Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Holy Run-On Sentence Batman

People IRL keep telling me that they're worried about me. Because I've stopped blogging and apparently all my covertness was worrisome. And I'd like to put all that to rest, but I can't. It still is and I can't talk about it. And it's still eating my soul, making it hard to talk about anything.

Also making it hard to talk about anything is the overwhelming sense of babbling craziness that I am now living with all the time.

All I have right now are run-on sentences of doom, like these:

  • I have all this stuff at work that I can't talk about, but it's making me crazy and I don't know what I'm going to do, and what if something even worse happens, but what if nothing worse happens and nothing better happens and I am just trapped in this world of kinda-sorta misery for the rest of my life and there's no escape?
  • I am really stressing out about Christmas, see, I decided to do this mostly-homemade-Christmas thing for reasons that are very reasony (money, commercialism, whatever, money) and now it is December, like not even the first of December and I don't have a whole lot of presents complete, but you know, I've spent enough in supplies that there's no turning back and I have a feeling that this isn't going to be just the Christmas of Homemade but also the Christmas of All Nighters.
  • Plus, you know, Santa. Santa.
  • I know that wasn't a run-on sentence, but deal with it. It wasn't technically a sentence, so there's that.
  • I keep telling people to come to my house, which is fine because I like it when people come to my house, except I kinda thought it would be easier to do my entertaining all in a stretch and then I'd only have to keep the house clean which would be easier than cleaning, right? Except, no, keeping the house clean means constantly nagging my kids about every little thing, which I should probably do more of anyway, then cleaning wouldn't be such a hassle, but it is exhausting, you know, I just want to sit here and watch Austin and Ally and not go crazy because I just realized that Maren is cutting paper into tiny pieces and isn't using anything to catch them and NO, CONFETTI IS NOT FUN, MAREN.
  • I wrote this book, well, kinda, if you are okay with books with no endings, because I am committed to this thing, as I've written seven-eights of it, but I just cannot figure out how you end a book. I mean, I'm really proud to have almost finished a novel, but I would be amazingly proud to have actually finished a novel and I can't figure out how.
  • And yes, that means that I failed at NaNoWriMo, because I couldn't end it, I mean I could have gone back and done some of my rewrites and actually hit the required word count, but I didn't because I decided not to do rewrites until I was done with the whole thing and I'm never going to finish it because how do books end, again?
So, there you have it. I'm fine. Really. I'm just insane and freaking out about every little thing. But fine. This too shall pass. Quitcher worrying. 

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

International Maren Day


Today, my darling sweet angel turns five. Can you believe that? Five. It makes my heart hurt. She is so sweet and precious and she can't possibly be five. I mean, five? Five.

She lost a tooth two days ago. My baby is losing teeth.

She gave me a guilt trip from hell this morning. My baby is learning the fine art of manipulation.

She's been reading for about a month. My baby can read. And do math.

When Maren came into the world, I was ready. I had done this before. I had mastered this baby thing, this raising girls thing. After all, I had Brynna and she turned out great so far, so what new could Maren possibly throw at me?

Everything. Maren has a smile that lights up the entire universe and this quivery look that melts even the frostiest heart. She laughs and cries with total abandon, never worrying about how it looks or how loud she can get or what people might think. She just does what she does.

She loves cars and monster trucks and baby dolls and Monster High and fairies and dogs and Nemo and the stars at night. Actually, Maren loves nearly everything. Except potato soup. She really hates potato soup.

She forces me to slow down. She is always looking, always observing, seeing all the things that I rush past.

She misses me when she's not with me and calls to tell me. She tells me a thousand times a day that she loves me and I hope that she never realizes how truly and really I need to hear it. How she saves me more than I could ever save her.

She's a planner, like me, always on the next thing - the next vacation, the next Christmas, the next snack day, the next trip to Disney World.

She believes everything. I try to teach her to be a little critical, a little wary, but she believes, most of all, in the basic goodness of people.

She knows my phone number and I doubt there is not a soul in our county that hasn't heard her shouting it out. She can tie her shoes and count by twos, like Franklin.

She wants to learn to cook and even though I know I always read too much into every little thing my children do, I think she is going to be fabulous at it. Better than me, for sure. Because she loves everything (except potato soup) and because she loves to make people happy and because she wants everyone to know that she loves them.

There is so much that's tricky about having two kids. Especially for someone like me who didn't have any siblings growing up. The fighting and the differences and the phases that never seem to line up. Remembering what's normal and not pushing them to keep up with a sibling.

But we were not complete until Maren came into our world. Not even a little. She is the final piece in our puzzle and with her, we can do anything. We are invincible. We are family. And she is our bright-eyed, smiling, football playing, doll baby carrying, book loving, crafty, shop girl.

I know that one day my kids will find this blog, because they aren't stupid and that's how the Internet works, so Maren, when you read this one day, please remember that above all, you are loved. You are appreciated. You are amazing. And most of all, you are mine and I am so, so glad.

Happy Birthday Sweet Pea.