Disney Cruise Tidbits

Everybody is writing about Valentine’s Day today, but since I did that already this week I decided to be different. And since I had no actual topic planned, but have talked to two people today about their plans for a Disney Cruise and I’m in the Disney mindset, that’s what today’s post will be about!

There are a lot of things you might not know about Disney Cruise Line. There are a lot of blogs, books, videos, etc all by people who have been on more cruises than me (I’ve only been on one, so that would be pretty easy) that can tell you anything you want to know. But I still thought I’d throw in a few pieces of trivia of my own.

Disclaimer: My experience with Disney Cruise Line (DCL) involves the Fantasy on a 7-Day Western Caribbean sailing. Different ships or itineraries may vary.

  • There is a nursing mother’s room in It’s a Small World Nursery. If you look up information about the onboard nursery for children 6 months-3 years old, you’ll probably find pictures of the playroom, the hours of operation, and even information about the sleeping room where your child can nap or sleep while you are doing your own thing. What surprised me while I was checking out the nursery during Open House (yep, I gave it a once over before my child was scheduled to be there) was that beyond the quiet/sleeping room is a nursing mother’s area. That’s not something that I found in the information available online about the nursery and I feel like it should be. If you are a nursing mother and want to be able to come into the nursery area, nurse your child, and go back out again, there is a space for you to comfortably do so. You even get an adult-sized chair (that’s a major score in the nursery where everything is designed to make your little one(s) feel large and in charge). Side Note: The first time you show up to the nursery, they give you a drawstring bag to use as a diaper bag and it’s yours to keep when the cruise ends.
  • There are religious services on the ship for those who would like to attend. During our sailing, while it was not advertised on the schedule of events, there was an interdenominational Christian service and a Jewish service. There might have been others of which I’m not aware. As I said, I did not notice the services in the schedule of events, but was made aware of the services via a Facebook page for people who would be sailing with me.
  • Entering/Leaving the Oceaneer’s Club (for kids ages 3-12) is the most fun you’ll ever have while washing your hands. That sounds ridiculous, I know. But seriously. The handwashing station has two slots for your hands. When you place your hands in, the motion sensor cuts on the jets which shoot water and soap at your hands from a multitude of angles. When the timer stops, an electronic readout informs you that your wash cycle is complete and you may exit the station. It’s fun, it’s water efficient, and it’s clean because nobody has to touch a faucet.
  • There is a place for you to do laundry. If you are worried you didn’t pack enough, or if your kids (or spouse!) spills something on their clothes at dinner, have no fear. There is a laundrette on every deck. There is a fee involved, but it’s not as much as a checked bag fee at the airport if you’re trying to pack in carry-on luggage!
  • There is a schedule of character appearances each day, but they’ll still surprise you. Each day, your schedule of events, or Navigator, will tell you where and when you can see which characters throughout the day. However, in addition to those appearances, you might just bump into someone not on the official schedule. For instance, when we took my younger son to play in Andy’s Room (from Toy Story) during family playtime, we were pleasantly surprised (read: I was giddy) to be joined by Belle. She stayed for over an hour and I have a multitude of pictures of my favorite princess building block towers with my toddler. There are also impromptu dance parties in the atrium where characters will show up to shake their tail feathers (or their tails!) with anybody who wants to join in.
  • If it rains, Disney has a back-up plan. One of our days at sea, a storm blew threw drenching the ship in rain and bring 8-12 foot swells. My sea legs weren’t up to the task, but the crew certainly was. Since the pools, water slides, sports deck, and other outdoor areas were getting drenched, the crew put on an extra show, added more movies to the theater line-up, hosted extra trivia game challenges, started another dance party, and added more characters to the day’s official line-up, among other things. Other than needing a bit of Dramamine that day, it was just as fun-filled as all the other bright, sunny days.
