Good Enough

I hesitate to put myself out there. To be honest the thought has never even crossed my mind. I’m wondering why I have this sudden urge to write something bigger?

Maybe I’m just a little tired of reality? And the thought of leaving it every day for an hour or two sounds fun. Maybe it’s my little identity crisis, or maybe this blogging thing has helped me recognize where my passions lie.

Whatever the crazy reason I have joined National Novel Writing Month. It sounds like a great adventure I can have at home, and I’m always up for experiencing something new.

I have no clear idea or plot in my head…I just know that I want to try this. I have no expectations of myself other than I will write every day and see where it takes me. Still, with as little pressure as I have put on myself I can’t help but be scared. You must understand my personality. I’m not a marathon runner…a novel is a literary marathon. I’ve always been drawn to sprint triathlons, they hold my attention because each portion of the race is short, and you have to be able to change focus. Short stories, anecdotes,  these are pieces I enjoy writing. I still say I will never run a marathon, but I may walk one someday! And I may finish half a book by the end of November. Or even just get a solid idea out there that I can go with. Who knows? I won’t unless I try. So wish me luck. Encouragements and inquiries are welcome. Just don’t ask to read this so called story…I’m already bashful about it and I don’t even know what it’s going to be about.

Don’t you think she’s a natural?

“So tonight Emilie shaved her legs for the first time.  I wanted to scoop up the hair in
the bathtub and tape it in her baby book.  She cringed at the idea.
My little girl is growing up.  I felt my eyes welling up with tears.  She giggled with
glee at her long awaited smooth legs.  Not a tear in sight.  Do I really have to wait
another 20 years until she understands what’s it like and we cry together over my
granddaughter shaving her legs?

Happy Mothering,
Red”

Good luck Red, I love your little Mimi, and I’m crying with you. But let’s face it, that girl was born a grown-up!

Ahhhh, the memories. Do you remember when you first went to shave your legs?

Where you as terrified as I was? 

I was about to enter Junior High (da da dun!) and I knew we had to take P.E. and I knew I’d be wearing shorts in front of all these girls and boys. I didn’t want to do it. I was extremely reluctant to grow up. I was extremely reluctant to move on to that next phase of my life. I fought it with my whole being.

I knew I had to do it. I had no idea how to bring up the issue to my mom. I was the oldest girl of my 5 siblings. There was no one to go before me. No one to “break my parents in” so to speak. And the very idea of holding an object in my hand that was so sharp it could slice off the fine blond hair on my legs paralyzed me.

After stewing and putting off the inevitable, I went to speak to the only woman that could truly help and guide me through this pivotal time in my adolescance.

“Mom” my voice was shook with uncertainty. “Mom, how do I shave my legs? I need to learn before I start 7th grade.”

She looked at me, with all the love a mother of 6 in the middle of changing a dirty diaper could muster and said…”YOU JUST TAKE A RAZOR AND SOME SOAP AND SHAVE! I DON’T KNOW!?”

And that was it.

Mom, you know I love you. But Mom, I was going to SHAVE MY LEGS MOM! Cut an over dramatic, freaked out girl some SLACK!

After some disappointment at the fact that I was on my own with this one, I did just what she said. I took some soap, worked up a good lather, and ever so lightly I touched the razor to my legs. To this day I have yet to cut myself. (totally a lie.)

So I think I’ve mentioned, (and if I haven’t shame on me)  the little but growing bigger every day community that we started after BlogHer. It is Seattle Mom Blogs, and although most of you are not from the Northwest I’m going to be writing a column for them called Northwest Night Lights. I’m more than just a little excited about this! 

People, do you realize what this means? This means concerts, theatre, little dives, and great bands! I am more than excited to do the research that this column will require. So even if you aren’t from these parts, I know music is universal, and who knows maybe you’ll be inspired to start venturing out yourself! So please join me in my upcoming adventures.   

When you look at this house what do you see?

I see memories.

Memories of my family of eight, watching as the sewage system was put in. Standing in awe as the framework of the house went up. Gleefully sweeping sawdust from the empty plywood floor of what would eventually become my room. Amazed as the house began to take shape, and the insulation went in, sheet-rock went up, floors were laid, and paint sprayed the walls. This house became our dream home. We each had a part in it.

Could we have seen then how our lives took shape in this beautiful house? Beginning as children and then growing into adults. This house sent many of us out into the world, and welcomed us back in again when we began to fail.

That room in the upper right corner saw the dreams of a stubborn young girl. It saw her dance, sing and study ( a very little.) It saw her attempts at sneaking out. The mother of the house always seemed to know and catch her. It saw her fall in love for the very first time. It received many odd visitors throughout her high-school years.  It witnessed her throwing her stuff in trash bags in a fury of shame and moving out. She did not want to bring disgrace to this home.

This house and those in it saw her come home again. A different girl. A broken girl.

I love this house. There are not enough words to tell all that transpired here.  This house was built with so much love, as was the family that dwelt in it.

I love my family. The one that my husband and I have built, and the one that built me.

As much as I wanted to escape this place growing up, I know how blessed I was. And I couldn’t help wanting to return, but it is no longer ours to return too. We are building our own house now. Building will start within the year. I can’t help but remember this sweet house that weathered 6 strong willed children. In some ways I would love for my own children to experience this place, and I’m also grateful for a new beginning. I can’t see how my children will grow in their new home. I can only hope they might be a little less willful, and a little more humble. But I won’t be holding my breath.    

Yes I’m 31, and shopping in the Young Adult section of the bookstore. And I’m not buying gifts.

