I recently returned from spending three glorious days at the SCBWI Writers Retreat in Ranch Palos Verdes, the first (yes first) overnight trip I've had ALONE in nearly eighteen years. You read correctly. ALONE. No kids. No husband. Just me for three days and two nights basking in the sunlight of solitude.
Of course, I wasn't really alone alone. There were about fifty of us, mostly women with a handful of men thrown in for diversity's sake, all gathered at the Mary & Joseph Retreat to mingle with like-minded peers. All of us were writers, some published, some not yet published, but all with aspirations of polishing our manuscripts in hopes of one day seeing our names in print.
We spent a total of ten hours over two days in critique groups, enjoyed excellent presentations by three of the publishing industry's top editors, and had plenty of time to mingle and muse at will.
The whole experience felt like one giant slumber party! My roommate and I, who had only met that weekend, stayed up to one-thirty in the morning both nights chattering away like two teenagers. What I enjoyed most was being able to eat a meal without interruption, carry on a conversation with other adults, to come and go as I please without having to tell anyone where I was going or when I'd return, to eat without having to prepare the food myself or wash the dishes, to enjoy a full night's rest in a bed all to myself and not wake up in the middle of the night to take care of anyone! It was the most fun I'd had in years. Fancy that.
And I spent hour after hour WRITING! It was sheer paradise. It is almost frightening how content I was at this retreat. I would make a perfect hermit.
Of course, when I came home, my five beautiful children threw themselves at my feet, sang praises to me, and pleaded with me to never leave them again. Or was that my husband?
Needless to say I am already looking forward to going back next year. Sorry honey.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
The Tennessee Trip
Tuesday my husband and two of my children took off for a week in Tennessee to visit relatives. My husband fretted and worried during the entire planning stage of this trip. What if something happens to me while I'm gone? How will you (me and the kids) make do? Do I really want to take two kids? What if, what if, what if... Of course, I just gently prodded him along reassuring him that the chance that he'd die in a plane crash or in a sudden winter storm was very unlikely, and even if he did, I am more than capable of taking care of things in his absence. I urged him to go and spend time with his brother. The kids would love seeing their cousins, and it was only a week, after all.
My husband hates traveling. He claims that he does not like being away from home and family. I never really understood that, especially in light of the fact that whenever he's around home and family he's usually in a grumpy mood. At times I wonder why he comes home from work at all. He seems happier at work than at home. And family vacations are sheer torture!
The funny thing was my husband actually suggested that ALL of us go to Tennessee. I had to restrain myself from laughing when he said it. Was he serious? I very gently reminded him that every time we go on vacation together, or even just out to dinner as a family, he always says the same thing: "Next time I suggest we do something or go somewhere as a family, remind me not to!" So I reminded him. "Honey," I said with a smile, "if we all go to Tennessee, WE will all have a great time, but YOU will be miserable."
So he only took two kids. Turns out the nine year old threw up on the plane - more than once. Mind you, in seventeen years of marriage my husband has never handled our children's vomit. Claiming a weak stomach, he usually steps out of the room and leaves me to handle the clean-up. I don't mind. We mothers have very strong stomachs. So, I have to admit I felt just the slightest twinge of satisfaction at hearing the news that my dear husband had to clean up after my son on the plane - and that he took it all in stride. Bravo!
All in all, I must admit that there was an underlying reason for my staying home while he went off to play in the Tennessee snow. While my husband hates to spend time away from the family - I LOVE IT!!!! Yep, Tuesday morning I kissed my husband and children good-bye, told them I love them and would miss them, and stood outside to watch them drive away. The moment they were out of sight I did a little dance, started singing to myself, and listed all the wonderful things I would enjoy in their absence: having my bed all to myself, throwing out whatever I want without having to justify it to anyone, watching a few movies without interruption, and going anywhere I please - again, without having to justify it to anyone! Heaven!
