Chris: Here’s the thing about being 40 …
Me: Yes?
Chris: When you’re 40 and you do something big, like write a book or get a really great job, people say, Oh that’s great, but they really just expect it from you, because you’re 40.
Me: Right.
Chris: But if you DIE? They say, Oh she was so young.
Me: I hadn’t thought about that, but you’re right.
Chris: 40 is only young when you’re dead.
Me: That makes me feel good. Thanks.
I’m not sleeping very well these days (nothing serious, just the usual insomnia, thanks for asking) but my current state of sleep-deprived crazy makes what I am about to tell you all the more bizarre to me: this book, the one you see right there?
I wrote two of the pieces in it. I think it’s two at least — I can’t really remember. Because I haven’t slept in so long.
I wish I had some charming story to tell you about How I Wound Up In This Book, but the truth is that Rita asked, and I said yes, and there it is. Okay, except for the part about how she worked her ass off for two years to get the book published, while the rest of us sat around and sipped martinis and shooed the children off to play in the yard.
Okay, maybe not that last part. But the part about how hard Rita worked to turn a bunch of blog posts into an actual BOOK, that you can actually BUY (at Amazon and Barnes & Noble, even!) is entirely true, and not exaggerated at all, nor is my deep admiration for her commitment to this project. Rita is truly my hero.
It’s a funny thing, really, this book — part of me feels like woo, a book, how fun! but another part of me is feeling a little weepy, because the very fact that this is a BOOK, one that that you can buy in an actual bookstore, speaks volumes about the value of what we do as mommybloggers. It also says that the primacy of book over blog may be slipping a little, that the whole notion that writers and bloggers are two different species is collapsing on itself. At least I hope that’s what is happening, because the bloggers included in this collection are some of my absolute favorite writers.
And here is one last bit of craziness: on September 13th, I will be doing a book signing at Full Circle Bookstore here in Oklahoma City. I swear to you that is the most surreal sentence I have ever written. I hope that if you’re in the OKC area you will come by and say hello (11:00 am, right after story time, which seemed appropriate) and maybe even buy a book! It would make my parents so happy.
[Tornado sirens sound, and then stop.]
Wade: I’m going outside.
Me: To look for the tornado?
Wade: No, to pull some weeds in the yard.
Me: Okaaaaay …
Wade: That way the yard will look nice when the tornado takes the house.
Me: Oh, right.
I’ve been having a hard time recently organizing my day; I sit down to work when I get back from dropping the kids at school and the VERY NEXT THING I KNOW it’s 1:30 and I’ve read every word of the Daily Mail but I’m still not finished with whatever it was I set out to do. Also I haven’t loaded the dishwasher or started any laundry or eaten any lunch.
I hate that. Especially the part about lunch.
Yesterday I was talking to some friends about this, about how we have all this TIME while the kids are at school, endless time, in theory, but we’re still scrambling around to get things done and working nights and weekends to keep up. And I said, all flippantly, that sometimes I think I need to start setting a timer, like I do for the kids, and using it to keep me on track.
And my friend said, “That’s a really good idea.” And I thought, wow she’s right that IS a good idea. I should try that!
No wonder I can’t get anything done; I’m to much of an idiot to make a decision.
Today I used the timer while I was working. I set it for thirty minutes, and used that time to deal with my email and read the New York Times (only the style section OF COURSE) and then I set it for an hour and worked on one project, and then set it for another hour and worked on a different project. When it went off, I stopped whatever I was doing and went on to the next thing.
And dammit if I didn’t have a more productive day.
I had been blaming my inability to get stuff done on my uber flexible schedule (”flexible” by the way is just another word for “working ALL THE DAMN TIME because the Internet never closes or takes days off and without the bloggers there is NO CONTENT and advertisers don’t like it when there is NO CONTENT”). It turns out my SCHEDULE isn’t the issue; the real problem is that I have the organizational skills of a first grader (with ADHD) and I need a lot of external structure to actually FINISH anything.
Good to know!
Tomorrow I have to do things that involve leaving the house; do you think it will be weird if I have my egg timer with me? If you’re in the Apple Store at lunch time and you hear a DING, look for me — I will be trying to replace my iBook power cord in under thirty minutes.
We took Charlie back to the orthopedist today. His arm is still broken, but NOT infected, which is pretty much what we were hoping for.
He chose the red cast, and when the nurse started to wrap the red stuff around his arm, he said, “THAT IS SO COOL!” and the doctor cracked up.
When the cast was completely on, and the bones had been all straightened out AGAIN, the doctor said, “Charlie, can you wiggle your fingers?” and Charlie started wiggling the fingers on his left hand. Which is funny because it’s his RIGHT arm that is broken.
We go back on Tuesday for more X-rays and possibly a new cast, depending on how things look. And then we lather, rinse, and repeat for six to eight weeks because this is one badass break and the doctor wants to be certain that Charlie’s arm will not be permanently at a 45 degree angle, or something like that.
Although maybe lather rinse repeat isn’t the best analogy, since I still don’t know how to give the kid a bath. It’s going to be a long eight weeks if I don’t figure that out, isn’t it?
Suggestions, Internet? Because I have a five-year-old who hasn’t had his hair washed in nearly a week. And dammit if it STILL doesn’t look better than mine.
Charlie is feeling substantially better today, which is both a blessing and a curse. He’s in a lot less pain, and there are no signs that a raging infection is eating away at his bones (you’re welcome!). But he’s also feeling very entitled, which I blame on his father, who apparently told him that he could have WHATEVER HE WANTED because he broke his arm. For example:
Henry: Can we watch Batman?
Charlie: I don’t want to watch Batman.
Henry: But I do!
Charlie (disdainfully): The person with the broken arm gets to choose what we watch. Daddy said so.
Good god.
Yesterday Charlie scolded me for pulling his pants up too much after he went potty; today he announced, “I would like you to go downstairs and get me something to eat. A Pop Tart, if you please.”
Last night he decided that he wanted to sort and arrange all the Playmobil. I’m all about the sorting, so I happily agreed. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that this would mean spreading every single teeny tiny pirate and knight and gladiator out on the floor, taking ALL their armor off, and piling things into groups that only Charlie understands.
And in the middle of the mess, the Little Prince is kicked back, eating a Pop Tart and repeatedly asking, “Can we see what ELSE is on TV? Because this is boring.”
You said it, son.
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