It’s all too easy for me to check my e-mail while dinner is cooking and end up reading a blog or article an hour later. The solution?

Timers.

My new #1 rule is to stay away from the computer between 4 and 9 pm, the prime family time. When I do need to check for an important e-mail or do some quick research for a project, I set the timer for 10 or 15 minutes. I use the oven timer so that I have to get up and turn it off manually (it’s not automatic).

Rule #2? Make a list of online activities or topics I need to research and stick to them. Don’t mindlessly surf–make Internet time productive and meaningful.

What do you do to stay on task when you’re overwhelmed?

What are you up to today?

I made the decision to homeschool part time last year. My soon-to-be 5 year old is not yet in kindergarten, and the past year has been an experiment in homeschooling. She will be going to public school in the fall, but I’ve been teaching her at home for a while now. We homeschool only part time, meaning that although I work during the day, we still are able to fit in an hour or two of instruction and activity.

• a small table for projects, writing practice, reading
• books. Lots of books!
• art supplies (crayons, markers, glue, scissors)
• anything else you want for learning, discovery, and curiosity (a globe, clay, paints)

• the alphabet
• numbers 1-10
• the Arabic alphabet
• our daily tasks

• Finish reading Mommy, Teach Me to Read
• Start reading No More Misbehavin’
• Write a review of Absolutely Organized
• Take the kids to the library (big surprise)
• Take the kids on a field trip to the American History Museum
• Play basketball with Sofia
• Buy a bike so we have a big family bike outing
• Clean out the playroom/homeschool classroom

Sounds nerdy, right? It’s heaven to me!

Enjoy your long weekend!

Me: Come in now so we can make dinner.
Sofia: But Daddy said I can stay out for 89 minutes.
Me: No he didn’t.
Nour: Waaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!

The following is being reprinted from a post I wrote in 2006 on the Edit-it-Write blog. My daughter is now almost 5 and she now has a 1-year-old sister, but the sentiment described here remains.

I’m sitting in a sunlight-filled room, at a grand oak desk, colored pens and pencils at my fingertips. To my right is a long conference table salvaged from an estate sale and refurbished to its original glory. My computer is here. My notebooks are here. My papers, my books.

To my left is a pink and white striped chair. It’s overstuffed and frayed but embraces me with a hug every time I settle into it. At the foot of the chair is a stack of art books, heavy and thick. The multiple volumes serve as a makeshift side table, on top of which sits my coffee mug. It is here that I plop at the end of day with a cup of tea or hot chocolate, forget about my worries, and dive into the details of other peoples’ lives. It is here that I get lost for hours in a good book.

I’m upstairs. Two walls are full of old glass windows that have to propped open with books because the old rope that holds the window open has long since frayed. One set of windows overlooks a patio, full of yellow potted flowers: sunflowers, daffodils, chrysanthemums. The other window-lined wall overlooks the street: an urban playground in which men and women of all ages stroll the streets in search of life, love, and happiness. This is the land of coffee-drinkers and musicians, writers and singers, lonely hearts and exuberant lovers. Even at 2am the street is brilliantly vibrant, humming and soothing.

The remaining two walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on which live the tomes of the great authors of yesteryear, jovially intermingling with the popular fiction of the day. These shelves are home to hundreds of books, each read with care, some with notes in the margins, and some dog-eared, second-hand volumes worthy only of beach reading. The tops of the shelves are covered with old notebooks, my writings, my scribblings from high school, my completed poems from college, my academic writings, and now my thoughts—captured and documented, saved for my daughter.

In my room are lamps of all shapes and sizes. Floor lamps, illuminating my space in a gentle bath of light. Desk lamps, remnants of the years I lived in the dorms. Table lamps, sophisticated, sleek, modern. Absolutely no fluorescent lights.

I’m sitting at my desk, poring over a massive stack of papers. I write in red ink, then blue. I affix sticky notes to the sides and scribble notes to myself. I take a heavy leather-bound dictionary from the shelf, carefully place it on the desk, and search for a word.

From the downstairs I hear someone calling my name. I stop, look up from my work, strain to hear the voice again. Silence. I return to my manuscript. I hear the voice again.

“M O M M Y!”

My daughter, not yet two years old slowly climbs the few stairs leading to my office and knocks on my door. As her little hand raps on the door she simultaneously screams, “come in!” I swing open the door and swoop this little angel into my arms.

“Mommy, I love you.”

“Sweetheart, I love you too.”

This is my space. This is my heaven. This is why I do what I do.

Happy to be a working mom,Noelle