When I say there's an art to mothering during revisions, the art I'm talking about is the equivalent of those modern art statues you see which resemble tangled coat hangers, or giant erasers, or someone's pile of  recyclable milk cartons. You know the ones I'm talking about--the ones you see and think, "That's art?"

That's pretty much how my mothering has gone for the last few months while I finished writing Slayers Two and did revisions for Echo of Time. (Erasing Time's sequel.)  I've stayed up until four in the morning on more than one occasion, and Techno Bob has had to get our youngest daughter off to school.  There's only one problem with this system. Techno Bob is an engineer, which means he was born without the gene for fashion. I'm never sure what youngest daughter will be wearing when her father gets her ready. You can imagine how thrilled I was when I picked her up the other day and saw this ensemble. And her hair hadn't been touched with a brush either.

Yeah, this is pretty much why children need mothers.  After our first child was about two years old, I took my husband aside and lovingly told him, "If I should die, I want you to remarry. And let her dress the children." This advice still stands.

Next blog: How the children have entertained themselves.