Here is part of my guest post this week over at Motherlogue.
Saturday afternoon. I hear my sons squabbling downstairs. I rise from my desk, where I am writing, close my office door and sit back down, pick up my writing again.
Ten years ago, maybe even two years ago, I would have stopped, headed downstairs, refereed. Gotten thrown off my writing game, maybe not returned to the page for a few hours, a few days.
But the boys are 19 and 15 now and the older one was home from college for a short weekend. The squabbling was more balm than burr, at least to me, and I suspect, to both of them too. While I wanted to soak up precious hours with my college freshman, so did his brother and his father....
That was then.
This is now: No one bothers me. All the years of reminders (
My writing grew up too...) — worked. Plus of course, the boys simply grew.
So here’s what I’ve learned...
The rest looks at how my writing grew up alongside my sons, who are now 19 and 15, what's changed about writing and mothering, and how I feel about it all. You can read the whole post here.