and now for something almost completely different...

Things have been feeling a little stale, hence the blog break, but now I'm shifting gears and getting ready for some big changes around here, courtesy of my amazingly talented little brother Fionn whose work can be seen here and over here, and soon, right here!

Please be patient while I completely mangle my Blogger template and try to make all these changes without having to go self-hosted.

With a little luck everything will be done by the end of this week and we will return to our regularly scheduled programming in early December.

Out of Touch

Hey guys! How's it going? This month sure isn't getting any less crazy as it goes along. Everyone's NaBloPoMo-ing, GoBloMeMoFo-ing, or NaNoWriMo-ing. I'm not sure how much more I can take!

I feel like I've become disconnected, like the parts of my life that were held together by blogging are slowly beginning to unravel. I really love blogging, I love that my friends who live far away can read about what Steve and the girls and I have been up to, and I love the little community of people that I have found here on the interwebs, but lately I find myself at a loss for words. This not normal for me (just ask Steve) and it leaves me feeling like I'm standing in front of a crowd of people, not knowing where to put my hands.

Megan wrote a post a couple of weeks ago about writing her blog and why she does it and how she does it and it got me thinking. I know why I read the blogs that I read, but lately it feels like I can't remember why I write this blog. The reason's there, I'm sure of it, I just can't quite put my finger on it.

Do I write just for me? Well, not really. It's hard for me to do that knowing that you all are out there. Do I write for you then? Well no, it's not that simple. Do I write to prove to the world how clever and witty and self-effacing I can be? Um, sometimes, but I don't really like that part of myself, so forget I said that please.

When I'm not doing one of a million other things, I find myself hovering, silently willing my children to do something funny so that I can blog about it. But then, when something presents itself, I talk myself out of writing about it. The mundanity of my life is staggering sometimes - even to me, do I really need to share it with the world?

I'm just not sure I know what I'm doing anymore. But I'm an optimist - so I'm going to take a wee little break and when I come back, I will be refreshed, renewed and know what the fuck I'm doing, okay?

Besides, I could really use the time to finish up the old novel for that whole NaNoWriMo thing, so, have a great Thanksgiving (or Thursday, depending on your country) and I'll see you when the noveling/thinking dust settles.

When things settle down

I ran into an old friend at the coffee shop today, she's a few years older than I am, and has two kids, one of whom is a teenager now. She overhead me talking to another friend, and saying that if things settle down soon I'd love to resume studying Italian with her. The old friend laughed.

Things never settle down, she said, you haven't figured that out yet?

I laughed too and agreed, if, I said, I said if.

But sometimes it's not funny. As I sit at the kitchen table making sure that I get every freaking detail right for each of the transcript request forms and recommendation letter requests, it's not funny at all. Where's the routine? the rhythm? Where's the down time?

As soon as the car is fixed next week. Once all of my applications are in next month. When the holidays are over, or when the snow is gone and its spring again, things will seem better, things will be better.

I'm not complaining, really I'm not, I just wish I could figure out a way to really make things settle down, make them simple. It should be easy, right? Just stop trying to do so many things, organize my life better. But which things should I give up? I either need or love everything I do. Maybe with a personal assistant I could refocus. That's how famous people do it right? How they keep track of their busy schedules?

My schedule is busy too and I don't know how to slow it down, and you know what? I figured out why. I figured out why a long time ago, but if I tell you, you have to promise not to tell anyone, especially not Steve because then he'd make me stop complaining.

I like it this way.

I hate not having stuff to do, somewhere to be, something to organize. If I'm not busy I have to make up shit to do and then we're all in trouble. There's a part of me that likes playing things by ear, waiting until the last minute to make plans and then throwing caution to the wind - when will these dishes get done? Who knows?!

But when I get caught up in the details - pick Matilda up at 3, PTO meeting at 6:30, sqeeze in a couple hours of work, and make sure dinner gets made, bills get paid, deadlines get met - I often feel overwhelmed. It's not that I want to be less busy, it's just that I'd really like to be a better life manager. It feels like that's the one part of my job that I'm not so good at, and that one part would pull everything else together.

the center cannot hold if there is no center

I'm worried about my novel. Everything seemed to be going so well, but now, at 15,013 words in 50 pages things seem to be falling apart and not in a successful Chinua Achebe-esc kind of way. 15,013 words may seem like a lot, but by the end of today I should have 20,004 if I want to be on track for 50,000 by the 30th.