  • The ship is designed to keep you from getting lost. You just have to know what to look for. And for anybody who has a chance, I strongly recommend the Art of Decor tour of the ship. Our tour guide, Ricky, revealed several helpful tricks. For instance, all the seahorses face one way and all the fish face the other, always pointing to you to one end of the ship (I can’t remember which was which anymore). The five-pointed stars on the carpet in the middle of the ship near the elevators always point toward the front of the ship.
  • The ceilings are different heights in different areas. In the kids’ area, the ceilings are actually lower than other areas of the ship so they can feel bigger. In contrast, in the adults-only areas of the ship, the ceilings are higher than everywhere else to make adults feel like kids again.
  • The art comes to life. If you stop too long near one of the paintings, you might find that it starts to move. Not all paintings move, but twenty-two of them on the Fantasy do, and our kids loved seeing what they would do.
  • The interactive detective game changes person to person. There is a game you can play on the ship, Midship Detective Agency, in which you are given a badge with a giant QR code on it. You have to go around the ship to designated spots (certain moving art pieces) and hold up your badge. The badge sets off the video revealing clues to the mystery. Someone beat you to it? Not a problem. Your clue might be different. Your criminal might be different too. We solved two of the three available mysteries and often found we were given different clues than other participants. So you can’t use someone else’s clue to solve your mystery. It’s different for everyone!
  • Don’t be surprised if your wait staff performs a little magic for your kids. My youngest is only a year old. Well, he’s almost two. Almost. He has little patience to begin with and even less when it comes to waiting for food–not that we ever had to wait long! But time and again, the staff would start performing magic tricks for him and he would watch with wonder and laughter instead of shrieking his head off. When my five-year-old caught on to some of the magic tricks, they started bringing him brain teasers to work on while they continued to do tricks for his little brother. One night, we showed up at our table–and as usual, it already had the booster seat we needed–and before we could sit down, the drinks we always ordered were delivered to the table, along with a game we could play as a family. It wasn’t all illusions, but it was definitely all magic.
  • They take food allergies seriously. Only one person in our party had any food allergies, but they made sure she knew what was safe and what wasn’t. They would bring her the next day’s menu and let her know which items they could change to accommodate her needs. When she asked about one item, they informed her that while they could make it, they were concerned about cross-contamination because of how it was prepared and advised against it.
  • You must know the codeword to pick up your kids. When you show up at the nursery or the kids club to pick up your children, you first have to scan your Key to the World card. Your picture comes up on the screen and they match it to the pictures they have on file of who is approved to pick up the child. But that’s not all. Before you can leave with your child, you have to provide them with the codeword–which is a word of your choosing and can be different for each child in your party. I chose our codeword in November. We sailed in January. I’m the mother of the child I was picking up. I still had to know the word before they’d let him leave. Luckily, I had reviewed the information the day before we sailed!
  • If you are too tired to make it to the stage show, you can watch it from your stateroom. If you want to see the night’s show, but your kids are wiped out and you’re dragging a little too, no worries. You can watch the stage show from the comfort of your stateroom on your television. If you’re not interested in the stage show, but want to let the kids watch a little something while they wind down for the evening, there is also just about every Disney movie ever made available on demand. You can even watch movies in pieces, your television will remember where you left off in the movie. We let my kids watch twenty minutes here and there while we showered or got ready for bed. You can also pull up the ship’s information channel and see a map of exactly where your ship is at that moment and where other Disney ships are in relation to it.

