My friends think I live a mystical sort of life as a writer. I don’t know if they envision me sitting in a misty room in a purple silk robe, sipping exotic tea, singing out orders to my maid and typing with my perfectly manicured nails–or what. I can assure you, the life of a writer is much more…umm…gritty. At least the life of this writer and mother of four. And I mean literally gritty–I’m sitting on some Frosted Flake crumbs at my dining room table, making sure not to spill purple Gatorade all over my papers. My half-painted nails beat the keyboard as my husband tells me I’m the loudest typist he’s ever heard. The only luxury of the day is that I’ve had enough time to dress because three of my children are out and about, and the fourth is watching Franklin on Noggin.
I’m putting the finishing touches on my Sonflower Sisters curricula. I have a deadline, and I’m trying to avoid the distractions the demon of deadlines throws at me–namely, junk food, blogging, and fatigue. If you’re the praying type, lift up one for me. If you’re the mother of a 4-10 year old daughter, stay tuned for the improved, ready for use curricula.