Monday mornings aren't as bad for me as they used to be when I was doing daycare. Back then, I knew I had to get up to take in other people's grumpy, tired children. Now I only have to deal with my own grumpy, tired children. Most importantly, my grumpy, tired children aren't beating up on their grumpy, tired children. Nothing like making $30/day attempting to save another parent's little treasure from certain doom. It does not make Mondays very pleasant. Especially knowing that there are four more of those days awaiting me at the end of that exhaustive one.
Today, I write a proposal letter to Reader's Digest. You know, Canada's most read, most trusted magazine? The one read by several demographics and found in homes and offices all over the country? Yeah, that's the one.
Nervous? Don't be a silly gooze. Why would I be? I'm only an unpublished author who has yet to write a proposal letter to anyone, let alone a major publication. I have no experience outside of one writing course I took in this pregnancy's first trimester. Ah, the good ol' days, when I was busy puking and hating life. When Creativity had taken a vacation and had rented the condo inside my body to the Hormone family. They had a lot of fun in there, throwing parties and such. They kept inviting my brain in for drinks and that just complicated matters for me. Needless to say, I handed everything in on an extension at the very last minute and ended up with a lower grade than I would have liked. However, my professor left me a little note saying 'Procrastinators can make the best writers! Trust me. I am one!'
Um.... Thanks? I'm still trying to figure that out.
Yesterday involved many good things. The house was cleaned. A barbeque was had. Company was enjoyed (not on the barbeque - that's called 'cannibalism' and we don't do that here). Pants were purchased that do not fall down everytime I take a couple of steps. Truly, are there better things in life? I think not.
Frankly, I don't know if today can compete. Other than a proposal letter, I have nothing going on but a run to the grocery store.
I used to have a bunch of stay-at-home-mom friends. I now have two. Thac0 is one of them, but lives thirteen hours away and in another country, so we don't hang out much. Mrs. Wailing spends her days at home and has boy children who mesh well with my boy children. She also enjoys the simple pleasures in life, such as trips to Fourbucks and letting wild children run around in open spaces. Still, we can only get together so much. I try to limit people's exposure to the gremlins. Fewer things get broken and friendships stay intact that way.
Oh, and I hang out with my mom. She laughs at me about this, by the way. You'd think she'd be happy that her grown daughter wants to spend so much time with her. Instead she blatantly snickers and reminds me about my severe lack of a life, then suggests various ways for me to meet other moms. Hmph. You know, mom, as soon as my social calendar gets filled, I might cut down our visits by as much as twice a week. That'll learn ya.
One said suggestion was to take the gremlins to swimming lessons.
Problem: Swimming pools are loud because they're filled with other children. My children can't hear well at all, but especially in echo-heavy spaces (like gyms and swimming pools) where they can't wear their hearing aids. The scenario my mom undoubtedly has in her mind is that I will sit blissfully by the side of the pool, enjoying a latte with the other moms and waving to my children who are happily learning their backstroke.
Here's what would really happen: The instructors would be trying to get my children's attention in a pool full of other screaming kids. My children, unable to hear them, would be looking at me for cues. Picture The Maven, yelling to her children and making wild hand gestures signalling that they must stop what they're doing (ie, sinking in the pool for the most part, I'd assume) and pay attention to the instructor. Of course, unless my three-year-old is an expert lip reader, he won't understand what's being said and will go back to doing his own thing. Now, picture the other moms looking at each other quizzically and thinking to themselves 'What a control freak! And her kids don't listen to boot.'
Frustration for all involved: 100%
Friends made: 1 (the crazy woman who hangs out by the pool and talks to her imaginary swimming cat)
Playdates invited on: 0 (unless you include the cat)
I think we'll skip the pool for now. When Reader's Digest pays me enough to rent out the entire pool for an hour, I'll get on those lessons.
There's incentive for you. Off to write my proposal letter!
Today, I write a proposal letter to Reader's Digest. You know, Canada's most read, most trusted magazine? The one read by several demographics and found in homes and offices all over the country? Yeah, that's the one.
Nervous? Don't be a silly gooze. Why would I be? I'm only an unpublished author who has yet to write a proposal letter to anyone, let alone a major publication. I have no experience outside of one writing course I took in this pregnancy's first trimester. Ah, the good ol' days, when I was busy puking and hating life. When Creativity had taken a vacation and had rented the condo inside my body to the Hormone family. They had a lot of fun in there, throwing parties and such. They kept inviting my brain in for drinks and that just complicated matters for me. Needless to say, I handed everything in on an extension at the very last minute and ended up with a lower grade than I would have liked. However, my professor left me a little note saying 'Procrastinators can make the best writers! Trust me. I am one!'
Um.... Thanks? I'm still trying to figure that out.
Yesterday involved many good things. The house was cleaned. A barbeque was had. Company was enjoyed (not on the barbeque - that's called 'cannibalism' and we don't do that here). Pants were purchased that do not fall down everytime I take a couple of steps. Truly, are there better things in life? I think not.
Frankly, I don't know if today can compete. Other than a proposal letter, I have nothing going on but a run to the grocery store.
I used to have a bunch of stay-at-home-mom friends. I now have two. Thac0 is one of them, but lives thirteen hours away and in another country, so we don't hang out much. Mrs. Wailing spends her days at home and has boy children who mesh well with my boy children. She also enjoys the simple pleasures in life, such as trips to Fourbucks and letting wild children run around in open spaces. Still, we can only get together so much. I try to limit people's exposure to the gremlins. Fewer things get broken and friendships stay intact that way.
Oh, and I hang out with my mom. She laughs at me about this, by the way. You'd think she'd be happy that her grown daughter wants to spend so much time with her. Instead she blatantly snickers and reminds me about my severe lack of a life, then suggests various ways for me to meet other moms. Hmph. You know, mom, as soon as my social calendar gets filled, I might cut down our visits by as much as twice a week. That'll learn ya.
One said suggestion was to take the gremlins to swimming lessons.
Problem: Swimming pools are loud because they're filled with other children. My children can't hear well at all, but especially in echo-heavy spaces (like gyms and swimming pools) where they can't wear their hearing aids. The scenario my mom undoubtedly has in her mind is that I will sit blissfully by the side of the pool, enjoying a latte with the other moms and waving to my children who are happily learning their backstroke.
Here's what would really happen: The instructors would be trying to get my children's attention in a pool full of other screaming kids. My children, unable to hear them, would be looking at me for cues. Picture The Maven, yelling to her children and making wild hand gestures signalling that they must stop what they're doing (ie, sinking in the pool for the most part, I'd assume) and pay attention to the instructor. Of course, unless my three-year-old is an expert lip reader, he won't understand what's being said and will go back to doing his own thing. Now, picture the other moms looking at each other quizzically and thinking to themselves 'What a control freak! And her kids don't listen to boot.'
Frustration for all involved: 100%
Friends made: 1 (the crazy woman who hangs out by the pool and talks to her imaginary swimming cat)
Playdates invited on: 0 (unless you include the cat)
I think we'll skip the pool for now. When Reader's Digest pays me enough to rent out the entire pool for an hour, I'll get on those lessons.
There's incentive for you. Off to write my proposal letter!