Monday Musings

Well, it's been awhile, huh?

I know. I know. I promised I would try to do better...but, in fact, I feel like I've done worse.

It's been a busy decade or so. Changing from a mommy of two to a mom of three threw me completely out of whack. There's so much more to do and say and buy...and wash. Some weeks I just give up and sit around eating bon bons while watching soap operas...

Ha! If only.

So where have I been? Here...there...everywhere...but mostly just home -- or at least nearby. Working, momming, driving, wifeing...

My little kids turned into the "big kids." (Who knew that would happen??) They're both in college now...in the midst of finals week and preparations for next steps.

My little baby -- who is anything but little...and a baby -- is now 10 going on 75. (No, seriously. Some days I feel like he's aging quicker than I am.) He's in 6th grade this year...and very nearly finished.

I just cannot believe we're at this point in the year.

I'll probably do some kind of recaps, trying to summarize what's been happening in the past millennium gadzillion too many 10 years or so. But I'll also continue to post about new stuff about what's happening now. Because there's lots of good stuff coming up this month, especially. [Hums "Pomp and Circumstance." and "God Save the Queen" to herself.] And life doesn’t ever stop long enough for me to catch up.

We've said happy hellos to lots of new friends...and sad goodbyes to too many old friends. We’ve moved from phase to phase, trying to adapt along the way. There’s no parental instruction book. Well, not one written specifically for your kid or mine...or anyone else’s, for that matter.

2019.

Nearly halfway through it. Nearly another new decade.

Musing merrily on a Monday. It's what I used to do...every week...it's what I want to do again.

So for now, I'll keep this short and (hopefully?) sweet.

*wink-grin*

Until the next time!

Wordless (Mostly) Wednesday

From three years ago:

The Power of the Pen

Mine is a blog of random thoughts and musings...my mind is in constant motion trying to make sense of the world around me.

............

What does it mean to have freedom of speech or freedom of expression?

To the staff of the a French weekly newspaper, it meant death.

I believe in kindness. I believe in love. I believe that we should treat each other with respect. I believe in truth. But does that mean I'll always agree with everyone around me? Does that mean I won't ever offend someone? Does that I shouldn't ever offend anyone?

No.

People are born with a voice. Many of us are taught to use that voice responsibly. Some don't choose to use it. Others choose to use it in a way that may ignite others to think, to laugh, to feel. In doing this, it may offend some people.

The attack and slaughtering of the staff of the Charlie Hebdo was senseless. It was horrific. It was barbaric.

I don't agree with the content published in Charlie Hebdo. Politically-speaking, it is probably as far from my viewpoint as ever something could be. But that's my opinion. And it's my choice not to buy or read that publication.

That's because I know that you don't have to agree with someone for them to have the right to exist. You can think they're vulgar and offensive, and they can still exist. You can be mad at them for it, and they can still exist. But...

You DON'T have to kill them for it.

It's the equivalent of the playground bully coming and killing another kid just because the other kid said he was ugly.

My heart hurts.

And my head spins...because they may feel they silenced the "infidels"...but instead they awoke the giant.

In the name of freedom of expression and speech and as a fellow journalist: Je suis Charlie.

Sweet Sunday

So yesterday, Emily and I participated in the Fall 24-hour Short Story Contest. Well, I participated, and she joined me for some writing (and Starbucks) fun.

The contest costs $5, and usually she joins in, too, but she's currently saving all the money she makes to replace her phone. So she just used the prompt to write her own story.

And. It. Was. Awesome.

She felt a bit bummed that she didn't enter since the fall prompts are always decidedly more spooky than the other seasons....and she's very good at writing spooky things.

Still. We had lots of fun together and drank our first pumpkin-spiced drinks of the season.

Sweet times!

Substance of LIfe

Wanna come school with us? *wink-grin*

A Non-excuse, Excusing My Absence, or I'm Back...I Hope

So, it has been quite awhile since I dusted off the keyboard and posted on my beloved blog, and SO much has happened. In our lives. In our world. And...in blogdom.

