36 (or so) Reasons Why I Will Never Be A Professional Writer

1. I am a Stay-At-Home mom.
2. That lives in the suburbs. 
3. With my husband.
4. And three kids.
5. And I like it. 
6. I like to come home and pull my big SUV into a garage. 
7. I like square-footage and acreage. 
8. I like chemically treated lawns with playsets in the back. 
9. I like a basement full of toys.
10. I like shopping malls. And Target. Even Wal-Mart. I love Costco. 
11. I eat at chain restaurants. 
12. I order pizza from Dominos.
13. I go to a hair dresser to have my hair dyed blonde.
14. I've been known to listen to RadioDisney when the kids aren't in the car. 
15. Once, I even turned on Saturday Night Live to watch One Direction (but fell asleep 10 minutes in and missed their performance).
16. I love Disney World. Love it. Even though I can see the reasons why one might not love it – the crowds, the expense, the tourist traps, the marketing gimmicks, and the complete and total fakeness of everything -- I still love it. 
17. I think Disney World is the happiest place on earth.
18. I can’t describe things in metaphor. If something is good, it’s just “good” not “as good as a hot day at the beach” (see that sucked). And, if something is bad, it’s just “bad” not “as bad as a cup of coffee with no cream or sugar” (again, suck).
19. I use a thesaurus. A lot. So I can make things slightly better than “good” and come up with “propitious” but since I think I've changed the meaning, I go back to good and resign myself to the fact that I am a suck-a$$ writer.
20. I do like New York which seems to be some prerequisite for writerly-types. 
21. I love New York, as a matter of fact – Times Square, Toys R Us, The M&M Store, The Hard Rock Café, FAO Schwartz, The American Girl Doll Store, The Lego Store…
22. I don’t understand why I used the em-dash above instead of a comma or semicolon. 
23. I use too many ellipses. Seriously…
24. I don’t have an MFA but occasionally research it until I see the admissions requirements and then I freak out and close the computer.
25. I cannot recall ever having read anything by Flannery O'Connor, Raymond Carver, John Cheever, James Joyce, or Gertrude Stein. 
26. I could never be a cool beatnik. The closest thing I came was my college cross country road trip in which I happened to bring along a tattered copy of On The Road.
27. I watched On The Road recently and felt anxious. I mean, how could those people live like that – traveling around without an itinerary?!
28. I write detailed itineraries for vacations. The last time we went to Disney World it was 14 pages long.
29. That is the longest thing I've written that I actually let anyone read.
30. I waste too much time on social media.
31. I will now spend the rest of the day checking for comments on my blog (hint hint hint).
32. I want to stay married, though, so I will go clean my house and make some dinner.
33. And check on the kids so Child Protective Services doesn't take them away…
34. Oh, and maybe I’ll go wash everyone’s underwear for good measure.
35. I write clichéd things like “for good measure.”
36. I don’t know whether the period goes inside or outside of the quotation marks above (actually, it should go outside but it didn't look right...)

I Am A Loser Baby #NaNoWriMo

In typical "365 Excuses By Julie" fashion, the excuses in November mounted up faster than lice can reproduce and I failed to meet my National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) goal of writing 50,000 words in one month. 

I fell about 13,000 words short. Here's what my NaNoWriMo words chart looked like:

Although, technically I am a loser, I do *feel* like a winner. (I hope that counts for something) I have about 37,000 words and 127 pages of a novel that I didn't have a month ago. I worked out some plot points, added some twists and subplots, flushed out some characters -- none of which would have happened if I hadn't attempted to write a novel in one month. 

Now, the goal is to continue the momentum and write through December. Then start revising revising revising.

For those goal-oriented and nagging friends of mine (you know who you are) -- my goal is to be finished with self-editing by February (Finish It February) so I can share with my writer's group and other readers. 

(Now I just need a fancy chart like I got on NaNoWriMo.org) 

730 Days of Lame Excuses Later...

     I have been toying around with the idea of being a writer for decades - jotting down random notes and pieces of stories in notebooks for more than half of my life figuring one day I'd be a "real" writer. A few years back, as I watched my babies turn into big kids right before my eyes, I realized - if I don't make this work NOW, when will I?

     At some point on my quest to make this writing thing work, I came across a blog titled something to the effect of "365 Days of Novel Writing" (although I can't seem to find it now). Essentially, a women was blogging about her journey to write a novel in one year (I have no idea if she wrote that novel or what became of it). When I saw the blog I scoffed at myself and thought I should write a blog titled "365 Excuses NOT to Write a Novel" because knowing my undisciplined procrastinating self, I figured that is what would happen... Thus, the seed was planted...

     Roughly two years ago today "365 Excuses by Julie" was born. 47 excuses later - I still don't have any published short stories or novels but I have been writing more than ever before and will continue to plug away at it... I am gearing up for NaNoWriMo again this year (NaNoWriMo What?) and am not only determined to be a NaNoWriMo winner but to complete a manuscript worth sending out into the world. If for no other reason than to show my children it can be done.

     To celebrate the two year anniversary of my documented writing life (or poor excuse for one), I've put together this "flashback blog." Here are some of the "365 Excuses By Julie" blog posts of note from the past two years:

Excuse Me! - This is my first blog post and, since I almost never talk about being a writer in real life, this is how I "came out" as being writer to all the people I know (virtually). 

I Was Too Desensitized - This blog post after the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting bears repeating for multiple reasons: One, let us never be so desensitized by violence that a headline about a school shooting seems common-place; Two, let us never forget the children and teachers that lost their lives. Three, let us remember the brave teachers that saved their students' lives that day. Four, let us never take advantage of every single day that we have with our own children because it can be ripped away from us in one instant. 

