Loving Getting Those Portraits Taken!

I love to get my daughter's pictures at our local Sears Portrait Studio. This is our latest version -- my daughter is in skating classes and we took her to get her photos made in a dress her grandmother made for her.

They are usually so patient with her. She makes it easy, though -- she's quite a hambone. She needs very little prompting.

Sears is offering a trip to the BlogHer conference later this year. I'd so love to go. I would love to make this blog a money-making venture. :-) Plus, a free trip to NYC wouldn't be bad, either.

For now, though, I will be spending money vs. making it, but it's all worth it to capture that smile.

...and they're off. Maybe.

OK. So the National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo) starts tomorrow, November 1st. I signed up to participate, filled out a profile and everything. The goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days.

I am completely scared out of my mind.

I am scared I won’t finish. I mean, c’mon – I can’t even update this blog on a semi-regular basis.

I’m scared that it will suck. The problem with all of my writing is that I hate it as soon as I put it down. I also don’t dare show anyone because someone close to me will tell me that is does suck, I’ll lose any confidence that I had, and then I definitely won’t finish it.

I’m scared that if it doesn’t suck, that I won’t be able to sell it. I mean, what’s with all the work if I can’t sell it? Isn’t that the ultimate goal?

I’m scared that no one will like it, whether I sell it or not. I’ve always felt that my writing was always such a part of me, as silly as that sounds. I don’t like opening myself up, I don’t like being vulnerable. I am not a risk taker—at least, not where this is concerned.

Most of all, I’m scared I’m over thinking this.

Why did I sign up to do this again?

I guess that I feel that, as the founder of this contest says, writing a novel is a “one day” goal, as in “one day I’ll write a novel”. This is to get people to commit to an attempt and to reach the goal. Which makes sense to me.

I watch other authors and the juggernauts they’ve created: Stephenie Meyer, J.K. Rowling. I mean, Holy Cow, I will probably never be able to do that. They’ve changed pop culture, for goodness sake. I’m not that good.

I wish that I thought that I was. Maybe this would be easier. Maybe that’s what I am most afraid of, beyond all else:

I’ll find out that I don’t have any talent at all. Dreams are always safer staying tucked into your heart.

Opening my heart is always scary.

Reflections

I've been wanting to write this all day, a tribute to my Gram. Now, though, my heart is even heavier.

My beloved Gram died on Friday, September 11, 2009 (as if I needed another reason not to be crazy about that date). We weren't close necessarily, but she was my last grandparent here on earth. My paternal grandfather died before I was born, and my paternal grandmother died in our home when I was eight. My maternal grandfather, whom I met only once in my life (I think I may have been either eight or ten), died when I was a teenager. There also was Gram's second husband, who died shortly before my tenth birthday.

I adored Gram, but she wasn't really adorable. Politically correct she was not. The last time we spoke, she told me in no uncertain terms why she didn't like a black man in the White House and her views on race in general. She treated my mother cruelly her entire life, and offered my beleaguered aunt, who spent the last several years caring for her as well as her own sick husband, not so much as even a thank you.

However, she had a charm about her to most people. She was a waitress for many, many years, and had clientele who specifically would go to a restaurant if she worked there. At one point, she owned three mink coats. Going to her house was like winning the lottery -- she'd start cleaning out cupboards full of barely used items and give them to you. My husband and I were in hysterics as we sat behind her on a boat tour, as she gave a running commentary about our guide. My mom and aunt fell down laughing at her fear of a deer at a petting park.

She was little over 5 feet tall, small and petite...but boy, she was a powerhouse. She was the youngest of 13, a scrapper who was watched over by her older siblings. She was a firebrand who, as the story goes, went down to the local tavern and dragged the local hussy who had been talking to her philandering husband out into the street by her hair. I remember hanging on for dear life as a child, accompanying her and my mother into Chicago, her driving my uncle's El Camino at a high rate of speed (in the days where it was acceptable for a child to ride in a car sitting on one-half inch of seat), cigarette ashes being flicked out the window. She smoked like a chimney.

It was ultimately those damn cigarettes that took her life (my family could be poster children for the American Lung Association). A smoker since the age of 13, she quit when they told her that her lung cancer was terminal. I wanted her to so meet my children. Damn economy didn't afford us that chance. Now, we at least had a chance to say goodbye.

Until...

My mom called me earlier this evening to tell me the arrangements had been made, and that she was no longer going. Why? My dad's sick. He's being bull-headed and won't go to the hospital, but he's shaking like a leaf and cannot hold himself up. His COPD seems to be flaring up quite a lot, causing him not to be able to breathe.

This means that I cannot go to my Gram's funeral. I can't be four hours away if he takes a turn for the worse. I need to be here. My mom needs me here.

My heart hurts so much right now. It seems like when it rains, it pours.

The Last Hurrah

So, I'm a bad mommy. I'll admit it.

The economy didn't help, though. No money to go anywhere. We were hoping to at least see my Gram, who is dying of cancer, but our new transmission put a stake into that idea.

I did nothing to enrich their summer, to make memories. Bad mommy.

However, I had the bright idea to take them to the beach on Sunday. At least have a one last hurrah, send off summer on the right note.

