Darling Patrons: An Open Letter To the People Who Read My Stuff. Otherwise known as a blog post.

yoda-write-or-write-not.jpg

 

I have lovely news, but I keep getting interrupted by other stuff.

Other stuff:

  1. Children. Small children. They NEED things. Even when they don’t they really like to carry on conversations with you. Case in point: This morning Red was coming out of the bathroom, sauntered past me, and asked, “Mom, do you like sausages?” I had no idea how to respond, really. It was the whole juxtaposition of the bathroom*, the nonchalance, and my inability to talk without coffee. I was flummoxed. But, yes, actually, I DO like sausages. Italian and summer are my favorite.
  2. *Just don’t dwell on it too much and it won’t get icky.

3. A furry white cat that was on death’s door a week ago. But more on that later.

4. Laundry. See #1.

I know the other stuff is normal (except for Steve, the cat but more on that later) but the older I get the harder it is to multi-task. It’s like my synapses just freak out and say, “Hey! Everybody! She’s trying to do that multi-tasking thing again! Take COVER!”” And there’s general running about and firing of synapses all over the place and waving of synapsey arms and mayhem.

I was trying to get (shove) my two boys out the door this morning for VBS, hoping for an hour to work on the lovely news, when I noticed that Red’s bed looked like he had piled every single one of his stuffed animals on it. It looked like this because, as I asked him for verification, “Mom, I piled every one of my stuffed animals on it! I have a kaJILLION!”

And that’s when I started in on Mom Lecture #3445, Clean Up Your Stuff Or It Will Go Away And You Will Have to Play with Sticks. 

Me: Red, you KNOW you are to MAKE YOUR BED every morning, and this is a MESS and-

Red: But, Mom-

Me: Hold on dear, I’m not to the sub points of the lecture. And FIRST OF ALL-

Red: But, MOM-

Me: One minute. FIRST OF ALL, it’s important to be RESPONSIBLE-

Red: MOM. MOMMY.

Me: AND ANOTHER THING-

Red: MOM THEY ASKED US TO BUILD THE WALL OF JERICHO IN VBS. IT WAS OUR HOMEWORK. AND I DID. WITH MY STUFFED ANIMALS. STRAIGHT UP BIBLE ACTIVITY ALL UP IN THERE.

Me: Oh. That’s adorable. And, they gave you homework? This VBS is hardcore.

Jesus and Red = 1 Mom = 0

 

Anyhow. I am now writing my little fingers off to tell you about THIS:IMG_6550.png

I’m working on another book. The publishing company actually wanted me to write another book. ANOTHER ONE.

Which, as you  know, means I am really a big deal.

Also, it’s possible I have had the worst case of writer’s block known to all writers in the universe (no hyperbole here) because FOLLOW UP IS SO NOT MY THING.

I’ll keep you posted. But, in fact, I won’t keep you posted as much as I would like because every stray minute that dangles in front of me is utilized in eeking out another painful sentence on this second-book thing. I am serious. Last night I wrote a sentence. Then stared off into space. Then deleted the sentence. More staring. Wept a little. Repeat. This must be what snails feel like all the time.

Poor snails.

I tell you this, so you will feel sorry for me. Just a teensy weensy bit? I always did like sympathy. I’m so not like those people who are all, “I don’t want your sympathy!”

I DO. I REALLY DO WANT IT.

a4c7da34bc57d0f9794b716eb27140ab.jpg

See?! This writing thing? It’s really hard! (To be honest, I think George might want to consider counseling.)

But, if not sympathy, then your prayers. My family and me need to survive together until the manuscript is done, and this morning I asked Blonde to provide me with a synonym for “glass” and he answered “Um, donkey?” and I just nodded and carried on.

Never ask an eight year old with bad hearing for synonyms.

I’m gonna try and stick with the donkey-half-full ideology that a second book is wonderful and exciting and such a blessing. And, it is happening because of YOU guys. So, I thank you from the bottom of my synapse-misfiring little heart.
I do love you so.

I lift my donkey of grape juice to you.

