The twins turn 3 this week and I can hardly believe it. They were little tiny explorers, all gums and chubby cheeks a second ago, weren’t they? 

They just started preschool, where an amazing army of trained educators will help them grow and I am so excited for them. And for me. Because I get to write again. 

I love being a mother, and creating memories for my family in the daily rhythms of life. It is a lot of work, and the wisest women I know all have found creative outlets that fill up their well so that can turn around and give to their families. This was such a hard aspect of the pandemic: so many ways to fill our wells and our kids wells were cut off. We couldn’t go to the gym, have playdates and mom get togethers, and just go to a coffee shop to be alone and work.

But some opportunities did show up. People started making slow intentional meals, reading, baking or doing more art. Time spent in nature seemed to be the universal cure for everyone. And the time spent with our kids was unhurried, slower paced, and definitely more fulfilling then the mad dash of regular life.

So it sounds strange that I actually started to have time to write when the pandemic hit. My older kids were independent for school, the faces and voices of their friends ever present on screens, but my first grader Andrew needed my help. While I didn’t set the curriculum, or send the roughly 342 emails I got each day from the school, I did set the rhythm of our days and learning, and it wasn’t all wailing and gnashing of teeth. My son was just a delight to work with and also takes ADHD medication which are quite possibly correlated facts, so in some ways it’s not fair to compare my experience to others, helped as we were by pharmaceuticals. Then again, not everyone had to do remote learning with two year old twin boys. When we weren’t keeping the crayons on lock down (though they still found them and covered approximately 30% of our furniture in crayon) we got to go where the spirit led us each day, researching outer space and ocean depths and the life of a bald eagle. He was so sweet to work with, smiling and happy and eager to learn. When writing prompts got boring, we switched to writing books on subjects he chose, which was so fun for both of us. I think it was day two of remote learning when his teacher talked about plot arc and I was like “that’s it, I have got to write this novel in my head down.” When the twins went down for a nap, everyone got free time and I could write. 

My writing pace was strong from March until August, when summer vacation and time at the lake beckoned, and I took time to read other things and think about the book from afar. Surely when school started I would resume my writing pace. 

But September showed me why it has been so hard to write with twins before the pandemic. There was no one else to entertain them, I was the only show in town, and so our mornings were spent on long walks or running errands or playing in the back yard. The second they are down for a nap, which during quarantine was my time to write, my older kids get off the bus, with their funny stories and pressing needs. Very little writing can happen during the post school window. 

A lot of people ask me how I wrote my last novel with four kids. The answer is preschool. And now we are back in those days, and my itching fingers and mind are breathing a sigh of relief. There is something about the rhythms of drop off, coming back to a quiet house, the same cozy cardigan, and a cup of tea that lets me write my heart out. A run or a walk, a shower, and at pick up time I am a new girl, with my well all filled up, and with 1,000-3,000 new words on the page.

And (fingers crossed, an up-tick in a certain virus notwithstanding) I get to begin this rhythm this week. Today was an epic writing day and I spent 40 minutes outside running. It feels like it has been years since I had this kind of morning because, oh wait, it has been.

I think every mom figures out soon enough that they need a creative outlet. I usually appease this need with food blogging, which is creative and beautiful and has the added bonus of checking dinner off my list, and makes for the ultimate mom multi-tasking creative gig. But I feel called to write, and though it was abundantly clear that I didn’t have time in certain seasons, now that our seasons have changed it is such a joy to embark on this new chapter. (Of course, we might go back to remote learning and it could change! Again! But holding on to the fact that I’ll still have nap time.)

Like so many other mothers, my goal is to create a beautiful life for my family. There are many seasons where that looks like sacrifice of our wants and desires, and too often our modern world disdains this part of a mother’s job. But they are just seasons, and those seasons are always planting seeds for the future, and bear the most beautiful fruit. Then the harvest comes – kids go off to preschool or middle school or college. And we can tend to other beautiful things like stories or art or businesses. We can be called in so many different ways, and usually God talks to us in our needs or the needs of our families. It’s good to listen and pay attention to what is right in front of us, to hear what he is trying to say. If we do, we will always find purpose and joy, whether we are changing diapers or structuring plots or setting up an Etsy shop.

For now, I’m rejoicing in how far we’ve come, and for these new chapters we get to write. I’m excited for my boys to grow, and for the rest of us to grow too.