Tuesday, February 04, 2014

Got What It Takes To Write?

Yesterday, I released my first book into the world. Well, I mean, I wrote it, start to finish, as well as I could, and let other people read it. I'm waiting for feedback, and I'm only apprehensively checking my email every 10 minutes or so. If you want to read it, I'll send it to you, too.

Last night, I read an article in the New York Times that made the writer in me cringe and scurry away. The author, Michelle Dean was clearly not fond of the YA dystopian novels by Veronica Roth (Divergent). Michelle wrote extensively about why Veronica Roth was a pretty lame writer and how modern readers just don't appreciate real literature. When you make something and send it out into the world, people get to have opinions about you and your work. And not everybody is nice about it (of course, being nice doesn't stir up controversy and grab attention).

I read Divergent over Christmas and I liked it just fine. I've read stuff by Ayn Rand and Aldous Huxley; I'm a huge fan of Dystopia. Veronica Roth wrote a great book; it was interesting to read and it led to interesting discussions. In the comment section of Michelle Dean's article, someone mentioned that Roth had been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder related to a lot of negative comments on the last book. I haven't read it, but I would bet the main character dies and people get all sad and whiny when that happens (uh, spoiler? Maybe?). So people HATED the book? And Veronica, for writing it? (I read some pretty detailed reviews and it seems people were unsatisfied by the way the plot unravels. Fair enough.)

Deep down, we know how it works, right? Whether it's authors, actors, musicians - we glom onto them when they make something we all love and then sit on their heads and yell at them to make something new, something better, something NOW! We aren't satisfied with a cool book, we want a trilogy, and a major motion picture, and bonus features! And you better hurry, before we forget how much we liked it and find something else to glom onto. The People in Charge (i.e. the guys who's talent is making money off of talented people) wring everything they can out of one person and leech onto the next big thing. And we totally support that behavior.

Look. I wrote a children's story of about 500 words and let me tell you, it is not the greatest book the world has ever known. But it makes me smile. Over the last year, I have realized that it takes a lot of effort to MAKE something. Regardless of the medium, to take something from an abstract idea inside your brain and turn it into something that other people can see ... it doesn't just take effort, but a lot of courage. The worst movie, the worst painting, the worst song, the worst book ever written it an AMAZING accomplishment of will power and dedication.

People, just be nicer, okay? You don't have to like everything, things can suck, we can have a negative opinion. Fine. But you can be nice about it; tactful. Polite. Good manners are COOL! Especially if you have never stepped up and put yourself out there, have a little compassion. And if you have, good gravy, a little empathy, please. Keep in mind the bigger picture and at the very least, honor the courage of others to share themselves. ("Just, please, be nice to me." is what this whole post is really saying, but I don't think it will really work. FINE.)

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

The Things I've Done Today

Sorry. I'm an apologist. Not like Socrates. I just say, "Sorry." A lot. People sometimes ask me to not apologize.

It's my blog.

Once, Anonymous commented on how boring my blog was, that I am my favorite topic and what a tedious topic it is. (Not in those words, but it always sticks in my head precisely that way.) (And Anonymous is kind of a jerk, because who cares? It's my blog and if you aren't being thoroughly entertained, go elsewhere; there are a bazillion other things on the internet to read, why waste your time making one pathetic person more aware of their inadequacy. Way to make the world a little better, Anonymous.)

So, welcome to tedium.

I woke up, took the kids to school (science fair day, I hope we win), got home, listened to music loudly while showering, played dress-up (which is to say, put a silly dress over my yoga pants and t-shirt, eye make-up galore) (so I can play the part of eccentric writer girl in my mind), and made my husband listen to my story. My silly story. My latest silly story.

Then, I decided I needed a sketchbook, because children's books really are works of art. I never believed it, but now I am beginning to. And I'm not much of an artist. alas. It's ok. And I got a sketching kit - an entire collection of magical tools for drawing better; it was just $10 and the magic pencils alone were $5, so I got the whole kit.

