This morning I made myself a cup of Yunnan Fancy and looked out over the backyard, lost in a fantasy. Surprisingly, this did not involve Colin Firth. No, instead I was thinking hard about my true desire~ a place to sit and write without interruptions, vagrant string cheese wrappers or anything remotely related to family life. A place all to myself, with just enough room for a laptop, a pad of paper, some space to shuffle through old work and some good light. And of course, a little nook for a cup of tea.
Virginia Woolf wrote that women should have a room of one's own in which to work. I'm leaning toward the idea that one day I'll be able to replace the sandbox with a wee writing shed. Of course, it helps to be of leprechaun proportions, and I fit the bill, at least in the up-and-down category. I've been seeing some great prefab sheds and add to that, I have friends who are in the carpentry and restoration business. I would employ them to restore my sanity by building a backyard haven for one, complete with a couple reclaimed stained glass windows and good insulation.
This is the fantasy of so many mothers, isn't it? The desire for our kids to be just a little something other than who they are in this very minute. If I peer into my crystal ball, I can see a future in which my son will need me far less. In fact, he may become one of Those Teenage Boys whose mothers are tempted to award allowance for every sentence of clear, honest thought spoken. Forget rewarding the housework and washed car and mowed lawn-- these Mamas just want that tender closeness back.
I try hard not to get too far ahead of myself, and I thoroughly enjoy "snuggin' my baby", as we call it in our house. Kiddo's no longer a baby, but he loves closeness and laps and being held. He craves MamaTime, as many of our children do, and most of the time I am very content--even grateful--that he hasn't pushed too far away yet. But some days I have visions of him sitting down to read a book or work on a project and being interested in his own pursuits, sans Mama. I have delicious (yes, even more delish than Mr. Firth) fantasies in which I can putter through the house, sit and drink my tea, write for a couple hours, or read a book--all in peace.
For the moment, I have a lovely young woman babysitting Kiddo upstairs. She's only here for another 90 minutes or so, so I'd best get upstairs, gather up a snack and retire to the attic bedroom with my Elinor Lipman novel and some quiet. So, if there are any guys out there reading this, here's the message: if you want to get your lady something super hot, forget the adult movies and lingerie--get her some space to herself, so that she might work on things which are fulfilling to her. Me? I've got years ahead of dreaming about my writing shed. I'm going to enjoy them while I can.