An Acrobatic Extravaganza!

Hunger gnaws at me, tearing my insides apart. I should venture out for a nibble, a bite, a snack. Yet, I remain rooted, lost in a world that is not my own. Stuck between reality and nonexistence, I balance on a dew drop and one wrong move will cause my fall.

In one hand, I juggle the steal balls of work, family, and health. In the other, I juggle the flaming swords of writing, friends and recreation. As balls and swords intermingle in the air I hop between the thin wires of Mom, Writer, Manager, and Myself. All while blind folded. And such is my life, a never ending acrobatic extravaganza!

Sometimes I can manage with extraordinary dexterity. But every now and then, a ball with fall or a flaming sword will cut deep and the whole she-bang will come crashing down around me. I will fall into a pit of unknown doubts and nothing will come from it for a while.

But always I pick up the balls and swords, climb out of the pit and with a deep breath begin again.

Today, I feel on the brink of a fall, my reaction times are slowing and I catch the juggle with sweating finger tips. My shoes are wearing thin from the sharp wires. Should I keep up as I have been, knowing the pit awaits me? Or should I make my way to the edge, and take a break for a little while?

What if....

Today I didn’t get my magic in the morning, and it has really messed with me. I’m less able to cope with the demands of mother hood. It’s incredibly difficult to put words on paper. I’m one big ball of insaneness just ripe to burst at any given moment. Innocent bystanders beware.

It makes me wonder though, how other people react when something they’ve come to rely on doesn’t happen, either by choice or otherwise. How would Jamie react or Josh or Debbie and Iris? What do they rely on? What would happen if Penny couldn’t wear her ankle breakers? Would she lose her pep? Her bubbly personality? What would happen if Debbie didn’t have her Buba any more? Would she be unable to cope with the stress of a new life? What would happen to Jamie if she cut off all her hair? Would she lose her identity? What would happen to Amanda if no one catered to her anymore? Would she fall into a pit of self loathing or find another way to validate her worth? How would they then turn it around and grow to a better person? Would they grow to a better person or would they give up on that path and move to wickedness?

How far would they go to get it back? What would they gladly give up in exchange? Me, I’ll gladly give up sleep in order to get my sun rises. I’ll trudge through the week in a fog of sleep deprivation for those few hours in the morning when it’s just me and the click of the keys, the scratch of a pencil.

Today, I just want to hit the redo button and wake at my normal hour. Instead I’ll take deep breaths until my fingers tingle and work this nightmare of a morning into something I can use in my books. A way to make Jamie, Josh, Sarah, Penny, Rob, Debbie, Amanda, Renee, Iris, Shelia, Jake, Aleme, Matt, Hope, Faith, Lilly, Seth, and Star that much more of a person, that much more believable.

My Magic Morning

I’ve grown to really love my mornings and the silence in the house, the sleepy scene playing outside the window. I get to watch the sun set the mountain side of fire, see the flames lick down to the field below. Sometimes it kisses the dingy sides of cows, others the blaze highlights great birds in flight. Today, that field is empty, except a lone deer with her head bent to taste the dew.

Both girls are sleeping, little faces twitch with dreams and cheeks so rosy red. The cat is out, either hunting a rabbit or stuck in the tree. Mr. Fo, the forever fish, rests at the bottom of his tank. The only sounds inside this room: the click of keys, the sputter of coffee and the hum of the fridge.

I know this wonder will be short lived. I know soon enough the sun will finish her journey and her fire will leave the mountain a lush green. The babies will wake and fill the house with their unique music and the cat will beg for food as she hasn’t eaten all night, poor thing. Cartoons will drown out the crisp tap of words and the slosh of milk will over power the tinkle of coffee.

I find myself waking earlier each day, just for a few more moments of this magic morning. I gladly give up that little extra sleep for this time that is mine now. And as joyful as these few hours are to me, as priceless as they have become, I wouldn’t want it to last forever. That would ruin it, I believe. So, I’ll take this time and when the house awakes, I’ll bid it ado until tomorrow with a little grin and fully recharged to meet the crazy that is my life.

