I know it's been oh-so-quiet around here. I haven't stopped thinking, and I haven't stopped writing. I'm just feeling a little shy and awkward with my words right now. So many things are going on, and I will update soon. I promise.
Sunday, December 31
Friday, December 22
Thursday, December 21
I am so stressed. So so very stressed. It's not because of Christmas or anything like that, but because two little bugs have crawled up my kid's butts causing them to act anything but the two little loveys I know they can be (and ARE, I suppose). I don't think I've had as much as ten minutes peace and quiet in the past week.
But, I just wanted to wish everyone (who happens to read this anyways), a Merry Christmas with a photo of me during Christmas in 1982 (I am barely two).
Saturday, December 16
I am feeling rather pathetic right now. I had some sort of epiphany this morning while drinking my coffee--it was cold, and it was cold because I haven't had time to drink one cup of coffee straight through during the morning because of my kids. Realizing this, I poured out my cold coffee, poured a fresh hot cup, and went to the only place where a girl can get a few minutes alone to drink it.
Yes, I drank my coffee while sitting on the toilet this morning.
Thursday, December 14
Well, you should know that with a last name like,"Reed," I have gotta like books. Especially half-priced used paperbacks from the Hill Road's Jellybeans. Here I am trying to recapture some youth looking for a copy of,"Blubber," by Judy Blume, to read during my week off from the Writing Center.
I didn't find the copy I wanted--the one with the old style cover, a sketch of the "Blubber Girl." I think it is green. All they had was a newer version, and so I am still looking.
Wednesday, December 13
At some moment during the day, when I am feeling SOMETHING--love, frustration, depression, satisfaction, happiness--I will take ONE photo and one photo ONLY and post that no matter how unsatisfied I am with it. The whole point being: THAT'S WHAT LIFE IS! I can't change the moment, I can't keep living it and taking that picture over-and-over trying to get it perfect, and so I will just let my life and the year of photos be.
Sunday, December 10
Yesterday we took Molly and Logan to see Santa at VGs, our favorite local grocery store, which made much more sense than going to the mall to see the old crusty guy.
It was nice getting the Santa-thing out of the way while shopping for groceries (something we do every week, sometimes twice) rather than lugging two small children though the mall amongst crazy shoppers (something we never do), waiting in line with three dozen screaming children and their parents only to end up paying $10 for an overdeveloped blurry photo. The VGs Santa photo was free, and they didn't care if I snapped a photo of Logan with my digital. We pick up Molly's "real" (read: with a film camera) photo on Wednesday. I can't wait to see the photo of Molly. Chris says that Molly looks like a deer (no pun intended) caught in headlights.
Molly was a bit too shy and intimidated to stand next to the Big Guy, and so I had to stand next to him while she stood next to me as I urged her to smile (she was getting a bit teary-eyed). "I don't want to sit on Santa's lap. Not until I bigger," she whispered, and I assured her that sitting on his lap wasn't part of the deal--she only had to ask him for what she wanted. That made her feel better, and she warmed up a bit. Santa, sensing the ease proceeded with his Santa bit:
"What's your name, Little Girl."
"Me is Molly Jean Reed."
"Have you been a good girl, Molly?"
"What would you like for Christmas"
And after a series of about a half-dozen "Ummmms," she proudly asked for a comic book (she makes her daddy so proud). Everyone gushed at how positively adorable she was, and we went on our way.
Later, as we walked through the store, Molly started crying, to which Chris and I prodded, "What's wrong?"
"Aw, poor baby, did you want to ask Santa for something else?" Thinking she forgot to ask Santa for a pop-um, whatever that is...
"Yes. I have something me forgot to tell Santa."
And so we lugged our cart back to the front of the store. No other children were in line--save Santa, his helpers and a couple of old ladies (Santa is adorable after all, and even though he is taken, he still is quite the old lady chick magnet)--so Chris and I figured it was okay for her to get another go at asking for presents.
Molly crept back up to Santa. Her face got all serious trying not to forget what she was going to say, and then with a shy little smile she gushes like a true Santa Claus groupie, "I watch all your movies."
My guess is that this year she is going to get TWO comic books in her stocking.
Saturday, December 9
Friday, December 8
Thursday, December 7
Chris had his surgery yesterday, and everything went a-okay.
Chris is okay. He is one-handedly typing a letter to his mother.
The kids are okay. Molly is playing in her room listening to her Christmas CD. Logan is slumbering peacefully with his darling little bottom up in the air.
