You're cured!

Not that I was ever really sick, but this overwhelmed Momster definitely had need of blog therapy for a few years! And that's exactly what "imustbeoffmyrocker" provided.

 

 

Writing (and ranting!) to my computer  keyboard was possibly the most positive step I could've taken at a time when, in the throes of motherhood, it seemed I had misplaced an important part of myself. The need to vent, to "think out loud" has always been crucial to my sanity. When voices stay locked inside my head, they start to bounce of the walls of my skull, spinning into a never-ending vortex that sucks attention, time, happiness, energy, etc.... you name it. But constantly ragging and nagging the family can bring them down too. "Millstone" is not who I wanted to be.

Time out to reflect on the joy of parenting helped me to see it more clearly.

So thanks, Momster, for being my alter ego/therapist for the last several years. I'm not saying you're a miracle worker or anything, but I am feeling a lot more like myself again. And though I may check in for a booster shot occasionally, for now....

 

 

.... I'll be doing most of my writing as C.A. Morgan, Author.

 

Come visit me at:

www.camorganwrites.com

-and be sure to like on Facebook!

Autumn in New England

Jeepers Creepers - the peepers are out!

 

 

 

No, not that kind of peeper!

 LEAF PEEPERS!

The hills are so gloriously, riotously colorful right now that even the most jaded, non-nature loving, blinder-wearing driver can't keep their eyes off of them. While we Northeast Kingdom folk love sharing all that beauty, we love it even more when peepers pull over to soak it all in. And by pull over, we mean consciously, and not in a sensory overloaded daze!

Sure, we're used to it. But even so, this year is turning out to be especially spectacular. The display of color along the ridge on a sunny afternoon, or single crimson tree appearing suddenly out of the early morning valley fog has taken my breath away more than once this fall. Add to that the big bull moose that walked through the yard the other day, and the tang of fresh cider in the air, and you've got Vermont heaven.

But Bonus Baby isn't impressed. She's waiting rather impatiently for her favorite fall ritual - jumping into piles of raked up leaves.

The rustle and crunch of crisp brown clouds punctured by sneakered feet, armfuls of Critter-made storms raining down upon her. The earthy musk of composting foliage rubbed into clothes and hair (with spider sprinkles - shhhhh!). The promise of pumpkins to carve and sweet treats to beg for - that's her idea of heaven. Can't say I'm anxious to accommodate her. Given my druthers, I'd take two more months of exactly how it is right now. But soon enough the trees will perform their slow striptease (or frenzied disrobing depending on wind and rain), the vibrant hues will fade, and the gray winter skies will leave me longing for color.

And she'll be on cloud nine.

Which, I guess, is just as good.

A Death in the Family

It was inevitable. No matter how much we may fight it or try to deny the fact, death happens. And this week it hit home.

She was a matriarch of sorts, our first family pet, picked out by Firstborn on her seventh birthday from a litter of fluffy, mewling kitties. Chosen for her sass. She was the one that wouldn't stay put in her comfy basement enclosure, the one that always escaped to roam upstairs where she wasn't allowed. Her first owners were glad to see the "unruly" one go.

Once home, it wasn't hard to name her - simple enough for a first grader. When she curled up on the hearth near the wood stove, her mottled gray fur could easily have been mistaken for a pile of ashes. So, Ashes it was.

We loved her feisty, somewhat aloof attitude, at least... most of us did. Husband accepted her presence in his home because he is a generous man. Third Child was a little afraid of her, and Sweetie Petite-y was allergic, although we didn't figure that out until several years later. By then, it was too late. She was part of the family.

She was a full grown three year old when Only Son picked out her adopted "little" sister, Fudge, a labshepweiller mutt puppy three times her size, who grew to ten times bigger. (Side note: Fudge resembles her name as much as Ashes did hers, though left up to me, I'd have called her Bliss.) A pecking order was established, and Ashes came out as Top Dog. She tolerated the interloper, but barely, and never played with her despite Fudge's enthusiastic attempts. The canine water bowl was deemed drinkable only after it served as feline bath water, delicately applied by paw, and Fudge waited patiently for Ashes' daily ritual like, well, a dog waiting for table scraps.

Years passed. For a few months, a stray calico kitten shared our home and Ashes' food dish - our affection, though not hers. But Callie disappeared one day as quickly as she came. Another adopted stray was Third Child's best ever Christmas present, but sadly, Tiger possessed the same wanderlust, and was gone within a year.

Ashes never wandered. Even though she spent summer nights prowling the yard and woods that surround our house - decapitating rabbits, nabbing bats mid-flight, and ridding the mountainside of field mice. And no, we never suspected her of foul play where the other cats were concerned! But over the years our fearless FirstPet did get into a few minor(?) scrapes. An occasional scratch on her nose, a small tear in her ear, and a scab on the back of her neck that she reopened time and time again attested to the fact that she could take care of herself. With each dawn she'd meow- she was a very vocal kitty! -  till I let her in off the deck or opened the basement door. She'd then proceed to regale me with her nightly escapades, which I'm guessing included more than one rebuffed lover, and possibly an occasional fisher or coyote. Since she was much smaller than she looked under all of that fur, she was hard to catch. But she was always there in the morning with presents for her family, ready to find a sunbeam for a catnap.