I Need Some Obsession Up In Here - Go head and click this blog entry because not many other people have. This blog article is one of my lowest clicked blog posts so I figured I'd revisit it here. I envy those that have obsessive drive and determination -- those that have let nothing get in the way of their goals and dreams. Those that have succeeded even when their dreams have seemed far-fetched and unattainable. In short, I wish I was a little more obsessive with my dreams... 

Because One Day The Kids Will Be Grown - Just because... 

I Need To Put My Butt In A Chair - Writer's write. Everyday. No matter what. Just write. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be written. You can't edit or revise a blank page. End of story. I need this reminder glued to my forehead. Because daily I have excuses of why I didn't write when I really just need to put my butt in the chair and write! 

You Don't Really Want A Gift, Do You? -- I have to include this blog in the list because I get a lot of clicks and some flak for writing it. I wrote it because I felt like Teacher Appreciation Day was becoming a way to flaunt Pinterest-prowess and not necessarily a way to show appreciation for teachers. I feel like teachers should be appreciated every day and not just on Teacher Appreciation Day. But I do understand as a homemade mother's day gift hoarder that some teachers (and nurses) do appreciate these gifts and am not really trying to say that they shouldn't get them but just that maybe we should try harder every day to show appreciation... 

I Used To Be The Best Mom - I just like this one because, like most moms, I fall way short of the super-mom I envisioned I would be. 

Worth The Move - I am a strong believer that everyone comes into your life for a reason. Sadly, I have moved away from too many wonderful people. The wonderful ladies from my Moonwriters group being top of the list. I wish my stint in South Jersey wasn't so short but am grateful you came into my life and look forward to working with you ladies if only through Facebook and email. 

If Cliches Came In An Adam Levine Package - Go figure, this is my top clicked blog post. Apparently, if you put "Adam Levine" in your title you get lots of clicks (I wonder what happens if you put Adam Levine in the body of your blog or what if you write the words "Adam Levine" and "body" close together...). Those clicks might not be the most targeted since the blog post has less to do with Adam Levine and more to do with my bemoaning my writing as always sounding trite and cliched. This is a common problem for me and other newbie writers (so much so I have two blog entries about cliched writing). 

Need Some Motivation - As I gear up for NaNoWriMo take two, this seems like a good blog post to include in the list. It has some helpful pep talks from real live successful published authors.

     There you have it - 10 of the 47 excuses I have written over the last two years: Click. Read. Enjoy. Comment. Share. Repeat often.

     Bonus: I was trying to decide what picture to include in this flashback blog post when I came across this picture of Snotty Lottie from my blog post titled I Wasn't Prepared For THIS! So that's my picture this week, just to make you laugh...

I Am Not Meant For This!

     After I put my youngest on the bus, I surveyed the disaster that my children left in their wake, got down on my knees and cried out “I am not meant for this sh$t!” Then my dog put his stinky muzzle in my face, licked the lone tear, and hacked something on my cheek.

    Hopefully, it was the lack of sleep that made me question the 10 years I have spent doing exactly this shit. See, the night before my husband and I were sleeping in our usual positions – on opposite edges of the mattress with our five year old sprawled perpendicular between us – when our son wakes us with the declaration, “I peed myself.” We dutifully sent him off to change and wash his hands while we inched further away from the middle lest the pee touch us whispering blame: Did you make sure he peed before bed? Did you let him have something to drink before bed? You have to actually watch him pee because he lies. Maybe you shouldn't have given him that fourth juice box. The boy returned, crawled into my arms and fell back asleep cradled over the edge of the bed. Me, watching the clock until it was time to go downstairs and make breakfast and lunches, dreading the choices: cereal is processed and has too much sugar; oatmeal but not the instant because that too is processed and has too much sugar; or eggs but only the free range ones from a local farm otherwise the chickens most likely were caged up cannibals injected with antibiotics and hormones. And, for lunch: do I use whole wheat bread or does that have too much gluten? Am I allowed to use peanut butter or is the kid sitting next to my daughter going to go into anaphylactic shock? How about hazelnut, is that actually a nut? 

     Sleep deprivation aside, if I am not meant to do this shit, what am I meant to do? And, why is it that I can’t seem to manage to do the same shit that women were doing for centuries before me? What is my excuse? 

     Logically, I can blame my mother. Maybe she, in the post-feminist world, didn't feel it necessary to prepare me for this shit so logically when I am faced with the conundrums: how do I make this from scratch; how do I iron that; how do I sew this; how do I clean that? The answer is: I don’t f'ing know. And neither does she! So maybe that means I blame her mother or her mother’s mother. Maybe for generations women have been whispering into their baby girls' ears: “You are not meant for this shit.” 

     Now what? Who’s going to do this shit? Are we turning into a generation of stay at home moms that send their two year olds to school because we don’t know what to do with them; send the laundry and the mending out; hire cleaning ladies; cook all our meals with a box, 2 cups of water and a microwave? And, if we absolve ourselves from all activities that were once meant for women, do we then absolve our husbands – are they no longer obligated to fix our cars; mow our lawns; pay our bills? And, if so, what are we all going to do – sit around watching Netflix? Piddling around with novels while really just reading articles posted to Facebook?

     Maybe we just have too much shit to do. Do our kids really have to wear something cute and unique every single day? Does that cute outfit then have to immediately be stain-treated, washed, and folded neatly in the drawer with 20 other cute and unique outfits? Do they have to be in every sport offered per season plus piano lessons, art classes, and Sunday school? Do we have to seek out BFFs for them and make sure to jam-pack free time with playdates so they never feel unpopular at school? 