Yes I’ve been reading and re-reading the same 3 books for the past 5 days during every spare moment. And some not so spare moments.

And yes, the 3 books I’m in love with are about Vampires, and Werewolves, and teenagers,and love…of course love.

I’m addicted, I know I have a problem. I acknowledge that. But I’m not ready to give them up. Can’t someone help me? Can anyone relate? I’m slightly embarrassed about this. But at the same time, I want to have a club just for these books where we sit and read aloud to eachother and squeal like wee girls!

The storm never came

Blissfully watched The Office

I must shower now 

YOU’RE TURN!

People are scared…you can cut the tension in the eerily quiet air. I went to the gas station and waited as people fill up gas can upon gas can…every once in awhile the power will flicker as a reminder of what’s to come.

Last year I stayed up all night reading. The wind was so loud I thought the house would tear apart. There was a loud metal snap on the south side of the house…whatever had broken scraped against the wall all night, making the storm sound even worse.

I’ll keep everyone posted as long as I’m able…keep your fingers crossed for me.

On a lighter note, my kids argue every morning at the breakfast table. It’s their ritual. This morning I put up cereal boxes as a barricade. They weren’t able to see eachother. I finally achieved quiet at the breakfast table! Woohoo!

People, I’ll say goodbye now in case you don’t hear from me for a few days. I storm is predicted for tomorrow night. A big one. If it’s anything like last years storm it will render us powerless for 7 days. 7 days. 7 days. Last December I had the longest week of my life. No running water. No heat.

This year will be different. This year we have a generator. This year my house is clean instead of the typhoon that existed before the storm.

I purchased batteries for all of the flashlights, and we have milk and ice to pack any cold food in that should last us for a few days. And I have friends this year. Friends that I can commiserate with while our children play in dark rooms together. So come on storm…show us what you’ve got.

Mondays are rough…Mondays have the misfortune of landing on a day of the week where schedules have to be resumed, and lives have to be managed. I hate Mondays.

There are two ways to hate a Monday…the “Monday that comes after an amazing weekend, had a wonderful time and don’t want this happy bubble to burst type of loathing” Mondays. Or there is the “had a lonely, unproductive, house is trashed, start the week out with low spirits and tornado aftermath damage control” no good Monday.

If I’m playing Polyanna, as I often attempt to do, then at least I had the former. I had an amazing weekend. The only thing that would make it euphoric is if I had a cleaning team come through and do the dirty work I was to busy funning to do.

My house is trashed because I was having fun. That’s what I’ll tell any visitors or landlord’s that decide to stop by. 

Friday Mr.Good decided ( with my help) to take a long overdue day off to make up for all the three day weekends in which he left me home crying. In all seriousness, I know he didn’t want to go to work either, but leave it to me to take it personally. So Friday was his big three day weekend of the year. To celebrate, I left him home alone with the children for most of the day.

Don’t be a hater, I had plans people! Big big plans! I had last minute details to attend to, because that night was the first get together for our little with big potential blog site. Maybe you noticed it, or heard about it around town? I have to say, the women who blog on the site are amazing! Maybe it’s because I had more time to get to know them individually, but I had more fun here than any party BlogHer threw. I wanted to stay all night. I wanted to find some late night greasy diner and take these women with me. I did not want this night to end. I will say that my friend Kathryn cushioned the blow of arriving home by demonstrating her personal interpretation of The Young Ambassador’s. Very entertaining, and I wish you all could see it. Although I arrived home shortly after midnight, I was not able to sleep until 2am. And when I awoke the next morning I had this weird adrenaline buzz that lasted all day which made me say “Housework? What housework?” And forced my family out into the blinding sunlight which we hadn’t seen in weeks. We played all day. Then I went on a date with Mr. Good, Sunshine Girl, and her spouse. Sunday we spent at my parents and ate the three layer birthday cake I bought for myself. 

Do you see why today is such a disappointment? The sky’s are now covered with gray again, Mr.Good has gone back to work, the children’s moods mirror mine. We are all grumpy and I’m going through sugar withdrawals since I was practically pumping it intravenously last week. What can I say.

I hate Mondays.

 I don’t mean to alarm anyone with that headline, but that’s how my son described it. The “it” I’m referring to was the explosion that happened in his pants, during circle time. It went up his back, down his legs, and all over the rug in Mrs.Soandso’s classroom.

“It smells like poo in here!” said one student.

Buster said nothing…keeping his eyes fixed on the wall in front of them.

What is a six year old boy to do with his pants full of poo?

Instead of calling his dear mother they sent to the office where he tried to clean himself off with an entire roll of toilet paper. Wet wipes would have been useful. My poor kiddo. They provided him an extra set of clothing and sent him back to his classroom. And the smell still remained.

My boy is resillient.

I had some moments of fun. My dilemma earlier today was resolved by calling on Mr.Good to come to my rescue.

It went something like this…”honey the kids are sick, there’s no way I can take them over to Kathryn’s house. Katie and her have been planning this lunch and I would just feel terrible if I had to cancel! WHAAAA! sniff sniff.”

So yes, he rescued, I visited and partook of a deliscious cornicopia of food. I am blessed to have such sweet people in my life.

Thanks little sis for the 3lbs of candy you left on my doorstep this morning. I know it was you! Don’t deny it!

And then I received and e-mail from my Cali gals…which I shall share with the world, I know I posted a picture from last year, but you have to see the latest and greatest. They’re still cute as ever, though Shari claims she looks old. I think not Shari.