Crash.

“You don’t mind if I bring E?” I email my editor a couple days before a meeting and he responds, "Of course not." He tells me bring her and that we’ll be quick.

So I bring her to the coffee shop and she does pretty good, climbing up and down the chair, coloring, saying Hi! To each random passerby.

It’s not until we leave that I notice I never removed the noodle necklace H had made the day before that makes me realize this blending of mothering and writing is sometimes a collision.

Crash.

A week later, I’ve got an interview I have to do. No childcare for E, I’m not sweating it, I’ll bring her along, what’s the worst that can happen.

And the worst that can happen happens, before my eyes. My daughter transforms to a Tazmanian devil and is running and spinning, slamming her hand on open laptops at the coffee shop while I conduct an interview.

“Your writing is so professional.” An acquaintance tells me. I thank him but inside I’m thinking if only you know how the process looked. It’s not always so professional.

This writing and mothering thing collide again.

Crash.

We're juggling and figuring.
I tell J late Sunday night how I’m looking forward to a morning of working at the coffee shop. To cross some things off my list. Meet some deadlines on time. Just to write some things on my mind, my heart.

And then things go bump in the night.

And the morning shows up and we can’t do it. Sick baby wins every time.

Crash.

Last week, I tell J that this is it. This is what I’ve been wanting, looking for, dreaming of. I am living, loving, being mom and taking a break, getting away, writing (here, for myself, book stuff, Patch) and this is it.

Even when it all collides. Noodle necklaces, 2 year old crashing interviews and sick baby work days, just to name a few. I’ll take it all, friends.

It’s called having your cake, watching your two year old smash it all up and eating it too.