In the winter, she epitomized the term "lap cat". If you were lucky enough to have her warmth curled up over your knees, you didn't want to move. Especially since disturbing her usually meant claws exposed on her way to the floor.

Once the cause of Sweetie Petite-y's eczema was partially pinned on her, Ashes was relegated to either the outdoors or basement at night, weather depending, and the younger girls room was deemed off limits at all times. About a year ago, Hubby finally installed a screen door over their bedroom door so that there could still be air flow with no hair flow. Both Sweetie Petite-y and I had a love/hate relationship with the cat by that point. All of that irresistible, soft gray fur begging to be stroked was like living with an addiction.

She was never a playful kitty, but there was one thing she couldn't resist - our reusable plastic advent wreath. From the moment it was set out her tail was a-quiver with excitement. One by one, she'd steal the sparkly boughs from it and bat them around till they disappeared under stove or fridge. Eventually, I took to hanging it (sans candles) from a hook on the deck door, and she would sit below, eyeing it with such longing that, each year, I would  have to break off at least one bough to give her, just because.

Earlier this spring we got our first indication that Ashes would not be immortal. At first, she just seemed a little off. Then we noticed that her pupils were different sizes and she began to have some issues with balance. Firstborn was away at college when Ashes had the full blown stroke that left her hindquarters immobilized. It was finals and theater tech-week, and I was afraid that if I told Firstborn she'd be a wreck. So, even though it seemed wrong to keep it from her, I did, hoping that by some miracle the cat would pull through.

Amazingly, she did!

For over a month after that Ashes appeared normal. Her ordeal had left her a little thinner and slower than usual, but she was eating and acting like herself again. And then suddenly, she wasn't. She went off her food first, even turning down the tuna juice that was her favorite. I noticed right away, and eventually Firstborn did too. Then, she stopped drinking very much, moved very little, and took to hiding in secluded corners. I suspected the end was near. For a day or two we debated taking her to the vet, but  decided not to traumatize her; she had always hated the car, the cat carrier, and the vet's office even more. Out of compassion, we decided to let her passing be natural. It was difficult to watch her waste away, even though she didn't appear to be in any pain. I took to singing to her softly while gently stroking her, missing the times I could have done so and hadn't. She tolerated it, even purring, though sometimes I could sense she just wanted to be left alone. She seemed so frail.

The morning of her passing she wanted to be outside. Rain was coming, and I had to leave for work, so I didn't want to let her out. But I did. I watched as she slowly, stoically stepped through the doorway to the stone porch, resting just outside the door. I scratched behind her ears, whispered goodbye and drove away. Firstborn, fighting the urge to put her back inside, did the same as she left the house a while later, both of us somehow knowing.....

When I got home from work after picking up the Critters from school, she was gone. I searched the house, not knowing if she'd been put back inside, and failing to find her, looked around outside. It had rained during the day, and the darkening sky portended another approaching thunderstorm. If she was still alive, I didn't want her left out in it. But she wasn't. I finally found her under our mudroom, just beyond the opening in the stone foundation and lying on some lumber we store there.

Only Son helped me retrieve her body, carefully lifting out the boards till he could get to her with both hands, wanting to retain her dignity in death. His lighthearted comments as he worked belied the catch in his voice, and I knew he was as sad as I was. After brushing her a final time, something she wouldn't stand for in her last days, I placed her in a box with a favorite towel that had been marked with our family name. Her family name. Then we waited for FirstBorn to come home. She took the news gracefully, with quiet tears.

After dinner, the whole family gathered around the little plot in the woods that was meant to be a mushroom garden, but had never produced. With its woven branch fence, it was the perfect spot to lay her to rest. Hubby dug her grave, Firstborn placed her beloved wreath over her, Only Son said a few words, and the rest of us looked on remembering what a good cat she had been. But Bonus Baby's tearful regret at never having the chance to get to really know her was heart wrenching. She'd had to keep her distance since Ashes hadn't been overly fond of little people. But it hadn't stopped Bonus Baby from loving her.

A week has passed since these events, and we're still adjusting to the meow-less mornings. As I write this I am still teary. FirstBorn has been working such long hours that I wonder if she's had time to process it. We know we won't get another kitty in this house, though she might someday.

But we will all always remember our FirstPet, Ashes.

Ashes & Firstborn in her Senior Photo

An "All Seriousness" Aside

Normally I try to be witty in these posts. But, today I'm writing straight from the heart  about a subject that weighs heavily on it, namely - what will become of my Critters?

Hubby and I have raised (are still raising) a houseful of talented, outgoing, caring, bright and enthusiastic young people. People compliment us all the time on our great kids, to which I reply, "Thanks! I like them too!"

Only, sometimes I don't.

WHAT A HORRIBLE THING TO SAY!!!!! Yeah, but real. And if you really admit it, you've felt the same way about yours occasionally too. It's okay. They feel that way about us parents more often than we'd like to think they do, and it doesn't change how much we love them, right?

