A day in a Life of Breddy

8) Half an Hour. (An insight in my Breddy-life)

A/N: Not a real Breddy story, but an insight in my Breddy-life. Alternative title: A day in a Life of writing Breddy with kids in the house during holiday.

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I'm sitting at the kitchen table behind my laptop, Einaudi playing in the background. It's a warm, sunny midday and I'm trying to review and rewrite parts of my next chapter that I will be posting in a few days. I have an appointment with proofreader-sama the next morning and have to get it ready today. Naturally I'm trying my best to get as few mistakes as possible that they will have to point out, especially the once that I have made several times already. So focus, I tell myself.

'Light peeks through a slit between the curtains, waking Eddy from his sleep. He blinks against the brightness. Damn, he has a headache and his throat hurts like hell. His eyes fly open, suddenly remembering last night clearly. Oh no. Did last night really happen?'

"Mama, what are you doing?"

Ah. My youngest kid, five years old, blond cuteness overload, a wit that is in my humble opinion beyond its years, is pulling my right arm, preventing me to write. Let's call it Nr.2 for privacy matter.

"I'm writing sweetheart. I've told you I have to write today. I'll play with you in half an hour. You remember you promised me five minutes ago that you would go play outside with the neighbour kids, or with kid Nr.1, or that you would do something yourself. In half an hour I'm all yours again."
Because haven't I been entertaining them enough already today? I need some time for myself now. And let's face it, after not writing for a couple of days, I have to or my head will burst.

"How long is half an hour?" Nr.2 wants to know. I know it knows, but anything to get the conversation going.

"Count to 60 30 times."

Nr.2 rolls its eyes backwards dramatically.
"But mama! That is sooo looooong."
Kid Nr.2 lets its body fall half against/half on a chair besides mine, more dramatically not possible, placing even a hand on its forehead and all. Not for the first time I'm thinking that maybe I should put it into some acting classes.

"Doesn't that depend on what you are doing? When you watch tv or you're gaming you always think half an hour it's way too short. Go do something. Anything. If you bother me more, it will take just that longer."

'Did he really throw up in a bin and did Brett really see. Did he really put him through that?
He looks at the man he's lying on. Sweet, sweet Brett. How wonderful has he been for him? Last night he has shown him a totally new side of him. Who would have thought that Brett could be this caring?'

"But I don't know what I want to dooo. I'm bored."

I sigh. I know when Nr.2 is in such a mood it won't go away before it has something to actually do. And although I hate whining and shouldn't give in, because I know that would be the best parenting option, I start mentioning all the things it can do before I realise I'm doing it. And there are a lot of options. But everything to be able to go back to with my chapter, which I'm trying to read as well while I'm addressing my kid.

"No. I want to play 'Doctor' with you!"

"Half an hour. Get your stuffed rabbit be the patient for now." I tell it decidedly.
I really want to finish this chapter. Nr.2 pouts, but picks something else to play with. Thank God.

'He looks at the man he's lying on. Sweet, sweet Brett. How wonderful has he been for him? Last night he has shown him a totally new side of him. Who would have thought that Brett could be this caring?'

"Mamaaaa."

Ignore. Don't look. Just ignore.

'Brett stirs a bit.
Is it because he notices that Eddy is awake?
Brett opens an_'