Wow!

To say that I feel overwhelmed doesn't even begin to explain anything except for why I've not been here for a LOOOONG time. When I came to the blog world in 2006, not many people even knew what a blog was. I felt myself blushing each time I explained. I'd resisted creating a blog, just as I had resisted joining Facebook, because both felt a bit like a vanity project. But it became an awesome way to get myself writing again...and a great way to keep track of our growing family...and a wonderful way to keep in touch with family and friends overseas.

Fast-forward seven years and everyone -- and I mean EVERYONE -- and his uncle and his dog has a blog. Even our "beloved" gas company keeps a blog. I interviewed a man at Penske and he was hired for the express purpose of keeping the company's blog and Twitter feed.

Wow!

I've found a ton of parenting and homeschooling blogs that I enjoy reading. And even a few from past friends/acquaintances. Now it makes my little vanity project feel small and insignificant, which it is in the big scheme of things. And it's intimidating.

Yet, here I am, dusting off my keyboard (again) and starting up my blog (again). I'm only one of millions doing this. But I'm doing it to keep my mind uncluttered (as I reminded myself in my motto above) and I'm keeping a record for the kids...and I merely love to write.

Why not?

So no apologies...well, just one: Sorry it's taken so long for me to realize this. And no excuses. Okay...just one: How do I compare to all of these others, including the "professional" bloggers out there???

Simple. I don't.

I continue as I was before...keeping track of life and love and thoughts and fun and sadness and all the things that crowd in my head and keep me awake at 4 a.m.

Welcome back to you, lovely friends and readers. I've missed you!

I'm (Trying to Be) Baaaaaa-aaaaack...in the Saddle Again

Happy mid-March Monday to you! (How's that for alliteration?)

I don't know about you, but I really wish we didn't observe Daylight Savings Time. It really messes with the head. It's like having jet lag without going anywhere. Still in all, it's here and in a few days we won't remember that we're an hour ahead of Eastern Standard Time...still, idle grass...

So, what's been happening in your little corner of the world?

It's been awhile, to say the least. And I promise to catch up...if not today, then soon.

I had high hopes for today. I promised to publish something today, right?

But some days are days that try men's (or women's) souls....if you know what I mean.

Until later...

Realizations

I've realized something important about myself and my blog...

I've missed it. I've missed writing posts. I've missed posting photos. I've missed keeping up with the daily happenings in our own little family. I've missed reminiscing. I've missed musing merrily on Mondays.... 

And, mostly, I've missed my old color scheme. 

Isn't that odd?

I loved redesigning my blog in a new template -- it has a lot more freedom -- but I realized it was just too busy.

When I started blogging back in 2006, I chose a color scheme of green and yellow. I love those colors. They're soft and warm and remind me of Spring. 

Now, I'm not saying it will get me writing again in earnest. (I sure wish it would.) But I do know that I need to keep going with my little quirky little piece of the blog-o-sphere if for nothing else but to save my sanity. 

Writing is therapeutic. It allows us to express ourselves with thought and clarity that we often can't verbalize. It's not for everyone, I realize, but it is something that I personally find I can't live without. Whenever I try, I begin to feel like I'm dehydrated. My brain goes in circles, and I feel cluttered.

So I've done a work-around (my old color scheme wasn't available on the new templates of Blogger), and I think I have something of my "old look" back on here. 

Fingers-crossed, I'll see you tomorrow. *wink-grin*

Another Bit of Writing Fun

I entered another short story contest this past spring. I wasn't sure -- even though I'd paid the $5 to enter -- that I wanted to do the contest again. The starter for this one was very similar to the first one I'd entered...and I felt so uninspired. 

Still, inspiration did hit and below is the finished product. I didn't win the actual contest...but I did win a "door prize." *grin*

*  *  *

Forever Lost

Lost. That word seemed to have so many meanings to her at the moment, Georgina thought.

For the past three years, she and Xander had been lost in love, so much so that after they’d married they’d decided to take a once-in-a-lifetime journey across the ocean to Italy. It was considered the land of love, so they knew the wine and history and music and cappuccinos would work together to strengthen their “amore” for one another.