The entire thing is a detailed and rambling character sketch, and I'm feeling completely overwhelmed by the idea of pulling it all together. But this is my mission today, to revive the thread of a plot that begins somewhere around page 10, and pull it through to the end and onward.

I must remind myself that it's okay to plow forward with no clear idea of where my characters are heading, to let them guide me, and to remember that I don't need to edit anything until December, or maybe January or never.

I also understand that I will have to make sacrifices to ensure that this happens today. My sick children will have to watch way too much TV, my laundry will have to pile up just a little bit higher and we will eat leftover soup for dinner. But if I can do this today, then maybe I can make it through the rest of the month without the entire thing falling to pieces and taking a little part of me with it.

Corporate America, Hear My Cry

I had an epiphany today. After trying to figure out how we are once again going to deal with fixing the car and paying the bills and keeping our heads above water, I realized what we need to do.

We have to sell out.

That's right, I want to be a sell out, and I'll do whatever it takes to become one, because I am so sick and tired of living on the edge, or trying to be better with our money, to plan and analyze every purchase (or pay dearly for it when I don't). I am tired of finally feeling like we're about to be "okay," and finding out that our stupid car is back in the shop. I'm tired of deciding which bills to pay.

So, this is your chance, Corporate America, I'm ready to sell out. Show me what you got - I'll take it! You need a shill? I am excellent at shilling. A fresh soul? I'm your girl, my soul is just about as fresh as they come, and if that's not good enough for you, I know where I can get two more. Or perhaps you're all set for souls right now but could use a good lackey, or maybe a minion - there is no job I won't consider.

Of course, as an official sell-out, I will have to reserve my right to slack off and make a fool of myself, but we'll burn that bridge when we come to it.

U People n YoNaBloPoMoCrp

How's a girl supposed to write a freaking novel with all of these blog posts cropping up daily? (And I thank you.) Come on, as a favor to me, cease and desist! Save a freaking bunny, for the love of art!

Okay fine, it's not you, it's my children.

Well, okay, no, they've been pretty good, it's the laundry.

Or maybe the cats.

Or quite possibly the Christmas presents I have started making for people.

Actually, it might be the desk that is just begging for organization.

The amount of TV I watch, despite complaining of not having any time?

The fact that I actually do work other than feeding my family and keeping the house "clean."

It is in spite of all this that I have written 10,323 words so far. But the thing is, I think I might not be able to stop when I hit 50,000, because I'm only 20% in and the Burger King employees have only just discovered the body in the walk-in cooler...

May All Your Dreams Come True

Just like mine did this morning.

On an average day my children rise after the sun - what would have been around seven o'clock, but since daylight savings time kicked in, is more like six. Usually I dread the transitioning process that must follow, trying to get them to sleep just a little bit later, so I can sleep just a little bit later.

But today one of my oldest and dearest dreams came to pass, right outside my bedroom door, at six fifteen this morning, in the kitchen.

I heard the girls come down, chattering about how today is a school day for Matilda, but not for Freya, and about things that are made of bread (bread, bagels, english muffins), and then the conversation went like this:

Matilda: Do you want cherrios for breakfast?

Freya: Yeah. Do you want me to get the milk?

Matilda: I just have to get the bowls first. You get the spoons.

Chairs scrape across the floor, the refrigerator door opens. Then quiet.

Freya: I got the milk! It's not too heavy!

Matilda: Good job, Freya. But there's not so much in there. I'll get the new milk.

At this point I'm pretty sure I will have to get up to clean milk off the floor. Matilda's good, but opening and then pouring a full half gallon of milk? Questionable.

Freya: I want to pour the milk, Matilda.

Matilda: You have to let me do it.

Freya does not argue with this.

Freya: My friend Maggie goes to my school.

Matilda: You have a friend named Maggie?

Freya: Yeah, she goes to my school.

Matilda: That's nice, Freya

Silence set in as they ate their Cheerios with milk for breakfast. There weren't even any spills. They even ate all of the food that they poured for themselves, in bowls the size of their heads.

And I didn't even have to get up until almost seven o'clock. And then? All I had to do was make coffee and get Matilda's lunch, I didn't even have to make them breakfast, and we all know how taxing it can be to pour Cheerios and milk first thing in the morning.

Here's hoping the rest of the day goes just as smoothly - for all of us.

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If you haven't already, be sure to check out my dad's comment on yesterday's Soap Opera Sunday - he corrects a few mistakes and describes his delightful drive across Ireland while imagining his only daughter's body hacked into pieces and left in a ditch somewhere.

