What a day - back on writing schedule, but it's not gone well. I had about an hour and a half, and I was really disciplined at not looking at e-mails, nor checking out facebook. The baby didn't go to sleep as quickly as I hoped, and I watched the minutes ticking by, with me trying to catch hold of the thread of my story again. It seems to me that this is trickier with re-writing - I'm having to remember what has changed, and what I was hoping to alter, as well as writing brand-new sections.
After about half an hour, the baby fell silent, but I had itchy feet, so I had to go and make a cup of tea, which makes my world go round. Then I knuckled down to it. And discovered that there was a good reason I'd been procrastinating. That police officer I had tried so hard to leave out is causing me no end of hassle). I know I need him in, but I keep finding holes in what I know about police procedure. I feel fairly confident that the best thing to do for now is write, and then I'll know what research I need to do at a later date, but it's hard. I'm faltering, and uncertain, and I expect it's affecting what I write. I had no time to re-read today, but I didn't want to, either.
I managed to get a disjointed few paragraphs together in one extra section, and then typed as if the end were nigh for another section, finishing with a flourish. Enjoying the faint satisfaction that came from having at least Written, I glanced at the time, and realised with horror that I was meant to be picking the 4 year old up in less than five minutes. If it were just me, I could've made it, maybe, running the whole way. But there was the baby to wake, and then find a means of travel for (back carrier, buggy, car...) and to top it all off, I was meant to be taking the 4 year old to his swimming lesson (only his second ever), and had intended to pack a lunch for both boys to have at the pool.
Luckily, the baby woke like an angel, and even luckier, didn't smell as though anything unpleasant had erupted from anywhere in his nappy region. I ran around grabbing things that might be useful while the baby sat on the kitchen floor, a bit dazed, I think, then we raced out to the car. By now (and this is mightily impressive) I was only two minutes late for my little lad. I think 7 minutes to leave the house must be a record. I daren't try and park right by the playschool, as there's a competitive streak in some of the parents over who gets to park in the best spots, so I pulled up a little way off and sprinted down the track to the gate. The 1 year old bounced in my arms, crowing, certain that I was doing it all for his benefit. I got to the gate, sweaty, panting and having left all composure back in the car, only five minutes late.
And then I waited for five more minutes until the children came out, late, as usual. At least I had time to get my breath back.