Photo by Thomas Tolkien
The beginning of summer is like New Year’s Day for me—an opportunity to set goals. I had a lofty writing goal this summer: Finish my current work-in-progress, a contemporary romance, or some may say, actually write it, since I was only at 20,000 words. No problemo. I had the entire summer ahead of me…
Three glorious uninterrupted months of my creative muse spoon-feeding me chocolate mousse and rubbing my tired shoulders whenever I became stuck. I had the days to sleep in late in order to “replenish the well,” and the nights to dress in my most luxurious dry clean only lingerie, while tapping away at the keyboard, listening to sultry jazz in the background, a glass of chilled Riesling by my side.
I’m a single mother of a ten-year-old boy. We have a diva Chihuahua, three cats, and two parakeets. And an invisible sign tacked up on our front door that says: “All kids welcome.”
Here’s an example of a typical day:
“Mom, wake up, the dog pooped in my room again.”
I stagger out of bed in my boxer shorts and ratty T-shirt to clean up said mess. The cats swarm around me, demanding to eat. No sooner are the cats fed when one promptly throws up on the carpet, not the floor right next to the carpet.
“Can you help me clean this up?” I shout to my son, who’s in his room playing video games.
“What? I can’t hear you, Mom, my game’s too loud!”
Next-door neighbor kid walks in my front door without knocking. “Morning.” Diva Chihuahua begins to bark furiously despite seeing this same kid every day.
“Can you make me breakfast, Mom?”
“Will you please help me—?”
“Can’t hear you, Mom, the birds are squawking too loud!”
A knock at the door. It’s another one of my son’s friends. Diva Chihuahua growls, spies one of our cats making a beeline out the front door, and takes off after her.
After rounding up the Diva and making breakfast for everyone, I eat whatever scraps my son has left on his plate, clean up the kitchen, throw in a load of laundry, grab a second cup of coffee (or third, or fourth), and finally sit down at my computer to write. It’s almost noon. I have a sex scene on the agenda.
My office is the dining room, without any doors. “All right,” I tell myself, “time to get in the mood. Think sexy thoughts.”
I start to type…
His fingers caressed the inside of her bare thigh—
“Mom, I’m hungry!”
—slowly creeping up to discover she—
“Mom, what are you going to make me?”
—wasn’t wearing any underwear. Her smile gave him—
“Mom, can you make a sandwich for my two friends also?”
—permission to venture further. But first he planned to slowly undress her and—
“Mom, come on! What are you doing?”
—carry her to the bed where he’d—
“Mom, we’re hungry. Come on!”
Heavy sigh. —just fuck her without any foreplay. The End.
Multiply this day times June, July, and August, and you have my summer.