Pardon the interruption(s)...

Working from home is a true blessing, no doubt. The trouble with working from home, though, is that I’m home and therefore subject to all types of unprofessional interruptions.

Here's a recap of yesterday’s attempt to complete a scheduled 3 p.m. phone interview:

2:50 p.m: I’m prepped for the interview and the baby’s still napping. Beautiful. This could really work!

2:51 p.m.: I hear Kostyn stirring upstairs. Shit. I notice the Christmas cartoon DVDs my sister-in-law gave me last week and wonder whether he’d sit quietly and watch one while I was on the phone. I’ll have to set it up quickly, though. Hmm. Maybe he'll go back to sleep...

2:52 p.m.: No such luck. I hear him walk to his door and push it open, then begin to whimper. I head upstairs and give him a big smile, asking, “Are you all done sleeping?” He shakes his head, walks back to his bed and points to the mattress. This means he wants to stay in bed but he will cry and scream if I leave the room. Super.

2:56 p.m.: I manage to get the kid giggling, which wakes him fully and he’s ready to come downstairs.

2:57 p.m.: Time's a-wastin'. I rip the plastic packaging off “The Snowman” DVD. Curse at the bloody sticker they affix to the top that makes it impossible to open. Fiddle with two remotes until I get the darn thing started. Point to it excitedly and say “Kostyn, look!! TV!! Want to watch TV??!” He looks at me and smiles, which deep down I know means “Sure, Mom, for about 4 minutes...”

3 p.m.: I call my source, who apologizes profusely for putting me on hold for 3 seconds while she closes her office door so that I have her undivided attention. If you only knew, lady...

3:06 p.m.: Kostyn loses interest in the video and wanders over to the table where I’m sitting with my laptop, typing and talking. He raises his arms and says “Up.” I shake my head and try to shoo him away. (Yes, I “shooed” my son. It didn’t work.)

3:06:04 p.m.: He begins to whine.

3:06:05 p.m.: I get up and lead him back to the living room, still talking to the source but now missing crucial quotes that I should be writing down. I drop a puzzle on the floor, and again point to the TV, my silent expression trying to convey some “Look! It’s a snowman!!” excitement. He sits down.

3:07 p.m.: Resume typing.

3:10 p.m.: The doorbell rings. The dog begins a furious barking frenzy. Kostyn starts to cry. I can't believe my bad luck.

3:10:20 p.m.: I apologize to the source while getting up again, corralling the dog and opening the door. It’s a UPS driver. He begins talking to me while my source is saying “Um, do you need me to hold on for a minute?” “Yes, please, just one second...”

3:10:22 p.m.: I silently curse myself out for not knowing how to put someone on hold, then press the phone to my chest as I answer the driver’s questions. The dog continues her verbal assault.
The UPS driver takes forever to explain that he’s here to pick up a package, of which I don’t have. I ask him to return tomorrow and he smiles (a little too big, if you ask me) and says, “Sure!”

3:12 p.m.: Another round of apologies to the source while kicking my foot in the general direction of the Godforsaken dog and trying to silently reassure my son that his favorite puppy isn’t going to kill us all.

3:13 p.m.: Kostyn isn’t so sure he’s safe from Sadie’s wrath, so I scoop him up and resume the interview while holding my son. Typing is now not an option.

3:15 p.m.: Listening to a particularly good answer, I think to myself, “I’ll just have to remember this stuff and write it all down after we hang up. I’ll paraphrase.”

3:16 p.m.: Still listening to the source, I think, “Shit, what did she say a minute ago about fiscal responsibility? That would have been a great quote.”

3:17 p.m.: I try to put my toddler down in front of the TV. He starts crying. I pick him back up, bring him over to his Fisher-Price bus, set him down again and start to walk away.

3:17:50 p.m.: He gets right back up and follows me, arms up, whining as if I’ve just rejected him, which, let’s be honest, I have.

3:18 p.m.: The source chuckles. “I have a 3-year-old at home,” she says, and for this, I secretly love her and want to give her top billing in the story.

3:18:20 p.m.: I run into the kitchen and take out a box of mini Nilla wafers. Throw five of them in my son’s direction. He quiets down and starts chewing. I resume typing.

3:25 p.m.: The interview ends. I’ve been able to capture about half of it on my laptop. Story of my (so-called) life....