This book is gonna be so good, can’t you tell?

66002499.jpg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Learning Curve

Linking up with Five Minute Friday today!

The theme is:

Screenshot 2015-08-14 08.55.52

It’s a teensy weensy bit possible I have an issue with perfectionism.

I know. It’s one of those “okay” issues. Not like some of the other, *cough* BIG ‘isms’ I have problems with…

This is the one that you can tell people about, as your cross to bear, when they interview you and ask for your flaws.

“Well…” you say, eyes downcast, with humility blaring out of every pore, “I tend to have a bit of a problem with perfectionism…”

And then, WHAMMO, you get the job! Because, you KNOW, and they KNOW that this is GREAT! Who wouldn’t want someone working for them that is willing to wear themselves down to bloody nub to make sure everything is Just. Exactly. Right!??

Unless, of course, you work for these bozos:

photo 4

This is their normal attire. The dress code around here is INTENSE.

Anyhow. I think it’s about time to lay down the perfectionism and give it up to God. Really. REALLY. For once and for all – I gotta let it GO.

But.

My main problem with that is, well, I tend to be rather all-or-nothing on life skills. (I do realize too that this directly stems from, um, OTHER ‘isms’ in life… like, yes, I’ll say it, the alcoholism…

Not to mention the:

blamingeveryoneelseformyproblemism

freakingoutaboutsmallstuffism

totallyoverexaggeratingism

grumpyatfiveocklockism (ooo that’s a bad one)

and…

IMKINDAAPAININTHEASSIM

But, I’m just gonna go for one thing at a time!

So, today? I will accept that my five year old has his underpants on backwards. It’s his second day of kindergarten. Small potatoes.

Also, that the haircut I gave my six year old kinda makes him look like the guy from Dumb and Dumber.

That the lunch I packed for Blonde does not look like something from Pinterest. Nor will it ever. EVER.

That I cannot, for the life of me, keep this house in the pristine condition that I see in my MIND all the time (darn you, Pinterest!)

That I overuse garlic and underuse basic common sense in cooking.

That I refuse to get in shape because it might hurt.

That… oh heckfire. The list goes ON and ON. You know the list. We all have them.

I think today is a good day to write them down and burn them. *shakes fist with fervor* BURRRRRRN themmmmm I say!!!!!

But, while I’m doing so? I try no tot notice the jungle-length grass and that my backyard looks like a Toys ‘R Us  Graveyard for Old and Broken Things. (I do suggest burning list OUTSIDE, ok? At least I have that much sense. Burning the house down in an effort to vanquish perfectionism kinda works against itself.)

When the perfectionist fairy comes flying by and sweetly reminds you that your life is rather nutty? Just swat her away and repeat after me: “Coffee and Jesus. Coffee and Jesus… That’s all I need.” I am learning, with His help to let go.

Tomorrow? I’m gonna work on the grumpyism one. Wish me luck. You know what I am learning? That there’s a steep learning curve in this house, and for that I am VERY GRATEFUL.

cq4c1

But, I’m trying! Progress, not perfection ya’ll. Thank goodness.

Five Minute Friday: Messenger

Here are the rules for Five Minute Friday with Lisa-Jo Baker:

Screenshot 2014-06-06 12.50.36

Write for five minutes.  Don’t stop.  Just write.

Don’t edit.  Don’t say, “This is just awful.  Why would anyone have a heart to read this?”  (I never say that.  I just start to and then sigh and look out the window instead.)

Don’t edit.  Even when done.

Push “Publish” with happy flourish and step-ball-kick out the door.

Today’s theme:  MESSENGER

I kinda love this and hate it.  I love it because… I have five minutes.  I DO.  It’s awesome.  I don’t have much more than that because I am traveling with the boys, and they are with their grandpa, and it’s only so long before I gotta unstick myself from my Starbucks leather chair, sigh heavily, and return to them.

I hate it because of the “No editing” part.  I am farrrrrrr too neurotic to embrace this sort of frivolity.  I mean, this is WRITING.  It’s serious stuff and must be perfect at all times.

