After Page One: Balance

A guest post to motivate, encourage and inspire…

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I’m a little stressed. I’m trying hard not to be, but I am. I’m high on coffee. Cup after cup all morning just to, well, get through the morning. I’ve got two kids that don’t sleep and a boat-load of work to do for my Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Nonfiction program. Plus a heap of freelance articles to write, invoices to send off . . . and oh – did I remember to check whether I was actually paid?

“Boys!” I yell from my room. I can hear them bickering downstairs. I just need a few more minutes to finish off my book report and then I can pay attention to them. My hands are shaking from a caffeine overdose. My heart is beating way faster than it should. I’m trying to type and concentrate and get an A and respond to emails and suddenly my phone rings and now my kids are in my bathroom doing who knows what.

“Boys!” I scream, this time louder and more agitated. “I said stop it!”

“I hate when you use that voice,” my six-year-old tells me. I hate it too, but can feel myself losing control. I push my chair back and go survey the damage in my bathroom. I hope it’s a huge mess; I’m aching to yell some more.

“Oh my god! What have you done in here!” It’s not a question. In the span of two minutes, my tampons have been stuffed into the toilet, wet and unusable, bubbly soap has been pumped into the sink I cleaned the day before and my newly washed robe, hanging from its hook, is smeared with toothpaste.

“I’ve told you a million times. My bath robe is not a towel. Soap should be just one pump, not 1000, and do not throw anything in my toilet!”

I see them exchange smirks and I want to smack them. Not hard. Just on the bum. Just to teach them a lesson. But I wouldn’t. No, that would be crazy. Instead, I start fishing soggy tampons out of the toilet. I throw my robe into the laundry hamper and I leave the soapy sink the way it is. I breathe in. I breathe out. I try to think. Yes, I have a lot on my plate. I want to do well on my book report and succeed in school. I want to respond to my emails and pick up my calls and check on my invoices. And I have two children. Two beautiful boys who need my attention. Badly, it seems.

I close my computer. Turn off my phone. Turn to my kids.

“Boys, come here.” I’m about to give them another talk about the importance of school and how I hope they will be proud of me and how sometimes Mommy needs to work. I open my mouth to speak.

“Who wants to play baseball,” I say instead.

“I do!” they cheer in unison.

One day, I know, I will write about this scene.

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Join our After Page One series. We’re looking for 300 to 500-word guest posts that motivate, inspire, and encourage other mama-writers, and we’d love to feature YOUR thoughts about getting started, getting back to a writing project, integrating writing with motherhood, reading, or having a positive attitude. The list is endless, but here are some questions that might help you get started. We’ll publish a short bio so readers can learn more about you and your projects.