As for me, I'm okay. I'm brewing a pot of coffee and I'm about to get some work done. Life is good, and there is not much more I could ask or wish for. I need to start believing in our family's mantra more: Things always work out for us. It may be at the very last possible second, but it's oh-so-true.
Tuesday, December 5
Months ago, my hubby had a horrible shop accident--he smashed his thumb in a press. The best way to describe the way his thumbed looked is to imagine a sausage nuked in the microwave so long that it splits in several places. Now take that image and imagine rolling over the sausage with a rolling pin until it is smashed flat.
Except it wasn't a sausage.
That was my husband's thumb.
It was a mess of bone and flesh and blood, but thanks to the hubby's amazing orthopedic surgeon, it now looks nearly normal except it's kind of flopped over to one side, and so tomorrow Chris is having surgery to have his thumb cosmetically altered so that it will be nearly normal looking. It won't bend at the middle joint, but it will look OK, which is great.
I'm not worried or nervous about his surgery, but more so the after effects of it. He will be in a cast for six weeks again, which means I will have to take on a lot more responsibility--he will be unable to do the dishes or change diapers or fix bottles or give Molly her bath.... etc. and so on and so forth, and so I will be left with those things PLUS my job, and that scares me. I may need to call my shrink to see if he can up the dose on my Prozac. So, yeah, I'm scared, and I hope I will be OK.
Monday, December 4
This morning I came across a link, where kids can send an e-mail to Santa. Yes, an e-mail (I guess even Santa has to keep up with the times), and he will "write" back with a very kindly computer generated e-mail addressed to your kids. Jolly good fun!
Well, here is Molly's letter she had me write. She wants toys, but I guess getting a wrapped box of Nerds last night from Daddy and some pop-ups (whatever those are) will be enough. Oh yea, and Santa coming to play with her would be nice, too.
|Your Five Factor|
Sunday, December 3
"Mama, look!"She is so totally cool even though her circle does look more like a square. Maybe she knows something I don't.
"What?" Lazily. Looking up from my laptop. Intrigued."What ARE
you doing, Molly?"
"Makin' a circle...!"
"Yeah, seeeeeeeeeeee?" Motions to the TV while
"Oh! A circle. How very cool."
Friday, December 1
My lovely Internet friend, Dep, who I met on Flickr (her photos are AMAZING by the way--do look), is feeling a bit blue because of her looks and body and all that mommy jazz, and this is my response to her response to herself.
I thought I'd share because it's been my mantra of sorts every time I stand naked in front of the mirror nitpicking every part of my new mommy-body:
oh dep. I so know what you mean and how you feel. i am only 26, and had two children in 3 years, and i am already so saggy and flabby and have wrinkles around my eyes and i get so jealous of other 26-year-olds who have wonderful perky tittys and flat smooth tummys....but when i look at my children and realize how positively wonderful and amazing they are, i think:
"My god, woman, who gives a damn about how your body looks... ?? Because just LOOK at WHAT it DID: My body created TWO amazing little humans!!"
And then I feel better.........
.....until the next tight-bodied young something walks by!
Thursday, November 30
Wednesday, November 29
Tuesday, November 28
Monday, November 27
Christmas shopping (here at B&N--I'm sitting here now) is so difficult because there are a million-and-one things I'd love to get everyone on my list, but I can't, and well, quite frankly it sucks.
And so, I just got what I could, and now it's time to get some coffee and get writing because I'm at the NaNoWriMo write-in, and well, that's the point of being here--not shopping & not typing this. Whoops.
Sunday, November 26
Here it is, Day 26 of my NaNo adventure, and I've reached panic mode. Luckily, our lovely co-ML, Cyli, gave all of us NaNoWriMo'ers a Novel Emergency Bag to use upon reaching this point with the following instructions inscribed:
1. OPEN BAG
2. PLACE OVER MOUTH
3. TAKE SIX DEEP BREATHS
She forgot one very vital step; however, which I've taken the liberty of adding:
4. EAT CHOCOLATE
Saturday, November 25
I want to know how does a kid manage to spit up* on every piece of my clothing--pajama pants (behind the knee), long sleeve tee under a short sleeve one (on one arm and down the front), AND on BOTH socks? I have no clue.
*PS I should add that Logan is OK! He is just a wee bit lactose intolerant and spit-up is common for him; I just don't understand how he manages to get it all over every item of my clothing!
