Merry Christmas!

Peace on Earth
Goodwill to All Mankind!

Writing, Wrapping, It's All Good

Now those were some great memories last week, and I hope I never forget 'em! In fact, I may just go out and try a few do-overs ... nah. It's never as much fun the second time around.

And as for waiting a week, or more, to post again ... well, 'tis the Season. To Procrastinate, that is. Should I write or should I wrap, that is the question. Trying to squeeze in a little of both. Unfortunately, deadlines reign supreme, on both ends, so something's gotta give.

And that would be sleep. Which, unfortunately, will affect both tasks rather unfavorably. My rough drafts look an awful lot like a badly wrapped package, and there are quite a few of those piling up in my closet right this minute. At least I can edit the bad writing; there's no help for Santa's helper.

Just excuses, and right now I better start thinking of some good ones.

Thanks for the Memories ...

This came from True Blue Semi-Crunchy Mama ... and I can't wait to see what happens next!

Please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL MEMORY OF YOU AND ME. It can be anything you want–good or bad–BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you’re finished, post this paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you.

Newsflash

"Santa's bald underneath that hat, you know," my six-year-old announced this evening.

He is? I didn't know that! You'd think by now, at my age, I mean, I'm even a Certified Santa's Helper and everything! And I had no clue.

"Yep, that's why he wears the hat all the time. It gets pretty cold up there."

Just one more example of the parade passing me by. What would I ever do without my kids to set me straight?

Where's Everybody Goin?

Late to the party again.

Apparently, on my momwriters (tm) list there was a big to do that started last week, and everybody was in an uproar over the weekend, and I'm still figuring out what happened. As if the parade went by at full speed and I'm still watching for the Garfield balloon.

Life happens (yes, I actually have one), I miss a few emails, and all hell breaks loose. Hurt feelings and anger fly around me, nothing really touching me. At first, I thought it was mainly a few members who were probably going to be leaving anyway. But jumping around on some blogs, there's a real division going on, and I'm torn as to what to do.

Should I stay or should I go? Maybe try out a few more writers lists? Maybe dump the whole "online community" idea since I'm such a failure at keeping up anyway. Would I even be missed?

My good friend recently told me at one point she spent up to 5 HOURS a day keeping up with her blogroll. I'm lucky if I can spare 20 minutes to catch up on email, scan a couple blogs, maybe post on my own (maybe not).

Maybe I should go back to x-stitching my evenings away, and leave this internet stuff for the young insomniacs.

So did I miss the Garfield balloon?

Paris and Nicole Aren't That Interesting

I have no idea why, but I've been getting a TON of spam with Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie in the subject line. Somebody, actually lots of spammers, think I won't be able to resist opening their spam with those two as the subject. I can't think of a single reason why, or what they might be trying to sell me. But frankly, Paris and Nicole just don't do it for me.

Granted, some spammers are a little more enticing, with "Registration Confirmation", especially the one with the email address: Admin @ cia . gov. Okay, I could see how someone might fall for that one, or even just let their curiosity take over. But I didn't.

I remain adamant; I will not open anything I do not recognize. So if you change your email, don't send me a message that says: i ve chnged mi emal. That won't work. (Yup, I've gotten at least twenty of those in the last two days, as well).

It's good to know the bulk mail folder at Yahoo is working well for me. I still have to check, just in case an important newsletter falls through the cracks. But for the most part, I am a very satisfied customer.

Albeit one who has not taken advantage of the Best Prices on Prescription Drugs lately.

Black Friday

Does it feel like you just jumped out of the starting gate? Ready to go after those Christmas presents and wrapping paper and bows. It's the Holiday Season, in full swing, so let's get moving!

Actually, my husband has taken care of most of our holiday shopping, via the internet. He even got some new decorations for outside (and I know he's just dying to get out there and put it all together!) I've just got a few more presents to buy/make, and of course, I get to do all the wrapping.

And all the crafty stuff with the boys. That is totally my domain and I know dh won't ever step into that realm. He doesn't even like to be home when we get out the glue. But with most of our holiday errands already done, we have time to get crafty. And that's the best time of all ... getting all messy and glittery and seeing the pride on their faces when they've created something wonderful.

And I may just find time to send out cards this year!

Happy Thanksgiving

I'm thankful I have my family around me so that we can all sit down together and enjoy a nice homemade lasagna today. I'm thankful we're all in good health and nobody will go hungry, except by choice (picky eaters!).

I'm thankful for the myriad interruptions while I try to write. It means I have my rambunctious family surrounding me. One day I will have peace and quiet and be thankful for that, I hope.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

In Support of Our School

I'm baking cookies at 12:45 AM.

This has got to be the ultimate in procrastination. I've had all day. Little guy took a HUGE nap, as in ALL AFTERNOON. Ideal time for me to bake cookies without getting into the mess of baking with the kids. Big Guy wasn't even interested in helping.

