Begin by making a robust list of all your new ideas.  Make sure it's the kind of list you make when your pencil can't keep up with your brain, because there is So Much and it is So Good and Why Hasn't Anyone Thought of This Before?  Wine will fuel the fire.  You will feel like Picasso.  This will ensure a sense of confidence that all those ideas will, indeed, write themselves without your tending to them.

Give your schedule a hearty shock.  Move from winter vacation into your brutally familiar routine of up-and-out-the-door-no-excuses-it's-a-school-day by 7:30.   You'll know you're on the right track if you and your kids feel like they've been dunked in an ice bath every morning.  This is an sound reason to not write.

Remind yourself how many other women don't have to report to a job on time after shuttling their offspring all over town to their schools.  The injustice alone should buy you a few more days of down time.

Kick-start your exercise routine.  Remember that job, and those kids?  Gym by 5:30 a.m., honey, or it ain't gonna happen.  (Warning: early-morning endorphins may spark new ideas for that list.  Let it happen; just because your list gets longer doesn't mean anything actually happens.)  Now you can't possibly expect to write in the evenings because you're asleep.

If you're not dozing right after the kids go to bed, open your computer.  Like the list you wrote in the beginning, this will convince you that you're on the path to writing.  Just be sure to take an abrupt turn.  Buy cereal on Amazon.  Scrutinize the week's weather report.  Research better wool socks.

Catch up on your reading.  Start with last week's New Yorker, as that will easily consume a few hours.  This magazine in particular will soothe your conscience with the pretense that reading excellent words is an investment in your own ability to write.  Plus there are those clever cartoons.  Follow the New Yorker with something with lots of interesting pictures, like Ranger Rick or Handyman Magazine.  There is so much to see.

Give in when your two year-old insists on "helping you with your homework".  She will start by sitting sweetly on your lap and gazing at your computer screen.  But on short order, she's bound to invite you to a game of "Let's be pigs! Pigs on the beach!  Wearing diapers!"  Who can say no to that?  Besides, pigs have cloven hoofs.  They can't be expected to type.

When all else fails, let the list ferment for another day.  Convince the pig on the beach that you're busy sunbathing. Put off the gym until Saturday afternoon.   Write an un-blog while your kids climb all over you.  It won't be Picasso, but it will leave all the Good Ideas for a day when you can tend to them.