Now, I'm writing. And this is my current favorite song:



Friday, January 10, 2014

Adult Acne - My Story and (Hopefully) Cure

Every picture I've posted of myself online is a lie. Either it turned out decent by some fluke of technology, or I photoshopped it a little. Or a lot. For example:






These pictures ... I like how they look, but I don't feel they represent reality, especially not the reality in my head (which may or may not be reality at all). I had my share of adolescent acne, not the super severe kind, just the normal stuff that keeps teenagers humble. In my 20's, and especially after having kids, my face got worse.

I'm not talking about adorable, little pustules; I got huge, underground, painfully obvious, Monster Zits that never really developed a proper head which can be conveniently popped. I would dig at them, begging them to release their toxic waste, and just be healed.

I went to a dermatologist once. I had half a dozen huge ones and hated my stupid face to death. He shot each lump with an antibiotic of some sort, and gave me a prescription that wouldn't cause birth defects (because the best acne drugs do). There was moderate success, but I nothing close to the perfection I wanted.

I researched the topic of adult acne tirelessly, trying a variety of over-the-counter methods, homeopathic stuff, vitamins, scrubs, oils, creams (everything OTC, vinegar, baking soda, honey, olive oil, aloe vera, etc.). I would take torturous selfies in the hopes that I would be able to document my eventual cure.






Nothing was working, I spent a ton of time and money trying to deal with and cover up the issue. My children would touch the bumps and open wounds with compassion, "Owies."

BUT!

I think I may have found a cure. For me. And if it helps anyone else out there, I don't care who sees my ugly face pics.

One article I read talked about how acne on the forehead is stress related acne and acne around the mouth is hormone related. My chin is usually my war zone, especially just before my menstrual cycle starts. In my study of diet and nutrition, I learned that too much sugar/carbs in the diet makes the pancreas work overtime producing insulin and there is often an imbalance of other hormones as the body struggles to handle all the sugar. I read and watched countless articles and YouTube vids. All interesting, but nothing worked for me.

This past November kicked my butt. I binged like a fiend on Halloween candy. I ran out of my favorite vitamins and, for no good reason, just stopped taking vitamins altogether. I grew increasingly lethargic (sleeping most of the day and night), was constantly nauseated, irritable, and completely unmotivated to do anything beyond getting my kids to school and fed.

After 2 weeks of this, I went to my doctor, mostly because I feared I was somehow pregnant (like maybe my IUD expired; I never checked for an expiration date). Also, maybe cancer (that's always my go to diagnosis).

Blood tests showed a few things off, mainly my cholesterol was a bit high and I was low on iron and potassium. The doctor recommended a daily vitamin with iron, resuming my B12 vitamins, taking pro-biotics, and avoiding dairy and wheat if they seems to cause problems. She gave me a prescription for anti-nausea pills and an acid reducer (the prescriptions gave me horrible stomach cramps and I gave them up after a few days). I decided to go back to my sorta-strict gluten-free diet, take all my vitamins, and give up REFINED SUGAR.

My energy levels are back up, as is my will to DO stuff, like live life. BUT, and this is the best, my acne is clearing up.



 
It's certainly not perfect skin, but it a helluva lot better than it has been in like 15 years, and no side-effects or birth defects. It's still healing and I have a lot of scarring; I'm using baking soda paste and lemon juice to lighten them. There are some small zits and I'm treating them with Clearasil Daily Clear pads (after washing with Neutrogena face wash) and some good old 10% benzoyl peroxide. I use CereVe moisturizing lotion (it's light and effective). 
 
I love candy, LOVE it. But my love for candy is overshadowed completely by my hate for my stupid acne. I really hope this no-sugar thing works long term, I will of course, keep y'all posted.
 
