It’s impossible to write a book when Disney channel is playing downstairs. I am tired of being a parent today. I want to go live in a writer’s colony. When I was 18 I went to live in a think tank in England. I fell in love with a man named John, drew his portrait in my notebooks, talked to him about theories of thought. I believed all things to be new. He was 38, born in New Zealand, spent his life traveling. He may be traveling still.

I am applying for a fellowship to live out of the country. I am a mother of two girls. It makes no sense but I’ve decided if I get it, I will pack up my bags, we will leave for a year. We will not look back. Okay I won’t look back, the girls will probably hate me for a good month.

It is hard to find this balance between Teresa the writer and Teresa the mother. Olivia is almost 12 and I still don’t do it well. Tonight I said, yes she can sleep over and I ended up having six children stay for supper. My girls said, “tell them your stories” and I said, “which story” and my girls said, “tell them stories of you mommy, tell them the story of you.” So that was my night. I ate pizza, drank chocolate milk and we were all together in a story. I always wanted a mother like me and now I’m her. On good days I am her.

But I don’t live in a think tank. I don’t have a John and I know now I never will yet I do have two girls. I do have my stories. And I make a damn good pizza.