So Domesticated, I’m Feral: Life, Time, and How to Have Both

I know I brag that I wrote a novel in a month last year with two babies under one-year-old, but let me tell you, that is nothing to how I’m going to brag when I drag my sorry pen across the finish line this year. Taking care of an infant (or two) is like living in a Zen Monastery compared to caring for two in the 1.5 range. This year, they talk, they walk, they assert themselves into every moment. Don’t get me wrong; I love it and them and wouldn’t go back (though if I were ten years younger and a lot richer, I’d probably do it again and again). I am, as you might have guessed, rather word-oriented, and to have a long relationship with people who aren’t talking to me is challenging, so I’ve appreciated the bump up in verbal communication. It does not, however, leave me with a lot of time to think. Or any, really. Last year, I would be nursing, changing diapers, bathing, and at the same time, I would be reading, day-dreaming, plotting my novel’s next turn of events. This year I am charging around the park, agreeing that yes, that is an airplane overhead (Charlie has superears and notices everything that flies by no matter how distant), and yes, that is a kitty cat, and no it won’t hurt you and yes it says meow (or emwo, as Charlie said until recently), and no, you can’t bring your stick into the car but look, look, here’s another toy and plus we are going to sing every possible verse in Old MacDonald...

Time Management for Writers, Parents and Other Insanely Busy People

First, let me admit that I have blithely typed that title in, as if I had advice to dispense, but in fact, I have questions. Slightly desperate questions. But let me start somewhere else. Yesterday afternoon, I was grumpy. We were trying to find sound equipment for some interviews I am doing, and as usual, we also wanted to equipment to multi-task for several other projects, actual and fantasy. And we wanted it to be very, very inexpensive. But of excellent quality. The boys, of course, just wanted to play. No amount of singing “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” could convince them that driving around in their carseats had anything to do with the kind of fun they were after. The guy at the audio place (which we chose because it shares the name of one of our sons) was absolutely humorless. It is a rare person who can be around Angie and not crack a smile. And here was Angie with Charlie on her back, dancing around and asking sincere, well-researched questions about audio equipment with humorous asides. No smile. No equipment, either. Just a glass counter, a long hallway, and this guy. We left. Now it was too late to go to Radio Shack or anywhere else, because the park had risen forcefully to the top of the agenda. So off we went, to Totland, our home away from home. At Totland, we found Amanda and Vivian playing. We met Amanda and Matt in our birth class for Leo, when Amanda was pregnant with Vivian. Vivian can talk and give kisses–which the boys blushingly appreciated. Amanda offered...