So days 23 and 24 of NaNoWriMo have passed and here I am on day 25 when I've given up my word counter. I am going to stop checking how many words I have, and just type and type and pour and type some more (so my word count updater will stay quite stagnant for those of you who are curious about where I am). I know I've been rather silent about my novel/memoir, but that's because a lot of it--quite frankly--sucks and I'm embarrassed by it, but other portions of it are so intimate and scary that I feel scared to share it in such an open forum. Scared of who will see it and read it and judge me. There is anonymity in the Web, but there is an openness about, too (as all bloggers know), and there are people who may be reading this (this particular person is an avid Googler), and so I've been silent here, but not there.
But as this last week of NaNo closes out, I'm not sure I will even make it to my original goal, but I don't really mind because I'm going to keep on writing until what I've started is done. And as for this blog, I'm gunna keep going with it, too, because I've been liking talking to myself and getting my thoughts out even if they are rambling and nonsensicle at times.
Friday, November 24
Thursday, November 23
Wednesday, November 22
When I set out this month to do NaNoWriMo, my only goal was to reach 30,000 words. That, and to recapture some of my so forgotten memories. While I am still quite a ways away from reaching 30,000 words, I did accomplish my second task of recapturing memories. When Chris and I went to John K. King Books a while back, a lone tattered copy of one of the Wizard of OZ books made me weep right there among the dusty shelves as it jostled a lodged memory from the back of my head--as a child I owned the entire set. In my memories it was a complete set of some 40+ first editions given to me by my Russian grandmother (on my biological father's side)--I'm not sure if there were really first editions, but I was taken back to when I held those books in my four-year-old hands in awe of the sketches held inside its covers. But inside the pages there were lands that I could be transported off to while my mother read to me until I fell asleep or whenever I wanted when the yelling started and the doors began to slam.
I don't know what ever came of those books--we left rather abruptly from our home on Oliver Street in Hamtramck to live in random motel rooms with a man I barely knew who I would come to know as Daddy. And not only did we (my mother and I) leave without my beloved books, we also left without shoes on our feet--which is an entirely different story in itself (the one I am writing for NaNo), but I say all this because when I look back to that time in my life those books mean the most to me. Somehow in those pages I feel connected back to that street I grew up on.. to the grandmother I barely knew, and the father I never met.
And so here I am holding two treasured copies--recreating memories if you will--and I swear by whomever or whatever deity that I am going to pass them onto my own daughter who will never be forced to leave all she ever had or knew behind.
Tuesday, November 21
Tonight is the write-in here in lovely Davison, Michigan. I may have to be rude tonight and pop on my headphones and drown out all the fun conversations humming around my head. It's the one [of many] curse[s] of being behind and ADD--I get terribly distracted by everything anything that goes around me (which is why working from home suits me better than a 'real' office because I have a feeling at a 'real' office, I'd get nothing done and my ass would get fired). But anyways, my goal for tonight is....
Wish me well my fellow NaNoWri'mers who may be reading this. And if you are a NaNo'er, wish me luck just the same.
Edit: Okay, so I didn't make it to 2,500 words. I'm a looooooozer.
Monday, November 20
ME: Molly, wanna go to VGs later?MOLLY: Nope.ME: We can get you a treat...MOLLY: Okay!!ME: Whatcha want?MOLLY (Putting pointer finger to chin): Hmmmm. Hmmmm. How 'bout princess fruit snacks.ME: Okay...MOLLY: I share them.ME (Smiling because she is figuring out how to share): Oh? You'll share them with Momma and Daddy?MOLLY: Nope.ME (Puzzled): Well, who are you going to share them with?MOLLY: Me is gunna share them with Molly.ME (Laughingly): You're going to share them with you?MOLLY: Yup. Me is gunna share 'em with me.
Sunday, November 19
Saturday, November 18
Friday, November 17
This is from an ancient blog I wrote in 2001-2002 titled, "i am bored. oh well. thus is life":
god i am so undomesticated. so there i was making pancakes for breakfast. and them im like doing the dishes and filling up the dish pan with water and i reach for the bottle of dishsoap - without looking - and squeeze some in the water - i, of course am staring into space unawares. so i looked down and mutter what the fuck. no suds. i glance right and then scream. loud. [i wonder if the neighbors heard me] i do believe i am the only person who tried to wash her dishes in pancake syrup.
Monday, March 18, 2002 05:57 a.m.
Evidently I have come so very far where the Domestic Goddness department is concerned--not only do I know the difference between pancake syrup and dish soap, but I've also learned how to use capital letters. It's nice to see my love for four-letter expletives hasn't changed a bit.