SO! If you are an adult person suffering with acne, unable to find relief, just TRY giving up refined sugar (keep in mind that your body turns carbs into sugar; eliminating all refined sugar and highly processed carbs has helped me the most). Take vitamins, eat natural foods, drink lots of water, keep your face clean, don't pick at it.
 
I know you are desperate; this one costs nothing to try.
 
Best of Luck!

Wednesday, January 08, 2014

Housework :(

I saw this (http://frugalfaye.com/2011/11/04/why-i-love-housekeeping/) article on my facebook feed a few times and I scrolled on by because ... well ... I kinda hate housekeeping. I'm not very good at it and it causes me a lot of pressure and guilt. 

I am a mostly unemployed stay at home mom. I SHOULD have a clean and tidy home. When one has organized their home, minimized their belongings, and sticks to the routine, it takes MAYBE an hour or two tops to keep it up. But I rarely do it. 

I came from a messy home. Borderline hoarders. Too many pets and too much crappy crap for the size. When my grandmother was alive, it was cluttered, but mostly clean. When she died ... things fell apart. 

Over the Christmas break, after the trip to the in-laws, I spent the better part of 3 days trying to REALLY clean. I got 3 closets, my bedroom and bathroom, exercise room, and one kid's bedroom really clean. I worked so hard. My house is so messy. 

Also, possibly because the only regular chore I had as a kid was dishes, and dishes was the only thing that got cleaned daily, I'm not very good at teaching my kids to clean. And also I am lazy. And so is my husband (unless you count programming, in which case he's a workaholic). Distribution of labor is our favorite fight. (I hope he has clean clothes ....)

Anyway. The kids are back in school, I WANT to work on my writing goals, but the house needs attention, too. Like ... lots of attention. 

Attention is Love. 

My really clean closet 

Monday, January 06, 2014

I'm More of a "Yes" Mom

I read this article (http://www.positiveparentingsolutions.com/parenting/end-child-nagging-negotiating-with-just-three-simple-words) and it's about getting your kids to stop nagging ya to do crap to which you have already said, "No."

You dismiss them by saying, "Asked and  Answered." Send them off on their frustrated little way, the buggers. 

But I don't want to be that kind of mom. 

If my kids want to do something, dig holes, pierce their eyebrows, climb a tree, play in muddy water, paint something ... If they want to try something and they have come to me ask permission, I want to let them. Or at least find out why and see if we can do it. 

I think the "asked and answered" method is lazy. It appeals to the part of me that wants to play on my phone, read my book, or watch TV, uninterrupted by my active, crazy offspring. 

Rather than giving a hard "no", what if you tell them when and where it will be okay to do the activity? Is it really going to kill anyone if they dig a hole (assuming it's not a grave)? Maybe the front yard isn't good, what about the back yard? What about the big sand pit at the park? Digging holes is messy, hard work, but that means bath time, and maybe a nap, which is good. 

Pierce your eyebrow? Tell them about pain and infections and how their future boss might not approve. They still want to? Well, when they are 18 they can. 

They want ice cream for breakfast? Why not? Throw some granola on top. Is it any worse than normal breakfast? Get them to promise to help make scrambled eggs for dinner. 

The truth I'm trying to teach my kids is they CAN do anything they want, but think about the consequences, and if they are willing to accept them, do it. Learning to negotiate for what you really want in life is an important skill. Don't take no for an answer. Fight for what really matters and let go of the things that don't. 

You want a raise? Your boss says no. Asked and answered, give up, there's no use. 

Lame. 

You work really hard and are willing to take on more responsibility for more money. Negotiate. 

Teaching kids how to negotiate is more useful that teaching them to shut up and piss off. 

Just saying ...

Friday, January 03, 2014

My Husband Picked Me

Sometimes I think back to the first time I laid eyes on the man who would become my husband. It was in Bel Cantos choir (which I auditioned for the year before on a larky whim) and he was rocking back on a chair (which my kids do and have broken about 5 chairs so doing). 