As I said in my first post about our cruise, in true Disney fashion, it’s outrageously expensive and totally magical. The cast and crew go the extra mile to make sure you have the most fun possible. My kids are already talking about our next cruise. We keep telling them that we have to save up enough money to do it again so it might take a while, but they are undeterred. The “Mickey Boat” is the best vacation their little hearts could dream up.

Slow Down

My oldest son got sick on Saturday afternoon and spend the next thirty-six hours running a fever and barely eating. The poor kid hardly wanted to get off the couch. This is the same little boy who I sometimes have to force to sit down for “rest time” (he doesn’t nap anymore, but he still needs a few minutes to chill in the afternoons so he doesn’t tucker himself out before dinner). He goes through the five stages of grief every time I tell him he has to be still. Not this weekend. All he wanted to do was be still on the couch under blankets.

Cue my broken heart.

I gave him a fever-reducer. I put a cold cloth on his head. I steered his little brother to play elsewhere for both their sakes. I did what moms do when their kids are sick. I comforted him. One of the ways I did was to lie next to him and softly ruffle his hair back and forth. He only lets me do that when he feels poorly. Otherwise, he doesn’t like it. But when he’s sick, that’s what he wants. And I’ll tell you a secret. I love it.

I hate when my kid is sick. It hurts my heart because I know there is only so much I can do for him. I would take all his pain on myself if I could, but the world doesn’t work like that. But, there is also a little part of me that loves that he’ll let me play with his hair and snuggle up to him. I know that when he feels better, he’ll jump off the couch and take off like a shot for the backyard. I know he’ll duck his head when I reach for his hair. That’s okay. He’s growing up and I respect his wishes, but it makes me relish those moments when he not only needs me but actually wants me close.

The last five years have gone by in a blur. There have been hard moments for both of us. But there has also been so much joy, wonder, and love. Every day he gets a little bigger and I have a little less time before he won’t need me at all. That’s my job–to prepare him to be independent, to not need me. And I know he’s not exactly going to walk out the door for good tomorrow, but I also know how fast time is moving.

So when he wants my snuggles and hugs, when he’ll let me shower him with all my maternal affection, I cherish it. And if I end up running a fever too, it’ll be worth it. Because for just a little while, time slowed down and I got to rock my baby one more time before he stops wanting me to.

I hate when he’s sick, but I love slowing down with him. I would never wish illness on a child–anyone’s child, much less my own–so don’t misunderstand me. But I cling to that moment when all he wants is comfort and he turns to me because I’m his mama.

P.S. If you don’t think I’m crying by the time she gets to “lightsaber wars” in this song, you’re wrong. Gets me every stinking time.

Won’t You Let Me Take You on a Sea Cruise…

That’s a line from a song. I only know that because my dad used to sing it while he made dinner when I was young. But it’s been stuck in my head a lot lately because my dad (and my stepmom) went with us on a Disney cruise last week. It was the first cruise I’ve ever been on that lasted longer than a few hours. And in true Disney fashion, it was outrageously expensive and completely magical.

Because my boys (and my husband) are big fans of the Star Wars franchise, we went on a Star Wars Day at Sea cruise. It was a seven-day jaunt through the Caribbean with a full day at sea at the beginning and one near the end. The second full day at sea was completely dedicated to all things Star Wars.

I’ve never actually been to a Con, but if that isn’t one big, seafaring Star Wars Con, I don’t know what is. There were character meet and greets, a guest speaker, information about new and upcoming Star Wars attractions at the parks, a cosplay celebration, a stage show, a whole store full of merchandise, etc. The ship’s horn even played the Imperial March before Stormtroopers swarmed the pool deck and began questioning suspected rebel spies. Imperial officers arrested my husband. He loved it. I even got a picture with a Gamorrean Guard while he snorted and sniffed at me.

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As a family, we also got time with C3PO, R2D2, Darth Vader, and Chewbacca. And you better believe I got a big ole Wookie hug. We also caught Bobba Fett checking the vitals on Han Solo who was frozen in carbonite. My older son got to play games with BB-8 and Rey in the kids’ area, where he also got to fly a Millenium Falcon simulator and run the command post (and that was just one corner!). Our dinner menu had offerings from different planets across the galaxy, and you could get drinks or snacks served in droids or AT-AT containers. The festivities rounded out with late-night fireworks and a showing of Solo: A Star Wars Story. There was also a dance party, but my dogs were pooped.

There were a ton of events we didn’t even get around to; like Star Wars Pub Trivia (we did make an appearance at Pub Trivia, just not Star Wars trivia). For my parents, especially my stepmom–who loved seeing my boys be so excited, but never really got into Star Wars–there was a Star Wars 101 class so they could get up to speed and know what the heck my kids were talking about.

I met a couple on the elevator in full garb (and they looked fantastic!) who went on the cruise to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary because on their first date they went to see Star Wars together. Y’all. It was adorable. It was fun. It was magic. It was Disney.

I’ll probably have a few more things to say regarding our vacation, but for now, I have to dig my way out of the piles of laundry that came home with us. And bundle up. We’re not in the Caribbean anymore and have a threat (mild though it may be) of snow tonight. I want to go back to the beach. This reality stuff is for the birds.

An Ordinary Fairy Tale

I was reminded of something my husband did for me back when our oldest child was born and wanted to brag on him a little. So today might get a little mushy.