Thursday, November 16
Yesterday was insanely unproductive on the NaNo front, but today I've promised myself to do better.** I posted a SOS to my fellow Flinttown (Flintown?) NaNo'ers and they had a bundle of advice* for me:
- Remove all novel files from flash drive and put onto computer. Leave work on flash drive and remove all work from computer and put the work from the computer on flash drive. Put flash drive and all other work crap and distracting crap (like bills!) into my "Box of Crap." Place box in closet. Slam shut door. Walk away. Try not to look back, and forget about it.
- It's okay to rant and rave and smash things across my desk or throw sock balls at husband, when needed.
- Music to fit the mood of what I'm trying to write is good. Tastes range from Madonna, to Cannibal Corpse, to Natalie Merchant, to Bach.
- It's okay to cry and scream when needed.
- When children are noisy and driving me insane and their howls rise up from the hellish bowels of the living room/romper room, and I cannot think, ear plugs are a great thing to have on hand--or in my ear, whichever seems most appropriate at the time.
- Typoos aRe okay--tip fist and fixx lter (completely opposite of my nature).
- And lastly, surround myself with things that make me smile and/or are inspiring, such as photos...
...like these ones, that remind me it's okay to get down and get dirty and play messy. And when all else ceases to work, point the finger at someone else because it's always their fault anyways.
*This advice has been adapted, slightly, for humor's sake.
** I did do better; I wrote 1969 words during the write-in on Day 16.
Molly went to sleep without a Pull-Up on and did not pee the bed. And Logan went to bed at 4:30 pm, woke up at 11:30, went straight back to bed and woke up at 6:45 am. What the f*ck is going on? Did I wake up in some kind of Bizarro world?
Wednesday, November 15
Send in the envelope with the bill, but forget the check, wait for the company to call to say there was no check and then say, "Whoops! I'll get it in the mail today!" just to stall a few days while waiting for the paycheck in the mail.
Knowing that payday is still three days away, write a "bad" check for $30 over, deposit $20 dollars to cover the "bad" check written two days ago that is clearing today so that it doesn't end up "bad," and still have $10 in hand and when the paycheck is deposited on Friday, the second check won't be "bad" either.
Take out a payday loan to pay off another payday loan, and then two weeks later take out another payday loan to cover the second payday loan that covered the first payday loan while waiting for a student refund check to come in the mail. When refund check finally arrives, sigh with relief.
Tuesday, November 14
Sigh. I just don't have the mental power to stay in this race to hit 50,000 words. When I went into this, I only wanted 30,000 words knowing full well that I'm over-extended with responsibilities, but I'm having a hard time just reaching the 15,000 mark. I want to finish what I started, but my brain is so muddled that I feel like I JUST CAN'T DO THIS!
I hate making excuses--I really, really, really do--but today I advised five papers for the EWC, which took me EIGHT HOURS, and after eight hours of sitting and typing and thinking of how someone else can improve their writing just simply DRAINS me of all self-motivation to WRITE for ME.
I only want to slam my laptop closed, unplug my zip drive (where my so-called-novel is stored along with all my EWC documents) and toss it out the window--or, or--better yet, shove it down the garbage disposal with tonight's twice-heated chicken.
But as I write this, I realize that I really, really, really DON'T want to do that--I DO want to finish what I started, I just can't seem to get my Little Engine going in the direction that I want to go, instead of the many directions everyone else wants me to go.
Chris and I were talking about how incredibly boring Thanksgiving happens to be--no Santa popping down our non-existent chimney, no Easter Bunny leaving eggs around the apartment that we have a hard time finding and usually there is at least one found 3 months later when it's stinking to high heaven (or low hell, whichever you prefer) behind the sofa. And there are no Ghosts or Goblins taking treats from strangers you tell your kids not to talk to, and so we decided to make Thanksgiving more in stride with all the other holiday by introducing the Turkey Fairy. What we do is have our daughter color a picture of a BIG FAT turkey, carefully sign her name, and drop it in an envelope addressed to ourselves (for safe keeping) with a little note dictated that says something like:
To the Turkey Fairy: Mom wants a big turkey to cook so we can eat it with muffins.
Then when it gets close to "T-Day" we leave our frozen turkey on our patio with a little spattering of turkey feathers just for full effect--VIOLA'! Instant Turkey Fairy! If you want to join in with this 'new tradition,' do let me know by sending off a quick e-mail to me at sarahmreed[at]yahoo[dot]com--send a scan of your kid's letters or photos, and I'll post them here, and I'm sure it'll be a HOOT!--or just post letting me know you plan on partaking of this Reed holiday tradition! Who knows, maybe the idea will catch on making Thanksgiving more like all the other holidays.