He almost fell backwards, caught his balance, and I said, "I'll give you a quarter if you can do that again," all smirky like. 

He says he Knew when he saw me that he wanted to marry me. He pursued in typical high school boy style (near-constant torment and insult), I grew to hate him. 

Our circles of friends slightly overlapped and one fateful night, I needed a ride an he had a car and thus began our tumultuous romance. 

Over the last nearly two decades, he has become a successful programmer of video games and we have created three wacky, amazing children. Because he picked me. 

Me. Silly, spastic, mercurial, quixotic me. 

I can't pretend to ever know what possessed him to persistently and consistently make the choice and stick to it, but he has generously given me a beautiful and crazy life and I will love him fiercely and forever. 

Thanks, dude, for putting up the enclosure net on the trampoline.
  

Wednesday, January 01, 2014

Goals for 2014

Career Goals

Read 2YA or adult novels/books a month, write report on good reads app. 

Write 3 novels. Spend 3 hours every weekday morning writing. 

Write one children's book/story a month. Publish the book on a blog or amazon for free downloading. Advertise it on blog and facebook to build recognition and reader base. 

-----

Physical Fitness Goals

Goto taekwondo at least 2X per week and advance to red belt by end of year. 

Try an alternative fitness activity every month (hiking, biking, rockwall, swimming, etc).

Eat better. Choose simple, natural foods. No processed, artificial, sugary food. Take vitamins. 

Improve my morning routine. Wake up at 6am, stretch, punch, shower, get dressed. Take kids to school, clean house (45 mins), take a walk, write.

Get teeth fixed. 

Go to annual obgyn appt. 

-----

Family Goals

Take family to church on Sundays on time (bathe and lay out clothes Saturday nite before pub quiz). 

Teach kids skills they need as adults (cooking, laundry, housework, budgeting) with chore charts and lists and weekly family meetings). 

Have a weekly family night of fun where we play games, watch a movie, or go to an activity together. Each child gets to choose the activity one week per month. 

And do this:

Monday, December 16, 2013

Taking Leave of Your Senses

1. I am most comfortable sitting on the floor or with my legs crossed under me on a chair.

2. My daughter said, "Mom's a really good hider," while we played hide and seek. I was hiding behind a sombrero.

3. This is my new favorite song:



4. It makes me grumpy when school says "Wikipedia is not a valid reference source" ... it's my favorite reference source :/

5. I was really bummed that that comet didn't show up ... it was going to be awesome.

6. I got an email from a business who evidently hired someone to comment and link on slightly related blog posts asking me to remove a comment because it was effecting something .... blah blah internet babble. I'm torn as to whether I should comply.

7. I'm thinking of joining a local paranormal ghost hunter group ... doesn't that sound fun?

8. Dominos Pizza has the best mobile app ordering system ... I want one just like it for my grocery store.

9. I haven't bought one single Christmas gift yet. Oh .. one. But it was a gift card.

10. I did one thing on my to do list today and this wasn't it.

11. I am not good at maintaining contact with people ... sorry. And I love you and think of your often.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

I Hear You, Kid

My oldest child often comments about how he can't wait until he is a grown up. I pooh-pooh those comments because, really, kid, you've got it so good.

But today it hit me. I remember feeling that way, right about that age, too. I was sick of having to go to school with people who clearly weren't there to learn anything, who made the teachers go over the same crap from the day before, now even more simplified, and were still unable to regurgitate correct responses. Being told to read mind-numbing textbooks or research topics I had no interest in because some adult told me I had to. I didn't get dragged to extracurricular activities like piano, karate, or dance class because there was no money for them, but I make my kids go. I was dragged to quite a few church activities (some were memorable, most were deadly boring) and I feel obligated to take my kids to these as well, even when I myself don't particularly want to leave the house.