Sometimes, I get so frustrated that I just want to throw my hands up, throw in the towel, THROW ANYTHING! It usually happens when they are acting like, well... kids, and not the mature and wonderful people everyone thinks they are. Funny how their childish actions make me want to act childish too. Like yesterday, when I finally did throw something and shook up the entire household. (The clatter from the handful of silverware I was getting out to set the dinner table with as they fell forcefully back into the drawer was extremely satisfying!) I didn't stay around to see the effect it had, but stormed out of the house in bare feet and headed down the driveway to cool off.

The Critter who added the last straw wasn't most to blame for my overload, but the one who was, was oblivious. So really, all my little tantrum did was set a bad example. And therein lies the rub. Hubby and I work hard to set a good example for the Critters to follow. For him it comes naturally, but I have to overcome a plenitude of natural inclinations to be the kind of person I hope they will become. When they display those same natural tendencies, I worry. I recognize negative behavior when I see it because I've been there, still am there, fighting it tooth and nail. I want them to be more like Hubby, and less like their Momster. Not that I don't like myself, mind you: Narcissism is one of those natural inclinations I was just mentioning. But it's harder to overcome bad habits than avoid developing them in the first place.

One of the Critters (I won't mention names, but he just graduated) started his first real job yesterday, and already he's moaning about it. After one day! I've seen this kid spend countless hours writing a paper or memorizing a script, skipping meals and working on stage till he could barely stand, holding doors for people, donating blood, serving on the altar at Mass ---- he's a good kid, and hardworking when he wants to be (though sometimes I wish he'd never been introduced to video gaming). I am immensely proud of his many accomplishments. But he has a poor me attitude about having to work hard this summer before college, and I just don't get it! His dad works two, sometimes three jobs. On top of my writing and everything else I do around here as mother of five, I went back to work when Firstborn started college to help pay the bills. She's working three jobs herself. None of us prefer to bust our butts like we do, but we do it because we need to. This Critter knew he would have to help pay for college, yet it was Hubby and I who tracked down job leads for him since he had "other priorities". It's not our fault he turned down the cushy camp councilor job since it would mean not seeing the girlfriend, or didn't keep pursuing the golf course grounds-keeping position, or show a little more enthusiasm for waiting tables.

Sometimes you just do what you gotta do.

I wish that I could just hand him the money for college, but then again, maybe I don't. Where's the lesson in that? Entitlement attitudes abound today, and wouldn't that just play into it?

There is a lack in my parenting skills that is becoming increasing evident: I hate to see my kids suffer. I rescue them time and time again, and then I resent it. This time I want to stand firm, make him tough it out and build character. But I also want him to just stop whining.

Maybe I should set the example.

Not a Party Animal

My last two attempts at hosting a party were unqualified disasters. You've read about one in this blog, or if you haven't, you should (check out "What a fUn-Party"). But actually, I misspoke when describing that event since at least it was one. Last weekend was the party that really wasn't.

Now, before you go thinking that I'm just a lousy and/or boring hostess, let me chime in. I have hosted great parties before! Not the falling down drunk, going home with strangers kind, but good ol' family get-togethers filled with good food, fantastic conversation and lots of fun. Granted, I'm not known for my spontaneity, so when I entertain it's a well thought out, preplanned and stressed-over event that usually leaves me exhausted and in need of a glass of wine or two at a more casual gathering hosted by someone else. Because of this, I generally wait for a BIG EVENT to invite folks over.

 But, back to last weekend.... I was supposed to host a Pampered Chef party. As a foodie, I just love the product line even though the only items I'd ever owned were gifts from someone else. Recently though, I'd attended a friend's PC party and splurged on my own early Mother's Day gift - a spiffy new ceramic omelet pan. That got me thinking about how sweet it would be to have a whole set of cookware that wasn't pieced together from grocery store incentive programs and rummage sales, or add worn Teflon to my family's diet. The only way I'd ever be able to do that was to earn free stuff. So, despite the fact that the whole premise of marketing parties makes me a little queasy for a variety of reasons, I thought I'd give it a go.

I think God's trying to tell me to stick to birthdays and graduations.....

Out of almost 60 invited guests (they tell you to over-invite - same logic airlines use with booking) only two good friends told me they were definitely coming. And since one of them was the hostess at the party I had just attended, and the other a guest, it was looking more like a pity-party. Now, I'm not begrudging anyone the extremely important other events already cluttering their weekend plans ---- I had several other things going on myself, including a daughter's dance recital that I was informed of only two days prior. And I'm not saying that anyone should have tried harder to squeeze my party in - no guilt trips coming from this direction! But I am saying that when I pick 'em, I really pick em! This was the second date in as many parties that just was a lousy fit for everyone.

So, I cancelled. And then I got to thinking.... the reason I enjoy having people over is that being with friends feeds the soul. So much of what we do everyday doesn't. And most of that has to do with stuff: earning $ to buy stuff, caring for stuff, losing or breaking stuff, wishing we had more stuff, having too much stuff.

