Writing in Ma Moore's Boarding House

I'm at the stage of life where the kids are old enough to have their own, self-managed schedules. This is great in some ways, but between their schedules and my sports-playing, choir-singing husband's, I feel like I'm living -- and trying to write -- in a boarding house. People are coming and going all the time, except for me.

Unfortunately, I'm the sort of person who really works best in silence. No radio, no music, no TV. Glorious, peaceful silence. That's one reason I never lived in residence at university. I think I would have wound up running down the hall screaming for silence -- not exactly something guaranteed to make one popular on campus. Nor can I write in a library, silent though it may be. You see, they don't let you take a cup of tea into the library. Understandable, of course, but I like my tea.

However, as frustrating at this state may be, I realize that one day and not too long from now, the kids won't be living at home anymore, and I'll have all the silence I want. So I'm going with the flow. If I can write, I write. If I can't, I don't sweat it.