So here I am, oddly enough, watching my twelve-year-old sleeping soundly - in my bed. (My two teens and the toddler are home with me.) No, I didn't get my bed all to myself after all. And though I did watch two movies last night, I did it with my two year old jumping all over me and my son asking questions every two minutes. And I did take off on a spontaneous trip to Arizona, which made my husband furious when he found out and I still had to justify it, and it's day four of the Tennessee trip and I have nothing really to show for it. Well, that's not entirely true. I did throw out an old dresser and a broken high chair - and I didn't have to justify that to anyone!
My husband hates traveling. He claims that he does not like being away from home and family. I never really understood that, especially in light of the fact that whenever he's around home and family he's usually in a grumpy mood. At times I wonder why he comes home from work at all. He seems happier at work than at home. And family vacations are sheer torture!
The funny thing was my husband actually suggested that ALL of us go to Tennessee. I had to restrain myself from laughing when he said it. Was he serious? I very gently reminded him that every time we go on vacation together, or even just out to dinner as a family, he always says the same thing: "Next time I suggest we do something or go somewhere as a family, remind me not to!" So I reminded him. "Honey," I said with a smile, "if we all go to Tennessee, WE will all have a great time, but YOU will be miserable."
So he only took two kids. Turns out the nine year old threw up on the plane - more than once. Mind you, in seventeen years of marriage my husband has never handled our children's vomit. Claiming a weak stomach, he usually steps out of the room and leaves me to handle the clean-up. I don't mind. We mothers have very strong stomachs. So, I have to admit I felt just the slightest twinge of satisfaction at hearing the news that my dear husband had to clean up after my son on the plane - and that he took it all in stride. Bravo!
All in all, I must admit that there was an underlying reason for my staying home while he went off to play in the Tennessee snow. While my husband hates to spend time away from the family - I LOVE IT!!!! Yep, Tuesday morning I kissed my husband and children good-bye, told them I love them and would miss them, and stood outside to watch them drive away. The moment they were out of sight I did a little dance, started singing to myself, and listed all the wonderful things I would enjoy in their absence: having my bed all to myself, throwing out whatever I want without having to justify it to anyone, watching a few movies without interruption, and going anywhere I please - again, without having to justify it to anyone! Heaven!
So here I am, oddly enough, watching my twelve-year-old sleeping soundly - in my bed. (My two teens and the toddler are home with me.) No, I didn't get my bed all to myself after all. And though I did watch two movies last night, I did it with my two year old jumping all over me and my son asking questions every two minutes. And I did take off on a spontaneous trip to Arizona, which made my husband furious when he found out and I still had to justify it, and it's day four of the Tennessee trip and I have nothing really to show for it. Well, that's not entirely true. I did throw out an old dresser and a broken high chair - and I didn't have to justify that to anyone!
Sunday, January 3, 2010
A New Beginning
It's been nine months since my last blog - and for good reason... Well, two reasons really. The first was that my husband wasn't too keen on my making public the details of our personal lives, exposing ourselves (or more specifically our children) to negative comments by complete strangers. The second reason was nothing more than good old fashioned laziness.
As for the first reason, I have told myself over and over that if Erma Bombeck had shielded her family from possible public criticism, then America would have missed out on a lot of good laughs. How I love Erma Bombeck! When I was in high school, one of my teachers wrote me a note predicting that I would be the next Erma Bombeck. Well, at least her compliment gave me enough courage to continue writing for the next twenty-five years.
As for the second reason, I admit to using my new status as "mother of five" as an excuse to do nothing...well, at least very little...lately. Does that make sense?
Two years ago at the age of 39, I gave birth to my fifth and final child. I have enjoyed every single moment since then! I have learned that the years pass way too fast while our children are young, and not fast enough once they reach adolesence. So, I have been savoring every second with little Jare Bear.
And there is, actually, one more reason why I've been so lazy. I've been living in writer's limbo. Limbo, as most of you know, is the place where souls go to wait. It is neither heaven nor hell, and nothing of any significance is accomplished there. Souls just sort of drift along waiting for...something, anything, to happen.