When I was a little girl, my favorite Disney princess was Belle. She was a brunette and a bookworm. And people thought she was a little weird. Y’all. She was my people. I loved singing along with candlesticks and teapots. And it wasn’t weird to me that she was a human woman in love with what was essentially a living stuffed animal. I was little and slept with a teddy bear every night. It made sense to me.

And what made even more sense in my head was that she began to fall in love with Beast after he gave her a big library. A whole library. With ladders. And three-story windows. Fireplaces and comfy chairs. I would live there if I could. Ever since that scene, I have wanted my own library.

Marie Kondo says that I should probably have no more than thirty books. I have no hate for her, truly. But that goes against my dream. I will choose to ignore that advice. I want to live among hoards and mountains of books.

And now I do. Let me back up.

Clearly, I love to read. I always have. However, when I had my first child, I had a hard time fitting in time for anything that I wanted to do just for me. I think all new parents go through that. It can be difficult, no matter how much you love and cherish your child. I remember telling my husband that I didn’t feel like my own person anymore. He was concerned and did his best to be a supportive partner and try to shoulder a little more of the load. But being that he doesn’t have mammary glands, there were certain limitations.

During late night feedings, I often had to find something to occupy my mind (besides the general and ever-present terror that I would never be a good enough mother) to help keep me awake. I would read. While I pumped, I would read. And the more I read, the more I felt like me. This belonged to me. This wasn’t a Mama activity. It was a Kathryn activity.

For my next birthday, my husband gave me a kindle. It was certainly pricier than we usually go for birthday presents, but he wanted me to be able to download books from the library in the middle of the night as I rocked our son. He even got his mom to coordinate gift ideas with him and get me a gift card to buy books from Amazon to start my–wait for it–library.

It wasn’t three-stories tall. It doesn’t have fireplaces (unless I want to use a picture of one as my lock screen). There are no comfy chairs or ladders. But there are hoards and mountains of books. They are digital mountains, but mountains nonetheless.

My husband. He’s my prince. My fairy tale.

Because he gave me a library.

I’ll Have What He’s Having

I have two young sons. The elder of the two is five. The younger is not quite two. And I will readily admit that I learn just as much from them as they do from me. One of the ways I learn from them is to see my own behavior mirrored back at me in undeniable ways and being able to see it from a more objective perspective.

My younger son, though blessed with a very independent personality, is more dependent on me than my five-year-old. Kid #1 is old enough to dress himself, brush his teeth on his own (though not as thoroughly as I prefer so I usually end up helping anyway), carry his own backpack, read, do simple math, etc. Kid #2 desperately wants to do all that, but is still only a year old and has a lot of skills left to master. As you can probably guess, this means Kid #2 gets a lot of attention. I try to make sure I’m fair to Kid #1, but he usually thinks his brother gets more attention than he does. There are some days that he’s probably right.

Whenever Kid #1 begins to feel like he’s getting shorted on his time at center stage, he begins to do things more like his brother does, thinking this will force me to bestow more attention on him in order to help him. He pretends to not know things, like how to talk (which, I assure you, he does well and with a vocabulary far beyond what is expected of someone his age). This always hurts my heart a little and so I talk to him about it. I remind him that while his brother needs help doing a lot of things right now, the truth is that all Kid #2 wants is to be just like Kid #1 in every way. It’s his goal. And while the attention I give Kid #2 is usually to help him learn new skills and achieve new milestones, the attention I give Kid #1 is different. I get to laugh and listen to his abundance of terrible pun jokes. I get to cheer him on while he plays sports or listen to him tell me all about the newest thing he learned by reading a book.  I cherish that. It’s so wonderful that I can’t really describe it. I remind Kid #1 that he’s fun, kind, incredibly intelligent, and imaginative. I tell him he shouldn’t disregard all of that by trying to be more like his younger brother just so he can feel like he’s the star of the show again like he was when he was an only child. I often say, “Don’t throw away what is special about you because you’re trying to be like someone else. Being you will always be more than enough for me.”