Kids don't realize the burden of responsibility parents carry around. It is my job to provide them with the opportunities that will help them become good people, right? And if they end up on drugs, in jail, or stripping, it's all my fault. Paying bills, keeping a house, clean laundry, cars, getting everywhere on time ... it's a lot to juggle. Oh to be a child again, free of such baggage.

But childhood is not so light-hearted as we like to remember. You're tired from staying up late to do homework? Suck it up, butt outta bed. You feel grumpy? Time for an attitude adjustment. Did you just lose you temper for a moment? Oh no! Banished to your room! You're in the middle of a video game? Tough. Garbage out NOW!

When kids say they wish they were grown-ups, they are not pining for a mortgage or insurance policy. They aren't longing for the struggle of living paycheck to paycheck. They're not begging to carry all the burdens that come with responsibility. They just want to be allowed to feel what they feel and not be told they are wrong. They want to be free to make choices with their time away from school. They want to get out from under all the grown-up thumbs that keep squashing them.

Adults run everything and they can be jerks (almost) whenever they want. Every day, kids are punished for things they have no control over. Late to school? No recess! Mom forgot to write a note for your absence? It's nice that you worked really hard to get good grades, even though you've been sick, but we don't BELIEVE you were sick unless a doctor signs a paper saying so. You didn't clean your room? No going to your friends' house (even though mom and dad's room is a mess and they still get to go out with friends). You forgot to get your homework done? No computer for you. Harrumph and that'll teach ya. Except it won't because everyone makes mistakes.

I'm ranting. All I really want to say, to remind myself, is be gentler with the kids. We ALL have bad days, feel tired, or get unreasonably grumpy sometimes. Occasionally, we just want to stay in our warm, safe home instead of rushing to waste time with people who are just acquaintances. Sometimes, we just want to finish a chapter before running to eat a meal we don't especially like and for which we are not especially hungry. I am often a little hungry right at bedtime and I get a snack. Today, I wanted to write a stupid poem about Tickle Tickle Zombie instead of doing laundry (and I did). Sometimes (and I really mean a lot of times) I do things that annoy people because it amuses me. It is part of being human.

Childhood is short. It's a time which should be looked back upon with fondness. Children are not care-free. Their lives are just as stressful and chaotic and unfair as everybody else's. The things that are important to them are important. Just, let's all treat the children like we would a real person. Because they ARE real people. Yeah. That's what I wanted to say.

Friday, November 22, 2013

My Existential Daughter

Sagan uses to tell me strange things. 

This is not real life. When I goto sleep, that is real and this is the dream. 

You are not my mommy. My real mommy died. 

Where I used to live, on the moon, I could do anything I wanted. 

She would tell me elaborate stories about the lives of her imaginary friends. Sally, her I.F. at the time, was really mean and would tell Sagan she wasn't pretty. But Sally was from South America and her parents got shot. In the head. So, Sally needed a friend. 

These statements were very disturbing to hear and I would stifle nervous laughter as she told me then. 

But lately, I have been having very vivid dreams. About other people living a normal other life. And when I wake up, I really want to go back to sleep and watch some more. Sometimes I will make notes about the dreams. 

Usually the dream starts out as me, but I'm living in a different house that seems familiar, but not to me. Then I find a door or a room or an entire floor that I never knew existed in the house. How could I have never opened that door?? And I start exploring and things get weird. 

It's a cold day in Texas today and I spent most of it dreaming. My husband asked what my plans were for the day. I said I'd try to be really productive and read a book. He said he wished he had my life. 

No one thinks their life is easy, do we? 

I think I'll take some vitamins now and pick the kids up. 14.5 hours of sleep. Maybe I'm just catching up from 10 years of child induced sleep deprivation. I've broken my caffeine addiction. It took a few weeks. I no longer slam 5-hour energy drinks in the morning. I no longer include a caffeine pill in my vitamin regime. No more daily diet cokes. I think, I hope, soon my body will figure out how to function. 


