I pulled this one out of one my old bags as I was sorting through my closet – scribbled on a wrinkled long-forgotten scrap 😂
The Muse, the Milk, and the Meltdown: Writing as a Mom of Young Kids
Some writers talk about chasing their muse through misty forests or charming coffee shops. I chase mine between diaper changes, lost socks, and a half-eaten granola bar in the minivan. Inspiration, for me, usually arrives at the worst possible moment—like when I’m digging through my purse to find a pen and instead pull out an ancient shredded diaper with gel- beads everywhere and approximately four sticky lollipops that have somehow fused into one super-candy.
But writers write, right? So I soldier on, mentally composing the opening line of my next masterpiece while simultaneously wiping milk off the floor and refereeing a debate over whose turn it is to use the “good” crayon (that’s apparently any crayon that isn’t broken – or – BLACK).
The great irony, of course, is that my best ideas come precisely when I can’t write them down—during bedtime stories, in the shower, or at 2 a.m. when I’m half-asleep next to a feverish toddler who has glued himself to my shoulder. That’s when sentences shimmer like miracles—brilliant, poetic, Pulitzer-worthy. And by morning? Gone. Vanished. All that remains is a foggy recollection that I might’ve written the next Little Women if only I hadn’t fallen asleep sitting up.
Every so often, though, lightning does strike. The miracle nap aligns with the caffeinated brain, and I actually get to write. I sit at my desk (a generous term for the corner of the dining table that’s only mostly crumb-free), grab my pen, and—bliss!—the words start to flow. That is, until someone yells for more milk, the dog knocks over the crayons again – and the ever important BLACK one rolls under the sofa, and my muse decides she’s clocking out.
Still, I keep coming back. Because tucked between the tantrums and the mess and the endless snack refilling, there’s something about writing that feels like mine. Even if I only manage two sentences a day—and one of them involves a typo because someone sneezed on the keyboard—it’s a small victory.
Mom-life writing isn’t neat or romantic. It’s typing with one hand – more often scribbling on scraps – while holding a popsicle in the other. It’s finding inspiration in the chaos, laughter in exhaustion, and grace in imperfection. Maybe I’ll never write that brilliant novel that came to me in the dark at 2 a.m.—but I’ll have one heck of a story to tell about trying.
Needless to say – I’ve written and published – it’s mostly for myself since marketing isn’t my thing. The best seller may never happen but I have discovered contentment. BTW, the child with the BLACK crayon continues to create bold art and the whole crayons are less of an issue 😜