I’m a stay-at-home mom. You probably know the type. The hurry up it’s time for school, here’s your lunch, make sure to eat your carrots, did you get your homework, I love you love you type. The type with the helicopter blades whirling, the endless to-do list that is nearly as long as the list of worries: are you hot, are you hungry, that was only eighteen minutes of reading, you’re supposed to do twenty. That type.
But there’s this other part of me.
It comes out when the little feet have descended the steps and entered the school doors.
In the sudden silence of the house, I prance over to the silver-toned laptop, tip-toes on the wood floor, and sit myself in front of the computer. Fingers steepled beneath my chin, a soft cackle emerges from my lips. Energy builds inside my mind, the place where the words start lining up like toy soldiers ready to engage, and I smile at the white blank page.
It’s writing time.
You know me now. The secret I keep.
It’s taken me years to let the secret out, but here it is: I’m a…ahem…(some clearing of throat, a possible cough or two, add a downward glance)…ahem…a writer.
Oh no, did I just say that out loud?