trying to write a story

I finally found a moment to write.

Four sentences seemed to formulate themselves as I sat amidst a busy household of teenagers with homework.

The littles and middle-littles were sound asleep.

As I struggled with sentence number 5, distinctly aware of my insistent inclination to accentuate alliteration and overuse excessive, unnecessary adjectives; I heard Dennis walk through the door.

It was 11:00 p.m. He gave me a kiss and grabbed some supper, then disappeared to patrol the house, checking on everyone and everything, to see that all was in order.

Unfortunately, an ill placed plastic container of puzzles lay toppled in the toy cabinet down stairs.

For 40 minutes I fussed with figurative language, which grew so flowery, I was forced to delete it all.

I then realized Dennis was nowhere to be seen.

I found him downstairs in the middle of 10 puzzles and many card games trying diligently to make order.

He encouraged me to continue writing as he slowly sipped wine and studied mounds of unmatched puzzle pieces.

At midnight Mags yawned and slipped up to bed, bypassing a distraught Emmaus hollering for Daddy. His request led me to deposit him in Dennis' arms while I took over the mess.

Five minutes later with my sweet husband asleep, Emmaus crept down the stairs and into my arms and the mess appeared even more daunting.

Finally, back at the computer, with my main character on my lap, words began again to flow.

Emmaus, my exacting little boy, did not appreciate the story competing with him for my attention.

By 1:50 a.m. he finally fell asleep and I thought that I could work until 2.

Ten more minutes to write I thought, or edit, or delete since my original idea seemed lost in a sea of words.

"Maaaaaammmmaaaa", came Zion's raspy low voice from the top of the stairs, followed by a bewildered Salome' asking, why I wasn't in bed. Yes, why?

I am likely the most stubborn of the whole clan, so I carried the two down to the couch beside me, reticent to release my precious 9 remaining minutes.

After a hopeless time of fluffing couch pillows and finding blankets, both the 4 year-old and 2 year-old were vying for a spot on my lap.

I often feel as if I am corraling a litter of puppies and indeed if computers could laugh, this one would have been in hysterics.

The 9 minutes became 2 1/2 more hours of wrangling sleepless children. My unfinished story sadly sat in the draft section of my email.

I shuffled down the hall at 4:30 a.m. and grabbed whatever toothbrush I could find on my way to bed, just in time to hear Gabe's alarm.

"Good Morning Mom...what are you doing up?"

'Well", I answered sleepily, "I am trying to write a story."