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Browsing Tag: holidays

So Full of It

We’re doing such a good job, I think. We don’t buy lots of toys for our kids. They’re content with what they have, I say. We regularly weed out toys they don’t use or have outgrown and give them away. We are so anti-establishment, I think. Take that, consumerism, I think some more. We are above you. And then I realize how a) annoying my brain is, and b) I’m full of shit.My mother saw the kids the other night–David was out of town, and I’m wrecked with a cold, so she and my aunt called to say they were driving over to help out for a bit (having super nice retired folk who live within an hour radius of your house and are either related to/love you is a lucky, lucky thing). She was sitting with them, and she leaned over to say, “Now, girls. I know it’s early, but I’d really like it if you could give me some ideas of what you’d like for Christmas soon. Like, within the next couple of weeks…

And It’ll Free Your Soul

As I type this, my mental to-do list is running through my head in a constant stream, like those fast-rolling credits that fly past your eyes at the end of syndicated TV shows. There are chocolate-covered pretzels to dip, about 90 of them or so (hahahaSOB), and errands to run, and three Halloween parties to either plan or attend (costumes! gifts! decorations, oh my!) in the next couple of days. There are emails between other homeroom moms that I am sort of keeping track of through my phone. My house is a disaster. The laundry is a disaster. (My hair is still a disaster.) I’m totally in the zone with this book I’m working on (it’s either crap or awesome. In another couple of thousand words I’ll send the first chapters to my agent. It’s taken me months to get to this point, a mere 15,000 words of awesome. Or crap. It could go either way. Months and months of dancing around this new book, and Agent Katie will be able to tell me in an instant if she’s still glad she signed me…

‘Tis the Season

I had about five ideas for posts that were about funny things, cute things (Quinlan said to me the other day, “Your boots are UGLY.” And then she must’ve seen the look on my face, and added, “I didn’t say your body was ugly. You are non-ugly.”). But the last couple of days, when I’ve been rocking Cian in his room before bedtime (the child is almost two and still likes to be held before he goes to sleep. Isn’t that awesome?), I’ve found myself in tears like a weirdo, silently sniffling, hoping nobody walks in and notices (and here I go telling you about it. Swift, Leah). See, here’s the thing. I had what I’m fairly certain was an anxiety attack in the car the other night, just driving with the girls in the back seat, preoccupied and worried and scared because I always feel like I’m drowning. Some of you know the drill: heart racing, chest tightening, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. It was fun. Santa Stress, you’ve succeeded. But there I was…