeling particularly poetic at the moment, having succumbed to hectic last-minute preparations.  I've managed a bit better this year than most, as the wrapping is done (aside from one gift that the eldest needs to help wrap), my shopping is finished, I picked the last of the packages up from the post office this morning, stocking gifts are wrapped (and sorted ... An important task that didn't happen last year, but which is story into itself), and I've even set aside all of the gifts that need to go to the inlaws’ house tomorrow evening.

I feel a bit guilty, taking a moment to write when my kitchen looks like a chef-related bomb went off, when there’s a mountain of laundry to be done, when the kitchen and living room floors need to be washed, when the sheets on all the beds need to be changed, and when the main floor bathroom needs to be cleaned.  But I need a minute to take a deep breath before I head back into the fray, and I need also to remember what’s most important about this time of year.  Twenty years from now, I doubt whether the kids will remember how clean the house is.  What they will remember, however, is the time we spent together as a family, baking cookies, playing board games (Mousetrap is super-popular at the moment), shopping for families in need in our community, taking meals to Mrs. Claus (who organizes our local Christmas charity, and often forgets to eat this time of year), and all the other myriad things we do together, as a family.

So I'm going to ignore what I can of the clutter and mess that comes from working and having small children, and will take the time to enjoy the holidays with my family, before they’re grown up and gone.  I look forward to the joy and wonder I know I'll see on their faces tomorrow morning, to the love and happiness they bring to our lives.

Now I'm off to mix up a batch of buns for tomorrow (the last of my “must-do tasks”), then once the boys are up from their naps, we’ll make a batch of ginger snaps and the gingerbread cake for tonight’s dessert, during which I'm sure I’ll be serenaded with off-key, oddly-worded Christmas carols (the latest being “deck the halls with macaroni” ... Who knew?).

Do not disturb

The boys have learned, over the last few years, that there are times Mommy absolutely cannot be interrupted, unless there's fire, poop, puke, or blood.  I don't invoke this very often, which means it's usually quite effective when I do.  Over the course of the four or so years I've been using it, though, the interruption criteria hadn't been met once.

Thing 1 came up to me yesterday and poked me, while in the midst of marking some particularly detailed term papers.  I looked at him, then asked, "Is there fire?"

"No, Mommy."

"Is there poop?"

"No, Mommy.  No poop."

"Is there puke?"

"Eww ... no, Mommy.  That's gross."

"Is there blood?" I asked, voice rising a bit, having gotten through the first three criteria without a positive answer.

"Right here, Mommy," he said, showing me his blood-covered finger, sliced open on one of his toys somehow.  I never did figure out exactly what happened.

Oops ... I cleaned him up, apologized for my tone of voice, then had a talk with him about what to do.  Now he knows that not only can he interrupt me, but that he can also tell me, right off the bat, *why* he's interrupting me.  Oy vey.  

Appallingly awful writing

It's almost end of term, and I'm up to my eyeballs in marking.  I don't want to see another paper for a very long time, but I have 11 of them that I need to get marked tonight, and another batch coming in on Thursday.

I'll admit that I've been procrastinating.  To get the worst of it over first, I've sorted out the worst three papers to mark first.  The problem?  The first one is so appallingly awful that I can't seem to make it through a paragraph without wanting to chuck it across the kitchen.  I'm beginning to wonder why I bother teaching at all, as everything I say seems to bounce off the sides of some students' heads, never mind going in one ear and out the other.  What's even more frustrating is that these are the second drafts I've seen, and the worst one doesn't seem to have made a *single* change from the last go around.

I'm tired, sick (damned bronchitis), and frustrated ... maybe it's not such a good plan to mark these now.  I'm going to take a deep breath, pack this stack back up, and try again tomorrow.  In the meantime:  Scotch, anyone?

Writing and the sickies

Both boys have a cold at the moment, just enough that it's warranted a brief cessation of hockey and skating.  They seem to be over the worst of it, but are both rather tired this afternoon, which means they're more than happy to "rest" on the couch with a snack and a drink, quietly watching episodes of Lego Ninjago on the PVR.

This is rather far from my normal writing time, but I'm taking advantage of the brief lull in activity to do a bit of scribbling.  I have a couple of characters that need to be fleshed out a bit, and a bit of transitional material that I need to write, along with a few other odds and ends.  The dogs are both keeping an eye on the boys, and the door's open so I can hear if either begins the coughing-without-end thing that's been going on for the last couple of days.

I think so much of finding time to write when you're a parent is seizing opportunities as they present themselves.  If I'm not willing to take pen to paper when a few spare moments present themselves, I'd never get anything written.  And the ironic thing is that I'm far, far more productive now than I ever was, before kids.  Go figure, eh?