     Or, maybe, I really am just tired. Maybe I’ll change the pee sheets, take a nap, take a shower, bake those homemade sugar-free, gluten-free, peanut-free muffins I found on Pinterest and feel like supermom by the time the kindergarten bus rolls in... (Or, search for the recipe, get distracted by an article about the Kardashian's until my son's school bus is sitting out front honking at me.).

Doctors, Vets, And More... Oh, My!

Less than 7 full days into school and I already have excuses for why I am not writing or getting anything else done (look how easy that was!):

We have already managed two doctors visits and squeezed in a visit to the vet as well...

My youngest had a very yucky snotty nose the entire time we were on vacation the week before school started. I finally brought him to the doctors last week to find that he has two "raging" ear infections. Poor guy probably had those infections brewing the whole time we were on vacation :( (although it didn't seem to bother him as he jumped from pool to pool).

What almost did thwart our vacation was a call from the dog kennel our very first night. Our 10 year old boxer had to be rushed to the emergency vet for what appeared to be symptoms of bloat. Bloat, if not treated quickly with emergency surgery, can be fatal to a dog of any age particularly a 10 year old boxer. And, after I talked to the vet whilst standing in the Wal-Mart parking lot with a cart full of supplies for the week, I thought we were going to lose him. But, luckily, by the time I arrived back at the hotel 2 hours later my husband had given the go-ahead for the surgery and my dog had survived. (2 hours later? Oh, did I skip the part where I was a blubbering idiot and locked my keys, purse, and cell phone in the car while I stood outside with melting groceries in a South Carolina Wal-Mart parking lot begging strangers if I could borrow their cell phones? Hmm.. I wonder how I could have left that part out?)

Our dog is wonderful, back to his old self. He was spoiled rotten by the vet techs while we were away and the only thing I had to do when we got back was bring him to get his staples removed.

Mommy/Doggie Selfie. Love this guy!

Doctor visit #2 came Monday for my middle child. He already managed to pick up a virus that I was worried might be strep (headache, sore throat, stomach ache, fever). Apparently, though, it's just a virus and he's back in school two days later (hopefully not spreading it around).

In between, of course, I have gotten the worst cold I have had in a long time. The last few cold and flu seasons I have managed to stay pretty healthy thanks to my persistent use of Airborne (I swear by it!) BUT apparently you have to actually remember to take it while your children are snotting all over you or it doesn't work. So, I've been coughing, sneezing, and not resting all night and puttering around all day in a fog (which please oh please should be lifting soon).

Oh, my! There you have it, less than 7 days into the school year and I have managed excuse #45 of why I am never going to be a published writer (or accomplish much of anything else!). 

On The Back-To-School Emotional Rollercoaster

Ahhh… Back-to-school time… the time of year when even the most even-tempered mother can feel like an undiagnosed manic depressive. As I prepare to send all three of my children on the school bus for the first time, I vacillate between wanting to run around the house and complete all items on my to-do list in a single child-free day to wanting to spend the day crying on the corner anxiously wringing my hands until the bus returns my baby-turned-kindergartner safely into my arms.  

For the last ten years I have some form of baby, toddler, or small child in my arms for the better part of the day. I have spent a large portion of my adult life pregnant, nursing, and changing diapers. And now that is over. I now hand my children over to be educated by strangers. Part of me wants to sing “I’m Free!!” in operatic falsetto while the other part of me wants to grab a hold of my uterus and beg “Just one more, give me just one more!”

How did the years slip by so fast? How did this summer pass by so fast? How is vacation already over?

I’ll survive back-to-school. And they will thrive. After the first few days, those child-free hours will go by oh-too-quickly. Before I know it, another summer will come and go and there will be another back-to-school to prepare for. I will have three children in school full day then. That time will come when I will be told that producing live children from my womb and keeping them alive is no longer a sufficient contribution to society. I will need to do something. Tick.

I will be putting my three biggest excuses on the bus… Tick.

Now is the time to make something of my writing or find anything else to do. Boom.

Yipes. Maybe I should go have that talk with my uterus (Just kidding, uterus. You've done good work but it is time for you to retire).

Distracted By Facebook Again. Why? Oh why Facebook?

I sat down to write last night. Yay me. Yay to my husband who offered to get the kids ready for bed. But, as often happens when I sit down to write and fail to turn the Internet off – I found myself getting distracted. I just had to google this or that important bit of information and before I knew it I was typing that little F word into the address line.

You know what I’m talking about. It’s likely what brought you here today. Facebook. Ahh, Facebook. That time suck we love to hate. Some days I am ready to give it up. But then who would read my blogs? How would I know when people had babies, went to Disney, got married, got divorced?? How would I know what celebrity died? Or had a baby, went to Disney, got married or got a divorce? So, instead of quitting Facebook, I’ll just post this “Facebook rant blog.”

I just don’t understand what we are doing on Facebook! Why we are spending so much of our precious time here? Why? Why Facebook users? Why?

Why do you feel the need to post every single article in existence on one subject? (And why do I click like even if I haven’t read the article!?)
We get it: You don’t vaccinate your children; you hate common core; Kraft foods is the new Phillip Morris; you love Jesus; guns are bad; you want to save all animals, plastic causes cancer.

Why do you share the same picture of a woman in old fashioned clothing slumped over her sofa with a different witty saying? (And why do I like it every time!?)
We get it: You hate doing laundry; you wish you had wine; your children don’t listen to you; your husband is an idiot; you love coffee.

