Archive for the ‘ A Touch of the Crazy ’ Category

SNOWPACALYPSE

As you know if you’ve read my About page or have been reading my blog for awhile, I live in Washington state. Wes, Aidan, and I call a small suburb about half an hour away from Seattle home.

As you can tell by how I referred to distance in terms of time, I’m not originally from here. I’m a California transplant, one of the most-loathed imports in this area for reasons inscrutable to me. I’ve lived here for twelve years, so I’m hardly fresh off the airplane anymore so I doubt anyone can tell I’m not a WA original.

Anyway, one of the things I’ve learned since moving here is that Washington is a state of extremes. If you have six inches of snow in a few hours one winter, you’ll probably get bupkes in terms of snow the next year. If you have one summer that’s blistering hot, with endless days sans rain or clouds, the next summer will probably be cloudy, humid, and blah.

Last year’s winter was mild, with hardly any snow worth mentioning, which means, of course, that this year was the SNOWPACALYPSE.

Snow in Washington is treacherous, which means that when it starts sticking to the roads you should probably hunker down and leave your car (or SUV) in the garage unless you absolutely have to leave.

Why? Because of HILLS! We have hills! Everywhere! Huge hills! Icy hills! Bobsled-run grade hills!

And ice! And other bad drivers (hi, fellow Californians!), and did I mention the hills that people slide off of?

It’s a mess.

Add to that a power outage thanks to snow-laden, frozen tree branches crashing down on power lines and you have a huge mess. A power outage is challenging enough as it is, but when it’s twenty-something degrees outside it can get downright perilous.

The one nice thing about the snow though? Refrigeration! Did you know that if you take all the food out of your fridge and bury it in the snow, it won’t go bad? The more you know.

Still, chilled food aside, the low outside temperatures can be a big problem. When our house’s temperature dropped down to 61 degrees after eight hours without power, Wes and I packed up Aidan and braved the mile-long drive to Wes’s parents’ house. They have two gas fireplaces that keep their place nice and toasty.

Plus, they have people to talk to there. After eight hours without power, Wes and I were starting to run out of stuff to talk about. And did you know that you can’t shoot zombies on your Wii without power? LAME!

Snow and utility woes be darned, we survived last week. Not only did we survive, we had a lot of fun. We played catch with Aidan in the snow, we played our guitar and clarinet for Aidan, and Wes gave our son his first snow driving lesson.

The biggest takeaway I got from that lesson? Don’t drive in the snow. It’s dangerous, and cars in the snow = death traps. I’m from California, you won’t convince me otherwise. I’d feel much more comfortable taking a dog sledding team to the grocery store.

I doubt the dogs would enjoy schlepping me and my groceries around, though. Too bad! I shall pay them with sirloin and all will yet be well!

Can you tell I haven’t left the house much lately?

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You never realize how amazing it is to breathe through your nose until you have a cold for three straight weeks and are deprived of the pleasure. Then? Then breathing through your nose is the only way to live and you feel like you might suffocate in your sleep thanks to some toddler’s wayward germs and aversion to sneezing into his sleeve.

Not that I’m talking about any toddler in particular. Ahem. AIDAN.

Seriously though, I always feel such joie de vivre when I’m fully recovered from a bout with illness of any kind. While watching my bathrooms grow grubbier day by day as I lay on my sickbed (i.e. the couch) I wished for energy. I wished for health. I wished for Netflix to just skip to the next episode of Thomas the Train already instead of making me get off the effing couch every half hour.

Yes, I let the TV entertain my child when I’m incapable of breathing through my nose. Judge me silently if you must.

Now, though? In the cold light of a winter’s day to which I awoke without a horrible hacking cough and sore throat that made me feel like I swallowed a wire grill brush?

I AM SUPERWOMAN.

Thanks to my newfound amazing health and also the second trimester (my favorite of the trimesters, indisputably the very best one) there is nothing I can’t do. Clean bathrooms, windows, hardwood floors, counters, and clothes? Check. Vacuum all the carpets I have access to? Check. Polish the tables, thus freeing them from the scurf of the thrillion and a half meals we served and ate on them over the holidays? CHECK.

I may already be missing some crucial pieces to my son’s Christmas toys, but gosh dang it I am back! I am alive! I can now set to work removing the imprint of my sad, sorry self from the cushions of my couch!