Well, that's where I've been. You see, when a writer is actually writing (and I mean working hard on a specific project) the world is a wonderful place. In fact, hours and days are much too short. It is easy to lose oneself in it all. The experience of writing, and especially of actually FINISHING a project, is absolutely delicious! Then there's the stage of hoping, and praying, and dreaming for publication. Submitting is hard work, too, and it can be all consuming. The rejections are tough to take, but a good writer never gives up.
All this is just fine and dandy. But then there's the stage that I've been in the past couple of years, the stage where publishers actually like what I've written and say they'd like to publish it -- but nothing happens for a long, long, long time. This stage is full of words like "soon" and "be patient" and "in a few more weeks" and "hang in there." It is extremely difficult to get any actual work done in this stage.
It's kind of like those last few weeks of pregancy when you know the baby could arrive at anytime, but there's no way to know for sure exactly when. You pace the floor day after day, look at the clock and the calendar a hundred times a day, and every thought in your head becomes consumed by everything baby.
That's what I've been going through ever since Tanglewood Press told me they wanted to publish my first novel. That was in June 2008. (I had submitted the manuscript in 2006.) I did manage to complete the first draft of the sequel and began writing the third book in the series, but I have had a dickens of a time doing much else -- other than playing with my little boy. Mabye God sent him to me when he did to help me fill my limbo time with something truly worthwhile.
Anyway, I am thrilled to say that my limbo time might be coming to an end...soon. Tanglewood contacted me, still loves my book, and is ready to begin the publishing process. This, of course, simply begins yet another stage in my life, one with which I am as yet unfamiliar. In the meantime, I hope to find a little more time to blog.
When it all boils down to it, I am still a haggard housewife trying to live my lifelong dream of becoming a published author. Thanks Erma Bombeck! You're still my inspiration!
As for the first reason, I have told myself over and over that if Erma Bombeck had shielded her family from possible public criticism, then America would have missed out on a lot of good laughs. How I love Erma Bombeck! When I was in high school, one of my teachers wrote me a note predicting that I would be the next Erma Bombeck. Well, at least her compliment gave me enough courage to continue writing for the next twenty-five years.
As for the second reason, I admit to using my new status as "mother of five" as an excuse to do nothing...well, at least very little...lately. Does that make sense?
Two years ago at the age of 39, I gave birth to my fifth and final child. I have enjoyed every single moment since then! I have learned that the years pass way too fast while our children are young, and not fast enough once they reach adolesence. So, I have been savoring every second with little Jare Bear.
And there is, actually, one more reason why I've been so lazy. I've been living in writer's limbo. Limbo, as most of you know, is the place where souls go to wait. It is neither heaven nor hell, and nothing of any significance is accomplished there. Souls just sort of drift along waiting for...something, anything, to happen.
Well, that's where I've been. You see, when a writer is actually writing (and I mean working hard on a specific project) the world is a wonderful place. In fact, hours and days are much too short. It is easy to lose oneself in it all. The experience of writing, and especially of actually FINISHING a project, is absolutely delicious! Then there's the stage of hoping, and praying, and dreaming for publication. Submitting is hard work, too, and it can be all consuming. The rejections are tough to take, but a good writer never gives up.
All this is just fine and dandy. But then there's the stage that I've been in the past couple of years, the stage where publishers actually like what I've written and say they'd like to publish it -- but nothing happens for a long, long, long time. This stage is full of words like "soon" and "be patient" and "in a few more weeks" and "hang in there." It is extremely difficult to get any actual work done in this stage.
It's kind of like those last few weeks of pregancy when you know the baby could arrive at anytime, but there's no way to know for sure exactly when. You pace the floor day after day, look at the clock and the calendar a hundred times a day, and every thought in your head becomes consumed by everything baby.
That's what I've been going through ever since Tanglewood Press told me they wanted to publish my first novel. That was in June 2008. (I had submitted the manuscript in 2006.) I did manage to complete the first draft of the sequel and began writing the third book in the series, but I have had a dickens of a time doing much else -- other than playing with my little boy. Mabye God sent him to me when he did to help me fill my limbo time with something truly worthwhile.
