My kids, duh. (The 'duh' is a tribute to Iona. Yesterday when I picked her up from school late, she glared. I asked if it was an accusatory look. "Yes!" "But I'm only four minutes late." "Duh, that's a long time when it's raining, Mom!")
Corn chips, specifically the ones from the brand Late July.
Getting a good night's sleep after several nights of not getting a good night's sleep. Han is newly sleeping in a big-boy bed, and though he is excited and proud, he's afraid. Like we're all afraid of change. Afraid when relationships change, afraid when we change, and afraid when the bars are taken off the bed. Afraid enough to yell for Mom at three in the morning several nights in a row. Then Mom's afraid enough of lots of things that she doesn't go back to sleep. And talk about scary, try sleep-deprived Mom.
Escaping all connected devices (this is what I'm doing next) to go write in the other house, AKA the guest room over our garage, AKA MY STUDIO!
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* I try not to use the word 'love' in a casual way. But I don't want to replace it with 'like a lot' right this moment; I need to get to the studio and write. I am translating the book into first person for draft #3. And, at some point, I need to sign up for swim lessons for scaredy-cat swimmers (fills me with dread), partly as research (MC is afraid of water) and partly because I'd like to make up with water someday and be able to have fun in it, with my family. That'll be a future blog post, or series of them. Also, when am I going to start that professional writer's blog? What shall I call it? How am I going to execute it? Now is when I wish I knew how to make a web site. Who wants to make me a web site? If only my best designer friend wasn't so busy making a movie. Okay, enough of this. Gotta go.
Just after I throw in random photos of a recent nice day, taken with iPhone because my camera is broken again.
As I write, you're on your way to spend the night at a farm to see how pioneers lived. Except you'll put M&Ms and marshmallows on your homemade ice cream, and I'm pretty sure pioneers didn't have M&Ms or marshmallows.
The thing is, I miss you. Most days when you're at school, I'm grateful for the time to work. You'll have a great time. I can't wait to hear the stories. Will you and that particularly prickly friend of yours make up? Will you come back asking to play with someone new? Maybe you'll want to show us how to make ice cream, or weave our own cloth, or you'll ask if we can get some livestock.
When I came into your classroom to say goodbye, you let me kiss you on the cheek without embarrassment. I *think* you're not embarrassed, anyway. Wouldn't you tell me? You showed me the math worksheet you'd just finished, upon which you'd written your name in 3-D block letters and drawn some tiny illustrations. You whispered, "Mom. Big Ben made it into the seven wonders of the world." Mentally, I pumped my fist. You triumphed. You wrote a report a while back in which you made your case for Big Ben.Your report convinced the librarian that Big Ben should be in the top seven. Most important, you had that proud look I love to see. You've come far in the last two years.
I'm glad the sun is out for you. Your convoy is on the road, headed for Puyallup, where you'll stop for lunch.