That is, until Aidan inevitably picks up yet another illness from the Sunday school nursery (or, as I’ve begun to call it in my bitter little head, The Pandemic Breeding Ground). I love the ability to sit through church knowing Aidan is playing with trains and loving his life, but I really wish he didn’t come home with his very own edition of the Pestilence Plague every week.

Oh, well. It’s building a good immune system for my boy, yes? I am capable of looking at the bright side of this situation, because I can breathe through my nose.

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L’Chaim!

Wes and I had the pleasure of celebrating Rosh Hashanah with some very good friends last night and it was one of the most uproarious dinners I’ve ever personally attended. The reason? Embarrassing stories.

If blogging has taught me anything, it’s the value of an embarrassing story. It takes a special kind of courage to tell a story about yourself that’s so humiliating it sets an entire table to laughing, and it’s this same courage that enables bloggers to write posts and share pictures that aren’t flattering so much as they’re freaking hilarious.

And you know what? It’s totally worth it. I’d much rather make people laugh than pretend I’ve never fallen down a flight of stairs or danced drunk in an effort to convince someone I was totally fit to go clubbing (hint: I so wasn’t). Lucky for us, almost everyone at the table shared that mentality.

And even if I celebrated the Jewish New Year by making a fool of myself, at least we all rang in the new year with laughter. And some frigging amazing food. And transliterated Hebrew blessings I can never pronounce properly.

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Ambitious Creative Undertow

It feels like the older I get, the slower I get (at revising, that is). I’m hammering my way through revisions to Enemy Accountant so I can send it off to the nice agents who asked me to send it to them, all in the vain hopes of having a few days off before NaNoWriMo starts in November and I have yet another big huge giant project to work on.

In the meantime, I’m back at the gym three times a week (I’d go more but I now have to share early morning gym custody with my husband), my brother and his wife are moving up here in a couple weeks, I have a thrillion social commitments, and a toddler who occasionally enjoys my company.

That said, because I am horrible at managing my time and setting realistic goals, posting might be a tad light while I revise like a crazy person. And then again when NaNoWriMo starts in November.

If we’re lucky, things will settle down soon and I’ll be back to regular posting. If we’re really lucky, I’ll finish revising Enemy Accountant and agents will go crazy for it and want to sell it to all sorts of giant publishers. If we’re really, really lucky, I’ll finish revising Enemy Accountant and actually have a chance to sleep in a few times before NaNoWriMo starts and I’m sucked into an ambitious creative undertow of my own creation.

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I’m working with a printer to do the layout for my book, and I’m having the hardest time just saying yes to proofs. They look great, and I couldn’t be more excited to see my book in print, but it’s really freaking hard to tell them to go ahead and print the darn things.

Because then they’ll be set in stone done. As in finished. As in, I can’t muck around with them any more. Paul Valery once said, “A poem is never finished, only abandoned.” The same can be said of novels!

I think I’ll well and truly be done with revisions after this round, though. Honestly, it’s not like I have a problem or something. I can stop revising whenever I want to….

Just let me fix one more comma splice! Just one more! Don’t cut me off, man, these revisions are all I have left!

This is where it would be helpful to have a grave-faced man spring from the pantry to slap me across the face and tell me, “Get yourself together, woman!”

In other news, now that Aidan is almost 18 months old there’s been an uptick in interest in the contents of my womb. Or, rather, the prospect of womb contents. Womb is a weird word.

This could be because I’m not shy about saying that Wes and I will start trying for Future Baby starting next month (egads!). Or it could be because 18 months is one of those milestones where your baby isn’t really a baby any more so why not make another one?

Either way, five people have asked me about Future Baby’s timeline in the last week. Even I have to admit, I’m getting excited too. My brain knows how all-consuming and exhausting babies are, but my hormones have hijacked the joint so I guess I’ll come back to my senses in about a year and a half. I look forward to seeing you then.

Not even the grave-faced face slapper can help me now.

Between now and when a tiny fetus takes over my whole world, I plan to a) go on vacation, b) release a fun short story I just wrote, c) attend a writer’s conference, and d) write my third novel during the month of September.

September should be a fun month. I’m doing my own little NaNoWriMo during September because I have no guarantees I won’t be in mt first trimester come November and there’s no way I’m doing NaNoWriMo during my first trimester.

I guess what I’m saying is that I hope to have a brand new manuscript and a brand new fetus by the end of the year. Plus a printed version of my book. Not for the fetus though. For me. And maybe for you too if I can just bring myself to approve the fracking proof already!

Grave-faced face slapper? Do your worst.

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