Anyway, I am thrilled to say that my limbo time might be coming to an end...soon. Tanglewood contacted me, still loves my book, and is ready to begin the publishing process. This, of course, simply begins yet another stage in my life, one with which I am as yet unfamiliar. In the meantime, I hope to find a little more time to blog.
When it all boils down to it, I am still a haggard housewife trying to live my lifelong dream of becoming a published author. Thanks Erma Bombeck! You're still my inspiration!
Monday, March 16, 2009
Book Excerpt #1: Introduction
ARE YOU A HAGGARD HOUSEWIFE?
I suppose the initial question to ask is what is a haggard housewife? To begin with, the dictionary states that a housewife is a married woman in charge of a household. Ironically, a housewife is also defined as a pocket-sized container for small articles (which would explain why my kids are always digging through my purse for gum, quarters, and any variety of tiny items they might have misplaced.)
The dictionary defines haggard as being wild or distraught in appearance or having a worn and exhausted appearance. Put them together and you have a woman who is in charge of a household whose nerves are frazzled and whose mind and body are on the brink of collapse.
One does not need to feel this way 100% of the time to be a haggard housewife. Even if she feels stressed and fatigued on occasion, it is enough to qualify. If you are not certain this title describes you, I have provided a short questionnaire to help clarify any confusion. Once you have answered the questions, compare them to the explanations at the end. The results just might surprise you.
Are You A Haggard Housewife?
1. How often do you make dinner from scratch?
a. Every night with only rare exceptions
b. At least once a week, whether I want to or not
c. On occasion, when my mother-in-law comes to visit
d. What’s scratch, and where can I buy some?
2. How often do you talk on the phone with friends?
a. Often. I call my friends at least once a week
b. Occasionally. I call my friends on their birthdays.
c. Rarely. My friends call me and sometimes I pick up.
d. Never. That’s why God created answering machines.
3. “On my child’s first day of school, I…”
a. Cried because I knew how much I would miss him.
b. Wandered aimlessly around the house until he came back home.
c. Took a nap.
d. Shouted, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last!”
4. “When a friend drops by for an unexpected visit, I…”
a. Welcome her in with open arms.
b. Shout “Hang on a second!” and scramble to pick up the living room.
c. Lie and tell her I’ve got the flu.
d. Hide in the bathroom until she leaves.
5. If your husband took the kids for the day what would you do with your time?
a. I would have lunch with my girlfriends and get a manicure.
b. I would waste it trying to figure out what chores I should do first.
c. I would order pizza and watch TV all day – basking in the solitude.
d. I would get the locks changed (heh, heh, heh!)
6. “On Sundays, when my family goes to church, I…”
a. Dress my kids in matching outfits and arrive 5 minutes early.
b. Tell my kids to find something, anything to wear, and hurry it up for @*#$% sake!
c. Tell my husband that I’ll get there when I get there.
d. What? It’s Sunday again?! Are you sure?
7. How often do you have sex?
a. As often as it takes to keep my husband happy.
b. Every other weekend, whether I want to or not.
c. Whenever I run out of excuses.
d. I’ll have sex the day my husband learns to wash his own underwear.
8. The song that most typifies my life as a housewife is…
a. “Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This”
b. “Back On The Chain Gang”
c. “I Will Survive”
d. “We’re Not Gonna Take It”
9. “What I want for Christmas this year is…”
a. A gift card to my local spa.
b. A new vacuum cleaner.
c. A gift card to Burger King.
d. One one-way ticket to Honolulu.
Results:
Mostly“A”s: You are either from another planet or in complete denial. Return this book immediately and get your money back.
Mostly “B”s: You are a devoted wife and mother, but you sometimes feel unappreciated and overworked. You need to relax and laugh a little more. This book is just the medicine you need.
Mostly “C”s: While you are secure in your role as a homemaker, your life feels chaotic and harried. You can never seem to catch up or gain the upper hand. You are not alone, as this book will show you.