One friend told me after I'd cancelled that she had actually been looking forward to my party, even though she hadn't committed, because she needed a little girl-time. She's the mother of four boys, so it wasn't about stuff for her, but nourishment. And so, as much as I had been hesitant to host "stuff" parties, I guess as long as my intent is focused on the people part of things, even they can feed the need.

 

Here's wishing you all a place at the table.

Marketing Tips for Busy People

My life right now pretty much revolves around the need to strategize the marketing of my book -

 ....that, and what's for dinner.

And getting whoever needs to be wherever they need to be whenever they need to be there.

And laundry - always laundry....

You see, no matter what pulls me into the outside world, what's happening here in my little family universe takes precedence, like it or not. Griper that I am, most of the time I do not. That doesn't mean I don't have my priorities straight, just that that I'm still a work in progress. Like you are too, I imagine. A busy home life is like a centrifuge, spinning uncontrollably, pressing your back against the wall even as it pulls you toward center. The moment you lift your head to look outside the home sphere, it gets slammed back into place. Illness does this, and car repair costs, and even the occasional favorite owl hat lost by your six year old.


Anyhow, despite everything I have to do around here, I have been spending an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to get my book "OUT THERE" where it will be noticed. So that it will sell. So that I can help pay for kids' clothing, dental work, college, etcetera. So that I can continue to write without feeling guilty about it...


See what I mean about the centrifuge....?

Here's what I've learned about marketing so far:


1) You gotta do it everyday. Like eating or brushing your teeth. Sure, everyone skips once in a while, but if it's not a habit, bad things happen. Or nothing will happen, which is also bad.
2) Use people. Not in a horrible way, or without their permission. But netWORKING is named that for a reason.
3) Give it away. Seems counter intuitive to someone who is struggling to make ends meet, but there you have it.
4) Write - DUH! Your second book is the best promotion for your first.
5) Get technical. As in, learn about technology and how to use it.  This one is a toughy for an older newbie like me, but I did e-publish shortly after releasing my paperback. Now if only I can master the web....
6) Do your research, and get reviewed. I put these together because knowing the reviewer's style, tastes, and likelihood of giving a positive review matters.


There are a lot of other things I've learned in this process, but since I need to go back to learning more now, I'll leave you with one final tip -

7)Work harder than everyone else. Personally, I have a difficult time justifying time spent without documentable results, but I'm learning that increments of progress vary. Slow and steady really does win the race. Oh, how cliché!


Yes, I'm recycling cartoons again, but you get it don't you? Buy my book (and get your friends to buy it!) and I'll have oh! so much more time to draw again! Available at your favorite bookseller.

Sample or purchase Emrysia: Awakening: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/401473

Web site: http://reademrysia.blogspot.com/

and while you're at it, be sure to visit and like my C.A. Morgan Author Page on Facebook! (See, I'm starting to get the hang of it!)

What a F-Un Party!

Granted I didn’t put a lot of planning into it, but a casual gathering of friends to snowshoe and ski seemed like just the way to kick February vacation off to a good start. I should have taken heed when most people rsvp’d that they would (regretfully?) be out of town, no doubt traveling to less snowy climes, doing exotic tropical things. With our crew that has never been an option, not that I’ve minded ---- much. Fun is what you make it, right?

Party day got off to a rocky start the night before, with me worrying half the night about our “adult” Critters  who were out and about – when does this stop? – and crawling out of bed not only still exhausted, but with allergy nose, sneezing and dripping like a sieve. Since FirstBorn and Only Son had opted to spend the night at thier friend’s house, the bright spot of the morning was that the rest of us could all fit in the car on the way to Mass. (Did I mention that Vantana is in the shop getting a new transmission and wheel bearings, leaving only the five-in-a-tight-squeeze passenger, stick shift SuZi? But that’s another story...) After Mass, we headed downstairs to the parish hall for a little pre-party Sunday brunch. Being a social butterfly has its drawbacks; we were some of the last down so we missed out on the bacon. Also, we had to eat with plates in our laps, which reminds me – I still have to get that syrup out of Hubby’s slacks.

Back at home, I put a pot of homemade chili on the back burner to simmer, sampled the guacamole, and did a little last minute tidy before folks started to arrive. Backroad of Busted Mufflers aside, the families that actually made it had more issues with our steep, ice-crusted driveway. Dr. Denny and CindyComeLately with their three Amigos were surprisingly early, wearing winning smiles and bearing a beautiful lasagna.  Big Johnny, when he arrived, took a hard spill coming up the walk, but bounced up with barely a grimace, his family following more cautiously in his wake. Our missing Critters eventually showed up (I didn’t ask) and that’s when it started to get interesting.

Accepting that we weren’t going to abandon our guests for four hours (as forewarned) to drive her back to college in time for her tech rehearsal, Firstborn attempted (unsuccessfully) to rustle up a ride. When nothing panned out with her friends, Big Johnny offered taxi service in lieu of our planned outdoor adventure. Maybe he was being nice, and maybe he’d hit the ice harder than he let on, and wanted an easier out.  Either way, boy, was he ever wrong!