Thursday, November 21, 2013

Mothers

I have a terrible headache. I've been kind of down for a couple weeks: nausea, tired, headaches. I'm not pregnant; 3 urine and a blood test all failed. 

I'm just not right. It's probably a little anemia, food allergies, vitamins, maybe. 

Today I slept a lot. Then woke up with the headache still punching at my brains. I watched the episode of Buffy called The Body. It's the one where her mom dies. 

Then I watched the kid president's open letter to moms. 

Then I watched a montage video about the first year of a baby born at 3 1/2 months.

Do I have to explain why my nose is runny and my eyes are all puffy?

So. Christmas is coming. My little family is excited to go see grandma and grandpa and cousins in ARIZONA! 

But ... What to do with my mom? 

You know the question, "If you could change anything about your life ..." and most people realize they wouldn't change a thing because all that happened makes them who they are ... God forgive me, but I'd change everything about my mom. 

Oh, to have a mother. Someone who can take care of you, give you good advice, help you out, just love you. The definition of mom mocks me. Laughs in my face as it stomps on my heart. 

We asked if she wanted to go visit her family back in Idaho, but she declined. She's been seeing a lot of doctors. She's diabetic and has been coughing for months. And something about her kidneys. 

I don't have a lot of details, because I can't talk to her. I can't hug her; I usually leave the room when she enters. 

Children don't ask to be born. Loving a parent is not automatic. Duty. Obligation. They don't always equate to love. 

I want to tell people, but it's a despicable quality, to not appreciate the woman who gave you life.  It's ugly. It's wrong. 

I can't improve her quality of life. 

I really long for time when it is just my family, me and my husband and the three miracles. And sometimes I long to be alone. Not for always, but there is something about being all alone in a house that refills my soul. 

I wish everything about her was different. I wish she was smart and competent and healthy and brave. I wish she had goals and dreams and ambitions. I wish she knew how to be sincerely kind and soft and gentle. I wish she could be independent. I wish I could trust her and believe her. I wish she cared enough to take care of herself. I wish she was quiet and helpful. I wish I loved her. 


Thursday, June 27, 2013

Religion and Sex and Abortion. Oh and Politics.

Look here. I feel my inner granny peeking out. The old lady inside of me who has lived a long life and knows Right from stupid and couldn't care less who she offends by saying so.

Sigh.

I have some strong opinions. They are just opinions, but they are mine and I like them.

1. The Mormon Church, my beloved Faith ... you have a crazy mixed up history of wackiness regarding marriage. I am going to just have to disagree for a while. You can't even convince me that a man and a woman make the best nurturing environment for a child.

It's a good option. There are others, not worse or better, just different.

I was raised by my grandmother, mother, and father. My first best friend had a mom and a grandma. Life is strange; You make EVERYONE who, for whatever reason, is unable to fit into your snug definition of ideal, feel wrong. That's not right. You make people like me, who come from an intact (tho insane) nuclear family and who currently FIT the mold of "ideal", feel a little better then those poor souls who have "less than ideal" situations. That's not right either. To me, the defining characteristic of an ideal family is not in genders or numbers, it's just love and the desire to make the best of it together.

2. I hate abortion. The thought of it nauseates me and when I look at my precious children, my heart breaks for the people-who-never-were, the babies who were sucked into sinks. If it were up to me, healthy women with healthy fetuses would be philosophically challenged to see and hold real live babies, to talk to potential adoptive parents, to be forced to fully accept the ramifications of the choice to abort.

Before that tho, people should be educated, in schools and homes, as to the consequences of sex. Birth control would be readily, easily available (it is now, but more so). Pass sex ed before drivers ed. In the end tho, I do not want the decision to be Rick Perry's (idiot governor of Texas).

In the end, it's between the mother, father, and a doctor. If the mother's life is in danger, it should be her choice. If her choice was taken when she got pregnant, at the very least, let her have some power over her body now. For a thousand other reasons, we can only imagine, in the end, it has to be her choice.