Mostly “D”s: You are on the verge of surrender. Your cynical attitude about life needs a serious adjustment. Maybe this book will help. Maybe it won’t. But what have you got to lose by trying? Life can’t get much worse than it already is, can it?
I suppose the initial question to ask is what is a haggard housewife? To begin with, the dictionary states that a housewife is a married woman in charge of a household. Ironically, a housewife is also defined as a pocket-sized container for small articles (which would explain why my kids are always digging through my purse for gum, quarters, and any variety of tiny items they might have misplaced.)
The dictionary defines haggard as being wild or distraught in appearance or having a worn and exhausted appearance. Put them together and you have a woman who is in charge of a household whose nerves are frazzled and whose mind and body are on the brink of collapse.
One does not need to feel this way 100% of the time to be a haggard housewife. Even if she feels stressed and fatigued on occasion, it is enough to qualify. If you are not certain this title describes you, I have provided a short questionnaire to help clarify any confusion. Once you have answered the questions, compare them to the explanations at the end. The results just might surprise you.
Are You A Haggard Housewife?
1. How often do you make dinner from scratch?
a. Every night with only rare exceptions
b. At least once a week, whether I want to or not
c. On occasion, when my mother-in-law comes to visit
d. What’s scratch, and where can I buy some?
2. How often do you talk on the phone with friends?
a. Often. I call my friends at least once a week
b. Occasionally. I call my friends on their birthdays.
c. Rarely. My friends call me and sometimes I pick up.
d. Never. That’s why God created answering machines.
3. “On my child’s first day of school, I…”
a. Cried because I knew how much I would miss him.
b. Wandered aimlessly around the house until he came back home.
c. Took a nap.
d. Shouted, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, I’m free at last!”
4. “When a friend drops by for an unexpected visit, I…”
a. Welcome her in with open arms.
b. Shout “Hang on a second!” and scramble to pick up the living room.
c. Lie and tell her I’ve got the flu.
d. Hide in the bathroom until she leaves.
5. If your husband took the kids for the day what would you do with your time?
a. I would have lunch with my girlfriends and get a manicure.
b. I would waste it trying to figure out what chores I should do first.
c. I would order pizza and watch TV all day – basking in the solitude.
d. I would get the locks changed (heh, heh, heh!)
6. “On Sundays, when my family goes to church, I…”
a. Dress my kids in matching outfits and arrive 5 minutes early.
b. Tell my kids to find something, anything to wear, and hurry it up for @*#$% sake!
c. Tell my husband that I’ll get there when I get there.
d. What? It’s Sunday again?! Are you sure?
7. How often do you have sex?
a. As often as it takes to keep my husband happy.
b. Every other weekend, whether I want to or not.
c. Whenever I run out of excuses.
d. I’ll have sex the day my husband learns to wash his own underwear.
8. The song that most typifies my life as a housewife is…
a. “Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This”
b. “Back On The Chain Gang”
c. “I Will Survive”
d. “We’re Not Gonna Take It”
9. “What I want for Christmas this year is…”
a. A gift card to my local spa.
b. A new vacuum cleaner.
c. A gift card to Burger King.
d. One one-way ticket to Honolulu.
Results:
Mostly“A”s: You are either from another planet or in complete denial. Return this book immediately and get your money back.
Mostly “B”s: You are a devoted wife and mother, but you sometimes feel unappreciated and overworked. You need to relax and laugh a little more. This book is just the medicine you need.
Mostly “C”s: While you are secure in your role as a homemaker, your life feels chaotic and harried. You can never seem to catch up or gain the upper hand. You are not alone, as this book will show you.
Mostly “D”s: You are on the verge of surrender. Your cynical attitude about life needs a serious adjustment. Maybe this book will help. Maybe it won’t. But what have you got to lose by trying? Life can’t get much worse than it already is, can it?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
JUST LIKE MOM
Applause! Applause!
Yes, (virtual bow) I did it! I baked a perfect loaf of bread!
