I was at a new crossroads. I had worked on a piece of writing for about 8 weeks from the idea to the editing. It is a mere 500 words, but anyone who writes knows that what even 500 words can do to a brain. I mapped it out, planned, and marinated on it from the end of January, through all of February, and into March. I passed the first week, then the second, and decided, “lets do this.” I polished.

I went back to the website to find that in the last couple of weeks, the editorial calendar had been filled, the open submission session closed, but I could try back in June. Bummer. I really didn’t know what emotion to expect next. My, how anti-climatic. Surprisingly, I was actually pretty cool about it – after I took inventory of how I had spent my time the last few weeks. What was I doing with myself if I was not double checking whether the submission timeline had changed?

A couple of fun trips to the library, a memorable mother daughter trip to the ballet, and celebrating our son’s first birthday. Details, major and minor, had gone into planning and enjoying those moments. I was at peace with knowing while writing deserves priority, parenting gets precedence.

Yes, I missed my writing deadline. There will be more. There are only so many deadlines that can be realistically met. I quietly sighed in relief that I hadn’t missed a parenting deadline.

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