Finally, it was time for the rest of us to head into the Great Outdoors - everyone except for the teen-aged girls, who squirreled themselves away in Third Child’s purple-passion den, doing girlie stuff. Sorting out winter gear, skis, poles, and snowshoes, Hubby, Dr. D. & C.C. Lately, and the remaining Critters divvied up trail maps and headed out. The day was sparkling, the breeze light, and trails thoughtfully pre-tramped by Hubby the day before. Big Johnny’s Missus and I hung back with our youngest, Little Miss and Bonus Baby, attempting to put on their skis. Note: a persistently drippy proboscis and broken bindings do not go well together. B.B.’s boot ended up covered in eeeew! and held in place with used twist ties. Halfway across the yard she lost a ski. More bending over = more dripping. More ski’s coming off = tears, more exasperating dripping, and finally a decision to go sledding instead. Too late, I realized how icy our driveway (a.k.a. the sled run) really was, and nearly broke my neck attempting to stay upright while holding back a sled load of anxious six year olds. I parked the nose of the sled in the snow bank with orders for them to stay put until I called up the all’s clear from the bottom. When they came screaming – literally - down the driveway, my heart nearly stopped. B.B. rolled out as the sled tipped and Little Miss shot past, crashing harmlessly into the bank. More tears from Bonus Baby, but nothing more serious than a bruised elbow, thankfully. Little Miss wanted to go again. We compromised with me offering to pull them back up the hill, but ended up turning it into a game where they had to crawl up on their bellies to save us all from an early grave. Big Johnny’s Missus and I were more than ready to chill out on the porch with a glass of Zinfandel when the little ladies went inside to play.  When we eventually got up to go inside, another bout of sneezing caught me off guard.  You’ve no doubt heard women complain about the effects of sneezing after childbirth: Multiply that by five. Needless to say, I had to change. A little later, Bonus Baby got a little too wrapped up in playing, and well, let’s just say she and I had a little more in common than usual.

As the trekkers straggled back in, I doled out hot cocoa and begged the teens to include the pre-teens in their activities. More sneezing and more dripping nose. And then the phone rang.

It was Big Johnny. A harrowing blowout had left him and Firstborn stranded along the interstate with a shredded tire, and little chance of her getting to rehearsal on time or him making it back without a very expensive tow. Possibilities were kicked around, and soon Hubby & Dr. D. hopped into our SuZi and headed an hour out of their way to pick up Big J.’s spare – then off to the rescue! In the meantime, a tow truck was called to haul the stranded motorists to the nearest town, where they waited, cold and hungry.

Back on the home front, kids found stuff to do while the ladies commiserated, drank more wine, and played Bananagrams on the floor in front of the wood stove. It was almost fun, except this hostess felt run over by a truck – sneezy days really wipe me out, even without the accidents and added stress, and my bed was looking mighty appealing...... and really far away!

By the time help finally arrived, Firstborn had gotten a college chum to come and pick her up. Just as I was getting dinner on the table she called to say she’d made it safely back. Confession time: I was still a little miffed, though once the decision was made for Big J. to take her, the outcome was irrelevant, and I knew I had no right. I told her I was glad she was safe, but at that moment thirteen hungry people were waiting on me, so I didn’t take time to elaborate. The chili was hot, but she still had a while to stew.

The Husbands finally returned a little after 9:30 (note the party times) to a noisy house and riled up kids, hungry but in good humor. A little guy bonding time appeared to have done them good. An hour or so later, they were still at the table laughing, while the Downton Abbey contingent had retired to the living room.

Did I mention I was still sneezing?

Since we had already told the youngest that we might end up having a big sleepover, they were pretty disappointed when informed that wouldn’t be the plan. As much as I love my friends, I gotta say, I was relieved. It had been a long day. But I felt bad about it too: Big Johnny & Family had another forty minutes to drive, and another icy driveway to walk up in the dark. We sent them on their way with prayers and leftover chili.

 Do-over party at their house later in the week....

Note* This account, though it leaves out several painful details. is entirely accurate --- except that it neglected to say that I am blessed with some amazing friends who, despite my whining, still want me around. Thanks you guys!

Howdy, Stranger!

Well, it's been absolutely forever since I've written here! Not that I've forgotten you.... just ask my extended family * whose birthdays I never remember in time. That's what busyness does - it makes you take those you most appreciate for granted. :(






And I do appreciate you, blog reader! Really, I do!






That's why I try so hard to make you smile...






or laugh....






or cry.....






or think....






or shut off your computer and stop wasting precious time........ actually, that's for me.






When I'm bored or overwhelmed or stumped for ideas, I too often turn to Facebook or various blogs, and before you know it, a perfectly good hour has passed by with nothing to show for it besides my own entertainment. Not that being entertained in and of itself is a bad thing, but I'm a doer, not a spectator. And if that doesn't jive with my couch potato image, bear in mind that I can barely sit and watch a movie anymore without falling asleep, but I can write or paint all day and be so engrossed that I forget to eat!








What does that for you?