Character Take Over #3

I was there when the world ended and let me tell you it wasn’t at all like I expected it would be. There was no warning, no indication that something was going to happen that day. I woke up, got my kids all off to school and day care, day dreamed while stuck in the morning rush. You know, the basic everyday bump and grind. But then I got a call from my oldest son.

“Mom, something freaky is going on at school. The army is here, taking everyone onto buses. Anna is with me, we’re in the woods. What should I do?”

Of course my first thought was let them do their jobs and I’ll be there as soon as I can. But as I slung my purse over my shoulder, my gut twitched. “Get the hell out of there! Take your sister and run!”

“Where? Mom, I’m scared.”

“I know Seth, baby, just do as I say. I’ll get your sister and brother and meet you at that place we did that thing that one year with the honey. I love you so much.”

No matter what I tried, I was stuck. They had shut down every road leading out of the city. Every last one, and I knew I had to get to my babies before something horrible happened to them. But how in the world was I going to do that when men with gun mounted tanks blocked my way? When men and women were being gunned down in the streets when they tried to push through?

All The Bliss Without The Jet Lag

It always surprises me how much can go to the way side when the writing bug really hits hard. I can forget to do the most basic of things, like eat or sleep. I’ll get sucked in so hard and so deep that suddenly the sun is down and I’d only just woken up. My days get all burled together into one black and white adventure. My hands cramp up from holding the pencil too long and the side of my pinky is coated with lead dust, smearing the pages.

Despite all the physical discomforts from prolonged writing binges, I come out of the zone feeling so much better then I went in. Sure, my back and bum are telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I over did it. But the bliss I get over shadows all of that. Yeah, I haven’t slept in who knows how long; however, I’m more rested then I have been in ages. So what if my body is screaming at me to eat, it doesn’t matter when I feel filled to the brink.

When life just gets to be overwhelming and I’m pulling my hair out, all I need to do is pick up a story and write. The times when Bells is in a fit and the Puffet is screaming in my ear I turn on a show, place the baby in the a jumper and hide away in the land of Mother Goose for just a few moments and come out again ready to tackle the next poopy diaper and splat of milk on the floor.

I don’t know why this happens and honestly at this point, I really don’t care. It’s an escape, a release, a much needed vacation without the cost or jet lag.

I Think I Need More Coffee...

Looking over the past month I’m floored at everything that happened. Did I really fit all of that into just one month? How is it my head is not spinning like a top while pea soup spews forth? Well, my head is firmly attached and the only pea spewing going on is all the Puffet’s doing.

Despite having switched jobs, moved across a mountain, over come a major health icky, wrote half a novel, started a writers group, battled an ogre, dived into networking, and manifested a new way of life altogether, I’m still sane and relatively unstressed. My being possessed is something that’s never been up for debate; I am and always will be which is why I avoid the above mentioned pea soup. But that’s another story completely. (see character take over’s)

This time of year, the cusp of Fall, always brings out my most productive side. Why? I have no flipping idea. I hate the cold and wet and dark of winter and Fall is just a nasty reminder that the misery is soon to come. Yet without fail, things get done at such a rapid rate I’m left breathless, dizzy and empty. Like taking one too many spins on a whirl-a-wig and losing that hot dog I shouldn’t have eaten anyway.

And it’s not just my writing that explodes into being, it is life events coupled with insane word/page counts. Oh, I just wrote 10,000 words today, so I think I’m going to finish that up by quitting my job and starting a new one in a whole new industry, just for giggles. I got 50 pages edited? Ok, I think I’ll pack up my two kids (again) and move across a mountain because I have nothing else to do. So what if I just wrote two newsletters, 3 shorts and half a novel, I must be board so I’ll battle an ogre while entering the world of networking and finding a new way of life. I just gave birth to a baby so I’ll start a new novel while moving out on my own and getting two jobs, because hell, why not?