Then, once they’d arrived, they’d been lost in frustration and anger at one another, each feeling misunderstood by the other.

All she wanted was a small souvenir to take home to remind them of their time together in Italy, and he said the “damn trip was too expensive as it was…just take mental photos.” It was supposed to be their honeymoon, a time to celebrate each other, she’d complained, adding that all the magazines she’d read described elaborate trips taken by lovebirds who’d “tied the knot” without a care in the world for the bills they’d face afterwards. That was the problem, he’d told her bitterly. It had to be paid afterwards, and it all added up to a huge loan that would take at least a decade to pay off. He wondered if she wanted to have that kind of monetary stress continue even after they had children who would no doubt add to their debts.

She’d flounced off, wondering all the while if she’d made the right decision in saying “I do.”

Now, they were lost at sea and had been for the past week. They were down to their last sips of fresh water, bobbing along in the lifeboat, hoping against hope that someone would find them.

Georgina slumped on the bow, searching for any hint of a breeze to soothe her burning face. Something…someone…had to come soon, she told herself. They wouldn’t make it much longer.

Xander lay at the bottom of the boat, much worse off than she was.  Always the “nobleman,” he’d given most of his water to her. He was obviously still crazy lost in love with her, she thought wryly.

But looking at him, she realized, with a pull in her chest, that she still loved him, too. Despite the bickering of the week before, when the talk of finances had put a damper on the sweetness of the trip, Georgina knew their relationship went deeper than that. They had history together – memories of times spent chatting and giggling over simple stuff, sharing a Coke and bag of chips. The fact that he would giggle with her made her heart swell with affection.

Lost in thought, Georgina wondered how many of those magazine celebrities could boast of such stuff.  Everything they did was for the PR it brought them. Share a kiss? Okay. The stars kissed passionately for the eager clicks of cameras around them. Hold hands? Sure. They’d walk along, clutching hands and chatting on their cellphones. Snap! Snap! went the photogs, like dogs salivating for the scraps of meat at the end of a meal, never once wondering if the feelings were real.

Then a noise startled her and her eyes widened when she noticed something fast approaching in the distance—

Bang! Thump!

“Mo-om! Cassie won’t get out of the bathroom!!”

Cassie sighed, quickly closing the book she’d lost herself to. Her brother’s impatience at wanting the bathroom had ruined the moment. She’d have to finish it later, with a flashlight under the covers of her bed.

Musing About Monday Musings

We like that they want to get God to bless
the troops and everything in their store...

When I first started blogging, an eon or so ago, I wanted to somehow do a post everyday.

Ambitious, I know, but I've always loved to write so I thought it might happen? Maybe? Perhaps?

Yeah, I know. It didn't.

I've never been good at keeping a diary. I can go for a few weeks, okay, a few days, maybe, and then I forget or get busy or am plain out of ideas.

Still, I thought if I made the blog different enough to keep me amused, it might work.

So I came up with "regular features" -- ones that I could just plug something into to add a little variety to my posts, that would keep me from spraining my brain through having to come be creative 24/7...thus burning out.

Hence, Wordless Wednesdays, Fridays Funnies, Saturday Sweethearts, and Sweet Sundays were "born."

For a long time, I did a weekly recap in the form of some kind of "Monday musings" and, occasionally, I did Tuesday Tidbits or Thoughtful Thursdays. (Can you tell I like alliterations?)

I haven't done a Monday post in a long long time. I think the last time happened here.

So I'll attempt to pick up -- next week -- where I left off -- next week -- and again chronicle the life -- next week -- in our family's days...maybe next week.

If you ever get bored and have a suggestion or two, I'm all ears.

Let's Make a (I)Deal

Several years ago, I started taking the kids out on Friday to do a little "writing" time. We started it for two reasons: 1.) to further their creativity and enjoyment of writing; and 2.) to give us some supplemental time towards our Language Arts.

It was a perfect way to get us through the week...the proverbial "carrot."