When I think of mankind as being made in God's image, our ability to create is what comes to mind. It's what I love most about being human. That goes for everything from writing a novel (shameless plug for Emrysia Awakening!) or drawing a caricature, to flipping an omelet or expertly applying makeup. It doesn't have to be something big, though it can be. It just has to be something that involves you in the creative process.






What brings me the most satisfaction is often what also provides the most frustration while in progress, like learning to make an awesome pizza. Like getting my book published. Like raising the Critters.






My pizza is now highly anticipated once-a-week fare on movie night (which I'll sleep thru). Seeing my work on store shelves is great, though so far I've gotten more reviews on the pizza. But watching my offspring become salt and light for the world? Now that's amazing feedback!






So, forgive me for not making more time here. It's not that I don't enjoy it - I really, really do! I just have other things to create.




*If you are an extended family member (or friend, which is the same thing to me), you know I love you, right?

Pardon my Absence, but....

Yeah, yeah, yeah! Excuses, excuses!


Sorry, but I wish I had time to write more here. Instead I'm going to refer you to my other blog in hopes that you will go there and catch up.


But, in the words of way too many cheesy good guys and villains... I'll be back!


http://reademrysia.blogspot.com/2013/12/technical-difficulties.html

Big News!

http://reademrysia.blogspot.com/

Is it book yet?

 

YES!!!!!!!!

A Little Encouragement

I went for a walk with a friend today.  She and I are in the same stage of life, and while I have one Critter more, her youngest has Downs. In parenting terms, she's got me beat.

We commiserated with each other in ways that only someone who's walked a mile in your muck boots can. Our oldest children are both in college, and were decidedly easiest of the lot. They were (still are) people pleasers, who at least on the surface towed the line. My Firstborn's biggest infraction was/is a consistently messy room (The Sty) - hers, a toss-up between being wishy-washy and addicted to video games.

Our current high school seniors are both honor students and generally really good people. We have the sweetest picture of them as King and Queen Charming (Cinderella's beau's parents) taken in third grade or so. But while Only Son has continued to act and plans to pursue that as a career, she wants to study the sciences. Curfews are an issue for both, though not collectively. It's hard to be tough on them when they're such good kids otherwise, but teaching kids to respect authority these days is a challenge. Especially since so few in authority today (parents excluded) deserve respect.

Our Third Children, both girls though not the same age, are the ones we really butt heads with. They have game faces for the rest of the world, but when they come home, the mask comes off and the mitts go up. They, too, are really good kids - just selective in who they shower with their goodness. Happy the days when it falls on us. But rare.

Sweetie Petite-y gets her own category, and would be ideal if she wanted to be, but she's her own worst enemy with procrastination and lack of follow thru. I nag her as much as the rest, but for how she affects herself, not others. In many ways, she's a mini Firstborn.

Our Bonus Babies are the apples of our eyes, different as night and day, both getting sweeter by the minute. And they drive us absolutely crazy much of the time. We had them when we were older, and they're supposed to be keeping us young, but OMG! (as the Critters would say) We're too tired for this!

We've had it easier than lots of struggling parents, and gladly acknowledge that our kids are a blessing. But there are still days that wear you down so much you wonder what you were ever thinking when you had kids. Days when you're surprised you're not bald yet from pulling your hair out. When, if you have to fight one more battle over family rules, delegate one more contested chore, trip over one more toy or haphazardly plopped backpack, you know you'll feel like throwing in the towel --- AND I'M NOT TALKING MORE LAUNDRY!

So what's so encouraging about this rant?




We're in it together.



(Remember Critters, if you read this, that this blog is Mom Therapy. All nagging accomplished here is that much less you'll have to listen to.....)

Almost There!

Just in case you missed it on reademrysia.blogspot.com -

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is a sneak peak at the cover... 

 

 

 

 

We are so close to being done! After a VERY stressful week of laboring to birth this novel, I am about as anxious to hold it in my hands as any of my other children. Hopefully, next week!

Thanks to everyone for being so patient and supportive. It's been a long ten years since I started this process. Writing the series was the easy part. Publishing it has been a bear. And though I would have loved to go through a "big house", I've learned a lot about self publishing that I would have never otherwise known.

This is a soft cover edition. I'll let you know as soon as I have pricing, but for those of you who would buy it regardless of cost, you can pre-order by commenting on this post. And remember (for what it's worth), you can get an autographed copy mailed right to your door (postage and handling not included) by purchasing direct.

Why Do We Do It

 

 

Growing up, I couldn't stand it when I questioned parental motives only to be told "because I said so!" The unjustness of it all! So when I became a parent, I vowed to always help my Critters understand the whys and what-fors behind my logic, assuming that as young, but rational human beings they would value being treated as such.

I was wrong.

They just don't get it. No matter how much effort is expended attempting to enlighten them, they generally refuse to acknowledge the wisdom of age and experience. Maybe it's because their brains aren't done being wired yet. A smarter mom would take St. Francis' admonition to "seek not so much to be understood as to understand" at face value, but determined Momster that I am, I've gotta give it one more shot. So speaking for Husband as well (whether he wants me to or not) here goes....


