One of my assignments for this semester at uni, for my Writing Life, Self & Other class, is to write a blog post.
Well, that’s okay… I can do that. I’ve been doing that.
“Choose an area of expertise,” the lecturer instructs us when we ask for more details about the assignment, “and write a post on it.”
Damn. An area of expertise… What am I an expert on?
Nothing? I ask myself kindly. Ok, well let’s narrow it down then. What things do you do? What are you good at?
(Yes, I do really have internal conversations with myself. Well, arguments usually…)
Feeding and bathing and bedtime story telling in under an hour on busy nights. I’m always ridiculously proud of this. Although, I usually end up soaked to the bone from energetic splashing during the bathing part.
I have a four year old daughter and am in my fourth and final year of studying.
I have totally reached the level of Expert Student-Parent.
Two Weeks Ago:
I am sitting at my desk in my office (papers strewn everywhere, books spilling from the shelves, books stacked in shaky towers on the floor, leaky pens scattered around.) and Olivia is playing behind me, singing passionately about fairies turning blue, and setting up a tea party for her toys. I get to work designing the cover for ‘Behind Closed Doors’. After a while I make the mistake of turning around.
Toys are everywhere, bits of lego looking gleefully up at me, just waiting for a chance to puncture an unsuspecting foot. Focus, I remind myself. I finish the cover and begin an editing project. A few pages in, the computer screen goes blank.
What? I stare at the screen for a moment. Olivia has migrated to sitting beneath the desk, having just switched the computer off at the power point, she looks up and smiles at me.
Back In The Present:
Maybe I’d better hold off on awarding myself the title of Expert Student-Parent.
Now, what’s my area of expertise…?