And yes, this is a conversation we’ve had a lot. More than I’d like. But I can’t blame him for not being ready to take it to heart. After all, I know plenty of adults (sometimes including me) that struggle with this. In fact, I think we all have those moments where part of us just wants so badly to be like someone else, sometimes anyone else, that we forget about what makes us special to begin with. What makes us unique. What makes us, us.

The next time I give that advice to Kid #2, I’m going to write it on my heart as well. I don’t need to be like anyone else. I just need to be me. And in case you need to hear it, I’m telling it to you too. Don’t throw away what is special about you because you’re trying to be like someone else. You are enough just as you are.

 

A Family Library

Earlier this summer, my younger child took his first steps. He’s one. It was a big moment. As every parent would be, I was beyond proud of this milestone. I took pictures. I called dad at work. I gave him a big hug and lots of mommy kisses. But I wasn’t the only one cheering him on.

Let me back up a little.

My older child is four years old. During the school year, he attends preschool twice a week. If he gets a good behavior report, I take him to the library as a reward. He loves it. There are toys, games, puzzles, and books. It’s an air-conditioned playground filled with magic and stories. Sometimes when the weather is nice we will also visit the city park’s playground. But his first request is the library.

All throughout my second pregnancy, I marched into the library with my older child and the librarians would give me knowing and sweet smiles when I was a tired, bedraggled mess. When I didn’t show up for a few weeks, but my older child made his appearance with alternating grandmothers, they commented that they couldn’t wait to meet our newest family member.

And then, for months, they let me break the “no food or drink” rule as I brought everything I needed to be prepared for feeding a hungry baby. Granted, it was usually just a bottle of water, but it’s still a rule and they still purposely ignored the fact that I was breaking it.

As he started crawling, the staff would each come to coo at him and cheer him on. And then one day, he did it. Right there in the library, with one of the librarians in the adjacent aisle. He walked. From the fire truck activity table to the bookshelf filled with toddler favorites. Three steps. His first.

Once again, I was allowed to break a rule. This time it was the “no cell phones” rule. I called my husband and in very excited but hushed tones told him that our little munchkin could walk. The librarian spread the word to the other staff members and by the time we made it to the circulation desk to check out my older son’s selection for the week, everyone knew. And they congratulated him (and me). And they asked to take his picture.

They got my permission to use that picture on the library blog. They didn’t tell me when exactly it would happen, but I gladly granted their request.

Well, now the day has come. It wasn’t just a happy moment to add to our library’s specific page. They made my son Patron of the Week for the entire regional system, which covers a lot of our state. The post points out that a library can be a place for a lot of firsts, “first library card, first storytime, first “a-ha” moment, and…your first steps.”

It is such a silly thing to be proud of and excited about, and yet I am. My son’s first “award” is (tangentially) related to books and my book nerd self is loving it. It’s sweet and fun. And it makes me feel more connected to my community in a way. The library staff isn’t just a group of smiling, kind faces that we see each week. They’re almost like extended family. They want to celebrate life’s big moments with us.

They noticed when my older son moved into the “I can read alone!” books. They cheered him on with gusto. And when my younger son started walking, they got out the camera and shared the news like proud grandparents. That’s special to me because my family lives several hours away. My husband has cousins a little over an hour down the road, but most of his family is more than a hop, skip, and a jump too. And it takes a village to raise a child. Knowing that we have people seeking to be a part of our village, at a time when it is easy to feel alone, is a blessing I can’t describe.

So don’t you ever tell me that books don’t bring people together. Because that post is right. The library can be a place for a lot of firsts, including the first time you realize that you’re home, you belong, and you’re a part of something bigger.

Becoming a Soccer Mom

At the beginning of the summer, I had grand writing plans. I would sit out in the backyard whilst my children splashed around in our little inflatable kiddie pool or ran through the sprinklers and I would write. Plot holes would get filled, edits would get finished, new stories would blossom.

None of that happened. I’m not the writer version of June Cleaver.

No, our summer consisted of water play, baseball games (of the minor league variety mostly), yelling at the World Cup on TV, trips to see family at the beach or the lake, and a lot of exhaustion. It’s August and I promise that if you let you me, I could sleep until October.

Alas, my nap is not to be. We started a new adventure today. One that will dominate our schedule for the next couple of months, but one that we’re excited about. My four-year-old attended his very first soccer practice.