It started off well.

We split our time between Starbucks and Barnes & Nobles, since both had wonderful cafes and the perfect writing environment (and, more important, good coffee for Mommy).

Fast forward a few months...and now I was pregnant with #3. It was still a good way to keep us (mostly) focused through our weekly schoolwork.

I began to look forward to the time as much as (or more than?) the kids.  But somehow #2 was getting bored with the idea; #1 found the environment at Barnes & Noble too distracting -- she would have rather been reading all those awesome-looking books.  So we tried to change the day...and time.

Still, it was hard.

Each week, I had the ideal writing time pictured in my brain. We would go with our notebooks and pens and get our drinks, and then we would dutifully spend an hour together writing from our souls.

Bwhahaha!

Fast forward still another few months and #3 arrives. Of course, some changes were inevitable. For one thing, the newest guy had his own idea of what his schedule should be...and we had to help him work into our family/school schedule. Thankfully, he did beautifully.

But writing time still got shuffled around based on naptimes, feeding times, diaper-changing times, and basic tiredness-all-around times. We got out of practice for a little while.

Enter "Homebucks," our own little writing cafe, done at home with home-brewed drinks and yummy snacks.

Yeah, it worked for a little while -- and it ended up being a great backup for times when writing time just wouldn't work out otherwise.

Once #3 got old enough to miss the occasional mid-morning nap, we ventured back to our old haunts and tried to rekindle our tradition.

Hmmm...somehow it didn't fit the ideal of what we'd once had. An impatient #3 was not interested in sitting -- happily or unhappily -- while we wrote the latest installment of our characters' adventures.

Yet again, my ideal was smashed to pieces as I tried to figure out how to make it work. And yet again, the image of sitting around a cafe table, writing together whilst drinking our bistro drinks, flashed through my mind. Babies crying or throwing everything on the floor didn't fit into those visions.

I was ready to quit.

And then it happened. I realized that we -- more likely I -- had to be patient. My "ideal" needed to be an evolving concept, changing with the children and our moods and experiences during the week.

This past Friday, I sat back and looked at my kids, all enjoying this special time together, whether writing or playing with cars or drawing/coloring in a book, and I knew that I was already experiencing my ideal.

Sometimes, you have to be thankful for what you already have, instead of looking for more.

Thankful for that and a few dozen cookies, cars, and other bribes necessary to bring the moment some peace.

A Little Writing Fun

So this weekend, I had the fun of participating in a quarterly 24-hour writing contest...I turned my story in (Being somewhat "written out," I had actually decided not to do it and then about five hours before the deadline decided I should do it... I'm so fickle sometimes.)

They'll announce the winners in about six weeks.

Phew.

I'm not a big fan of writing contests -- for me -- because I struggle with getting it just "perfect" and suffer from a general lack of self-confidence. But I think it's a great way to work on writing to a deadline. If nothing else, it certainly helps to sharpen your brain power.

The contest runs for 24 hours only. You receive a story tidbit from which you write. It only has to somehow be in the story -- whether literally or just the concept. You're even allowed to change the characters and setting if you want. And you have to stay within the word count limit.

This weekend's was the second one I did.

I also wrote one for the Winter 24-Hour Writing Contest. I didn't win anything, but I had a blast writing it and getting feedback from family and friends. There were so many possibilities...

This was the winter topic:

Blue ice stretched to the horizon, fading into the blinding rays of another waning winter sun. She shivered violently as the shifting mass groaned under her feet. She instinctively glanced down, looking for cracks under the transparent sheen. Suddenly, she tensed and dropped to her knees. Desperately clawing at the ice, she screamed...  850 words or less.

And, as I didn't win, here is my story:

To Sleep

by Susie Foote

Copyright 2012

Blue ice stretched to the horizon, fading into the blinding rays of another waning winter sun. Despite her warm jacket, Sophie shivered violently as the shifting mass groaned threateningly under her feet.

She instinctively glanced down, as she’d been taught to do, looking for cracks under the transparent sheen. Why had they felt the need to chase down a suspect in this climate? And how had they gotten separated?