WHY WE DO IT - AN EXPLANTION

NAG - Because you don't do it right away/ the first time we tell you/ thoroughly/ without being told.

GUILT - We want you to think about your actions and how they affect the world beyond your nose.

COMPLAIN - Admit it: You are messy, loud, lazy, inconsiderate & immature. Our job is to fix you.

SAY NO - It's a knee-jerk reaction, easier to take back than a YES should we change our minds.

ASSIGN CHORES - To teach responsibility, team work, work ethic, cause and effect, etc....

TAKE OVER - Cuz you're doing it wrong, whining or being a pain, and we're too tired to deal.

In general, EVERYTHING we do as parents is because we love you and want what is best for you. Sometimes that means being the bad guy, the fall guy, the guy behind the wheel eight hours out of twenty-four, or telling you yet again to eat healthy food, not junk, though we know you won't listen. It means putting up with you when we'd rather put you out, and saying no even though you hate us for it because it's what you need, not what you want. And despite the fact that you don't get it, one day you will.

But by then it will be too late.

You'll be parents.

Poetic Reflection

Children, Like Puppies

My attention span is bouncy today as the dog’s tail

as she trots a pace ahead,

stopping to sniff the latest reminder that a world of other canines

 lies just beyond her yard,

yet…

 for a fraction of an instant

it lingers long enough to realize that

children,

 like puppies,

sense a similar expanse,

and will someday, as parental leashes slacken,

wander out to make their own deposit on the world.

On down the road,

I wonder,

will blooms appear where they have trod,

or will they return with tails between their legs,

“perfumed” with what they’ve rolled in?

There is a reason for teaching young dogs new tricks,

and children to lick their wounded egos

till they master themselves.






 

The Proof is in the Pudding

Yes, I'm still alive and back with a brand new post. Thanks for your patience with my absentee-ism, but summer was much too busy and short. And my apologies especially to any younger readers for my most recent, interim posting.  You deserve better.


                                             **************************


I've never really understood that old saying " the proof is in the pudding".  I know you have to "proof" yeast, so I could get an adage like "the proof is in the cinnamon buns", or "the proof is in the kronuts", though even that is still pretty obscure. Maybe they (those mysterious coiners of idioms) mean English pudding, as in, any ol' dessert.

Hmmmmmm........ time out while I Google it.....


(please enjoy the entertainment)

Ohhhh.........


So.... it's actually "the proof of the pudding is in the eating,", as in, you can only tell how good a thing is by sampling the finished product. Well, I guess I wasn't too far off. The thing is, I finally have the hard copy of my book in my hands.  Not the FINISHED copy, mind you.  This is a write-all-over-me-with-blue-pen-and-make-corrections copy.  In other words, a proof.

And is it ever proving necessary! Though I'm resisting the urge to edit my own writing yet again (for the most part), it's loaded with errors that occurred during formatting - argh!!!!!!! And I'm making a pretty blue-pudding mess of it.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever really hold the finished, truly published version in my hands --- if I'll have the stamina to see this marathon thru to the finish. A watched pot might never boil, but dreams only take wing when you stop chewing the fat, poop or get off the pot, and put some elbow grease into it! Yes, I know why the caged bird sings: SHE WANTS SOME PUDDING! for crying out loud!

At least while waiting for my just dessert, I've got this sweet little dumpling to fill me up.....

Why Do You Love ________ Science?

Reader beware!  No cartoons here today, rather a point is about to be illustrated.  A very "colorful" point.

(Note: My profuse apologies to all people of sensitivity including, but not exclusively, my Critters, boss, pastor, little old lady next door and all my regular readers.  This is not my usual G- rated post.  If children are reading over your shoulder, you might want to ask them to leave the room.  No, I mean it.  Seriously.)








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Okay, last warning.  If you don't want to be offended, leave now...... or check out my former post Alternative Cusswords and Clean Getaways, which by the by, is really more my style.












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Still here? Okay, you've been warned...












QUESTION?

The text formerly in this area has been removed by management.

Had enough? Me too.



I. Am. Sorry.  So terribly, terribly sorry.


No, I did not suddenly develop Tourrettes, though sometimes it seems the rest of the world has. What is this need consuming ordinary folks to litter speech and foul the air and cyberspace with constant profanity?  I just don't get it.

News Flash:  You're cool enough already!  Do you have to keep trying to prove it (to yourself maybe?) by using "adult" language?  Grow up and grow your vocabulary instead!

Time to start thinking about someone other than yourself.

For those of you convinced I'm just old fashioned and prudish, well, you might be right, though that's something I've attempted to cultivate rather than outgrow.  But do you at least get my point?  If not, then read this again, this time sans profanity:


Why do you  love "I Love _______ Science"?  Is it really any better than any other science website? Who cares if there is foul language in the title? Well, I do, that's who!  Because, I really love science, yeah! - just for what it is.  Do I want to be offended by foul language every time I go on Facebook or visit a website?! No!  So please......... just stop.


Profanity not needed.  'Nuff said.



