But I'm not.
My lair has been infested by three lovable heathens with a penchant for reading over my shoulder. A few years ago that was fine, because they couldn't read, but now that they can? About the only thing I can write is recipes for cupcakes.
I can think of few things more dull than transcribing cupcake recipes so I'm not writing. Well, I am, but it's stuff like this- Dull stuff that I don't have to worry about the kids seeing ("Moooooom! what's a Kinkyverse? Why are you blogging? Can I read it? Why not? I'm hungry!")
Parenthood has it's joys, but this certainly isn't one of them.
Do you know how I'm managing to write without them prying? I'm hiding in the bathroom. We have two so I can totally fib a bit and tell them that last night's pizza is taking its sweet time exiting the arena while not worrying that they're going to get desperate and poop in the kitchen sink or something.
I miss them being illiterate.
Though I suspect that once their dad gets back in town (He's on a business trip) I'm going to have one heck of a blog about parenthood and the Kinkyverse to write... I think they're becoming suspicious. Or they're plotting. I can hear whispers. Sheesh. I don't remember tormenting my parents like this.
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