I know all about distraction. Writers are always griping about it at conferences and on their writing blogs—about dusting behind headboards and vacuuming behind toilets and taking walks in heatwaves to buy lottery tickets and FBing, IMing, texting, checking email every 5 mintues, about gazing at People.com and clipping toenails and making popsicles and hanging out at Big Foot websites analyzing Big Foot photos and downloading bizarre Big Foot screams, instead of you-know-what. I distract my toddler all the time—from dropping rocks on his head by replacing them with stuffed animals, from sticking his fingers deep in the toaster by waving assorted colored pens and paper plates and whooping until he can’t help but follow me.  I do not use my toddler for distraction from my writing. This is impossible. However, I might get on a Big Foot kick while my son eats or is absorbed by “Nemo”—and feel horrible later—even more horrible and guilt-ridden and sullied if I peruse People.com, ever. Because at the end of the day, I want to feel as if I’m a good mother and a writer. This is the most challenging time of my life. I must be ever vigilant when it comes to mothering/parenting, writing and—and that other thing—oh yes, being a wife/partner. Vigilance.

My BB submission only needs printing out and placement in the manila envelope. I am about to read my Moth pieces aloud to myself again (timing is always everything). My son sleeps. My husband takes out his day on the exercise bike.

I can honestly say I have never been so happy.