Uninspiration

The minute I committed to writing and posting at least once a week, my brain's inspiration went on hiatus. Every morning I resolve to start fresh,  and then there's the baby up in his bedroom serenading me, calling me to come and rescue him from his tower. The dog baby paws at my laptop and runs up the stairs to retrieve her charge. The Boy wanders down, stares at me vacantly, dish-blond hair at attention. Husband calls from the bedroom requesting a cup of coffee in bed. Big girls are up, wandering around the kitchen, asking for food. That's it.  Breakfast must be had, children dressed, a day planned.
 How do other writers do it? By the time I have carved out a little piece of my day to exercise my brain, all I want to do is sleep. It doesn't help that I'm nursing a toddler who thinks I'm a giant teething ring. And yet I keep starting posts and not posting them, sketching out pieces of chapters and walking away for weeks on end.  Today I'm blogging instead of sleeping, sending it out there all imperfect, just to set the wheels back in motion. My love of words compels me.  When I sit down with God at the end of my life, I want to remember what happened and have some good stories to tell him. (Thank you Donald Miller)