Tango Bravo Hotel

Just In Case

This is really hard. Or…I’m really making this really difficult on myself.  Or there is a cosmic conspiracy to prevent me from writing today.

And by cosmic, I mean teenage.

It’s Friday. My kids are home from school. Again. This time for a teacher in-service day. That’s the second 3-day weekend in three weeks for those of you who are keeping count. I’m not sure what type of real-world work schedule this is preparing them for, but what do I know? Goodness knows their teachers need time to plan and organize their thoughts too and if they had to do it with a whole bunch of teenagers around they would fail because I have only two teenagers and they are a constant distraction.

I still don’t get how my favorite writers…the ones I know work from home…do this day in and day out. I mean, are they spiking the morning juice with Benedryl? Do they have a better office than their kitchen table? Are they using sound-blocking headphones? Do they just scream at people a lot? I really want to know their secret. I need to know.

Once again, my muse showed up out of sorts today. She wasn't angry this time, but definitely discombobulated. Of course it was 6:45 in the morning and who the hell isn’t discombobulated then? I knew if I wanted to write uninterrupted today, that would mean doing so immediately following my run. So, what I imagine must have happened is that my muse, knowing it would be an early day, laid out all of her inspiration at the foot of her bed last night so she could just grab it as she headed out the door at the crack of ass. But when the alarm went off, she was startled and confused. So instead, she bolted out of bed, enveloped all her shit in her arms, and ran like a crazy woman to my house before she was fully awake. Upon her arrival, she dumped her giant clump of unfolded, knotted-up inspiration in my lap. Normally she hands me individual pieces on hangers or on really good days I get a whole ensemble complete with shoes and accessories.This morning she was all "Here ya go," then she curled up in the fetal position and passed out on my kitchen table.

I ended up with all of these thoughts about power (not energy power, but the kind one might have over someone or something) just swirling around in my head and I was going to write about it, but it was all just too much and none of it seemed to gel. I had about 3000 words with no end in sight. There was nothing to edit or organize...just idea overload. Then before I could finish getting everything down or make sense of what I already had, everyone in the house converged on my space. The writing bubble popped and I gave up.

Several hours later, I’ve just returned to my laptop to try again because everyone seemed to be occupied. And, I kid you not, like moths to a flame, everyone converges again. Talking, singing, turning up the TV, wanting hugs and kisses. Teenagers wanting…needing hugs and kisses right that very moment. This never happens. I asked if they were ok. Like, do we need to go to the hospital?

It’s wrong to complain and it would have been really wrong to reject this affection from my beloved offspring and I absolutely did NOT reject it. But I kept thinking…

Whisky Tango Foxtrot.

I don’t interrupt your homework time with demands for immediate affection. The only reason I would do that is if there was a meteor headed for the earth. That’s when it’s appropriate to demand instant affection from a person who is clearly in thinking/creating/producing mode. It’s not like I wasn’t sitting over in a chair playing Candy Crush 30 minutes ago. You want a hug then, you can absolutely demand it. Hugs are always more important than Candy Crush. And where were you when I was upstairs (when we were all supposed to be upstairs) cleaning out the guest room/junk yard for 2 hours? There was not one interruption demanding a hug as I focused on that task and let me tell you I would have welcomed it. As a matter of fact, I had to summon you both on at least 5 different occasions just to come hold a trash bag for me. No one seemed too interested in popping my decluttering bubble.

Whisky Tango Foxtrot.

And what’s with all the questions about things that aren’t happening until next month? Or in 3 months? Where is this sense of urgency coming from? Can you maybe just wait 30 minutes before you take my computer upstairs to work on your Christmas list? I’m thinking it’s not so urgent since it’s still summer. And didn’t I just throw away at least a dozen oh-my-gosh-I-have-to-have-this-or-I’ll-die Christmas gifts from previous years while I was upstairs cleaning?

Whisky Tango Foxtrot.

I really struggle with some of the advice that child-rearing experts give in parenting magazines and on blogs. You want to know why I struggle with it? Because I can’t figure out how they got it written at all!

If they have kids, when/where/how in the hell were they able to put thoughts on paper? Were they locked in a closet somewhere? I really want to know.

As far as the advice I struggle with most, though, it's this idea that you should give a teenager your undivided attention on their terms. The idea is that you’re supposed to be flexible and when they need you it’s best to just drop what you’re doing and give them some face time. They appeal to our parental sense of guilt by pointing out that we get fewer than 1000 Saturdays with our children before they go off to college and once they’re gone we will wish we had given them more of our time.

That is a load of crap. Teenagers don’t always know what’s important or when it's relevant. They place equal significance on the quest for world peace and their wardrobe choices for the Homecoming dance. Whichever lobe discerns urgency…theirs just isn’t fully-developed yet. And anyway, today is Friday not Saturday. Can I ignore them today? Or least ignore the stuff that is complete garbage? I promise I’ll make tomorrow special. I’ll sit and stare at them for a solid hour tonight if I can just have 60 consecutive minutes today.

And as it turns out, only 30 were necessary because after their father took them both to swim practice, I churned this thing out like a champ. I’m done and they could have had me much earlier if it hadn’t been for all the interruptions to determine how we will spend each of the remaining holidays in 2015.

Sierra Mike Hotel