In light of the conflict between my two (highly lucrative) careers of writing and motherhood; my extra sexy husband purchased me a
netbook so my writing can be more portable. My new toy is pink, small enough to fit in my diaper bag, and supposedly lasts ten hours on battery power. I took it to Little Goobers today, and read all my writers' group files while the offspring were somewhat occupied. Of course I had to race both children down the slide twice, rescue Jadzia from the treefort, serve snacks and lunch, extract my daughter from the exersaucer, and do up William's pants after a trip to the washroom. I never did get to my own writing, so time will tell if this little machine will solve all my problems. Now all I need is an agent, a publisher, a maid, and a nanny.