Suddenly, she tensed and dropped to her knees. Desperately clawing at the ice, she screamed, shutting her eyes...

Sophie sat up, blinking. Then, looking up at the ceiling and down at the rumpled flowered sheets, she sighed, happy it was just a dream. Just a dream, she reminded herself. But what was causing these nightmares to reiterate in her subconscious?

Pulling her legs out from under her covers, she shivered again as her feet touched the cold hardwood floor. She needed a cup of tea to shake the chill of the room -- and her thoughts -- from her being. She staggered from her bedroom, down the hallway towards the kitchen and the much-needed cup of tea.

Her phone sang her favorite tune from Romeo and Juliet. She grabbed it, flipping it open and balancing it on her shoulder.

It was her co-worker, Marcy, lamenting about their job at the theater and the hours they had to keep.

"Ready for rehearsal?" Marcy wondered.

Sophie mentally thumbed through the responses she stored in her mind like an old Rolodex of addresses, a sure way to have the right response at any given moment.

"I forgot. Just tired, I think," she answered, yawning and flicking on the kettle.

"You need to get more sleep," Marcy told her.

Sophie didn't want to argue the point, her mind still stuck in her dream.

It's winter here…winter there, she thought. She's some place colder than her city apartment...

Sophie shut her phone and continued making her breakfast. She felt chilled in her short-sleeved pajama top, reaching over to a sweater she'd left on a chair.

The kettle finished, and she poured the boiling water into the teapot, the steam reminding her of the smoke of her breath in her dream. She sat down on a stool.

She opened her eyes, wide. She hadn’t remembered shutting them. Was she dreaming? Her breath shot out like bursts of smoke, the warmth of it instantly freezing in the air. The biting cold on her cheeks told her it was no dream.

She clawed again at the ice, desperate to free what she was seeing under it, the blood of her ripped skin obscuring her view. Her tears froze to her face. “If onlys” bounced around her brain. She wished she’d stayed home. She wished she’d never thought to join the FBI. She wished she didn’t have such a stupid partner.

Stupid? Who was she kidding? He was the smartest man she’d ever known. He was just stupidly in love with her.

And now? She closed her eyes, telling herself to be strong. It wasn’t becoming for an agent to be so…so what? Emotional. Feelings were discouraged. They could bring the end to even the most experienced field agent.

She placed her hand on the ice, allowing the brief warmth of her skin to melt the spot above what she was seeing. Random tears escaped, hitting the ice and causing little dips in the surface. She stared at them, noticing again the cracks around her.

Her heart began pumping as adrenaline reminded her to flee. There was nothing she could do to change what had already happened, but she could at least save herself.

Yet, without…

A sharp retort, like that of a gun, sounded in the air. Her heart stopped, and she jerked around to see the wide span of blue ice again, cracking, opening, shifting, settling.

The sun dipped further, and the ice grew dark beneath her. She tried to stand up, to get her footing and head back to the shore, but it was much too slippery, and she was tired from the cold. She fell back to her knees, her eyes misting in pain.

She lay on the ice then, to dream that dream again…that she was at home, in her little apartment, working as a Shakespearean actress in a big city theater. It had never appealed to her since she hated performing in front of people, but now it seemed so much easier.

She wished Peter had done the same. Then…

She put her hand on the ice above what appeared to be a submerged FBI jacket and let herself sleep.

“To sleep: perchance to dream,” she quoted to herself and shut her eyes. “Ay, there's the rub; for in the sleep of death what dreams may come…”

It was nearly dark when they spotted her reposing silhouette in the spotlight. Peter, hoarse from calling her name, picked her up and cradled her, carefully moving her back across the ice to the shore.

A Sigh and a Humph

There's a danger in blogging.

While it's a fun way to keep track of the happenings in a family -- post pictures and/or write a blurb about what goes on -- and becomes a diary of sorts, it doesn't offer a realistic picture of the day-to-day events, including the emotions and triumphs and defeats.

