I'm supposed to be working on my manuscript today.
You can obviously see how well that is going.
So far, on my one full day per week to write, I have had to: finish hemming my daughter's skirt for her concert tomorrow (after a 10 minute search for where the kitten had batted the spool of thread I was using), narrow down speech meet choices for my son from 50 poems to three, pick up after the morning tornado, finish my homework for group tonight, email my daughter's math teacher about her grade, and make my to-do list for the rest of the day. It includes: working out so I don't gain even MORE weight, ironing my daughter's outfit for the concert, helping Buddy pick one of the three poems, making stops at Kohl's, Walgreen's, and Kroger, talking to my daughter about breaking the garbage can lid in a fit of anger (without having a fit of anger myself), supervising my darling children as they empty and re-load the dishwasher, getting a shower, and reviewing my materials for group tonight.
Ah, motherhood.
Who the heck signed me up for this?
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