*Note: The scan above is Molly's turkey she colored last year at two-years-old.
Monday, November 13
You know you've moved up in the world when you stop writing in 10-cent spiral notebooks while swigging on a 2-for-$5 bottles of Boone's Farm listening to bootlegged cassette tapes and start typing on a $550 notebook computer while sipping on a glass of $7.99 [yellow tail] wine listening to your CD collection.
fall is like having a thousand thoughts
blowing through my head like
brightly colored leaves
...through a clear periwinkle sky --
but on other days, it seems,
like my thoughts
just sit in
brown piles growing damp and musty waiting to be bagged up and tossed out.
-Sarah Szumanski */ October 16, 2002
* I wrote this before I was Mrs. Reed
Sunday, November 12
Okay, so I bought this gum, JOLT! Caffeine Energy Gum, thinking, yeah, right, this sh*t is gunna wake my poor a*s up.
I threw it at the bottom of my purse, got home, it's 9 o'clock, and I'm D.R.A.G.G.I.N.G. I remember I have this stuff. Popped in a piece, and HOLLY SH*TF*CK BATMAN! It's kicked in and I am, like, typing nearly 65 wpm. Weird. Go get some, totally.
Well, day 11 wasn't all that productive, but two Prozacs later, I feel more ready to delve into my writing today on day 12. To be perfectly honest (hell, why not be honest, I don't think too many people are reading this), but I hit a rough spot yesterday when a dam broke open and my mind got flooded with hellish memories. When writing a memoir and when my mind is so fragile, that's the chance I take--that by writing 'something' will be remembered rending me useless. But--this may be cheating--I am going to 'fast forward' a few years to happier times until the Prozac kicks in all the way, and then I'll back track and pick up in the past where I left off.
Not only is my depression standing in my way, but factor in a full-time work-at-home job, my kids, the sometimes very needy hubby (he is working on a line of comic books, and me, being the only computer savy nerd in the house, I'm left to scan, tweak, and format his images into a printable format), and the cooking, and the cleaning (well, the hubby does the bulk of that, but I am the only one who ever cleans the sh*t stains from the toliet and the toothpaste off the bathroom mirror)--so in other words, I AM OVERWHELMED!
Saturday, November 11
I feel so overwhelmed and so stupid today, and I am so tired I could cry. And earlier today, I did. Not just once but at least twice. It may even had been three times because I vaguely remember looking in the mirror noticing the owl eyes and black rivers down my checks and cleaning them away at least twice.
It's hard to explain what's wrong with me, but some days I just CAN'T FUNCTION, and today was like that.
It's like I'm in a cloud, and I'm waiting for the sky to clear up, the sun to break through, but it doesn't, and so I just float around bumping into everything, and when I bump into something (a responsibility, my children, my hubby), I get so dizzy and confused.
I can't answer questions.
I can't form a single coherent sentence.
I just stare with a blank, stupid look on my face.
My dyslexia and my ADD flares up all at once into one congealed mess.
I'm a basket case.
I think depression is settling in, again, and it scares me to death because I hate it. I simply HATE HATE HATE not feeling like myself because everything suffers for it--my writing, my job, my family, everything. I just want to sit down and cry. Maybe I will, that, or refill my prescription for Prozac.
Friday, November 10
So, Chris took off Logan's socks this morning so his feet could air out--for such tiny little baby feet, they really did stink. Me, being the lazy mom that I am, just left them off all day because I didn't feel like hunting through two laundry baskets and the [dirty] clothes hamper looking for two tiny itty-bitty socks that matched. This early afternoon I put him down for a nap (still without socks), and after a while I ended up going in there to check on him because the MOM ALARM went off--BEEP BEEP! Child who only naps for 20 minutes at a time has now been sleeping for 21 minutes!! (I exaggerate here, of course, he sleeps for about 30 minutes at a time now, and about 45 minutes had passed)--and so when I went in there and noticed his little legs in the air--he had his toes in his fingers clutches! He discovered his toes are playthings today and he must have entertained himself with them for at least 15 minutes without having to have me in his face.
I hereby declare from this day forward for the sake of Mommy and Daddy's sanity, all socks are banned.
Posted by Sarah Reed at 12:15 PM
Thursday, November 9
Today I went to the NaNoWriMo write-in here in town, and I must admit I didn't get a whole lot of writing in (just about 250 words), but I did get in a lot of conversation. It's refreshing meeting people who you can carry on an intelligent conversation with without it feeling strange. There are more things I could say, but quite frankly my caffeine buzz is wearing off and my brain is feeling quite muddled. Maybe I'll have something more important to say in the morning, but I am so glad I went.
