How does anyone write with a toddler in the house?
It’s 7:55. My toddler got out of his crib at 6:30. He’s already–pulled an entire stack of clean, folded laundry apart.
Dumped out a bowl of dog-water.
Thrown a box of 250 crayons on the dining room floor.
Pulled homework off the counter.
Scattered said homework into the dog water puddles on the kitchen floor.
Dripped water onto my laptop. (!)
Sat on the dog.
Put a blanket over his head and walked into the wall.
Pushed a nearly full bowl of cereal and milk (his brother’s) off the table.
Played in the toilet.
Hugged my leg–and then bit me.
My aunt used to say, “Children are life’s greatest joy…are you joyful, yet?”
I’ve had a request for one of my unfinished manuscripts. It’s the story of a stubborn man, an emotionally challenged woman, and a two-year-old, trapped in a house during a blizzard. I told my editor I’m still in the research phase.
I think I’m in the recovering from research phase. I won’t be done with recovery until the toddler turns…twenty-one.
It doesn’t help that I pity my characters, Shane and Dale. They have no idea what’s in store for them. They think kids are cute. I wonder if, after they escape from the house (and the two-year-old) if they’ll ever have children of their own?
They might chose to raise puppies, instead.