Soap Opera Sunday: One Rainy Night in Galway

Previously, on Soap Opera Sunday

Part One: I'd just arrived in Galway, Ireland after 24 hours of travel and met a group of cute Irish boys in a pub.
Part Two: They take me on a whirlwind tour of all the hottest pubs in Galway, complete with a beer at every stop.
Part Three: The lovely evening of wandering ends in steamy perfection, followed by an equally lovely morning of chivalry, and I still can't find that darn number...

Part Four

Having parted ways with my Irish charmer, I set about exploring the city in earnest, (it was hard to focus on the landscape with Liam around) and waiting for it to be late enough to call home without waking my mother and sending her into a panic. I was sure she would already be worried about me - surely my father's friend had called him as soon as she realized I had vanished shortly after arriving.

At last it was after seven am, my mother's time, so I bought an international calling card from a news shop and called home.

Imagine my surprise to discover that my mother knew less than I did about my disappearance.

"Dad hasn't called you?"

"No, he usually calls as soon as he's arrived, but I haven't heard from him yet."

"Weird." I told her some of what had happened, specifically the part about losing the phone number. I can't remember where I told her I'd spent the night, but I'm sure I didn't mention Liam.

I thought maybe my father had given her a list of telephone numbers, but she had only the number of the couple in Dublin with whom both my father and I would be staying in a couple of days. Which would do us no good at the moment, since he wasn't due to arrive there until following afternoon.

"Well, when you father calls, what should I tell him?"

"Just get the number from him and I'll call you back later today."

The plan seemed simple, he would call, like he always did, she would get the number of my would-be hostess, then I would call home, get the number, and sleep in the bed that had been waiting for me since the day before.

I spent the afternoon walking around the city, stopping to scribble furiously in my journal, or sit on a stone wall and watch the people moving up and down the streets, alone, or in brightly colored groups of twos and threes. Everyone seemed know everyone else, people smiled and greeted one another warmly. I felt welcome, as just one more visitor to this old city, a part of something bigger.

After finding some dinner, I called my mother again, but still there had been no word from my father.

"I'm starting to get a little worried," my mother admitted.

I brushed it off, and found a youth hostel to stay in that cost only seven pounds for the night. It was crowded and loud, full of students who were on their way somewhere.

The next day brought only further silence from my father, and since he usually can't be out of touch with any member of his immediate family for longer than six hours or so without a phone call, we were beginning to be concerned.

This time I took the number of the couple in Dublin. After busying myself with bookshops and people watching, I called the number shortly after my father's flight from London was due to arrive in Dublin.

"Nell?" The gentleman on the phone sounded elderly, but authoritative, "This is Ciaran's daughter?" he demanded.

"Yes," I said, "has my father arrived?"

daughter." Then returned his attention to me. "Where are you? Are you in He covered the mouthpiece and called to someone in the next room, "It's her, it's Ciaran'sGalway? Where've you been!"

"I'm- I'm here, Galway," I stammered, feeling suddenly like a reprimanded child.

"You must go down to the station at once, the police station, your father's just gone round to report you missing."

"What?"

"The police station. He'll be arriving any minute."

The next few moments were a blur, but somehow I managed to get off the line and ask directions to the police station. It wasn't far from where I was, so I walked the few blocks feeling very nervous - what kind of trouble was I really in? I'd done everything I could, right? The gentleman on the telephone had unnerved me.

I walked into the station, not sure what I was looking for, whom I should speak to, but before I could figure it out, my father entered the lobby right behind me.

After embraces and indignant explanations, it all became clear. Of course he had known I was missing, he had in fact, been worried sick, but instead of calling his wife and enlisting her help from all the way across the Atlantic, he had decided not to call and tell her that he had lost her only daughter in a foreign land. No sense in her worrying needlessly from all the way across the Atlantic! So while I was calling several times a day, waiting for him to call, he had been intentionally not calling, the whole time.

Having reached the end of our two day comedy of errors, and explaining it all as best we could (well, except for the Liam part), the two of us finally set out for the south, and then the east, in what was an uneventful, but wonderful, remainder of our trip.

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Extra Bonus! My father reads my blog (hi Dad!) and has been dying to weigh in on my Irish adventure with his supposedly "true" account of what "really" happened. I made him wait until the end, so keep an eye out for his comment today, it'll be the one that nearly blinds you with sardonic wit!

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Soap Opera Sunday was created by Twas Brillig and Walking Kateastrophe.
Our host this week is Thalia's Child - click here to read other exciting soapy episodes in the lives of bloggers across the sphere!