Well, not unless you write about those, too.

But if you write too much about them, your blog becomes a drag, a veritable notepad of complaints...weighing down the readers with all the "blueness" you're feeling.

Sigh.

It's really a balancing act, knowing which details to include and which to keep hidden in the family's wall safe (...behind the photo in the living room, combination 45-92-17... Oops! Was that my "out-loud" typing?)

So you're stuck, really.

Write about too many happy events and you almost seem too perfect, creating feelings of inadequacy in others around you. Write about too many complaints, and your readers will want to find a hemlock tree...

The power of the pen. I learned about it while studying journalism in college...and later when I worked at the newspaper.

If you say that a person "refused" to comment, while it's his right to do so, it makes the people reading/hearing the story wonder what that person is hiding. If you say he "declined" to comment, people nod and say he (the speaker) must have felt it was necessary...it's his right after all. An odd difference in two words that mean exactly the same thing, which is (drumroll, please) the guy didn't talk.

So it goes with blogging.

As the blog writers, we can include anything we want to share...or keep out anything we don't want known.

For instance, while we might have had a fun time doing "XYZ," one of the kids might have had a meltdown before we left the house and another split open his lip on his way back to the car. While the included photos show smiling cherubs and sunny weather and the text surrounding them says a "fun time was had by all," the parents might have been battling about household chores or a big bill might have come due....who knows.

Only the writer.

To the reader, the world of the blogger is just peachy, perfect all the way down to the professionally-coiffed and impeccably-dressed little ones standing in a neat row.

It's a big responsibility...and one that I take very seriously. I know that my photos and posts make it seem like our family has "fun in the sun most of the time"...but that's simply not true...not that that wouldn't be fun...in the sun...

There are tons of posting styles, and I love and appreciate and read all of them. It's the true freedom of blogging.  I try to mix up my posts, keeping in mind that occasionally I need to "be real" and say what I'm thinking and feeling at that moment, even if it's not as positive as usual.

But I'll try to never make it a "sounding off" place. I might feel so strongly about something that I have to let it out, or I'll burst...but that's all I'll do. Just let it out. It's not meant to be offensive...just my brain at that moment.

And as my brain at this moment is a bit jumbled by thoughts and emotions, I'll end with "a sigh and a humph...parenting can be so hard sometimes."

Random Acts

Random acts of kindness?

Or...

Random acts of justified anger?

My hubby and I were discussing this on our way to his workplace today.

When a person in another car stops to let you out, should you wave or get angry?

My point was that it's a kind thing -- whether or not the person meant it to be so, doesn't matter. I always wave when I think the person was being nice.

My hubby's point was that sometimes it's just stupid, especially if it isn't safe to stop or safe for the someone to come out.  If it's the person's right of way, then take it. I totally understand and get that.

But it was a definite "hmm" moment.

I went on to say that I think kindness needs to be shown and shared. How else can we teach our kids to emulate this character trait and later share it as an adult?  And how else can we make our world the "better place" we all long for?

A few posts ago, I wrote about peace on earth. I said I think we look for it in the end of wars, with a nicer government (with lower taxes, or at least more fiscal responsiblity), with fewer guns, and less bullies.

None of those brings peace, not the true lasting peace we wish for.

That peace starts with us and our attitudes, with our hearts belonging to God and letting Him shine through us in our actions and reactions to others.

Peace starts at home -- not with the other family members first, please -- in our very own heart of hearts.

We have to determine to be kind -- no matter how others treat us -- and to treat others nicely -- even when they're rude to us.

Why?

To show the next generation that kindness does actually exist beyond the storybooks we read to them as preschoolers.

So sometimes that's means giving a wave to someone who has been kind -- even when it wasn't necessary...or very smart.

That's why these acts of kindness are called "random," right?

Clickety-Clackety-Click!

Do you hear that noise? That's the sound of the construction being done on my blog. I'm still tweaking my blog's new look...and I think I'm almost there.

I find that I am particularly picky when it comes to these things as the look makes or breaks my enthusiasm for my blog.

