Write, Right?

The last few times I’ve attempted to write something, anything, I’ve had help.

Inexplicably, every time I sit in the chair in front of my computer, I almost immediately have a visitor. A curious, attentive, too-smart child who is fascinated by every keystroke. It’s almost like there’s a little alarm in the chair that flashes lights all over the rest of the house, signaling that I have started to relax.

Son: What are you doing?

Me: Trying to write.

Son: About what?

Me: Well, I just had an idea but it’s not really all worked out yet. Sometimes I just type until it comes together.

Son: (bewildered face) That’s weird.

Me: (now with complete writer’s block) I know. Have you had your bath?

Son: Yep.

Me: Brushed teeth?

Son: Uh-huh.

Me: (typing a few lame sentences) Is your homework finished?

Son: (sigh) Hours ago. (reads what I've written, out loud) That doesn’t make sense.

Me:  Right. (typing more) Aren’t you thirsty?

Son: I just drank a whole bunch of water. (burps to prove it, then reads more aloud) You made a typo.

Me: (a teeny bit annoyed) I’ll fix that. Thanks.

Son: (giggling as I make the same typo again) Can we look at Pinterest now?

Me: Well, I was trying to write something. (I consider suggesting that he give it a try, then decide against it -- I'm not in the mood to know if a 10-year-old is better than I am at this.)

Son: Puh-leese? It will just take a minute. I want to see how many “likes” I got on my board.

Me: I don’t think Pinterest works like that. Sometimes people pin your pins, but mostly it’s for you to keep track of stuff you like.

Son: (clearly disappointed) Oh. Can we look at your facebook then?

Me: Oh my, what time is it? Maybe I should tuck you in?

Son: Can I get a membership to Roblox? Or maybe a cell phone?

Me: (slightly exasperated, wondering how I thought I’d ever write a couple of decent paragraphs) Not tonight. Hey look, it’s nearly 8:30. We should go upstairs.

Son: Why do you get to play on the computer whenever you want?

Me: Well, because I'm a grownup and -- believe it or not -- I'm not always playing.

Son: Not. I’m hungry. Do we have any ice cream?

Me: Oh, no, you’re going to sleep now. You can eat breakfast first thing in the morning. But not ice cream.

Son: No fair. (repeating sentences he read, now from memory and in what sounds to me like a mocking tone) Still doesn’t make sense.

Me: (sarcastically) Thank you for critiquing my work.

Son: (brightly) Hey, can we order some stuff?

Me: (slowly closing laptop) No, not right now…