Sam's Nap

I'm not much of a blogger. Actually, I've never done this before, but here I am ready to spread my wisdom (or more than likely my faults) regarding mothering a huge brood. Yeah, huge. I have five children, my oldest is 16, my youngest is 5 months and then there's the ones in the middle.

Right now, I'm struggling to put Sam (age 2) to sleep for a nap. I've never been good at the nap thing. Ever. I mean, I kind of have this strategy of waiting until they fall down somewhere and then scooping them up for the bedroom. If they look particularly comfy, i.e. they're going to freak out if I touch them, I will sometimes spread a blanket over them.

My baby, Theo is in his crib. He fell asleep while I was trying to figure out how to set up this blasted blog. I'm really trying to get this platform thing down, but I'm not sure I understand it all.

Just the other day, I was reading an article in Poets & Writers that insisted that all writers must have a platform.

"Hey Drew," I said to my husband. I am aware that it is rude to start any conversation with "Hey", but I do it anyway and my kids do to. When you're outnumbered in the house, you choose your battles wisely.

My husband didn't even turn to me. He's not the "Hey" type. It's rude.

"Drew, what's a platform?"

"Something you put something on." He's not even looking at me. Even though I can't see him, I can tell. I'm talented like that. I can't see him because I haven't looked up from the magazine and I've got a baby hanging off of my breast that keeps popping off and on. And he's asleep. He's just refusing to let go. He's afraid he might starve to death if he doesn't eat twenty-four/seven. And the doctor says he's in the 95% percentile. Tell that to the baby.

"No, I mean, when a person has a platform."

"Like a politician?" I can hear his fingers clicking on the keyboard. He's looking at houses. He likes to view houses online. Sometimes, he likes to go look at them too.

"I guess, but this article says a writer needs to have a platform."

"Oh. I suppose that's like promoting yourself." Oh. I'm discouraged now. I keep reading the article, but it doesn't make any more sense to me.

Later that week, my Mom Writer's Literary Magazine arrived. Last night when I settled down to nurse Theo, I finally got to browse through it. I've been having a bad week in all areas of my life. Make that a bad month. I want to write and write and do nothing else, but it won't fit into my schedule. Drew wants to do art, but that's not working for him either. We decided we needed a bigger apartment and went hunting, wasting much the week on that adventure, only to learn that we couldn't afford anything more than what we have. I feel so frustrated regarding time, we decided that we needed to create a schedule and make sure every last detail of our life has a time slot. So far, it hasn't happened.

Once Theo was really eating and no longer goofing around the breast, I started reading the interview with Nancy Cleary. She has great tips for those of us who want to be published more regularly. She says all writers should have a platform! That word again. But, I love Nancy Cleary. Why? Because I want her to offer me a sweet publishing deal? Yeah, that would be nice, but mostly because she explains what this evasive platform is.

When Drew returned from putting Sam (age 2) to bed, I explained the entire platform thing to him. We cracked open a bottle of wine so we could sip and talk. I miss the days of staying up all night and really discussing things. In our limited time frame, we decided that we each have two years to get our art going and selling. In two years, Claudia (age 16) will be moving out and we'll be down to four. We hope to have a random adventure then. We'll throw out my CV and go wherever it lands.

Now, I'm sitting here figuring this blog thing out with Sam on my lap drawing a picture and slowly fracturing my wrist because he insists on lying over my arm and drawing next to the keyboard. I'm whispering ever so softly (okay kind of loud like a Bollywood singer), "Go to Sleep Sam, Go To Sleep. Lullaby, Hushaby, Go to Sleep Little Sam".

Finally, I look down and he's asleep. So of course, I hear a small whimper drifting downstairs. The source of the noise seems to be baby Theo. No two children under the age of three shall occupy the same sleep time as each other. Bolly Mama Rule #1

So, here I am blogging. Getting my name out.