West and I just got back from visiting my family down south—a Thanksgiving make-up. West bonded with his Pops, played with his cousin Mina, opened early Christmas gifts from his Auntie Lis (my good friend), and got re-acquainted with his great-grandma Mimi.
In the past I relished the four hour car drive to and from my parents. It was a time for me to worship the Lord to some Chris Tomlin and David Crowder. It was a time for me to stretch my vocal chords to Taylor Swift and Adele. And most importantly, it was a time for me to get lost in my imagination as I brainstormed ideas for my writing, and Sherlock Academy.
That was all before my little doodle came along.
Now I spend the four hour car ride passing the Elmo toy and the tractor book back to Westly. I point out the big semi trucks and wave like an idiot at them as we pass by. I try to explain to this 19 month old boy that we’re going to Pops and Grammy’s house, and we’ll be there soon. I brainstorm ideas of how to keep Westly entertained, and try to ward off a complete meltdown.
There are stretches of the journey when Westly quietly zones out with his paci—ten or fifteen minutes here and there. During those few miles I try to switch from Mommy-mode to Writer-mode, and plot out a few moments for my Book 5. But it’s really hard.
I barely start a dialogue in my head between Rollie and his friend Cecily, when another voice cuts in…
I pass the sippy cup to the back seat.