This year, my family went on a repeat vacation. Now, I think a lot of families go to the same beloved  location each year as a matter of course. We've never visited the same place twice before. This year, we returned to upstate New York. We got a picture of my daughter by the same stalactite in Howe's Cavern that we did when she was four. My son refused to recreate the picture of himself hugging Taughannock Falls. I wanted to recreate the picture of my daughter falling asleep on my husband's shoulders, but he refused to let her climb up on there, and I have to admit, the whole exercise probably would have injured them both.

Moms generally end up carrying everybody's stuff. Historically, we have carried a bulky purse or a diaper bag, so it's a no-brainer. I don't carry a purse on vacation. When the kids were small, I carried them for large chunks of every day. After all, if you plan to sightsee for miles every day, the wee ones will need a little help. Or a lot of help. I think of it as an exercise regimen, and it was a point of pride with me that I could carry them as long as they needed. By my son's twelfth birthday, I called a halt to it.  He weighed almost as much as I did by that time, and he had the physical wherewithal to keep up on his own.

Oh, nostalgia, you pernicious beast! At Fort Ticonderoga, my boy waxed melodramatic. His feet were tired. Wouldn't I carry him? He didn't expect I would. Or did he? So far, he had refused to recreate a single moment. Did he know I wouldn't be able to resist picking him up like I had done so many times before? Did he understand I would rise to the challenge?

And so, I crouched and held my hands out to grab his legs. He hesitated a little, but then he climbed onto my back like a possum (or a moose, but they don't carry their young that way) and I walked half a dozen steps before he started to sag and I feared we'd tip over backward. When I tried to put him down, he didn't let go, and we had a screaming moment--I screamed, he laughed--before he relented and let his feet down.

Immediately after, the little one had to be carried, too. She has to do everything he does, and she's still smaller than me, so I carried her quite a ways.

I have a 16-year old and an 18-year old. I can still pick them up and carry them around, and since it's a joke, it's okay. They're my babies. I don't ever want to let them go, and I consider it a blessing that they don't want to leave me. Someday, though, they'll go. I can't carry them forever, and though I'm sure they'll check in if they need something, they'll develop separate lives. It's the way things are supposed to be.

How many more family vacations will happen with the four of us? I'll carry on as long as I can.

A lot of writers say it's important to arrange a schedule and keep to it. Whether you write at the same time of day, commit to a certain number of words a day, or just grab ten minutes whenever you can--writing becomes a daily commitment. Habitual behaviors keep us well practiced in any field. I keep a schedule for myself that includes at least a couple of hours each weekday morning.

Life gets busier every year, it seems. Afternoons and evenings pile full of activities and commitments. I have two teenage children, three dogs, and an inability to choose between writing and music. Therefore, music gets the evening and writing gets the morning.

Problem: the Plot Sisters (my writing group) meet in the evening on the same night as I sometimes sub for a regional orchestra. This year, I have missed more than two straight months of Plot Sisters meetings. I haven't written much of anything. Sure, I keep up with their manuscripts, sending comments digitally in time for meetings I can't attend. During my writing mornings, I shuffle words around on my manuscript and make no progress.

I've been reading books, watching movies--even viewing Breaking Bad in its entirety because so many writers recommended it. These things distract, rather than inspire me. I have nothing to say. My manuscripts bore me, which is distressing. If I'm not interested, why would anyone else be?

With a little schedule tweaking, I make it back to the Plot Sisters. I'll have to skip one rehearsal a month in two different musical groups, but it's more than worth it. I've met with these women for five years now, and our relationship is important. At my computer, I write very little. Maybe it's a slump. I begin to wonder if I have the determination needed to continue.

Then, my turn comes. I have to share something. I scrape up a chapter here, a chapter there. They hang together somewhat. I felt inspired when I wrote them, but that feeling faded months ago.

We meet. They critique. Positive comments come in a generous and honest spirit. But the magic happens when they tell me what they don't understand, what doesn't work. They even tell me I've spent a whole chapter in a character's head and no action happens.

The light snaps on. Brilliant, lively, captivating. I know now what to do. I can fix all these problems. I feel glee--I've never spent a whole chapter in a character's head. If I could jump up and click my heels together, I would do it. This is progress!

And so, with thanks to my Plot Sisters, I have found inspiration again.

This post is a reminder: The screen gives us nothing. The schedule has no soul. We need our people.

P.S. Thanks to all five of you. I wouldn't have made it this far alone.