Things that interfere with writing the next great American novel:

#1. FLIES!

I’m not kidding.

My daughter Chloe (who just turned four) is terrified of flies. She doesn’t understand the correlation between leaving the screen on our deck door open and our having flies in the house.  I have spent a great deal of my time trying to explain this concept and have attempted to combat her hysteria by racing around my house like a crazy woman, trying to smoosh them with paper towels.  I think it’s time to invest in a fly swatter or two.  I’m sure she’d enjoy chasing the unsuspecting intruders with a swatter when not ducking in fear from their buzzing kissing.  Poor baby!

But I love my little girl.

She’s worth every squeal.  Every terrified shriek.  Every demanding tirade.

Especially when I overhear her reassuring our puppy Lily, not to worry, that Mommy will squish them all.

I am invincible and all-powerful.

Well, maybe not.  But  I’ll cherish the misguided belief for as long as it lasts.

And save my writing for another day.