If this sounds trivial, then you haven't eaten any of my prior loaves. If you had, you would remember the heavy lump in the pit of your stomach. Oh, how many times I pulled down my trusty Betty Crocker Cook Book, sweated and slaved over a ball of sticky dough only to end up with a crusty brown brick in the end. I followed directions exactly! But either the dough wouldn't rise enough, or the flavor was too bland, or whatever. My dogs were well fed at least (they never complained about the crust being too crunchy.)
When I was a girl, I often came home from school to the smell of bread baking in the oven. Mom ground her own wheat and made our sandwiches from homemade bread baked in a tin can. (I always thought that was so cool!) Mom's bread was so yummy I preferred it to the flimsy, nothing-but-air bread from the grocery store (the stuff my own kids beg me for now).
Baking bread isn't the only talent of Mom's that somehow didn't make it into my genes. Mom could sew, too. Anything! Curtains, halloween costumes, pants, shirts, business suits, and even bathing suits! (Her best friend sewed her daughters' underwear. I'm grateful Mom never did that!) I even still have the collection of dolls she sewed me every year for Christmas.
And did I mention that Mom can reupholster furniture? And repair large appliances. And rewire lighting. And grow all kinds of vegetables. And build fences. And strike up conversations with literally anyone! She even helped build a log house. Whew! Let's just say that I am nothing like Mom, though I've spent my whole life wishing I were.
Well, back to the bread thing...
I bought this really awesome book called "Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes A Day" by Jeff Hertzberg, and what do you know! It's true! No more aching muscles from kneading bread dough. No more waiting and waiting and waiting for the dough to rise. I just threw four ingredients together, let it sit a while, formed my loaf, tossed it in the oven, and BINGO! Out came the most beautiful, most delicious loaf of bread I've ever seen or tasted. (I just love my new book!) Even my six-year-old said, "This tastes good!" What higher compliment could I receive than that.
I can't wait to bake another loaf tomorrow. Yum! Maybe I'm not so different from Mom afterall.
Applause! Applause!
Yes, (virtual bow) I did it! I baked a perfect loaf of bread!
If this sounds trivial, then you haven't eaten any of my prior loaves. If you had, you would remember the heavy lump in the pit of your stomach. Oh, how many times I pulled down my trusty Betty Crocker Cook Book, sweated and slaved over a ball of sticky dough only to end up with a crusty brown brick in the end. I followed directions exactly! But either the dough wouldn't rise enough, or the flavor was too bland, or whatever. My dogs were well fed at least (they never complained about the crust being too crunchy.)
When I was a girl, I often came home from school to the smell of bread baking in the oven. Mom ground her own wheat and made our sandwiches from homemade bread baked in a tin can. (I always thought that was so cool!) Mom's bread was so yummy I preferred it to the flimsy, nothing-but-air bread from the grocery store (the stuff my own kids beg me for now).
Baking bread isn't the only talent of Mom's that somehow didn't make it into my genes. Mom could sew, too. Anything! Curtains, halloween costumes, pants, shirts, business suits, and even bathing suits! (Her best friend sewed her daughters' underwear. I'm grateful Mom never did that!) I even still have the collection of dolls she sewed me every year for Christmas.
And did I mention that Mom can reupholster furniture? And repair large appliances. And rewire lighting. And grow all kinds of vegetables. And build fences. And strike up conversations with literally anyone! She even helped build a log house. Whew! Let's just say that I am nothing like Mom, though I've spent my whole life wishing I were.
Well, back to the bread thing...
I bought this really awesome book called "Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes A Day" by Jeff Hertzberg, and what do you know! It's true! No more aching muscles from kneading bread dough. No more waiting and waiting and waiting for the dough to rise. I just threw four ingredients together, let it sit a while, formed my loaf, tossed it in the oven, and BINGO! Out came the most beautiful, most delicious loaf of bread I've ever seen or tasted. (I just love my new book!) Even my six-year-old said, "This tastes good!" What higher compliment could I receive than that.
