Zombie Children

I'm up late. But at least I'm up late because I've been writing, and not because I've been skulking aimlessly on the interwebs, which I have a tendency to do when I'm tired and mush-brained. (Hopefully the tired-and-mush-brained-ness didn't result in tired and mushy poetry. We'll see tomorrow, when I wake up and reread tonight's work.)

I haven't had a chance to write much this week -- both of my children have had colds, probably some distant cousin of the plague I had earlier in the month. The youngest (the boy) insisted that he was too ill to go to school on Monday, and so I let him stay home and I did what I could in between multiple trips to the kitchen for snacks (apparently the plague didn't affect his appetite) and playing puzzles and turning on the TV for 10 minute intervals of Wonder Pets or Jake and the Neverland Pirates or whatever nonsense attracted his attention before he decided he was hungry again.

Then Tuesday morning the girl woke up sounding congested and looking scarily zombie-like, so I let her stay home with her brother. By noon both of them were running hysterically around the living room tackling each other and I considered crawling into the cupboard with all of our Tupperware while they demolished the house, which it was quite evident they intended to do. In between being a referee for their multiple role-playing games that inevitably ended in someone being bit, stepped on, smacked, or used as a human catapult, I managed to do a little work for the upcoming SCCC Creative Writing Festival . . . but there really wasn't enough quiet time in the house to hear myself think, let alone write poetry.

So jump to today. The kids woke up congested, but of course I sent them to school! If you're well enough to reduce Mommy to tears, you're well enough to go to school, where you can reduce your underpaid and overtaxed teacher to tears. Wednesday was, however, a Wednesday filled with appointments -- which would have been fine, had I written much during the first two days of the week -- and therefore I would consider it generally unproductive . . . had I not just written a poem at ten o'clock at night!

I'm pretty proud of myself right now, but I may be fantastically underwhelmed when I read it tomorrow. Here's hoping it's a work of genius . . . or at least salvageable.

Then I got the sudden urge to write on this blog, to record some of the chaos of the past few days. Everyone tells me I'm going to miss these days, and it's probably true, because when my children aren't being downright terrible they're being downright adorable . . . but it will be nice when I can finally speak to a friend on the phone without mass hysteria in the background, or without a small voice interrupting every other word to tell me he wants a banana/to go potty/a drink or that he doesn't like his sister/the TV show I just turned on for him/the dog/me.

It will be nice, too, when I finally finish this fairy tale. I have completed two poems for that series this week, though, so I suppose that's something. With luck, chicken soup, and some serious disinfectant for the house, everyone will be well in a day or two, I'll survive the holidays relatively unscathed, and the fairy tale will be finished early in the new year, followed shortly by the completion of the full-length collection.

That will be an awesome way to begin 2012, and I'm kinda looking forward to it. I feel like I might be ready to begin work on my play. (Only four months late! Woohoo!)

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