So what did I do? Nothing. Absolutely Nothing. Totally wasted the day.

Didn't talk on the phone.
Didn't do any housework (God forbid I lift a finger in That Direction).
Didn't catch up on some reading.
Didn't even watch a movie on TV. (okay, I did turn it on and flip channels some)

Nope. Little Guy fell asleep and I was so dumbfounded by it all I just watched.

Then he woke up, evening snuck up on us, supper, baths, toothbrushing, bedtime ... hmmm, should've known there'd be a catch there. Bedtime did not come easily, my friend.

And so I'm baking cookies at 12:45 AM. For the school Bake Sale.

Welcome to the Sick House, part 2

Now they get it ... when they are sick too and want to cuddle with Mom on the sofa, they finally get it!

But then somebody needs some more medicine.
And somebody else needs some more juice.

The person who claims to be feeling better first, is the one to get up ... this time it's Dad.

But then there's the inevitable midnight uproar, and it takes both parents to clean up, launder, bathe and soothe my sick little boy back to sleep.

And so it continues ...(let's hope there's no Part Three!)

Welcome to the Sick House

"Mommy's sick," I whisper, over and over and over again. Will they ever get it?

Not if they want a refill on the chocolate milk.
Not if the little guy is busy dive bombing off the back of the sofa, right on top of me.
Not if the bigger guy wants help drawing Batman so he's "Perfect".
Not if it's supper time, and they actually want to eat.
Not if they can't find their favorite video in the mess that now covers the living room floor.
Or their favorite book. Or any book.

Not even when Daddy's sick, too.

Not until bedtime comes early. Too early for them ... not early enough for me.

Mommy's not supposed to get sick. Ever. So somebody better FIX it. Right Now.

NaNoWriMo? Not I

November is National Novel Writers' Month, aka NaNoWriMo (no Mork involved). There's a whole event going on, where writers have signed up to write 50,000 words, all in the month of November. Quality is not an issue here, just quantity.

Ten reasons why I did not sign up:
1. Fear of Failure
2. Fear of Failure
3. Fear of Failure
4. Fear of Failure
5. Fear of Failure
6. Fear of Failure
7. Fear of Failure
8. Fear of Failure
9. Fear of Failure
10. I started my latest story in October, and am now working on two simultaneously. No need to start another, I assure you. (The voices in my head can all sit quietly now until further notice.)

So I admit I only really have one reasonably good excuse not to join in the fun (a sick bunch of folks to think that torturing yourself into writing 50,000 words on deadline with barely any chance of coming out with something publishable). I'm already overworked and underpaid and I don't even have a "real job".

To all of you brave (insane) souls who have taken the plunge, may you be blessed with an overabundance of words ... some of them good. For now I'll stick with the usual Chicago refrain: Maybe next year.

LOTS of toes

"These are All Mine, Mom," he said, pulling off his sock and proudly displaying his cute little foot.

I sat down next to him on the stair to get a closer look (ok, so I didn't know what he was talking about, at first).

"One, two, three, four, five, six! I have six toes!" (I only counted five, but what's one extra toe)

He puts his sock back on. "I don't want to lose any. I have LOTS of toes, Mom."

Go (yawn) Sox

All is quiet. Children are sleeping. I have the TV all to myself. If it wasn't for the World Series, I honestly wouldn't know what to do with it.

Yes I would. I'd turn it off and go to bed. Darn those Sox!

So, once again, I'll be sleeping in tomorrow morning. The writing will have to squeeze into the rest of the day. Because I may never see another Series in Chi-town in my lifetime.

I think my muse is routing for Houston, in seven games, with extra innings.

Movin on up

I submitted my last column last night.

I've had a monthly column in our local daily newspaper for the last two years. Every couple years they put out a call for some new blood, and now there's a new editor to boot. In other words, she didn't pick me before, so I don't think my chances of being picked again are very good. They even extended the deadline, to encourage more applicants. Which leads me to believe she is not going to renew any of the current crop.

Oh well, it was a good learning experience. I've got two years' worth of clips, even one reprint. Some nice feedback from readers.

Time to move on. And up!

Go Sox!

These late nights are killing me.

If I don't go to bed early (and I mean EARLY), I can't get up early. If I don't get up early, I don't get to write. If I don't get to write, then ... well ... um ...(MAJOR BRAIN JUMBLE).

But how often do I get to root for the home team in the playoffs? I mean, nothing much happens around here once the regular season is over (at least not since MJ retired, anyway). Frankly, if you really hate football, it's a nice place to live since we have the shortest football season of any major city. And with two baseball teams, you'd think we have more chances at post season play. The odds are in our favor, but there's a curse floating around, and just plain bad luck hovering over the south side.

It's raining in California tonight. Raining White Sox baseballs. I feel like I'm just waiting for the inevitable ... but the Sox just keep hitting and hitting and hitting. Could it be? Is tonight the night?

