The following is completely stolen from CarolynOnline, who writes one of the many blogs I can't seem to read anymore. I know Carolyn, in a real life kind of way, and yet, I barely visit her site. I think blogging has lost its charm for me, or perhaps I have lost my charm for blogging, or maybe I am lazy or busy or distracted or totally washed up....
Kids Update: The GFYO is seeing ghosts. Ghost dogs, ghost people. When he was two, he saw a "worker" coming up from the basement, a "worker" who hung around for a while, for him, in the living room of our 100+ year old house. When he was five, he announced, from the backseat and out of nowhere, that "when you die, you just start over." He told me today that the people "who disappear" don't speak to him, but they just "come and walk away." Then he said he didn't want to talk about it. My father says he has an active imagination. He does, but I'm convinced that he, like me, like my mother, has something none of us can explain. (PS: Syd. Annie. I knew you'ld be in touch...) Meanwhile, Rory needs a break -- from soccer, school, overly aggressive/super needy friends -- and I'm giving it to her, as best I can. Bridget will be one of the last girls to get boobs -- and a cell phone -- and I am not sure which bothers either of us most.
Me Update: I'm gonna be run out of the Small Town by the soccer gestapo because I suggested (in an email that used the words "dude" and "really") that being 3 minutes late to a pre-game warm-up was a bit severe. Granted my daughter was there on time, but she was one of five who were, and so I figured I had numbers on my side, which I did.... privately. I am a loudmouth, but (I'd like to think) of the good kind. Doesn't mean I don't die a little for sticking my neck out -- when no one else does.
More Me Update: Oh! And I started a fight with the Small Town over playground equipment at the Little School. Here's what I learned: a strongly worded letter will get you a meeting, but being funny and organized with facts in said meeting? It will get you further. Screw you, internet: the world changes when faces see faces. Also: lawyers? Parents who hire them? Please! You have created an unhealthy, physical play environment over one broken arm.
Even More Me Update: Today, I couldn't write the regular column I've been writing these last few months for a burgeoning digital site. I have a cold, I spent too long today trying to fix the car (my father in law busted) (not my fault -- at last), but mostly, I'm in this rut of "it's all been said." I should note that the Small Town newspaper has stolen two of my published ideas and ran them as features, and it irritates me. A lot. It also irritates me that the mom who writes the "mom" column for Small Town newspaper uses a fake name. Small Town can be deadly, I know, and I respect this broad, but bravery is a trait I cling to, desperately, with (mostly) horrible results. (See: soccer gestapo.)
Swear this is the last Me Update: Two of my essays will be included in a forthcoming collection about motherhood, published by a real publisher, that features lots of super educated women with tons of opinions and an amazing editor who loves democracy and collaboration. I mostly delete the back and forth wikkid smaht emails: over-thinking and smartypantsness are two traits I try to avoid. Creativity, however? I am at the beginning (for the 15 thousandth time) of my first novel. I have written ten pages -- each one page long, ten attempts, all saved separately, each a little fit of a start. Creativity, imagination, dreaming up a story and characters: these are traits I want and don't seem to have. I think it's time to give up the dream.
The Kid aka: Husband Update: We reached sixteen years this month -- somewhat of a miracle considering the divorce pandemic that's taken over the Small Town (rumors of swinging! again!) and the fact that he remains a neo-con blog obsessed conservative. We never seem to get the chance to celebrate our anniversaries: he's traveling through Europe lately, but mostly, we are almost always completely broke when the date arrives -- damn kids! I stuff my jealously about his international adventures into my not-quite mom jeans, while I worry in the "eggs in one basket, me with no basket at all" kind of way. I rely on him so much... too much? He's still the cutest dude in town.
Dog Update: I am not a dog person, nor a dog trainer. Let's just leave it at that.
Yeah, so.... there you go.