Except, when… Well, last week I had to get to a Tball game and both children have somehow slathered themselves with sun screen (not a problem) AND mud (problem) and one of them…  Well, one of them smells just plain off, like cottage cheese off,  (mysterious and slightly troubling, but I could ignore it) and the other is crying because he lost the weally weally super special handcuffs from his Wego policeman set (this will be a big problem later, so I am smart enough to aim for proactive and grudgingly look for handcuffs.  Yes, handcuffs.  Legos?  You have a sick sense of humor, I tell you) and I just POST something and later read at least three typos, one of which is the IMPROPER USE OF ITS VS. IT’S, which, as all English teachers know, is the same as reciting Bloody Mary in the mirror at midnight.  It’s MESSING WITH SATAN, I TELL YOU.

And, I overused (even for ME) my capitals and also had one annoying sentence where I totally didn’t even know what I was trying to SAY and heck, this post is a MESS.

And I thought, “Good lord, my readers are going to think I’m trying to give all the English teachers heart attacks or something… those that read me.  Poor dears.  We all know, every time someone uses they’re/their/there incorrectly, an English teacher ends up teaching summer school.”

But then, the five year old had lost his key to the jail for his Wego policeman and possibly his teeny tiny taser and I had to help because DIS IS WEARLLY SPECIAL TO MEEEE, and I cannot ignore the blonde hair/big brown eyed / hands clasped combo package of pleading that he specializes in.  Plus, they’re is this:

 

lego

So, no editing.  Post stayed all wonky.  But you know?  I re-read it and I still smiled.  The message was there.  My ideas and my intent? All their.  I wanted to make someone laugh, and I am pretty sure I succeeded.

My message often times circles back and ends up being for me.  And this time, my messenger heard this:

Write. Every day.  For you.  For your readers too.  But write it all out and then, write some more.

 

(And thank you, Lord, for automatic spell-check.)

 

*The lawyer would like to point out that I did change tenses like a makajillion times in this post.  I respond without quote marks and with a flourish of my new found love for not spelling:  its too late! I pushed publish!  go drink a latte on me at the Starbucks and simmer down.

sotp-sign

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tuesday Takeout and it really, really is the thought that counts.

Today is my Red’s birthday.  Here he is:

 

Screenshot 2014-04-15 13.58.10

 

And here’s the cake:

 

IMG_2281

 

First of all – it would be nice if I could offer up Blonde as the decorator of the cake.  I am willing to throw a toddler under the cake decorating bus for the sake of pride.  But… alas no.  I’m just driving my very own, very special, sad little cake bus.

And yes, I know it’s pink.  And it’s for Red, and he’s a boy.  And it kinda looks like a pink slug trail, albeit more tasty.

And I know, I didn’t properly line the plate with waxed paper re Martha’s directions.  Actually, I DID, and was super proud of myself.  But then I allowed the frosting to set too much in the ‘fridge and so when I removed the paper (not nearly as delicately as Queen Martha would instruct) and so I ended making more of a mess.  WONDERFUL.

 

It’s ok.  Red won’t care.  The cake is chocolate.  It will have candles.  There will be hats and balloons.  That’s all a toddler needs.

 

And earlier today this was overheard:

Blonde:  Did ya know today was your birthday Red?

Red: Yep!  Yeeeep!

Blonde:  Yep!  You were bornded on DIS day!

Red:  I, Yep!  Yep!  (very verbal, I swear.  Just too much frosting for lunch.)

Blonde: Uh huh!  It was a special day!  Dat’s what mommy says.

Momsie:  smiles with pride.  Dis is (ahem) This is so cute.

Blonde:  Yep.  It was dis day that dey took a knife and CUT YOU OUT OF MOMMY’S STOMACH.  And den dey PULLED YOU RIGHT OUTTA DER!

 

This is a PSA announcement, basically, for all of you who are married to engineers who feel it is very necessary to explain EVERYTHING that a toddler asks about, including birth and c-sections and all that.  Thank you so much, hubs, for paying for our therapy.

 

MarthaStewartBakes_CakeLead_1