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Photo by Lorenzo Cafaro on Pexels.com

That’s right, ladies and gents. I’m a soccer mom. A full-fledged, SUV drivin’, uniform cleanin’, family calendar coordinatin’, picture takin’, loud cheerin’ soccer mom. And I have zero shame.

My son begged to play soccer from the moment the sign went up in the city park declaring that sign-ups had begun and you only had to be four to play. Because he can read now, so even if I wanted to ignore those signs and keep walking, he knows.

He begged to play soccer. And, to be honest, he didn’t have to twist my arm or my husband’s either. We let him sign up. And all summer he has been pumped up for this moment. He has played soccer in our front yard at every opportunity–though at four that consists mostly of him dribbling the ball across the yard and then flinging himself down in the grass just for kicks.

But today, he got to practice. He got a jersey, met his team, and ran drills. This kid could not be more thrilled. The unadulterated joy in his eyes would make the Grinch’s heart grow three sizes.

Before we ever left the house, while I was helping him get on his shin guards, his socks, and his cleats, we had a chat. I told him that just because Mama and Daddy like soccer doesn’t mean he has to. If he doesn’t have fun, that’s okay. If he doesn’t like to play, that’s okay. If he loves it, that’s wonderful too, but I would love him either way. Whether he was the best player out there or the worst one on the team, it would not change how much I love him.

He nodded and gave me a hug. And then asked if it was time to leave yet.

Practice went about how you would expect for a team of four- and five-year-olds. There was a lot of tripping, short attention spans, and at least two children stopping midfield to turn and say “Mom! I have to go potty!” In other words, it was adorable. It was also a bajillion degrees, but it was adorable.

In the car on the way home, my child re-capped every moment as if his father and I hadn’t been on the field with him the whole time. He had a blast. But being his mother, I needed full, unequivocal, indisputable confirmation.

“Does that mean you had a good time?”

“Mama, I really really loved it!”

The amazement and wonder in his voice, the reverence–it elicited more emotion from me than I expected. So, that’s it. My fate is sealed. I’m a soccer mom. I might as well buy a sticker family for my car and start monogramming sports bags.

Soccer mom and proud.

Finding a Balance

For most of us, writing is not our primary job. It is something we love and work hard for, but it isn’t what pays our bills. Or cleans the house. Or the other million and one things that make up daily life. For the majority of writers, writing is something we have to make time for before, after, and/or in between the other necessities of life. It can be difficult and daunting.

We give up our nights, weekends, lunch breaks, our children’s naps, anything that will give us a little more time at the keyboard. That doesn’t mean we don’t have families, friends, jobs, hobbies, chores, or special events that we can’t and won’t neglect.

And it doesn’t mean we should neglect ourselves either.

My writing is important to me. It’s a part of who I am. But it is only one part. I’m also a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend, etc. Beyond that, I am also someone who loves sports, board games, learning–and teaching–self-defense through mixed martial arts, and volunteering with local groups/organizations of my choice.

If I abandon the other things in life I enjoy, or my other responsibilities, I feel guilty and my writing suffers. If I neglect my writing, I feel guilty and my sense of self-worth suffers. I have to find a balance. It’s not easy. If ever I perfect it, I’ll let you know.

In the meantime, I have to be intent on carving out time for writing and for the other parts of me. Because my experiences fuel my writing. And, frankly, sleep is non-negotiable. I’ve tried.

A lot of writing blogs I’ve read in the last few months have stressed the importance of taking a step back from your work during editing. Walk away from the project for a short while so your eyes are fresh when you come back and you’re more likely to notice things that escaped you before. Use that time in between to do something for yourself. Rent a movie. Run a race. Play a game. Take a long bath. Read something with no intent to critique or edit. Go to the gym. Do whatever it is that helps you feel human again.

You write, so you’re a writer. But it will never be the only thing you are. I’m sure even the overwhelmingly successful authors would say that they are more than their job. Don’t forget to let yourself be more. It’s okay to give yourself a night off once in a while. Your writing will probably be better for it and so will you.

It doesn’t mean you aren’t dedicated. You don’t have to be superhuman to be a successful writer. Nobody will doubt your dedication if you go on a date with your significant other, go see a sporting event with your kids, or go to bed early. You’re allowed to be human. You’re allowed to be you.