Why do I need to see a picture of you with a plunging neckline hanging over someone different every time you have a “Girls Night Out”?
We get it: You look hot when you’re not wearing mom jeans; you are cool; you know how to have a good time; you have lots of friends.

Why do I need to see a picture of every purchase you make? Your house? Your vacation home? Your car? Your kid's 10th American Girl doll?
We get it: You have a job, you have money, you like to buy nice things.

Why is it you ONLY post on Facebook when you go on exotic vacations?
We get it: You are better than the rest of us daily Facebook hacks but we should still be jealous of your family vacation to Hawaii, or the Greek Islands, or Disney for the umpteenth time this year.

Why do I need to know every single time-suck you partake in?
We get it: You play Candy Crush, Words with Friends, and Farmville: you have the personality similar to Princess Ariel, a farmer, a person from the 1960s and an Irish sailor; you write a witty blog; you really want to win organic food for a year, a Disney cruise, or a trip to Legoland.

Why do I need to hear how much you love your bestie, your boyfriend, your husband, or your kids?
We get it: You know how to appreciate the people you love. But seriously, you are going to be hating on them tomorrow so why waste my time today?

And, finally, why do you need to post things just to make other people feel bad?
We get it: You are organized, you are crafty, you bake pretty cupcakes, you never yell at your kids while the rest of us saps suck at all those things.

And I suck because I do some or all of the above things too. I get it. But really I’m just trying to make you laugh while venting ;) Have a fabulous Facebook day!

Oh, and here is my "we get it: you are a great mom, you do stuff with your kids" selfie:

Settling (In?)

     Stephen King is haunting me. Nagging, more like it. Almost every day I can hear his creepy voice in my head (sorry Mr. King but when you write the kind of stuff you write your voice becomes creepy). Why is he bothering me?  

     It probably all started way back in October. What you didn't know was the 365th day of 365ExcusesbyJulie.com flew by without any fanfare from me. The excuse then? I was gearing up for NaNoWriMo (Say What?) and just never got around to it. Alas, NaNoWriMo was a bust for me as I put writing aside to focus on moving. Which is done. And now the excuse for not writing? I am busy setting in to our new home and community.

     Now, I have that nagging worry that I am again falling into the pattern of just plain settling. Maybe settling is the wrong word as it has the connotation of getting something less than you want/need/deserve. But when you have everything you could possibly need surrounding you (great husband, kids, house, community, friends, etc) it's easy to just settle into the comfortability of it all and not really try too hard. That seems to be where I am settling right now -- happily going about taking care of the kids, doing the chores, puttering around the house, unpacking the random boxes, checking out the town, taking walks... Busy settling in but still not accomplishing any writing goals.  

     Where does Stephen King fit into all of this? In addition to my own nagging guilt over my neglected writing, Stephen King nags me as well. I just can't seem to get him out of my head (creepy, huh?)! In his book On Writing he tells all of us would-be writers to write every single day, even holidays. Which is no surprise, but that doesn't stop my mounting excuses for not writing. As I recall it, he goes on to say something to the effect of: if you are constantly putting off writing to go mow the lawn (or whatever) maybe you should do just that -- go mow the lawn and forget about writing altogether. That's what he tells me everyday: why don't you just go mow the lawn and give up. But I don't want to mow the lawn! I certainly don't want to give up writing -- the thought makes me sick to my stomach. I don't want to settle for that!


 
    If the thought of giving up on writing makes me sick, then why is it I can let day after day go by settling into a routine of not writing? There is no good excuse (although I could rattle some off). So now that my family and I are somewhat settled into our new home, it is time to carve out at least a few hours a week to writing. My goal is to write one hour each day between the hours of 2 and 3. And, lock myself away one evening a week to write for an additional 2 or 3 hours. At least until summer when I'll have to switch it up a bit. Wish me luck (and hopefully I can stop hearing Stephen King in my head)!

Boxes For Books

My last post for this blog was November 14th while I was happily up to my elbows in NaNoWriMo. One might think that I have been so busy writing and subsequently editing that I haven’t had a single excuse to share. I wish that were true. Unfortunately, the reverse is true: Excuses abound! My husband took a new job and I had to switch gears and focus on moving. In short, I had to exchange my book for boxes.

The New Year is in full swing and I have not focused on a single writing resolution instead I have focused on housing to-do lists. We have been very fortunate in this market, though, and we are almost at the end of our journey. In exactly three weeks’ time I will be watching the mover’s load our belongings on to a truck. I am sad to leave here only two short years after moving, but I am also excited by the new possibilities this move represents.

And I am excited to get back into a writing routine – to finish the work that I’ve started. Over the last couple of years, I have unleashed my wild writerly mind and it is not happy to be caged while I am busy with other things.

I have given my brain very little time to think creatively unless staging a home counts. I look forward to getting back to my novel, getting back to this blog – getting back to writing.

More to come in 2014! Until then, I’m going to work on my moving to-do lists!

The Week That Wasn’t

Apparently Fall is emerging all around me: the temperature is dropping; the trees are changing colors; and Halloween is fast approaching. Last week I missed Fall unfolding itself right in front of me because I was in my own world. A world where corporations suspend production, where hundreds of jobs are lost, where resumes are updated, and words like “relocation” are thrown around. This is a world I had no intention of being in but there I was – life is fun like that.

I tell myself not to stress about things I can’t control. I tell myself things will work out the way they are supposed to. And I believe it, too. I know that our family will survive the closing of my husband’s workplace. That he will find another job in the area quickly and we won’t have to move. Or, maybe, there will be a company that swoops in at the last second to purchase the plant and continue production.

