Writing, With Children
If you ever want to experience true frustration, try sitting down to write with two small children
“Just give up already” the voice in my head whispered. To quote Frozen, “Let it go.” As a parent of two small children intimidation lies not on the blank page but in the prospect of freeing two hands and enough time to wield them. The luxury of being able to devote two, let alone sixty, minutes to sustained effort that doesn’t involve the daily upkeep of life makes writing unattainable most days. Never have the shortcomings of technology been as apparent as when trying to write an essay using the voice dictation feature on your phone.
Each piece is a victory, however small and seemingly inconsequential. There is no time to second guess, or worry about the topic you chose. It’s a race to get the words on the page before the baby wakes up, or with enough time to pack the lunch before you head to bed having stayed up too late — again.
As I lay on the couch, reclined in the most awkward of positions so as not to disturb the sick infant draped peculiarly, but just so, across my arm, I think of Rilke. I remember his voice as it spoke to me in what seems like a different life: “This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write?”
Yes. I must. I did. I do.