It was the main reason I didn't upgrade to the editable version of Blogger when it became available. Given too many choices, I'm paralyzed in my writing by the mere look of where I'm writing.  It took me awhile to find the "perfect" notebook and pen to begin writing offline.  (See the proof here.)

I guess that's why so many writers are deemed "tempermental." It's really not a problem...just a process that many of us have to work through to feel comfortable. It's our template...or our blank paper...where we bear our heart and soul to the world.

So hang in there with me as I work through my redesign. I think it will click when I have it just the way that I want it. And listen out for that click.

Feel free to leave me a comment or two with your thoughts on the new look. I'd love to know how readable it is...since that's what it's all about, right? 

Thoughtful Thursday

“A story is a way to say something that can’t be said any other way, and it takes every word in the story to say what the meaning is. You tell a story because a statement would be inadequate.” 

~Flannery O’Connor

Saturday Sweethearts

My three little (or not-so-little?) sweethearts having a "Homebucks" moment together.

Just the "Write" Time

I love to write!

I especially love to write with the kids.

It's been such a joy to share this love with them.

So to do a bit more of that, we've been having "writing times" at the local Starbuck's cafe or Barnes and Noble bookstore and sometimes at our own "home cafe" that we've dubbed "Homebuck's."

It's always fun to get our drinks (and a snack or two if we didn't bring one) and open our notebooks to continue the adventures with our characters.


Ethan got his very own notebook last Autumn. He's not really sure what to do with it yet, but he'll catch on soon enough.

Monday Musings and the Blogging Blues

A pic of Ethan taken by Emily about a year ago.
I've been so behind in my blogging these days...

Sigh.

The holidays and the schoolwork and the kids and the house and the... Well, it could be any number of things, right?

But I do have a somewhat legitimate "excuse" -- not that any of the above aren't legit. I started freelancing for the newspaper again.

Woooo-hoooo!

I'm actually really enjoying it! Well, the writing part anyway.

I decided that I'd be a very poor (money-wise) saleswoman. I abhor despise hate dislike making "cold" calls to people I don't know. It's nothing personal. I think I have a condition they call "phonaphobia."

...

No, really. It comes from the fact that I hate to interrupt people who are going about their business. It doesn't matter that I have to go about my business, too. I just don't want to disturb them.

Sigh.

Still, I'm doing it. And writing the stories...and getting paid!! Not a bad tradeoff for someone who loves to write anyway.

Now, if I can keep up with my blogging I'll be back in business, right?

I'll endeavor to do better.

In the meantime, thanks for sticking with me!

Here are my last two favorite assignments: Cars as Gifts and Snow Missiles.

Once Upon a Time...The End

For some reason this phrase has been going through my head.

I look around me at all the story ideas and I see "beginnings" and "endings." It's a part of my writer instincts, I guess.

Three years ago I began writing what I call "my saga." I'm just about to finish Book #17 (which equals over 2,440 notebook pages). I have no idea what I will do with it all once I finish...whenever that is. But it's been a good writing exercise and release for me.

When I first started the whole project, my kids -- Emily especially -- were somewhat jealous. I didn't see that at first since I didn't think any of it was worth of envy. But it turned out that they were wishing they had a notebook and pen to write their own sagas.

Done.

There's nothing more exhilarating to a writing mom's heart than to hear her kids beg for a notebook and pen....to (gasp!) write.

So began our tradition of going to Starbuck's or Barnes & Noble for "writing times."

We take our notebooks and pens, get our drinks (coffee for Mommy; cocoa or milk for the kids), pick our table (in Starbuck's, it's the one in the darkened corner that we've dubbed the "mafia table"), and begin jotting down our tales.

And what tales they've created.

I know they're my kids. And I know that nearly anything our own kids do is awesome to us.

But...

These kids have the knack. They are becoming quite good at spinning their yarns, honing their skills to capture their readers.

They've certainly captured us.

It's one of those times when I don't want to get to "the end" and instead look forward to hearing/reading the next installment...

"Once upon a time there lived a...."