Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. Well, most of the time, anyway. Deadlines can be pesky, plus there are days when it takes me hours and hours to write sheer crap that I know I’ll just end up deleting. But how can I complain a about a career that can be described like this:

Author: person who gets paid to stay home in her pajamas and make stuff up.

As a spacey, day-dreamy type of person with a tendency toward — some may even say gift for — sloth, I’d say this is as good of a career fit as I could hope to find. But here’s the thing: I hardly ever get to work in my pajamas! You see, I’ve got two kids, and my other, primary job description goes something like this:

Mother: person who gets up and dressed early so she can feed, nurture, guide, supervise, and drive her children.

Yeah, I know I’m forgettting stuff, but this is a blog post, and I’m supposed to be able to write it fast. The point is (don’t ever start a sentence with “The point is,” not even in a blog post) that the getting-dressed requirements of motherhood (not to mention the driving requirements) mean that I miss out on the pajamas benefit of a writing career. I drive my kids to school. I drive my kids to camp. I drive my kids to Starbucks, Albertson’s, Michael’s craft stores, their friends’ houses and so many other places where real clothing is not optional.

I hardly ever get to write in my pajamas. I feel so deprived.

But! Now I am on vacation, which means I can work in my pajamas all day! Hooray!

Wait? Why am I working on vacation? Never mind. I love my job.

My office for the next couple of weeks