3. Texas politicians were annoyed by the voices of the people. We annoy them. They would rather attend galas and hob nob with the rich and powerful, than deal with us. They take our money and use it how they please. Do they make sure our schools have everything they need to enrich the children? No, they make up tests that cater to the very minimum skills of the maximum number of children and tell us scores are up. Do they make sure our food and drugs are safe? Do they make sure every man, woman, and child gets the health care they need? And when a group of people, tired at being ignored by elected officials, stand together and raise their voices to stop the legislative branch from running roughshod over the rights of women ... they call us a MOB. I'm tired of it. You are, too. Maybe term limits would help. I don't want to wait for election day.

4. You know what piece of legislature my State was able to pass? Banning male masturbation. I assume female masturbation was outlawed decades ago. Men, you can still make "donations", but only at a designated hospital facility. You'll need a permit for adult toys. If you get erectile dysfunction medicine, you gotta sign a waver promising it's to use with a real live woman. I am pretty sure this isn't real, but after looking through my state legislature bills on line ... anything could be possible.

I feel tired now. Granny needs a nap.

Monday, June 24, 2013

Let Us Now Practice Writing a Scene From the Past

"Mooooooom," I hear my seven year old son yell from the bathroom. He's taking a shower in the middle of the day because he suffers from Encopresis, a kind of constipation complication which weakens the muscles in his colon and makes it impossibly hard to control bowel movements. He suffers, but as the one stuck cleaning it all up, I suffer, too. It's not my favorite job, poop cleaning.

I ignore his wails. He has a towel, change of clothes, everything he needs. And I want to finish reading this very funny blog post about a cat.

"MOOOOM!" The higher pitch of this yell catches my attention. He starts screaming.

Panic explodes through my heart; I know something is wrong. I run down the hallway and open the bathroom door.

A cloud of steam hits my face. The shower curtain blocks my view, but my son is still screaming hysterically.

I pull back the curtain and see him slipping, as he tries to stand up. The right side of his head is covered in shiny red blood. More blood is smeared along the wall and is making tiny rivers in the bottom of the bathtub, towards the drain.

For a moment, I am frozen. I want to call for my husband to help, but he is at work. I realize I am the only one who can help my bleeding baby. "It's okay, sweetie. I've got you. Canon, baby, calm down, take a deep breath," I am talking to myself as much as to him.

I take a deep breath and locate the first aid knowledge in my brain. Apply pressure to the wound, that's what you do, right? Yes. 

I see a washcloth, saturated with water and blood, by the drain.

As I reach for it, I wonder if it should be sterilized or something first, but I wring out the bloody water and gently wipe my child's forehead, trying to find the wound. 

Head wounds tend to bleed a lot, my brain reminds me.

I glimpse a small, gaping chunk of flesh, about an inch long before more blood flows out and covers the area again, but I know where the wound is, and I hold the washcloth against it.

He screams again.

"Sorry, sweetie. Sorry."

"There's soap in my eyes!"

I realize there is a blob of suds in his hair, mingled with the blood. I know the warm water of the shower is probably not helping to slow the blood from pouring out of my child, but I have to get the stupid shampoo out. "Canon, hold the washcloth right here on your head, okay?"

He was still crying, shaking. It's never easy to see your blood pooling around you, I'm sure. I help him put his hand on the washcloth to hold it against his head, then aim the shower and ruffle his hair to get as much of the soap out as I can.


I reach over and shut off the water. The shower valve clicks down and releases its last few drops. I look at my kid and notice his blond hair is mostly red now. I'll have to clean that up later.

I see the towel sitting by the sink and his clothes piled next to it.

I grab the towel, shake it out, and wrap it around my shivering, shuddering, child, then lift him carefully out of the bathtub.

He inhales quickly and whimpers with the exhale.

I put my hand on the washcloth and he grips  the towel tightly around him. I carefully peel back the washcloth a little to see check on the wound. It seemed so small compared to the amount of blood. I cover it back up with the washcloth.

