I’ve gone and signed up for National Novel Writing Month again. My goal: to write 1,700 new words of Book #2 a day for the next 31 days. If I keep up this pace, the end of November will find me a happy, over-tired writer of a completed, overwritten …
No one needs another blog post about the “work-at-home mommy” struggle, or a kid throwing a tantrum because no one will play cars with him, or the difficulty of trying to focus on a creative task (er, writing, anyone?) when you can’t fully dive into it because your 3-year-old wants you to try on his sunglasses and help him get a snack (“yogurt an’ HUN-ee. ‘Cause I hungee.”) and you need to make sure he isn’t really strangling the cat even though it sounds like it. No one needs to read any of that. But it’s the first working day of 2016, the day known to anyone as the very first day all of our New Year’s resolutions get thrown out the window (I had cheese popcorn straight out of the bag this morning for breakfast. Take that, Fitbit!). So write-vent I shall.
I’m trying to get it right this year, after months (years, a lifetime, whatever) of flailing about wondering how to accomplish the tasks I set out to do (shower, grocery shop, finish another novel). Without set goals, I don’t do much of anything, really, outside of the “have to”s. And with one child still at home during the day–oh, dear child, who, speaking of flailing, is writhing about under my desk as I type (“Mooom, please. Play. Play! PLAY.”), it seems pretty darned impossible. The tricky part about being a working mom is when you lack the income part to pay for the working part, if that makes sense. I’m working toward a future paycheck, one that isn’t at all guaranteed. Invisible money doesn’t hire a babysitter for a few hours each morning. Therein lies a teeny little hiccup in my non-plan.
So, goals. Do you have goals this year? Are they small? Huge? Do you have a plan to meet them? What are they (no, really: HOW ARE YOU GOING TO DO IT HELP ME PLEASE)? I have sort-of ones for fitness and writing and mommy-ing in my head right now, but nothing concrete. I should probably get on that. In fact, I should make it a goal to write down my goals! I shall be so on TOP of it all!
Cian pushed his toy train and a bunch of play kitchen utensils into the room as I typed that last paragraph, and is curled up on the carpet next to me now telling stories to himself. He is sweet, and I love him, and one day I’ll miss the fact that he doesn’t like to let me out of his sight (except for the part when he sat down in my lap while I tried to do a little yoga this morning. He’s kind of like a cat that way. Also, I might hate yoga). But I’m starting to wonder if four hours a day of TV would be really all that bad (kidding, kidding). Or if my grocery store’s childcare room would mind if I dropped him off for the full two hours every day. Or how long it would take for a babysitter to find out I’m paying her in Monopoly money. The struggle for balance is real.
But I think I need to make the goals first, and figure out how to get meet them later. Cian has me 24 hours a day. I wouldn’t feel too terribly guilty about working for a few hours out of that if it’d mean I wasn’t so grumpy during the other 20 hours. So. Goals. I shall set some goals.You go first, though. Because right now my son is using a toy screwdriver to joust with the dog and I’m not so sure I’ll even get to finish this