Now, with my two girls, Bells and the Puffet, waking up to a new day, I know this one is going to be just as insane as the one before. If not more so. How much am I going to get done today? Am I going to knock out the rest of my novel, start a new one, fumble my way through the new job, slay a dragon and manifest that 20 bucks I’m short till payday all while organizing the first meeting of my new writers group?

I think I need more coffee…

Somethings Gotta Give

The bright sun rises above the mountain’s breast while cheery birds dance in the still summer’s breeze and tall grasses purple the hill side. The crickets and cicadas have gone to rest leaving the morning still and quite.




Bright kaleidoscope eyes search the room from the haven mommy made. Tiny fingers, too small to hold all the muscle and bone wiggle up to greet the day. Little legs pump and a single squeal of delight punctures the silence, bringing the song of birds.

In the other room my blond hired devil angel whimpers at her dreams while long awkward limbs twitch. She’ll wake soon as well, this mommy knows, with a grin and request for milk, chocolate milk. Normally I’d say no, but this morning may be different.

The Puffet finds a bone, there among her toys, a gift from Grandma to sooth her teeth and gums. With the strut of a novice crawler and the grace bestowed on her by her name sake, Little Quillian heads off in search of a new adventure.

And thus is this morning, on the brink of a season change. The Hunt is nearing and this mommy feels the call. The darkened lullaby spurs my fingers across the keys, sends whispers into my ears. The voices grow, a jumble of words driving me to the brink, bringing with them the near frantic need to hide away and put their wonderful stories down for the world to see.

 

There is Fact to Fiction After All...

I’ve never been the biggest fan of romance novels. They’ve always come across as a little too fake. That sappy, sudden and intense love the characters develop never sucked me into a state of suspended disbelief. Life just does not work that way, end of story.

It takes months to develop a deep connection to another person (your own children not included.) Sure, lust can smack you in the face and blind side you, masquerade as love. Yes, you can care for another after only a few moments. But love, real love that transcends the physical connection and human compassion? Yeah, I didn’t believe it was possible; thus, romances never held much for me.

Until recently, very recently, when I met a man. I knew right away that we would hit it off. We have too much in common; share too many interests, beliefs and passions not to. Then there’s the physical attraction, the chemistry, that spark that muddles my head when he’s near.

We spend hours upon hours talking about everything and that connection deepened. Over the course of a week, the impossible happened and now I can’t imagine my life without him. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. The first time we hugged, just hugged, I had an intense sense of homecoming. The void in my life didn’t just fill in, it disappeared completely, it was as if it never even existed.

I’ve never been this truly happy, my patience with my girls has expanded ten fold, I find myself wanting to play with my children, a passion I never thought I was capable of. I look forward to waking up each morning and I can roll out of bed and face the day without working myself up to it.

Each day my pain gets less and this morning I woke up without being all but blinded with pain, I didn’t have a headache, sore joints or stiff muscles. My stress and worries haven’t disappeared by any means but I am better equipped to face them now.

Yes, I’ve learned a priceless lesson-there’s fact to fiction. Those sappy romances do have semblance to real life. It may be crazy, it may go against social norms but I could care less. I’m a better person, a better mother and a better writer for it and that’s what really matters. 

Just Another Day For This Mother

Today is a day to acknowledge all the hard work a mother does for her family. It’s a day to show her how much she’s appreciated and for some, it’s the one day out of the year that she can take off. For me, it’s just another day.

I woke up to a screaming baby and a 4-year-old demanding breakfast. So I dragged myself out of bed, despite the day or the ungodly pain. Today, I get to clean house, change diapers, cook meals, clean some more, wear spit up and butt heads with a stubborn preschooler alone.

And I get the baby giggles, “I love you’s,” slobber kisses, leg hugs, raspberries and cuddle bugs all to myself. I won’t have to share the ear-to-ear smiles, squeals of delight or sleeping angel faces.

Today is just another day for this mother, because in my life, everyday is Mother’s Day.