There is nothing I can do, really, except help my husband update his resume.  My life pretty much stays the same for the moment – I still have the same chores, the same laundry, and the same ever-surmounting to-do list. Therefore, the only logical thing for me to do with my time is to imagine how things will play out. To research the state, the city, the school district, the neighborhood, and the very house that we could live in.

So while things were piling up all around me like the fall leaves outside, I was busy playing with the Realtor app on my phone. Not the best use of my time, but it was cathartic and kind of fun….

It was almost like last week didn't even exist. Last week was the week that wasn't. So, back to reality this week! Back to using my time productively (or at least trying to). Back to using my imagination to write stories (since that’s my goal, right?)! Failing that, I have a new book to read – Allegiant (Divergent Trilogy)comes out today – yay!

It Is Back-To-YOU Time

It has happened once again. Just yesterday we were making New Year's Resolutions (like mine here AND here). Then we blinked and started planning summer activities (whoops, did I forget to do that?). And now we've sent the kids back to school.

Take a deep breath.

It's time to get back into the routine (or find one). It's time to get back to you. Yes, I'm talking to YOU. Ok, fine, I'm talking to ME.

Here's some of my back-to-school resolutions:

     * Do a load of laundry and a household chore at least three times a week.    
     * Exercise after big kids get on bus at least four times a week.
     * Run errands with little kid in tow once or twice a week.
     * Go to the library to write while said little kid is in school three times a week.
     * Write from home the other 2 days (and catch up on any household chores).

But, of course, I am giving myself the first week off so that I can simply catch up on everything I didn't do over the summer like put away end-of-school stuff and tackle the mounds of summer laundry.

Got any back-to-school resolutions (or excuses to avoid them)?

It's Been That Kind of Summer

Summer is almost over! How did that happen? I still have a pile of school work from last year to decide what to do with (sadly, I suppose the recycling bin is the option)! Some moments I am excited to see them go: to get into a routine, to have that 2 1/2 hours of child-free time EVERY SINGLE DAY. Then other moments I am sad that it is over - I want them to experience more summer. Some how, even though we seemed busy everyday, I feel like they didn't experience enough. Even though I tried to balance scheduled activities with unscheduled activities, I feel like we didn't have enough of either. Even though it felt like we were running around all summer, I feel like we didn't do enough. Somehow, even though I have piles of beach/pool towels and bathing suits to wash, I feel like we didn't spend enough time at either.

Maybe it's because of my disbelief of how quickly summer ended that I almost forgot to go to my son's preschool orientation day. Maybe it's because my brain has been off all summer that I almost forgot to turn in the preschool paperwork that will give me those 2 1/2 hours every single day. Maybe it's just been that kind of summer. The kind of summer that I triple book myself on a given day and almost forget to do all three things.

Thanks to a Facebook post, I was reminded of the orientation with one hour to spare. Just long enough to beg a neighbor to watch the older kids, send them off on their bikes, shower, scrounge the house for the needed paperwork (birth certificate, utility bill, shot records, physical form, etc), go to the wrong door at the school, and still only be 10 minutes late (that's practically on-time for me). It's been that kind of summer.

And here he is checking out the preschool playground, happy and excited to start school. Note that to prepare him for the day, I threw a collared shirt on top of his bathing suit and tee shirt. He is still wearing miss-matched shoes. It's been that kind of summer:

It's In My Purse

Hello my dear brave blog readers. Today I am going to take you to a place few dare to go. A place even my husband refuses to enter (for fear he may put his hand into a half-eaten jelly sandwich, pulverized goldfish, or an unwrapped tampon). I am going to take you into my pocket book. Please take appropriate precautions – rubber gloves, hazmat suit, etc….

See, it is time to change purses. And, in the spirit of self-deprecating and humorous excuse-airing I have decided to share this momentous occasion with you. Because, dare I say it, my pocket book is probably some metaphor for my life although, lucky for you, I’m not really going to analyze the meaning now. Instead, I’m just gonna dump it out here on the table so you can have a good laugh at my expense:

1. A church bulletin. 
2. 2 sided 8 x 11 florescent green sheet on Daniel 4 and King Nebuchadnezzar’s pathway from pride of self to praise of God and how we too can do this. 
3. A Thank you card.
4. A receipt for Marshall’s.
5. A letter from my son’s preschool dated May 23rd. 
6. 3 ripped ticket stubs for dance recital dated May 25th and the envelope for the tickets.
7. 5 x 7 of my daughter that I purchased at her dance recital.
8. 2 loose Express gift cards I received on Mother’s Day and the two card holders they came on.
9. Business cards for my local moms club as well as my own personal business cards. 
10. My cellphone.
11. My wallet.
12. Two of my children’s wallets.
13. A wallet containing all my shoppers-club cards.
14. My camera.
15. My Kindle.
16. Large book light received as a free gift from Writer’s Digest books circa 1999.  
17. 1 used tissue. 2 pieces of toilet paper. And one questionable paper towel.
18. 2 almost-dry Sharpies.
19. 1 yellow highlighter and 1 uncapped blue highlighter.
20. 2 pens, 1 dissembled pen and 2 pencils.
21. My daughter’s inhalers.
22. A Pepcid tablet for my dog.
23. A travel toothbrush.
24. Hand sanitizer.
25. Sunglasses.
26. A pony tail holder.
27. An 80 piece bag of gum.
28. A bank lollipop.
29. And the trash from 2 lollipops, 1 piece of gum, and a granola bar.
30. My car keys.
31. Some sort of doohickey that I keep forgetting to ask the kids if they know what it belongs to.

