The Mommy Scribbles: The Thing about Time

Almost two years ago I yelled at my Mom for taking my son, Charles, to get his haircut. No one told me. I was working, and everyone thought he needed a haircut.

Tonight, I told Mom something different.

“Take Charles to get a haircut,” I said. “Please don’t chop it all off.”

When my husband and I took Charles to the beach this past weekend, his hair looked like one of the fraternity boys who grow their hair out long and comb it over when the wind blew.

Medical coverage for Charles switched the name of primary caregiver to John, since he took him to his last two appointments.

Guilt rushed over me when I told Mom to take him to get his hair cut and when I saw the name change. In the past four months, I’ve worked more hours. No more than most people work.

Many spent this weekend celebrating their mothers. John surprised Charles and me with a trip to Myrtle Beach. I could not help feeling guilt when I was once a stay-at-home mom.

Add to it I schedule in writing time. I’ll admit it has been harder lately due to cooking dinners, busy spring weekends, Charles, and Mom’s health. (You’ve probably noticed I’ve fallen off my blog schedule a time or two.)

What makes a Mom?

No single recipe.

The truth is their all very different recipes and formulas.

A writing mom is among her child or kids like me scribbling notes while my son yells, “Monster truck rally.”

What better influence for a story than a boy whose hair has grown too long and loves his trucks?

By Rebecca T. Dickinson

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