I can't wait to bake another loaf tomorrow. Yum! Maybe I'm not so different from Mom afterall.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Smiling Through the Hurricane
You've heard the old adage, "When it rains, it pours." Well, it's been a regular hurricane here at my house. Teen trouble, investment crises, knee surgery (husband's, not mine), pregnancy worries (mine, not husband's), and a barrage of other little irritations have made life interesting, to say the least. However, through it all I manage to keep a smile on my face. How can I do otherwise, with four children who constantly remind me that life is intended to be enjoyed?
My 10-year-old, Marc, is known for his Jim Carrey-like antics. Walking into walls, making faces, doing voice impersonations, and cracking stupid jokes are just a few of the pranks in his constantly changing arsenal. One of his favorite tricks is falling down the stairs. (Think Saturday Night Live's Chevy Chase.) He does it several times a week. I'll hear the bump bump bump, and while his grandparents come running to see if he's survived, I'll just keep my nose buried in my book. I'm sure my in-laws think I'm a terrible mother.
The other day I was working at the computer and Marc decided to go downstairs to play video games. He dashed down the hall and suddenly I heard him scream out in pain followed by a whole string of bumps. For a moment I thought, "Oh my gosh! He's really done it this time. He's really fallen and has broken his neck!" Despite my fear and that sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach - the feeling we mother's get when we think our children have injured themselves - I remained in my seat.
The silence that followed was ominous, but still I stayed at my post. Finally, about fifteen minutes later, I stood up and casually strolled to the top of the stairs. Directly below me on the landing was Marc lying face down on the carpet, eyes closed, his arms and legs sprawled out in every strange, twisted direction possible. I took in the scene and with one breath said, "Marc, are you going to lay there all day?"
Suddenly, the mischevious grin I know and love so well magically appeared on his freckled face. He opened one eye and glanced up at me as if to say, "Aw, didn't I fool you that time?" Then a second later he was up and jumping down the remaining steps to play.
It's moments like these that make all the hard stuff worth while.
My 10-year-old, Marc, is known for his Jim Carrey-like antics. Walking into walls, making faces, doing voice impersonations, and cracking stupid jokes are just a few of the pranks in his constantly changing arsenal. One of his favorite tricks is falling down the stairs. (Think Saturday Night Live's Chevy Chase.) He does it several times a week. I'll hear the bump bump bump, and while his grandparents come running to see if he's survived, I'll just keep my nose buried in my book. I'm sure my in-laws think I'm a terrible mother.
The other day I was working at the computer and Marc decided to go downstairs to play video games. He dashed down the hall and suddenly I heard him scream out in pain followed by a whole string of bumps. For a moment I thought, "Oh my gosh! He's really done it this time. He's really fallen and has broken his neck!" Despite my fear and that sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach - the feeling we mother's get when we think our children have injured themselves - I remained in my seat.
The silence that followed was ominous, but still I stayed at my post. Finally, about fifteen minutes later, I stood up and casually strolled to the top of the stairs. Directly below me on the landing was Marc lying face down on the carpet, eyes closed, his arms and legs sprawled out in every strange, twisted direction possible. I took in the scene and with one breath said, "Marc, are you going to lay there all day?"
Suddenly, the mischevious grin I know and love so well magically appeared on his freckled face. He opened one eye and glanced up at me as if to say, "Aw, didn't I fool you that time?" Then a second later he was up and jumping down the remaining steps to play.
It's moments like these that make all the hard stuff worth while.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Welcome to The Haggard Housewife
Definition of Haggard: having a worn or emaciated appearance (synonyms: careworn, wasted, drawn)
Definition of Housewife: A married woman in charge of a household
Welcome to my life. Yes, I am a worn-out married woman in charge of a household, though whether or not I am actually in charge is debatable. When you live in a family with one husband, four children, two in-laws, two dogs, two birds, two turtles and a fish - the question as to whom is actually running the show remains to be answered. Lately, it seems we are more of an anarchy than the sort of organized democratic society a family is supposed to be.
