So I’m writing this column at home.
Between one thing and another today (including the office chili cook-off), I found myself running out the door 20 minutes later than usual … although everything was done or at least where I wanted it to be by Wednesday afternoon. Except for my column.
OK. No problem. I can write at home. Once dinner is done and my children are playing happily, I should be able to carve out a bit of time. I think.
The problem: I don’t own a laptop. And the computer is in a room that is relatively toy-free. Keeping the boys in there with me is a recipe for disaster. So I’ll have to be sneaky about this.
After dinner, leaving them to play, I tip-toe to the computer room, open a file and start considering what to write about.
What had crossed my desk today? The Kenmore Village Improvement Society continues trying to bring a Trader Joe’s to the area. (My brother, Mr. NYC, raves about Trader Joe’s. I have only envy for this.) Pizza Fest looks like it was a hit. (Although Scumdog pizza? Really?) And the second Buffalo Soup Fest planned for this weekend looks like an interesting addition to the usual round of Western New York food festivals.
Something about Western New York community and Western New York food and the relationship between the two in the Tonawanda area (and the newsroom) is percolating through my head. I lift my hands to the keyboard and type a few words.
And my 3-year-old pushes open the door with a resounding crash.
“What’s shakin’, Mommy?” (Really. Where did he pick that one up? Never mind. I don’t want to know.)
“I’m writing, honey.”
He peers at the computer screen, then grins. “That’s an ‘S!’ ”
Identifying the letters is not enough for a preschooler proud of his alphabet knowledge. He has to poke at the keyboard. A minute later, he has a parental escort back to his toy trains and the distraction of his older brother.
All is silent. I type a few more sentences.
Then I hear the tell-tale beep-beep of my cell phone’s buttons being pushed.
My eldest is trying to call his grandparents. I promise a phone call later, when I can supervise (and keep him from dialing China), then ply him with a book and retreat to the computer.
Then I hear the faucet turn on. “Moooommmmyyyy. I thirsty!”
Drinks of water need to be supervised around here, lest they wind up as puddles on the (relatively new) carpet. I do so. I watch them start playing again. I hasten back to the computer.
I get as much as five minutes straight this time. Maybe, just maybe, this will start to come together …
“CRASH!”
My 3-year-old yells, “Uh-oh!” My 7-year-old starts wailing.
I’m back out there before you can say, “Bad mommy!”
Upshot: Everything’s fine. Far as I can tell, they were taking advantage of my absence to use the couch as a trampoline. And one of them missed. (Or was helped to miss. The 3-year-old looked awfully guilty.)
I make sure no damage is done. I wipe all the tears. I replace the couch cushions. I put in a DVD as a bit of bribery and I sneak back to the computer.
And I write this.
Jill Keppeler is a writer for the Tonawanda News. She can be reached at jill.keppeler@tonawanda-news.com.
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