I look again to the tub. It looks like a brutal murder scene.

"What happened, baby?"

He inhales a series of short quick breaths, "I hit my head."

"You sure did, baby," I kind of laugh, kind of cry, and pull him close for an awkward hug, while still holding the washcloth to his head.

*******

So, what do you think? Was that scene written well? Were you captivated? Could you feel what I felt? Canon's ok, now. He has a little scar, but he didn't need stitches or anything. His encopresis is mostly better. Canon just read the scene and only gave it a so-so. Sheesh.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Juices Flowing

Hello!

It is 2:56 a.m. I have my writers group in eleven and a half hours. If you want to be a writer, join a group. JOIN A GROUP! I found mine on craigslist.org/meetup.com. Now I have the first half of a children's novel written (I got stuck when I got the kids' to the moon but couldn't decide if the aliens were going to be good or bad ...), then I switched over to a nice adult kind of novel. ADULT y'all. Like the kind I save with a password so my beloveds don't read it. Though, I did let my sister-in-law read it, but I swore her to secrecy ... and she was a little freaked out. Slight changes have since been made.

The cool thing about writing stuff, I don't really know where it comes from. Creativity and such. It just happens. I could feel the inspiration tingling yesterday, but I had to beat my oldest at chess to earn computer time, but then felt bad about winning and let him have the laptop, while I then beat my 7 year old at chess. Barely.

It stayed with me, that tingle. Being me, I procrastinated the writing, which is super easy when your husband has only been home about 8/24 hours a day for the last week or two and you have three wacktastic kiddos. I took the kids to the splash park and got us all sunburnt. I watched a fabulous, mostly plotless, character driven independent film (Natural Selection, if you wanna Netflix it). And then I thought to myself, I said I was presenting ... I gotta write something, so I grabbed a vat of assorted nuts and a couple of bottles of diet Dr. B (the name of the soda and its cheap, cheap price are enticing, but it tastes just like diet Dr. Pepper, which tastes just like Dr. Pepper, WHICH ROCKS) and I punched out the requisite 5 pages (which take the novel up to 20 pages which is possible 10% complete) (which would be great, but I'm not sure what the plot or climax or resolution or theme is/are ... sheesh ... I'm a fakey fake writer ...)

My sentences seem a lot run-ony tonight.

Let's reward my late-nite productivity with MORE DIET DR.B and ANOTHER plotless indie flick (it's not terrible having a workaholic husband when you get to pick the Netflix with no compromises needed at ALL!)

The End.

Good bye now.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Making Dew-Do-Due

I'm supposed to clean the house, quick, before the AC fixer guy gets here. So that is, of course, why I'm blogging now.

I should tell myself I'm a good housewife. It kinda worked at making me a writer ... but every time I try to say it out loud, "I'm a good housewife," I smirk. I did sweep the kitchen this morning, while the oatmeal cooked. Maybe I just need to think of housework as a short time-killer. Instead of Candy Crush. Stupid Candy Crush ... never gives me fivsies when I need them. Grrrr.

Memorial Day weekend was fabulous! We kind of celebrated Sagan's birthday and kind of postponed it, which means, two sorta parties. She's been waiting for her birthday, planning it, for months and months. She deserves a couple celebrations.

My earliest memory is my 5th birthday. My dad, struggling to put together one of those metal swing sets. I loved that thing, even tho we ended up just leaning the slide up against the porch forever after. Carl Jung would ask people their earlist memory, listen carefully, and say something like, "and thus is life," meaning that first memory kind of sets the pattern we struggle with. My lesson, things never quite work out, just make do (make due? make dew? Shrug.)

Ok, gonna play one more song on my git-tar, then furiously clean. I promise. Shower? Pshaw. I'm a writer; showers are always optional.

Ding-dong.

Oops. That's him. Oh well, now I don't have to clean, right?