Last year the Red Sox (and my first love, my first hometown team) ended one of the longest droughts in baseball history. This year, tonight, the White Sox are about to end their longest drought without a Pennant (last one was 1959 for those of you who haven't heard at least 20,000 times), and go for the World Series. I'm just waiting up ... only three outs away ...

First batter ... strike one, strike two, ground out
2nd batter ... strike one, strike two, popped out
(They're making this look so easy, what took so long?!)
3rd batter ... fly ball

That's it, folks. THE WHITE SOX ARE GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES!

And now I can go to bed, a very happy Sox fan.

Oh What a Beautiful Morn!

"Pink skies at night, sailor's delight,
Pink skies in the morning, sailor's warning."

That little rhyme is embedded in my brain, and plays itself every single time I see a beautiful sunset, or sunrise. Which has been pretty much every single day this past summer.

Right now, I'm viewing the latter. And that little "warning" in my brain does nothing to deter from it's beauty. All I can think of, when I see the sunlight reflecting pinks and oranges and purples off the clouds is "what a great way to start the day!"

I had to pause, open the sliders and step outside for a moment, to take it all in before it disappears into the day. And now, it's time for me to rouse the troops and start the day in our little corner of the world.

But not before pausing to appreciate the magnificence of nature's painting on the sky.

Brain Jumble

You'd think since I'm not posting here much that I must be very busy. Oh yes, very, very busy. So busy my brain is a jumbled mess. That's what happens when I don't sit down and take big chunks out every now and then and put them on paper. So I can throw them away. Or hide them in a box someplace, only to be found by the children who are in the midst of trashing the place. So they fly around the room (because that is what good writing is for, you know, flying around) and becoming even more disconnected and jumbled and eventually they will all land in a neat pile that doesn't make any sense but will when I finally type it all up and send it off to a publisher and it becomes the NEXT BIG THING. It could happen.

Or I could just sit butt in chair and finish current WIP and then quietly put it into a nice little box and hide it under my bed for all eternity. Yep, sounds like a plan.

Be Nice to Writers

I'm not adjusting well to school. First Grade, to be exact.

We got a note from the "First Grade Team" (I guess so each individual teacher doesn't have to take responsibility?) ordering parents to sign their child's homework or else. Okay, so it wasn't quite that bad ... but when did First Graders ever need homework?

Anyway, I steamed and stewed. Yes, they threatened punitive action if each and every assignment wasn't completed and signed by the parent. So, there are a multitude of ways for my little guy, who is still very little to me, to fail through no fault of his own. He can't help it if I'm an airhead, a space cadet, a doofus, and I just FORGET to sign it! And I'm not a mind reader, so if the teacher doesn't specifically send home the assignment written out for me to clearly understand, how am I supposed to help him succeed?

But I'm not allowed to let him know that in this regard, I DO NOT SUPPORT THE TEACHER! I think she's WRONG and okay, I'm done now ...

Not really ... I wrote about it in my column ... which will be published in the local daily paper today ...

Note to teachers: do not piss off a writer. I may put you in my book and kill you.

To Hell and Back … a story that deserves to be shared

This is a true story that was shared with me a couple years ago. I think about it often, so I'm sharing it.

A man was sick with cancer. After battling for over two years he began to decline quickly. He was hospitalized, and felt as though he was taking his last breath. But he wasn’t ready to go. He fell into a coma, and saw himself leaving his body, floating above it while medical personnel struggled to revive him.

He traveled down a dark tunnel, but there was a bright light at the end. As he walked toward the light he saw people, some he had known but who had passed before him. They looked happy, content, some reached out to him. One of them was his brother, whom he had not spoken to since he was incarcerated for murder, and who had later been killed in a fight with another prisoner. His brother said to him, “It’s not your time, yet. You must go back.” Knowing his brother was right, he turned around, and floated back into his hospital room, and settled down comfortably into his body, again.

Months passed, but he did not seem to get any better. He was discouraged, and depressed. He started refusing treatments that only made him feel sicker. He decided that he had had enough, and he wanted to die. He willed himself to die.

Again he found himself in a dark tunnel, only there was no light at the end. On either side were people, but they weren’t the happy people from his last trip. They were chained to the walls; some were moaning, some screaming, at the torture they were receiving. And some were children. At first he tried to slow his progress, but something was pulling him forward. He became frightened, and realized this must be Hell. He thought, “No! I’m not ready to die!”

In an instant he was violently pulled back from the tunnel and flung back into his body. He could feel the doctors and nurses working on him to bring him back.

Grateful for yet another chance, he began to battle the cancer again. The cancer went into remission, he began to recover, and to live again. Seeing his brother, the murderer, in heaven, and seeing those children among the sufferers in hell, made him look at things a little differently. God can forgive anything, if only you ask. If you kill yourself, you can’t ask.

Given the alternative, it’s GREAT to be alive!