There you have it folks, a quick peek into my scatter-brain disorganized world. In the interest of full disclosure, I will have you know that I cleaned out my purse last Saturday between Acts at my daughter’s recital.

I Used To Be The Best Mom

I used to be the best mom. I used to do everything right. It was so effortless -- I followed my instinct or, when that failed, I followed the advice of an expert which would work perfectly because they were the experts and I was nothing but a mom in the trenches.

I look back on those days of my perfection fondly...

When everything was sterile, controlled, mess-free.

The days when my children napped in their beds according to the schedule I put them on. They nursed every two hours, exactly 20 minutes per side.

At night, they would stir to nurse at the same regularity  I would lift them gently out of their beautiful bassinet, nurse, then gently place them back in -- never falling asleep with them in bed because that could be dangerous. My children never co-slept with us -- for the dangers as well as the boundary issues.  

I used only cloth diapers. My babies never drank cows milk. I made my own baby food.

They certainly never had candy, junk food, juice boxes, or happy meals. It was all organic whole foods for us.

None of my children spent time in front of the TV or other electronics. We spent our time doing educational activities and crafts. My children embraced puzzles, games, crafts, writing. Their toys, always gender neutral, never included weapons.

I never yelled at my children because they respected my authority and listened when first requested. Failing that, I had a system of positive and negative reinforcement. I never needed to resort to punishment. I remember those days fondly. I remember when I was the best mom. Then, of course, I had children.

And now I am just a mom doing my best like all the rest. Hope you had a wonderful mother's day.

You Don’t Really Want a Gift, Do You?

I appreciate you all. I really do. I appreciate all you good people in the world that strive to make this world a better place. I appreciate you under-appreciated – you teachers, you bus drivers, moms, dads, all service professionals. I do. But do we have to have a day to show our appreciation? Does it make us feel more appreciated? Do you really want a flower pot with my child’s finger print on it? Do you want a cute picture of my kid in a homemade picture frame? Do you want that spread of food you shouldn't eat two weeks before the start of summer?

We should do better at showing appreciation every day. It’s a shame that as a society we need to have appreciation days and awareness months to celebrate the often ignored.

I shouldn't need Teacher Appreciation Day/Week to make my child’s teacher feel appreciated. I should send my kid to school prepared. I should raise my child to value education and respect authority. I should take my family vacations in the summer. I should respect her experience and opinion in conferences. Does he really want my handmade gift to show my appreciation? At Christmas, in May, then again in June – how many coffee mugs does one teacher need?

Are these gifts even out of appreciation or are they just another example of over consumerism? Are we just trying to pin the best picture on our social media walls? Are we just trying to throw a band-aid on a broken limb? I know it sucks to be a teacher in a society that doesn't value education, here’s a doughnut. I know it sucks to be an ignored minority, here’s a month. I know it sucks to have cancer, here’s a pink pin.

You don’t really want a gift, do you? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just an uninspired gift-giver and an unappreciative gift receiver – focusing too much on the stress both cause instead of the joy. After all, nothing is more priceless than the look on a kid’s face when he gives a gift made out of love. Maybe that’s the idea for next year – skip the made-in-China soon-to-be-trash trinket and make a video diary of kids telling the teacher why they love him and appreciate her. I’m gonna pin that! (I mean, I would if I knew how.)

Wow! Wow! What?

I love to learn about the authors of books I've read. I love to hear about their educational backgrounds, employment history, their age, the age of their children, and whether those children had colic (you know perfectly normal cyber-stalking stuff but nothing crazy like looking up addresses and driving by houses).

I slightly begrudge authors with MFAs from Harvard and debut novels before the age of 25. I love to hear about struggles with drafts. Conversely, I don’t like to hear about a novel taking 10 years to write. I do love to hear of rejections. Again, though, I like to hear about the author who made it despite the odds. I love when an author has a background I can identify with.

Sara Gruen, author of my beloved Water for Elephants, was a laid-off technical writer home with three children when she wrote her first novel.  Jodi Picoult also has three children although her oldest was a baby when she wrote her first novel so I do slightly begrudge that just as I slightly begrudge J.K. Rowling sitting in coffee shops with sleeping babies writing Harry Potter (my own babies barely slept long enough for me to throw in a load of laundry and take a shower let alone write a novel).

I just finished rereading Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins didn't write Hunger Games with beautiful flowery MFA-prose but with edge-of-your seat brilliance. She expertly described scenes, carefully crafted characters for us to love and hate, gave us perfectly placed and paced dialogue and wrapped it all up in an unbelievably believable plot.  

Before writing Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins was writing children’s television for Nickelodeon. She was a staff writer for Clarissa Explains it All and The Mystery Files of Shelby Woo. She also penned multiple stories for Little Bear and Oswald. She was the Head Writer for Clifford’s Puppy Days, and a freelancer on Wow! Wow! Wubbzy!

Wow! Wow! WHAT? With the exception of Little Bear and maybe Clifford, I can’t stand those shows! But I loooovvveee that – I love that Suzanne Collins wrote something as brilliant as Hunger Games in the same lifetime as she wrote about some weird bouncing creature and his nerdy friend Widget. It humanizes her.

It makes me feel like my dreams are attainable. I might write a crappy blog today but maybe tomorrow I’ll write something that someone thinks is brilliant…

It’s How I Was Raised

The other day I was folding laundry and watching General Hospital (a guilty pleasure I allow myself a few times a month) when it hit me: I know what’s wrong with our society – we were all raised on soap operas!

