Working in a Romper Room

This summer has been quite an adventure. I am doing some freelance work, and my 6-year-old son is here with me every day. He is old enough to know when I say "I'm on the phone, I'm working," that it means to be as quiet as possible.

But he is 6.

I'm a different person now than I was when I had my first baby, but I generally have the same ideas about raising children. I want my children to be who they are meant to be, without me messing it up. (An impossible dream, I've come to realize.) I am more relaxed than I used to be, and I've learned a lot more about children than was available the first time around. I know that I make mistakes every day, but I try hard to be a good Mom.

We have a full set of drums, a piano, a guitar, Nerf guns, and a lot of toys around the house.
I've had Nerf bullets whiz past my head several times today while writing a story.
In years past, I would've been very upset by this. Now I just duck my head and keep typing, gently reminding him that I am working, and I can't work with incoming fire.

There have been times when I have been doing a telephone interview for a story, and Sean has started a drum riff. I put people on hold so I can say "cut," and have him go outside, and play drums later.

He routinely comes to me while I'm on the phone, and whispers his requests, trying to be quiet because Mom is working. "Mom," he whispers while I am writing furiously by hand to take notes on a notepad, and listen intently to the person on the other end of the phone, "I'm not trying to bother you, but I can't find my bullet. Did you see where it went? Can you help me find it?"

Or he will climb, literally, for all you people out there with no children, or those who have girls, he will CLIMB the cabinets to reach the top one where I keep the treats. "I'm getting a snack," he'll say as I'm trying to watch to be sure he doesn't fall, and also conduct an interview on the telephone.

How do I keep my sanity? How do I do this work without a stiff drink in my hand you ask?
Well, I'm not quite sure. I just know that someday he won't be coming to me to whisper in my ear, and he won't be climbing the cabinets. The days of Nerf bullets will be gone, and he won't really care if I listen to him play the drums.

He'll grow up, and this will all be what I miss most. I know that, and I feel blessed to work in this romper room.