Oh, and in case you're wondering --- I am the management. Now if only other powers that be would own up to their responcibilities, we might be able to enjoy cleaner internet and other media too...... 

Stir Crazy

The New England Rain Forest... Betcha didn't even know there was one.

I'm usually not one to complain about the weather...

 ... everything else - yes. But really, why bother ranting about something there's no hope of influencing.  Unlike the Critters, the weather has absolutely, positively no chance at all of ever being swayed by my critical protestations.

Or maybe I should have said like them......

After being cooped inside for days on end, everyone's patience is starting to wear thin - especially mine, since it gets tried and stretched the most already. While the incessant rain provides the perfect excuse for ditching outdoor chores - except for Husband who, though he hates working wet, spent last weekend stringing pig-fence in a downpour - I fail to see why it makes loading the dishwasher or cleaning the basement playroom impossible!

One thing that hasn't suffered from monsoon-itis is Third Child's culinary creativity.  The more it pours, the more lemon poppy seed muffins, chocolate chip cookies and microwave brownie-in-a-mugs remnants I find when I get home from work. If only I could channel her interest into meal preparation instead of just baking!

Bonus Baby would love to be head chef, and is a great "help" in the kitchen.  She loves to stir things up, literally and figuratively, but I just don't think a five year old is ready for that kind of responsibility.

Speaking of stirring, the soup inside my head is in constant whirlpool these days.

I'd like to let things simmer quietly, season with more prayer and less worry, to avoid boiling over. But while I'm a pretty good cook, I'm lousy at following simple recipes. Just ask Hubby and the Critters - I have to doctor everything. And an overactive imagination, while great for a writer,  is often the worst ingredient on a mother's pantry shelf.

The two oldest Critters were 45 minutes late the other night, and I had them lying bloody in a ditch, while I lay sleepless, caught in a continual loop of mental agitation. Third Child complained of sleeping poorly and I envisioned death by sleep apnea. Likewise Bonus Baby --- she often feels breathless when crying, and I see asthma attacks plaguing both of our futures.  And don't get me started on Sweetie Petite-y! If one more thing goes wrong with that child I'm really gonna crack!

I worry about family. I worry about work. I worry about worrying. One of my most worrisome worries right now is that my novel (which I worry no one will like) will never get published because the printer likes it so much he's stolen it to plagiarize and sell under his own nom de plume! Crazy, right?

Yeah, I thought so too. 

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Disclaimer: The incoherent ramblings documented here are not, and never shall be, documented proof of  this Momster's instability.  They are, indeed, fictitious ramblings, and not the product of a sleep deprived and over worked nature, and therefore not admissable as evidence of the temporary insanity known as parenthood....or are they?????

The Law of Averages

Murphy rules. Not because I agree, but just because he said so!

This is especially true in large families. It doesn’t seem to matter the circumstance, if we want something to go one way, it will go the other. For example:

• No matter how many times you tell your kids to clean up after themselves, the law of averages (one of Murphy’s many aliases) says that if you are not there to supervise, it won’t get done.

• Walking into the living room moments after you’ve left it spotless, you will find at least one dirty sock newly stuffed into or under the sofa. This average increases in cooler climates and with the number of children per household. Likewise, you will find it after you have finished doing the laundry.

• If you plan a special family dinner, one or more teenager will have previously unreported plans for that evening – which they will need transportation to/from.

• When you are most looking forward to a quiet morning at home, a child with a fever/bellyache/rash/vomiting will crawl into your bed earlier than your usual waking time.

• Once that child is finally well, another will succumb.

• The number of unauthorized, injury-free leaps made from the deck is always one fewer than the number of offspring who attempt it.

• The year your loving spouse voluntarily sets up the pool early (with no nagging from you), it will snow Memorial Day weekend. And rain the rest of the summer.

• The more you look forward to your head hitting the pillow any given night, the more frequently your sleep will be interrupted by Critters of both the two and four-legged varieties. And if especially sleep-deprived, woodpeckers will find your house to be an irresistible soundbox at the crack of dawn.

• Critters who can't remember simple instructions for: running the dishwasher/washing machine/dryer/lawn mower, sewing on a button, folding clothes, making Ramen, etc. can nonetheless operate and navigate any and all technology AND tell you exactly how the world should be run. Which is, of course --- without your interference.

• The number of events crammed into your hectic schedule is proportionately equal to the resistance you'll face in getting everyone out the door on time.

 Spring was wild, and this pretty much sums it up, except...

....even though the last post featured her, I really should elaborate on the last couple of weeks from Sweetie Petite-y's perspective since she and Murphy have bumped heads on more than one occassion. She survived missing her class trip thanks to a wonderful day spent being spoiled by her Godmother. But she almost missed being class speaker at her graduation thanks to bouts of laryngitis and a virus that might have been food poisoning --- till it later made the rounds of Hubby and remaining Critters in milder form. They avoided the projectile vomiting, but then, they had less riding on being healthy. But everything turned out well in the end.

Murphy might rule, but a mother's prayers produce miracles.

And pretty little graduation dresses as well.