What? Not you? Oh, come on, you didn’t rush home from school and sit down with your mom and watch One Life to Live followed by General Hospital followed by Oprah? You don’t know characters and plotlines of All My Children, Days of Our Lives, One Life to Live, General Hospital, and Guiding Light? How about Dallas? You don’t know who shot (or didn’t shoot) JR? Your eyes don’t well up when you think of Phillip and Beth? How about Frisco and Felicia?

Fine it’s just me then (even though I think you are about as deceptive as Lucy Coe Jones or Tina Lord Roberts or maybe Sami Brady!).

Everything I know in life, I learned from Soap Operas:

1. No death is final. 
If your husband dies, chances are that he will come back to life after you've fallen in love with the person who killed him. He will look like an entirely different person because he had to have extensive reconstructive surgery. He was gone for three years because had amnesia and was living a double life on some island. When you've left his killer to reunite with him, a daughter that he fathered in those years he was gone will appear as a voluptuous teenager bent on destroying your marriage and reuniting him with her mother but instead she’ll marry your son from a previous marriage which will very likely result in pregnancy.

2. One night stands always result in pregnancy. 
If there is someone you hate, you will be trapped somewhere with that person until you two sleep together. This one-time encounter will result in a pregnancy. Your best friend will be pregnant at the same time. You both will go into labor in a remote cabin somewhere but only one child will survive. This child will be switched at birth which will be discovered some months later.

3. Children raise themselves.
No matter how many children you have, you will never be responsible for their upbringing because this child will only be seen as an infant. A few years later, the child will return as a high school student dealing with some moral dilemma. You will then be able to demonstrate your great parental prowess by helping said child through the crisis. The crisis will probably somehow result in pregnancy, making you a grandparent at the age of 35.

4. Bad guys have a heart of gold.
Every town must contain a bad guy you love to hate or you hate to love. He will be a sexy stranger that sweeps you off your feet, professes his undying love to you and swears off his life of crime. Don’t stand too close to him, though, because very likely his arch-enemy will try to kill him but you’ll get in the cross fire.  

5. If multiple people are in the same location, a disaster will occur.
If you are on a train with many people you know the train is certain to derail. On a bus, it will drive off a cliff. In a car, it likely contains a bomb. If you are at a charity event, very likely all attendees will be held hostage. In a warehouse, clearly it will catch fire and explode. At dinner in the same restaurant, drive-by shooting.

I could go on but I think there is a General Hospital marathon on SoapNet I must DVR.

I Wasn't Prepared For THIS!

I thought I was prepared for children, back when I was a stupid 27 year-old. I was a big sister, a babysitter; some of my friends had kids. I managed to squeak out a degree in Psychology with a minor in Human Development and Family Studies. I read mommy-manuals. Besides, I liked kids. I understood kids. I knew they’d be messy. I knew they’d be loud. I knew they’d be unruly at times. But I knew how to handle it all, I was prepared.

Insert a big-fat mommy-guffaw here: HA!! Hahahaha!

This morning I awoke to my third consecutive morning of snotty, hacking kids which means following children around with tissues, hand sanitizer  and Lysol, trying to sound motherly and soothing while I have kid-snot on my hands and spittle on my face.

Ha! Snotty Lottie seemed like a joke! Joke's on me!

Why was I not prepared for this amount of bodily fluids? Where were the warnings on how to handle the volumes of bodily fluid I alone would be responsible for cleaning?

So here you are, mommies-to-be. Here you are, all those contemplating procreation. Here are the warnings you will not get anywhere else:

Become one with pee, because it will be everywhere.
You will hold your beautiful newborn daughter in your arms. Reveling in how angelic she is, your heart will expand in ways you never thought possible. You will start to feel warm all over. Oh, wait, it’s wet and warm. It’s pee! Because somehow those little infant diapers are unable able to hold your daughter’s pee! Every single time she pees she will very likely pee straight through the diaper! Every single time your sweet newborn son wakes wailing in the middle of the night (and it will be often), he will be wet. The little wisps of hair on his head will be matted down with piss. The tips of the booties that his feet are swimming in will be soaked with urine. His bassinet, soaked through the waterproof pads straight to the mattress.

It won’t stop at potty training, either, just so you are aware. Your son will RARELY make the toilet even if you have him sit, his little KINDERGARTEN voice will come from the bathroom, “Mom, I accidentally peed on my pants again!” as the bus pulls up in front of the house. And girls! It is actually possible for a girl to miss. No lie. You’ll sit there in front of your little 2 or 3 year old excited for her as she pee-pees in the potty and it’ll shoot out and hit you in the face. WHAT?

Oh, there is an end in sight. My doctor told us that boys can stop wetting the bed at 8, even as old as 12!

So, you've got a handle on pee. You tell yourself that pee really isn't all that bad, it’s supposedly sterile anyways…. But be prepared for poo:

You will see, analyze, and discuss poo more than you ever imagined.
Do you remember having real discussions with your spouse? How you discussed the universe and your place in it? You discussed the meaning of life and religion. You discussed politics. Well, no more. Now you will discuss poop. From the very first black-tar meconium poop that you have to scrap off your infant’s tiny tushie to the green and mustardy breast-milk poo. You’ll hold the poo up to your computer screen and compare it. You’ll sniff it. Discussing the smell, “It’s kinda sweet, isn't it?”

You’ll be amazed at how sometimes the poo manages to blast right out, missing the diaper and heading straight for the baby’s back. You will name the poo-types, laying claim to them – “This one is a rock, I’ll take this one.” Or “Oh, this one is a blow-out, you handle it.”

