We just recently got back from vacation. Once upon a time, a vacation from work was a relaxing time, a time I could catch up on my writing, maybe even get a little bit ahead. We’d have things planned, of course, and spontaneous things would come up, but there always seemed to be plenty of time to get in a few thousand more words.
Then we had kids.
I had thought the four day weekend we had for the Fourth of July or the week of vacation we took would give me some time to work on my writing and maybe do a few other things like update my mailing list. We had quite a bit of time after all. Sure, we had things planned, like a small cook-out with close family and a larger graduation party for my niece. I already had the food planned, and I had selected tasty things with minimal prep. The gift was already purchased. And yes, we were taking the kids to a water park. Wait, what do you mean my expectations weren’t realistic?
But I hadn’t figured that one or the other of my children would want to snuggle the entire vacation. And by snuggle, I mean never leave my side. Even in ninety degree weather.
While this is a gift, and I like snuggling them, by day two, I am getting a bit annoyed. Snuggling literally means they sit on me. Both of them. At the same time. While still cute, they are a lot bigger and heavier than they were. And they squirm. And wriggle. And try to steal more real estate on my lap from each other until they both get tossed off.
And there comes a point where I simply want my space back.
And writing does not happen when there is snuggling. Most of the time, writing doesn’t happen when they are awake and in the house. My oldest one is an avid reader, and despite her age, she can and will read over my shoulder as I am typing. Yeah, not cool, especially if I am “in the zone” and don’t see her right away as I don’t write “closed door” romance.
Reading doesn’t usually happen, either. I don’t read “closed door” romance, either.
While I wouldn’t trade these days for the world, I do need to adjust my expectations.
Vacation doesn’t mean what it used to, and if I still want time to write every day, I am going to have to get up at 5am like it’s a work day.
Not that I want to get up at 5am. If left to my own devices, I wouldn’t go to bed until well after midnight then sleep in every morning. But that hasn’t been my life since college. The one and only time my natural sleep cycle meshed with my obligations.
I wish I were a morning person.