We all have interesting (and maybe tainted) recollections of what our mothers were like when we were kids. And this has given me a new fear: What are my kids going to say I did when they were little?
Are they going to remember the home-cooked meals and homework help? Are they going to remember story time and snuggles? Or are they going to remember the hours I stood at the counter with my laptop writing stories?
I honestly hope they remember both -- that I was a mom who loved and adored them, but also worked hard at my own personal goals.
And speaking of goals, I have two new ones:
- When it's time to leave my made up world, I need to be 100 percent present in the real one. My kids can tell the difference when I'm really paying attention versus rewriting/plotting in my head. They know when I'm not truly engaged. This is something I really want to work on.
- Everything I write has to mean something. I was proud of my mom. She worked hard and was awesome at what she did. In a few years, I want my kids to read my stories (even the unpublished ones) and be proud of the things I created.