You’ll change your baby’s diaper, prepared for the pee to shoot out because you've already made one with the pee, when your baby makes a cute little bunched up face and a big fat fart-poo will shoot right out at you.

Again, it will only get worse with potty-training. You’ll be getting your little three year old daughter ready for bed, pull down her pants and out will roll a big fat turd. And she’ll just smile at you. Your three year old son will hold his poop for a week rather than poo on the potty but one day while he is in the bathtub it’ll slip out in a fury. And continue slipping as you lift him out. Plop onto the floor before your foot has time to react and squish, you've stepped in human feces.

But it won’t stop there, you’ll sort your 8 year-old's laundry and put your hands in something and throw up a little in your mouth because you know no matter how many times you wash and sanitize your hand the rest of the day it will still smell like shit!

Speaking of throwing up in your mouth, those with a weak-stomach need not apply to this job of parenthood because, you guessed it:

Get used to vomit!
You’re slightly prepared for spit-up – you were given all those spit rags and bibs at your shower, even that cute little pink bib that says “Spit Happens.” Where’s the mommy version? The one that covers your shoulders arms and back – because that’s what you will very likely need! Spit happens alright and rarely does it happen on the cute embroidered spit-up rag. It happens down your back, in your hair, or straight over everything onto a pile on your floor. Sweet.

You’ll get used to the spit-up; regardless, it’ll stop at about the age of one. But one day while your child is just a toddler you will be awakened in the middle of the night and find her covered in an implausible amount of thick, chunky, vomit – in her hair, in between her fingers, down her jammies, puddled in her crib, and oozing out the slats onto the carpet. She’ll be utterly distraught at what just happened to her, you’ll want to scoop her up and comfort her but you have absolutely no idea where to begin. As the stomach bug goes racing through every member of the household you will find yourself hunched over the toilet wishing for the days when all you had to clean up was some projectile milk spit up.

Should I stop there? Or should I relay some more snot-stories? I haven’t even touched on pet messes! How about you? You got some good turd-tales? Any vomit sonnets? Any poo-parables?

I suppose it doesn't really matter, my warnings, because I know the truth: You, expectant parent, will not believe me. You will think me silly. You will think I am exaggerating. You will think that it will never happen to you. You will think that you are prepared. Furthermore, I will soon forget myself. One day my daughter, with her belly bulging, will look to me for advice. I will tell her about the wonders of holding her newborn infant in her arms. The milk-drunk face with tiny drops of spit on his lips, falling asleep in her arms still making sucking noises. I won’t talk of projectile vomit or poopy blow-outs. Even if I did, she will look up at me with those same big innocent brown eyes she had as a toddler and say, “Not my baby.”

I’ve Been In Survivor-Mode

I've been stuck in survivor mode without even realizing it. We've been plugging along, surviving the days. We've been just fine. When you are just fine, it’s hard to identify that you’re also not great.

Then the other day I had one of those moments when I felt like an utter failure. This is not how it was supposed to be like, I thought. I was not supposed to be this kind of parent. I felt like I had given up and given in. I felt like I was walking through a perpetual cycle of lunchables, happy meals, electronics, and screaming in the most fish-wifiest voice, “IF YOU DON’T STOP FIGHTING YOU ARE ALL GOING TO YOUR ROOM!” And them screaming back, “YOU HATE US!” I felt my heart breaking and my children are still little. What is it going to be like in ten years? I felt like lost my daughter to some mommy-hating teenager and she’s only 8. I felt like I’d lost my vegetable eating children somewhere in the McDonald’s play area.

Then something happened right around dinner time, the witching hour. Nobody was pulling on me. Nobody was whining for snack food. Nobody was begging to play Wii. The boys were playing with actual toys and imagination. My daughter was up in her room taking her punishment. I called the children to dinner. They sat down to plates of Black bean taquitos, mini chicken and bean tamalitos, Edamame, and oranges. Nobody whined. My daughter sat there popping Edamame with vigor that is usually only reserved for Sun Chips. My son tried four then politely concluded that they taste like a cross between eggs and green beans, so he’ll pass. My three year old ate numerous. They divided the seconds of black bean taquitos amongst themselves without incident. They finished their milk with minimal coaxing. They showered and got ready for bed as instructed. My daughter discussed how she was going to handle Day 2 and Day 3 of her punishment without any you-are-the-worst mom in the world angst.

Whew. We did more than just survive the day - there may have even been some good lessons learned there! I know it’s not the end. I know that we have to keep actively trying, not just putting out fires and surviving. I know that we need to work on a better positive reinforcement plan. I know that punishing my children for bad behavior isn't the only answer. I know they won’t always eat their vegetables but I don't have to give in. I have to actively raise my kids to be healthy adults with good character not just survive their childhood until they grow to be semi-competent grown-ups with high cholesterol.

Heading off to Daddy/Daughter Dance:
She didn't want to go, she didn't want to wear a dress. But she went and made some good memories 

It doesn't hurt to try. Isn't that what we tell our kids? The worst thing that is going to happen is it doesn't work but you won’t be any worse off. Sometimes you make a plan to nip a behavior in the bud with a severe grounding and you think it isn't going to work, but it does. Sometimes you put a strange vegetable in front of your children and they eat it! Just never give up on yourself or your children. Maybe you’ll find you’re not such an utter failure after all.

Maybe one day I’ll extend that just try attitude to my writing life. Stay tuned! 

Because One Day The Kids Will Be Grown

one day there will be
no Cheerios under foot
clean floors - lamenting 

sibling cease fire
quiet rooms will soon abound
mayhem now - relish

empty lap and arms
no more attention demands
time ownership – weep