Wednesday, November 8
I am ashamed to admit this, but yesterday was the first time I ever voted, but it was the first time I actually felt strong enough to vote for something that directly affected me and my family. Even though, in the past, I, like South Park's Stan, don't want to vote between a turd sandwich and a giant douche, but I've learned, in the words of Peta's Guru:
You have to get used to the fact that there's always going to be the choice between a 'douche' or a 'turd' in voting. But your choice in voting allows you to pick the lesser of two evils.
But luckily, this vote wasn't between douche and a turd, it was about health care, something I care a lot about, and the vote was clear cut and dry. In our county, we have a free health plan that Chris & I and thousands of others belong to--if we didn't have it, I wouldn't have been able to get the vital "female" care when an abnormal pap smear showed up two years ago, nor would I have been able to get treatment for my depression, nor would my husband been able to get his much needed echo cardiograms--we would have been, frankly, shit out of luck like the millions of others in this country who fall in that damned income bracket--too poor to afford health care, but making "too much" to qualify for Medicaid.But, thankfully, our health program called us and reminded us to vote for a millage that would allow 8,000 more people to join:
Countywide, Genesee County residents are looking at a 1 mill increase for 7 years to fund the Genesee Health Plan for uninsured low income residents. It would cost the average homeowner $50-to-$75 a year. The Genesee Health Plan gives the working poor access to doctors before they become seriously ill. The millage would generate just over $11 million a year and allow 8,000 more people to join the program. (ABC News)
I'm so thankful to the voters of our county who voted this millage through.
Tuesday, November 7
It's been an agonizing two days--type two sentences, get distracted, check work inbox, OH MY GOD! I HAVE SIX PAPERS TO ADVISE, try to put it out of my mind, type two more sentences, close out, advise.
There are things to love about my job and things to hate about my job. I love the fact that I can make decent money helping other writers write, but I hate my job because it doesn't leave ME much time to write.
But then, when I do have the time to write, I have such a hard time switching from my academic voice to a creative one that I just end up sitting there picking away at the skin of the onion and not really getting to the creative stuff underneath that can make you cry (of both pain and of laughter). So I just sit and poke away waiting for the tears to come.
Monday, November 6
I managed to get Logan down for a nap at 11:30, and Molly was so engaged with writing her name across a stack of scrap paper with a green dry erase marker that I snuck off to take a quick shower, because, quite frankly, I stunk.
I quickly showered, threw on a clean Old Navy tank with a pair of lounge pants and plopped back down in front of my laptop.
Molly wandered over and closely examined the front of my tank. She brushed the lettering, "What's that, Momma?"
"It's letters, Molly. It says, 'Old Navy.' See? O-L-D N-A-V-Y." She looked puzzled.
"No, Mamma," she said with authority, "They're boobies," then added, "I think," in her little 3-year-old voice.
Without skipping a beat, "Yes, Molly, they are boobies, and if you are anything like your Mommy, you will sprout your own in the third grade."
“If one or two people tell you that you're an ass, you can ignore them. But if three or four people tell you you're an ass, you might think about putting on a saddle.”
- Yiddish saying
Sunday, November 5
The problem with writing is reading your thoughts after actually getting seven hours of sleep and drinking a large cup of coffee because you are awake enough to wonder who wrote that? Why did she share it? An what on earth was she thinking? Because you sure as hell have no clue.
Saturday, November 4
....and she's off! Logan is sleeping. Hubby is sleeping. Molly isn't sleeping, but the Disney morning line-up will hold her attention for at least an hour, and so here I go trying to make up for lost words. (Well, the words aren't really lost, I just need to capture them onto the paper [screen?] before they try and fly away.)
In spite of the fact that Sarah has been caring for two children since 4:30 am after only sleeping for a mere 4.75 hours, she has broken the 4,000 word mark at 09:01 AM; and there is no sign of her letting up.
Friday, November 3
Why is it when you finally get one kid to sleep and you sneak off to take a shower in peace that the other one, the one who was napping soundly--snoring even--instinctively gets up, and then when that one is finally napping again, the first one decides to get up two minutes after?
And then the next thing you know it's 3:47 in the afternoon when the hubby finally gets back from the Doctor's and he looks at you like you are some sort of slob because you are still in pajamas, and now that you FINALLY have the opportunity to bathe, it seems like such a waste of time, but you do it anyways just for the 15-minute break and to feel like a human for a few hours afterwards.
