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stubborn

Because There’s Not a Remedy for Everything

This whole chasing-a-dream business is nuts. I still get all embarrassed-like and blushy when I talk about writing (or you know, the book).  I stayed so veeeeerrrry quiet about it all (the book, I mean), because you don’t just quit your job to be a full-time mom and then write a novel during nap times and after bedtimes and way-too-late-into-the-night times and walk around telling people “Oh, yeah, I don’t have a paying job, but I write because I must” because people who actually go to offices and classrooms and oh, I don’t know, war zones for a living might not really appreciate the lady in a messy ponytail and crayon-stained yoga pants with a toddler hanging by its fingers from her waistband talking about how she sits around on her rear end for hours eating jelly beans and just typetypetyping for fun. But I did. I started writing, and then, like some strange fungus that starts out as a little spot then grows until it’s an infestation you need special medication to treat ((you know, like athlete’s…

At Six Months

Cian’s teething. That one, that first stubborn tooth, on the bottom gum, right in front, has been there, hiding under the surface for weeks, sticking up against my finger when I feel it, but it won’t break through.  It’s just hanging out, waiting for I don’t know what (maybe actual real food that’s worth the effort rather than the mushed up baby carrots I’ve been attempting to shove in there?), but it just won’t budge. Instead, it sits there, right under the skin, and taunts us.  Taunts Cian, mostly, making him run his tongue over the sore skin, urging him to gnaw on anything that comes within arm’s reach:  a burp cloth, my hand, his sister’s hair. I am going to tell you that he is the happiest baby I’ve ever known.  You are going to roll your eyes, sigh, and possibly close your browser window.  I’m sorry.  I can’t fib.  It’s the truth.  Ask anyone, I swear:  he smiles at everybody.  He cries maybe in the middle of the night, when his diaper…

This is Big

Note: My apologies in advance, you guys. Might want to get two cups of coffee for this one, because it’s really, really long. I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. I talk a lot when I get excited. Two years ago, I decided to take the challenge of National Novel Writing Month–NaNoWriMo–and write a 50,000 page book during the month of November. I was writing already, but I needed a focus, something that was so big of a challenge (a novel in a month? Why not?!) it seemed almost impossible. Quinn wasn’t yet six months old. I think she was sleeping through the night. All I remember is being really, really tired, sitting in front of the computer until about 11:30 every night, and the gigantic mound of laundry piled up on the couch beside me. The end result, which made me so happy to complete, was straight-up terrible. The book, I mean, not the laundry. The laundry’s always terrible. One year later, after stripping that glob of words down to its basic framework and building it back up to about 70,000…