Your writing will still be here when you get back.

 

Keeping Motivated

I’m a list maker. When I sit down to get things done, I prioritize by making a list of everything I need to do, most important goes first.

Spoiler Alert: I’m a mom, so sometimes the list doesn’t get finished. Kids need naps, snuggles, lunch, kisses for boo-boos, trips to the doctor’s office, outside play time, emergency toy surgery, etc. So the most important tasks get listed first because otherwise, I might not get to them.

I’m a writer. Being a writer means more than sitting at my keyboard hacking away. It also means I’m a reader. I have to read in my genre in the industry to keep up with the trends and find good comparative titles. I also read for my critique partners, because, well, it’s a partnership. If I want them to slog through my hot mess drafts until I can beat the prose into something palatable, it’s only fair that I read their wonderful works of art in return. I do book reviews, usually posted here on Thursdays. Thanks to NetGalley, I also do some ARC reviews so I can get a sneak peek at what’s debuting this year. And last, but not least, I do some beta reading too.

It may not sound like a lot, especially since I love to read, but the time adds up. And I still have to find time to get my own writing and revising done–not to mention all of the pesky things my non-writing life entails, like being a mom and paying bills.

It can get a little overwhelming sometimes. Perhaps I’m the only one who has ever felt it, though I doubt it, the feeling of having so much to do that I don’t want to do anything. When my to-do list is so long that my brain refuses to function and I end up stuffing my face with bad snack food and watching Netflix. Or falling asleep sitting up. Maybe both.

Eventually, though, I have to crawl out of my haze and get my rear in gear because that list isn’t going to finish itself.

In the last few weeks both my kids got the flu, so naturally, I got it too. My husband had to travel for work, so it was just the three of us in the house, sneezing, coughing, and fever dreaming up a storm. After we got better, the kids were on Spring Break–which isn’t saying much when they’re in preschool, but it still meant that I didn’t have my usual quiet work time during the two days a week that I usually do. Then my parents came for a surprise visit. And then my youngest had his first birthday so everyone came to visit. It’s been a whirlwind.

Now, we are all well, sanitized, and living on the leftover cake, so it’s time to get back to business. But the problem is that while all that was going on, my to-do list in the writing world didn’t get any shorter. It got longer. Things piled up. A lot.

But it’s time to crawl out of the haze. So what do I do?

I have to find the right motivation. I can’t get on my daily chat with my writer friends until after I finish [insert acceptable number here] pages of the reading I need to do today.

I finished that critique? How about a bite of cake!

Wrote the blog post that was due three hours ago? That deserves a cup of coffee at least. Even if it’s just Folgers.

I reworked the outline of my manuscript and found a way to up the stakes while fixing that character who wasn’t quite working anymore? I’ll take a fifteen-minute break and do something mindless so my brain can rest before it shuts down and resets to factory default settings.

You have to find whatever it is that works for you.

Also, remember to forgive yourself when life interrupts and you don’t finish what it is you were in the middle of doing. Writing is work. It’s work we love, but it’s work. You have to find a good work/life balance. Don’t let your guilt over not finishing that chapter rewrite by today suck all the joy out of the new character arc you just came up with.

If you succeed at keeping the guilt at bay, write a blog post that gives me your secret. Maybe it’ll work for me, too.

The Chore I Hate the Most

baby shoes

I hate to do chores. Well, that’s not really true. I hate the need to do chores. I procrastinate with all the other things that I need to do before I will resort to chores. Call it being messy, a slob, whatever. My step-mom even calls it “But First! Syndrome”. As in, I need to do the dishes, but first I need to answer emails. And then, I need to answer emails, but first I should really make that vet appointment the dog needs and check in on Suzy Q from church who just had her baby to see if she needs me to bring her dinner tonight. It usually ends up meaning I have a whole lot of half done chores and nothing to show for it.

However, once I really get into a chore, I love the productive feeling I get. That sense of pride that something is getting done. That’s what really drives me. Because when I’m done, I take a deep breath and feel better. And I don’t just feel better about my to-do list. I feel better in general. I accomplished something. It feels good.

