Backburner

He comes home for lunch at 11:05, shoulders stooped from the weight of Language Arts and Algebra I. Last night's pizza is pulled from the oven and set on the table.

“When are you going to buy milk?” he asks, instead of saying thank you.

This is how he lets me know he needs something. Not, we're out of milk or I drank the last of it this morning, but when. When will I replace the milk I didn't know was out, the shoes I didn't know were outgrown. When will he get his license, a car, a haircut.

"Bad Book. Poor grammar is the bane of this otherwise fine exploration of love and loss." - A Customer

I hesitate before adding dialogue, unsure of the line I need to walk when representing dialect. I am worried about my characters' inherent readability. I am worried about my own "poor grammar" reviews.

One Hundred Word Wednesday: I'm Doing #NaBloPoMo!

This is the summer of writing. Iliana started full day pre-K today and Jonas will be at his dad's for six weeks, so theoretically I have all this time to get my write on. But I am definitely a creature of momentum and I haven't had much of that lately, so it'd be super easy for me to just turn this into the summer of not writing. Since I'm determined to not let that happen and I do better with small, attainable goals, we'll start the summer with a month of blogging. Every day.

Growing Pains

Today I'm writing a post I promised to Sarah Fader of Stigma Fighters*. The piece, about living with and being vocal about mental illness, is due tomorrow (ohai procrastination) and being part of Sigma Fighters is super important to me.

Also important is a piece I've been working on is a submission to the HerStories Project's upcoming publication Mothering Through the Darkness. I saw that the deadline was moved back a month to January 1st on the exact same day I was lamenting having missed it, and am trying to take that as motivation to, I dunno, not miss it again. The topic, mothering in the face of postpartum depression (and other struggles) seems right up my alley, right? Just like Stigma Fighters is right up my alley. Hello alley, here I am! I write for you now, you lucky bastard!

In reality, I am totally freaking out.

Ambition is Overrated

So there's a game we like to play with Iliana. We get a two dollar package of party balloons and blow them all up, then rub most of them against our shirts to build up a good charge of static electricity. Then we stick them to the ceiling and give her one balloon and orders to try and knock the rest of them down.

She loves that shit.

Fanfare! - or - Achievement Unlocked: #NaBloPoMo

I don't normally finish things. Not really, anyway. You can tell by the way I still haven't moved into my house six and a half years after, well. Moving in. The way I start and start and start different novels and stories and essays only to abandon them when another idea bubbles up. And, well, ideas are always bubbling, you know? That's what ideas just kind of do.

Holiday Weekend

After breakfast we pile into the car and drive to the Pay 'n Save at the bottom of the hill. If it was just me and Celine, we'd have walked down, maybe stop at the Goodie Korner for some Haw Flakes on the way home. But it is the day after Thanksgiving and there is a tree to be had, so Mom and Dad tell us to get in the car.

The More You Practice, The Better You'll Get

The sun is rising, casting a semi-orange glow deep behind my neighbors' houses. It chases away the dark blue of overnight and everything is getting brighter by the moment.

I shouldn't be awake right now, watching this. I should still be asleep, tucked in awkwardly beside my daughter. Listening to my husband snore. Snoring too, if we want to be honest here. But I woke up because of all that awkward tucking in, my shoulder and neck pinched and painful. A general sense of discomfort as my body did a few sore body things. After awhile my brain caught up to the fact that it wasn't sleeping anymore and it started yammering at me until I got out of bed.

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