This afternoon's writing accomplishments, over the course of an hour and a half or so:

• brief thank you note to a friend who allowed, on last minute notice, two of my students to interview him for a project (now I just need to pick up a Tim Hortons coffee card for him so I can mail it)
• several brief work-related email suggesting revisions to students' assignments
• one blog post
• two Christmas lists typed out
• a few article ideas jotted down to pursue at a later date
• one rough (and I do mean rough) draft of an article pitch
• two LinkedIn connections updated
• resume updated to include latest curriculum development project
• list made for items that I need to include when I update my teaching portfolio (hopefully I'll get around to this over Christmas)
• one character sketch written
• 462 words added to the novel I'm working on

Weekend madness

I've come to the conclusion that there are days where, if I want to do any writing at all, I've got to grab seconds and make them count.  Any corner or flat spot will do, so long as I have a moment or three to scribble something down.  My notebook is beginning to look a bit worse for wear, but it's brimming with ideas.  Now if I only had the time to elaborate on them!

On the plus side, I'm getting better at scribbling, and at taking moments when they appear to write something down.  On the down side, I've now got notes scribbled in a dozen different places, which does not bode well for (1) keeping them or (2) actually doing something with them.  Thus, when Nanowrimo is done, which it will be soon, I think I'm going to spend an afternoon typing my notes into Scrivener, which I've just started using and have completely fallen in love with.

In the meantime, I literally have a re-useable grocery bag sitting on the office floor, collecting remnants, ideas, scraps, and other detritus.  It's an odd reliquary, but it seems to be working.  Now if I could only find the top of my desk!

That won't be the case today, as we're off to skating with the boys, then they're off to Grandma's for the afternoon while we do a bit of Christmas shopping and have supper.  Then home to do homework and prepare for tomorrow, which includes another loaf of bread, a batch of muffins, and lunches all round.  But I'm still going to carve out a few minutes to scribble *something*, even if it's only a few words.

The dishwasher whirrs cyclically in the background, blade turning, turning, turning, doing a job I loathe. The oven beeps, up to temperature. I stop to pour a cup of coffee for D—would be nice if someone did that for me once in a while—then chastise myself for being snarky. Thing 1 calls from the bathroom, in the tub, “Mommy, Mommy, I need you.” “Just a second Thing 1,” I say, finishing with D’s coffee. Thing 1 needs a washcloth, so I flip a shark one into the bathtub with him. Breakfast is on the go, but my stomach is staging a mass revolt, so I grab a bag of dried fruit and nuts from the fridge to munch whilst the potatoes are cooking. Only then do I sit down to write.

One hundred and thirty words written, am just beginning to think of what I’d like to write next, then the timer for the potatoes starts beeping, just as the coffee pot beeps that it’s finished brewing. Against this cacophony, I deal with the potatoes, get Thing 1 out of the tub, consume a handful of fruits and nuts, and begin again only to pause … the potatoes, now in the frying pan, need to be stirred.

People ask me how I manage to do so much when I’m so busy … before I had a family, I had to concentrate, focus, and couldn’t write unless the circumstances were perfect. Now, kids, dogs, the craziness of daily life are things that cannot be ignored, which must be worked “around,” rather than through. Thing 2 stops to tell me he played “this many games of Mario Kart,” hands splayed wide to show he had 10 whole races to himself. I nod, smile, and say, “That’s great, little man.” Another pause to check the potatoes and add bacon to the other frying pan. Wet towels picked up off the bathroom floor, pjs and used wash cloths put in the laundry hamper, and sit down again for another few sentences.

I’ll supposedly have a bit of time to myself this afternoon to write, edit, and get a bit of work done, but I still use these odd, in-between moments as I’ve learned, the hard way, that unless I make time to write (and even a few seconds to scribble something down counts), I just don’t do it.

I pause, taking a brief moment amongst the dishwasher, kids, dogs, and Sunday morning talk shows to contemplate, breath a deep breath … it’s not quiet, but it’s calm, if only momentarily. I look forward to this afternoon, but take comfort in the busy-ness that surrounds me.

I took a brief look at my writing list's prompts for the day, but haven’t yet had a chance to discover where they might take me. A line from the prompter's discussion of the weather, however, has managed to get itself stuck to the bulletin board of my mind: “It amazes me that I used to house such contradictory sentiments.” Looking at my writing process, at what it was and what it now is, I can embrace this statement whole-heartedly. While there are, yes, times that I’d be willing to do many things to have a few moments of calmness amidst the chaos, those moments are few and far between. I love my chaotic life, and find that, strangely, I’m far more productive (writing-wise) than I ever was before. Go figure, eh?