Thursday, November 2
Day two is coming to a close. My word count is at nearly 3000 words. By the time you read this, it may very well be up and over that because I plan on writing until Midnight, and then slamming the rest of my Coors Light tall can, and heading off to bed. Chris is going to take the first feeding of the night so I should be able to rest well. This is the most mind-draining/mind-exhilarating journey ever for me. So many stories are flooding my mind. So many doors are being opened. I finally have my system down for both finding time to write and for how my memoirs unfold. My system & what I've learned today:
- Keep my laptop plugged in when I'm not using it; this guarantees I will have at least 2 hours of "juice" if I need to unplug and sneak away.
- It's okay to type with a baby on my lap; I may not be able to type 43 wpm, but I can still think it and at least type 10 or 15 wpm, which is better than not typing at all. That, and Logan makes for a good muse.
- It's okay to ramble; there are little gems in ramblings, and little truths ooze out, too.
- It's okay to NOT edit. Yes, really. And if I need to, that's OK, too.
- Words are just words. No need for them to be perfect, or beautiful, or spelled correctly; it's not the words that make something powerful, it's our lives that make them so.
- My theme is the Three Little Pigs. I am all three pigs--the lazy one, the not-so-lazy one, an the hard-working one, and I'm both looking to escape the Big Bad Wolf, and looking to create a home. At the end of the novel, I will have accomplished both.
- My writing method is to write first in my voice as a child, and then in my voice as an adult; it caters to my needs well including my ADD.
- I was born to write; I knew that all along, I just fought it because I was scared, and I'm not scared anymore.
With a last name like "Reed," the hubby and I feel quite quite at home inside Michigan's biggest bookstore, John K. King Used & Rare Books, in Detroit.
Yesterday we took a day trip to Detroit to scour its four floors. The massive brick building, which must have been built in the 1920s, was converted from a plant of some sort. The original fixtures are still intact with "NO SMOKING IN THE PLANT" signs hanging from the rafters mingled among fluorescent light bulb fixtures overhead, which you turned on and off on your own depending on what section of books you were looking at. It was cold as they surely can't afford to heat the whole thing, but with "Warming Stations" on the first, third, and fourth floors (or was it the second, first, and fourth?), it was cozy enough. The wooden floors creaked and dipped with every step and dust had settled on every shelf, but the store held such forgotten and much needed treasures that by time Chris & I left, we had spent nearly $100. It was worth every dime, though.
Wednesday, November 1
Today is the first day of NaNoWriMo, and I am at a lost for words when it comes to how much I have missed writing. Call me a sap, but I have nearly been to tears the last hour while writing. There are so many suppressed and pent-up feelings inside of me--so many things I want to say, and I am finally at the point in my life where I feel healed and oh-so-ready to say what I want to say. For those of you who read this, and who have not had the chance to talk to me in person (or on AIM), I am writing a memoir. Albeit a highly fictionalized memoir because everyone knows the memory of a 5-year-old is faulty, it is nonetheless my life. I am a former trailer park kid, and the stigmata of it has been etched deep into me. I have worked so damn hard to get where I am, and all honestly, living in poverty and always wanting more and the best has driven me to where I am. And I don't meant the best in the material sense, but the best in the life quality sense.
Often times I tell my husband that although we function at the poverty level, we are not poor. Our souls are too rich and our goals are too high to let circumstance keep us down. We love deeply, and because of that we are rich. Not that I didn't have love growing up, but it was a kind of love that sprung from hate in a sense (it is late and I am having a hard time forming my thoughts), but it was love out of frustration that I grew up with... a suppressing love, but nonetheless, it is what made me grow and become who I am today.
But, all I really wanted to say is that although this is quite a rambling post, my voice is coming back.... all 1480 words of of it.
Tuesday, October 31
Monday, October 30
Today was such a good day for me. I'm not feeling very eloquent right now, but all I gotta say is that with each passing day I'm falling more and more in love with my kids, and for someone who has struggled through nearly two years of postpartum depression, it feels like the sun is coming out after a storm. To see what I've been up to, take a peek at my Flickr Stream, but in the meantime, just look at what Molly and I did today:
All I gotta say is: MMMMMMMM.
Saturday, October 28
I'm finally done, after nearly 3.5 hours, with my last request of the day--for those of you who are reading this, and who do not know me personally, I am an online writing advisor for the University of Maryland's Effective Writing Center (EWC), which means, in a very basic way, I am a student (barely a Sophomore) who advises other students on their writing (and it never ceases to amaze me how I able to do this with so little formal education, but I just can).