It started off on a bumpy note. The parking lot closed just as we pulled up. We ended up parking about a mile or so away and walking. I wasn't exactly wearing the right shoes for that trek (white platform sandals), nor was Dear Daughter (slip-on jelly shoes that kept slipping off). Carrying all our gear, dodging bicyclists (grrr...), listening to my whining child and telling her that, yes, indeed, we were still going to the beach.

Once we finally got there, we crossed the parking lot (and three empty spaces -- thanks, Park Ranger Bob) and collapsed at the first good spot we found.

Once we recovered, we did have fun. Dear Son kept trying to eat sand. Dear Daughter digging for "sea shells" (actually, rocks) and making "sand castles" (piles of sand). DD's first dip into the lake. The shear joy on her face, followed by the horror on her face when she fell into the cold water (59 degrees), the joy that returned after she jumped up and assured me that "I'm OK!!!".

I could have done without the wicked sunburn, though. My fair skin has never had a love affair with the sun. We were thoroughly exhausted, but happy.

Sometimes, you just need some time away. Even if it's only a few miles away -- it can feel like another world.

Let's Do the Time Warp Again*

(*although, technically, this song is from the wrong era...)

Skinny Jeans. Jelly Bracelets. Stirrup Pants. Long sweaters. Slouch boots.

Clothes in my closest from a bygone era?

Nope. Current Back-to-School Fashions.

Oh, it's been coming for a while, I know. What put me over the top today was a pair of pastel multi-colored high top sneakers (for women, mind you) like these. That, and the Barbie and the Rockers collector's edition, circa 1986.

Yesterday, I watched Punky Brewster as a grown-up. No, I'm not kidding.

I can't take it anymore. I now want a long tee-shirt with a buckle and straight leg jeans to roll.

Now, where's my Swatch with the watch guards?

Why are schools still on SAHM-time*?

So, I still hadn't received my DD's school schedule yet for Kindergarten. Silly me, it's two weeks before school starts here and I figured that I should have heard something by now.

Nope.

According to the office person that I spoke with on Monday, who goes to what class has yet to be decided.

Huh? How is this possible?

I'm a full-time working-outside-the-home mother (WOTHM). My DH also works full-time. We have to coordinate child care, transportation to and from (no busing), etc. How am I to do this if I don't have her schedule.

Oh -- and I was informed that her Kindergarten Assessment was the next day. Between 8:30 AM and 11:30 AM.

Excuse me? I'm just now finding out about this?

Oh -- well, we've lost track of who we've called and who we haven't.

??????????????????????

These people are going to be educating my child? Oy vey.

Fortunately, I now work at a company that values family time, and is somewhat flexible with time off. However, I have made a commitment to be at work. I need to be at work. So, naturally, the only times that this is being held is during my work day (DH is off in the afternoon -- he could have taken her, if they had afternoon appointments). DH doesn't have the flexibility that I do and couldn't afford to take off work (no paid time off), even though he works right next to our home and school, and I work 10 miles away.

{sigh}

Hence my question in the title of this post. I thought my school district was advanced in this regard -- for example, they offer child care and breakfast for the children. However, not everyone can drop everything they are doing and zoom over to Kindergarten Assessment...or Parent/Teacher conferences...you get the idea. I know school is during the "regular" day and all, but could schools keep in mind working parents' needs when trying to schedule classes and meetings?

We are in the 21st Century right?

Just checking.

*Note: This post is not meant in any way, shape, or form to be a slam on SAHMs. Traditionally, though, SAHMs have more flexible schedules than moms who have to go to work at specific times. If I was able to be a SAHM, I wouldn't be having this complaint, other than the assessment was scheduled at the last minute.

The Prince Charming Myth

So, I picked up the vampire issue of Entertainment Weekly last week (Me? Obsessed? No....), and read it over the weekend.

I love how almost all of the other vampire genre authors snub Twilight in one form or another. One, though, actually appreciated the buzz it's created and how it benefited her by generating interest in her novels.

Something that one of the other authors interviewed, though, caught my attention in her diss of the Saga.

Laurell K. Hamilton, author of the Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter series (which I have not read), said:

"They [meaning fans of Twilight] like the idea that (Bella) was like the fairy princess and (Edward) is the handsome prince that rides in and saves her. The fact that women are so attracted to that idea -- that they want to wait for Prince Charming rather than taking control of their own life -- I find that frightening."

Uh...What?

OK, I kind of see her point. I also kind of think she's cracked.

Maybe I can help. Here's my take.

Bella was a lost soul -- an old one, perhaps, but still a lost soul. So was Edward. Together, they completed each other. He didn't "save" her from finding her own life. She found her life -- and took control of it -- when she found him. She was the one pushing her way into his life, while he feared her presence in it, wanting her to pursue a more human existence. He "saved" her from the villain in the first book, she saved him from himself in the second, he saved her from the villains in the third, and she saved HER ENTIRE FAMILY in the last book, her new husband Edward included.

The attraction that I think women have to this story is the desire to find that one person that completes their circuit -- the Ying to their Yang, as it were. It's the same theme that most love stories have. Who, on earth, wants to wander this life alone? You always want to think that there is a companion out there for you, whether he's from another time (Outlander), another species (Twilight), or just a good ole' human.

Twilight is not about a girl pining for marriage and then -- viola! -- a man enters into her life who just happens to want the same thing -- marriage to a girl pining for him.

This isn't Cinderella, Ms. Hamilton. Of course, this really isn't about Prince Charming, now is it?