So, yesterday was bring your child to work day, and I'm happy to report that my daughter did come to my office. She popped in for a few minutes to ask about dinner - what? when? On this official "kid at work" day, as I reported chicken/rice/salad bowls at 7:45ish , I didn't feel deprived of any opportunity to show her what it's like to be a writer; my daughter has been coming to my office every day since she was a baby. This is what happens when you're a freelance writer who works from home.
When she was an infant, I'd bring her straight from the car, still in her carseat, to finish napping while I worked on a project. During her toddler years, we'd both sit with our craft - me on a conference call for a new project, she with a pack of markers for a new drawing. (When I hung up the call, I turned around to commend her for being so quiet only to find that she had been painting her body and lips the colors of the rainbow.) After school throughout the years, she'd bring homework into my office and together we'd study and perfect our work for hours. On some Saturday afternoons, she'd plop down in the comfy corner chair for a visit and I'd pick her brain on headlines or an idea for a book.
Bringing my daughter to work with me all these years gives me the opportunity to show her just how much I enjoy words and word play, how seriously I take my work, how excited I feel when something clicks, and how frustrated I can get when deadlines are ganging up on me. My eyes are often on a screen with a bitten apple at the bottom, but that doesn't mean I haven't been noticing her establishing her own connection with numbers and science...or seeing that pursed-lip look on her face when she concentrates deeply...or hearing the joyous squeals when a hard concept finally makes sense. No writer aspirations present for my little girl, but I don't take it personally. As long as I continue to be an example for working hard and loving what you do, then I've done my job. A good day at the office, indeed.