All tied up

Welcome to my blog. Let me introduce myself. I am skull-dried-in-sun-tied-with-a-net, formerly jillypoet-mom-trying-to-write. Have you ever tried to write while on vacation with two children under 6 years of age? At one point, I was in the company of four children 6-years and under. And at all times I had either my husband or my father, or two husbands (one mine, one someone else's...now there's a writing prompt), so in essence, I was surrounded by idea-sapping vacationing children. Children of all ages. Fodder for writing for sure, but not, at least, for this mom, the ideal writing situation.

OK. Is there an ideal writing situation? Virginia Woolf said women needed a room of their own in which to write. At the time, in my free-wheeling, flip-flopping 20s, I whole-heartedly agreed, but just because it was the feminist thing to do. Now, in my flip-flopping (still with the flip-flops), child-rearing 30s, I want to wrestle the stones from Virginia's pockets, drag her from the surf and hug her for this so accurate assertion. A room of one's own. And not a room with laundry waiting to be put away, or a two-year-old sleeping in your bed, or a five-year-old waiting for you to lie down with him. I love my children. But, I need a room of my own.

Summer is just about over. It is making my heart hurt. Today I thought about sending my son off to first grade and I worried that he might not know anyone. And my heart hurt. Yes. Hurt. I know, I know, use the pain, write a poem.

Can someone tell me when? When will the voices in my livingroom and my kitchen and my bathroom and my SUV STOP? OK. I will just wait for the space to breathe.

Maybe it is not my children (whom I really really love!), but my bad, too-short haircut that is sapping my muse. My pal Polkadot Witch just got a shorter hair cut and a new color and she feels empowered. Maybe I'm looking at this all wrong.

OK. I will rest with that thought. I'm looking at it all wrong. I'll sleep on it. In my messy bedroom. Unpacked suitcase, unpacked laundry, short hair and all.

I'll get back to you. With a poem. Promise. (I still have my assignments from the previous post!)