Yesterday the girls sat together, all snuggled up close, blonde curls mingling so that Momma could sneak into her room and write. The air conditioner hummed and Elmo sang them into sillies, all while I wrote – wrote for the first time on that sad, underused blog. And I was brave, and I hit publish, and it was me and I was me.
But today that seems beyond me. How do I carve out time to write? Lucy wants one of her pudgy tanned arms on me at all times, and it is so hard to say no to a 14 month old, especially one this cute.
She loves the computer mouse, it’s pink, and if I’m not using it she’s commandeered it to be used as a car. Her feisty side comes out every time I take it away from her and that feisty side can move mountains, and wake her sister. How she became obsessed with a computer mouse is beyond me.
So I grab my journal and pen and scratch it out here so that I can be with her. Being with with her and her sisters is the path we chose and one I cherish. But I’ve learned I can’t be Momma without being Brenna. And being Brenna means writing = even if it is crappy because we’re all half awake and the coffee hasn’t brewed yet.