So while I really dislike scrubbing the pots and pans, I feel good about it being done. I really don’t like to do dishes. Especially since it’s a never-ending cycle of scrub, dry, put away and then a few hours later, get back out, used to cook, and then have to scrub, dry, et cetera all over again. But I do it because, in those few hours between the new cleanliness and the start of the new mess, it feels good. Although, I might have, on occasion, gone out for dinner just to preserve the clean state of the kitchen for a few extra hours. Don’t even pretend you can’t relate.

I dislike doing the dishes, I dislike this particular chore on a level above the others. Still, it isn’t the chore I hate the most. The chore I hate the most is one I only have to do every couple of months. It’s one I’ll have to do every few months, sometimes weeks, for the next several years, and then one day, I won’t have to do it anymore.

I hate cleaning out my sons’ closets. Like all other chores, I love the feeling I get when I know I’m being productive. Unlike the other chores, I don’t procrastinate on this one. As soon as it’s time for one of them to move up to the next size because he has several other things that don’t fit, it’s time for the small stuff to make room for the bigger stuff. However, the feeling of pride over my productivity is often overshadowed by another feeling altogether.

With every piece of clothing I pull out of the drawer, or off the hangers, I realize just how quickly my children are growing up. I realize that those days that seemed long, were shorter than I thought. Those moments that seemed like they would never end, when one of them would cry and reach for me because he needed me to do every little thing for him, are getting fewer and fewer every day.

I get more chores done around the house now. I can scrub pots and pans, do laundry, and even cook simple meals without either of them having a conniption that I’m not standing or sitting right next to him every second. My house is cleaner. My to-do list reaches completion more often. They don’t need me to entertain them at all times because they have learned to entertain themselves and each other.

We still have play time together. We still have reading time together. They still need me to make meals, give baths, kiss boo-boos, and do all the other things that a small child needs a mom to do. But they already don’t need me all the time anymore.

With every pair of pants that is now too short or too snug, with every shirt that isn’t long enough, with every pair of socks that no longer completely covers little feet, one of my children has hit milestones that mean he is becoming more independent. He needs me less.

They are my sons. To some degree, they will always need me. Even if it is just to love them. But one day, that’s all they’ll need from me. And that is so very bittersweet. One day they will be grown. They will have jobs, homes we don’t share, possibly families of their own. They will have these things because each day we (I’m not in this alone, after all) teach them new skills. We teach them right from wrong. We are slowly, each day, teaching them not to need us. Not to need me.

There are still days, usually when I am carrying the youngest into church or the store, when I think, “Little man, you need to learn how to walk because you are getting heavy.” And then I know that one day he will be able to walk, run even, and I will chase after him and wish he was still small enough to carry. It’s already happened with his brother.

I open the box the old clothes go into and look at all the other outfits in it. He was so small once! I remember when he wore this. He woke up every three hours to eat and I felt like a zombie. I prayed he would sleep through the night so that I could, too. I remember when he wore that, he couldn’t crawl yet and would just roll across the floor to get to his destination, which was, more often than not, me. Now I put a new batch of clothes in the box. Ones that I will long for a few months from now. Ones that I’m sure I will weep over someday when I clean out the attic and this is not the only box of things they have both long since outgrown.

As a mother, the days can seem very long. You have laundry to wash. You have dishes to clean. You have floors to sweep or vacuum. You have shelves to dust, towels to fold, toys to pick up, and bills to pay. You have food to cook. You have emails and phone calls to answer. You have a million little things that you need to be doing and you have this little person, this beautiful, wonderful, adorable, hugely needy little person pulling at your pant leg. You wonder, will this phase ever end? And then? It does. It’s over. You still have a million things to do, but that little person isn’t as little anymore and is off doing something without you. It makes your to-do list easier, but your days are shorter. The years are shorter. And that breaks your heart.

I’m proud of every milestone my sons hit. I’m proud of every new thing they learn how to do. But I know just how fast time is going by. I know because those deep, wide boxes of clothes I have for each of them are almost full. I’ll have to start new boxes now. Another box to pack memories into and close the lid on.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I have chores to finish. I need to do the dishes, but first I think I’ll play with my sons a little longer.