When I took over the play/guest room last year, I thought I had it made. Finally I had a room of my own. Oh the writing I was going to get done in my office. I figured I'd be on my fifth novel by now. Hah! The moment I step inside the RED ALERT button flashes signaling all offspring to initiate attack maneuvers.
"Mommy!!" It begins.
The rule: If the door is closed do not disturb me unless there is blood. What do my clever brood do to get around the rule? They open the door. Nothing says welcome like an open door. And the battle for my sanctuary is fought. Lately, I've given up and wander like a nomad through the house with my laptop searching for some spot where I can be left alone. My office has quickly turned into a repository of papers and debris (in other words junk).
But this must end. I need a place to write. I'm reclaiming my office. This will mean waging war against tricky adversaries intent on separating me from my keyboard. I wonder if our town zones for a moat. It's either that or huddle with my computer under the stairs typing out my story a word-a-day. Oh the challenges of life with children. Who knows, maybe I'll turn into the MacGyver of writers.