Definition of Anarchy: A social structure without government or law; utter confusion
Well, that pretty much describes this household. I wake up each morning to the touch of ice cold feet rubbing up and down my calves. This is my six-year-old son who sneaks into my bed while I'm still sleeping. After telling him to knock it off and leave me alone, my five-year-old daughter wanders in and wriggles in between us. The day has not officially begun until these two begin their daily ritual of kicking each other and screaming about who gets to lay near mommy. I ignore it until the girl kicks the boy in the face and I command them to exit my room immediately.
The two little kids race downstairs while I begrudgingly drag my very cumbersome and pregnant body after them. [Note: In our family there are three divisions of children - there are the big kids, which includes my 13-year-old and my 10-year-old, the little kids who you have just met, and the baby, who will not make his official appearance until November.]
We scrounge in the kitchen for something edible. Long ago I gave up trying cook breakfast because none of my children are ever willing to eat the same thing at the same time, and rather than try to please four different people, I let them root around for whatever suits them. It's not pleasant, but it works.
My ten-year-old eventually emerges from his nightly hibernation and immediately begins teasing and hassling the little kids. I tell him to stop, at which point he widens his eyes and responds in complete seriousness, "But I wasn't doing anything!"
Things just keep going on from there. I won't bore you with my entire daily routine, but just know that it comprises a delicate balance of helping children with schoolwork (yes, I am a homeschool mom and an utter lunatic), keeping them from maiming one another, trying to get some housework done, and eeking out a few moments of me-time in the process.
Some days are successful, others are not. You will most likely be hearing from me on the unsuccessful days as those are the days that I feel drawn to write. For some strange, inexplicable reason, putting the pains and strains of parenthood into words somehow lessens my burden. Perhaps it is because by writing about my experiences I am actually passing some of burden on to you. So, dear reader, I thank you for lending me your listening ear and relieving me of some of the stress of being a haggard housewife. Together, we just might survive this afterall.
Definition of Housewife: A married woman in charge of a household
Welcome to my life. Yes, I am a worn-out married woman in charge of a household, though whether or not I am actually in charge is debatable. When you live in a family with one husband, four children, two in-laws, two dogs, two birds, two turtles and a fish - the question as to whom is actually running the show remains to be answered. Lately, it seems we are more of an anarchy than the sort of organized democratic society a family is supposed to be.
Definition of Anarchy: A social structure without government or law; utter confusion
Well, that pretty much describes this household. I wake up each morning to the touch of ice cold feet rubbing up and down my calves. This is my six-year-old son who sneaks into my bed while I'm still sleeping. After telling him to knock it off and leave me alone, my five-year-old daughter wanders in and wriggles in between us. The day has not officially begun until these two begin their daily ritual of kicking each other and screaming about who gets to lay near mommy. I ignore it until the girl kicks the boy in the face and I command them to exit my room immediately.
The two little kids race downstairs while I begrudgingly drag my very cumbersome and pregnant body after them. [Note: In our family there are three divisions of children - there are the big kids, which includes my 13-year-old and my 10-year-old, the little kids who you have just met, and the baby, who will not make his official appearance until November.]
We scrounge in the kitchen for something edible. Long ago I gave up trying cook breakfast because none of my children are ever willing to eat the same thing at the same time, and rather than try to please four different people, I let them root around for whatever suits them. It's not pleasant, but it works.
My ten-year-old eventually emerges from his nightly hibernation and immediately begins teasing and hassling the little kids. I tell him to stop, at which point he widens his eyes and responds in complete seriousness, "But I wasn't doing anything!"
Things just keep going on from there. I won't bore you with my entire daily routine, but just know that it comprises a delicate balance of helping children with schoolwork (yes, I am a homeschool mom and an utter lunatic), keeping them from maiming one another, trying to get some housework done, and eeking out a few moments of me-time in the process.
Some days are successful, others are not. You will most likely be hearing from me on the unsuccessful days as those are the days that I feel drawn to write. For some strange, inexplicable reason, putting the pains and strains of parenthood into words somehow lessens my burden. Perhaps it is because by writing about my experiences I am actually passing some of burden on to you. So, dear reader, I thank you for lending me your listening ear and relieving me of some of the stress of being a haggard housewife. Together, we just might survive this afterall.
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