And this leads me to say, that I've been sitting in front of this laptop for the last three hours, and it may have been longer than that because my batteries, which last two hours, ran out twice, and I am getting so terribly nervous about HOW IN THE HELL AM I GOING TO FIND THE TIME!! to write 50,000 WORDS!! in ONE!! month with ALL THE RESPONSIBILITIES!! I have??? (Picture me scrunching and smashing my face like Play-Doh right now with my mouth agape.) It just doesn't seem possible, but golly-gee, I just gotta do this. I really have to do this--and not for anyone else, but just for me.
Friday, October 27
Okay, so it's like nearly 2 a.m., and I'm googling (googeling?) like mad trying to figure out who won the Tiger's game (I went to bed. I was too tired to stay up)--now, in the past, I wasn't one to get into sports of any kind, as a (pseudo) feminist of sorts, I sports are kind of lame--men looking like apes in ill-fitting tight pants swinging bats like clubs through the air to hit rock-like balls and then running around the bags. Totally bizarre and pointless, but for some reason the hubby decided to take up watching the Tiger's games because he says it makes him feel more manly ( I guess writing short horror stories, reading 1980s comic books, eating bowls of chili and farting profusely doesn't do it for him), and me, being desperately too tired at night to do much of anything else, started conking out on the sofa starting at the barbaric shitfest with him. (Now that is more bizarre than wearing ugly, ankle-tight pants, which I might add, they [The Gap, Old Navy, even K-mart] brought back this season.) And I even ended up going to a game with Chris a couple months ago, guzzled fuckloads (40+ dollars worth) of beer, got tore up, and shouted until my lungs fell out. Proof here:
You can witness more, here. But now I'm starting to forget the point of this. Oh yeah, this lovely quote from Tiger's Manager (who Chris & I will swear up and down we saw at a local diner two months ago):
"We have to win three games in a row," Tigers manager Jim Leyland said after the game [they lost 4-5]. "Can we do that? Absolutely. Are we in a good position? Absolutely not."
Nice. (I'm saying "nice" in a long drawn out kind of way--not aloud, but in my head.) I guess I will have to resort to watching gorillas in equally as tight pants, but with shoulder pads, knocking each other down because one of the gorillas caught a pig sack (???) and they are running to one end of the clearing that happens to have lines on it. But at least the Detroit Lions never disappoint us. They always loose, and that's something to cheer for.
Wednesday, October 25
It's amazing how much more human I feel after drinking a Corona and a shot of tequila at my favorite bar with the hubby. I felt so much more human that I nearly forgot I had children, but when the conversation with the cute [female] bartender somehow turned to potty training--dookie, poop, pee-pee, wieners, and the like--I remembered who I am, a mother, and I was happy for it.
It's terribly odd to be up at 7:00 a.m., and to be the only one up--the grumbly husband (of nearly four years now--who is also a writer, comic books artist, currently not working) is sleeping, darling Logan (my four-month-old--who is still up all hours of the night and loves sweet potatoes), is sleeping, and my little ghostly daughter, Molly (my three-year-old--who loves to slip out of her room at 6:00 a.m. with a Little Pony comforter over head saying "WooooOOO-WoooOOO"), is still sleeping, too.
Am I in some sort of alternate reality where moms actually get to sip on a cup of coffee without having to get up from her spot to prepare bottles, find remotes, fix toast and butter, and change last night's sport's channel to a more healthy dose of boob-tube Noggin?
I'm almost afraid to breathe because it might wake me from this dream and knock me back into reality.
Tuesday, October 24
Just a few days left until I begin....
November 1st marks the first day of Nanowrimo--something I learned about my first semester of school as a journalism minor--when insane people from around the globe attempt to write 50,000 words in one month (yes, there are no typos in that phrase--fifty-thousand words in thirty days); and it also marks the day I embark on writing my first novel/memoir called "Tales from a (Former) Trailer Park Kid," right along with these crazy people. I seriously doubt I will hit even the 25,000-word mark, but I sure as hell can try. I've been hanging onto this pseudo-memoir in my head since I was 17, and it's gunna have to come out sooner or later before I land in the nut-house (I've almost landed there about two months ago, you know [seriously]).
This journal is for the sole purpose of expressing my thoughts and fears duing this upcoming journey. Who knows, maybe I'll stick around after November as well. I kind of like spouting off what's in my head.
Wish me luck,