Life in progress


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#SoCS – Meanwhile …

I’m hiding out in the kitchen while Alex is on the computer in the living room. I’m not a mean mom, but he does like to keep me busy doing things when I’d rather be doing other things.

He likes to keep busy. I keep stressing to him that it’s okay to be lazy once in a while (because that’s when I get work of my own done), but I keep being undermined by one of his teachers (don’t know which one, or maybe it’s all of them) who keep telling him being lazy is a bad thing. Problem with Alex is it’s all or nothing. He doesn’t understand nuance and perspective.

Take the Grinch, for instance. Alex is convinced that he’s a mean one, full stop. So we probably won’t be going to that movie. He wants to see “The Nutcracker” today. And he wants to go to the mall, not only to buy birthday presents for his brother, but to spend his own birthday money too.

Meanwhile, Mom’s got a novel to write.

I was caught up on my NaNoWriMo word count as of yesterday, so that’s a bit of a relief.

Finishing up the first draft of Book 3 of “The Great Dagmaru” is proving to be tough. Not because I don’t know what to do with it, but because it’s so angsty. It’s going to be a tearjerker right to the end.

So when I went to start my NaNo project, I rebelled. It’s a romantic comedy. I had to get myself out of the mindset of dark.

I sincerely wish I could decide on a subgenre and stick with it. I may have to publish one under a pseudonym in order to keep my “brand” intact.

Having a brand and being a human being at the same time is difficult.

How boring would I be if I was only dark or light?

Yin and yang would be waaaay out of balance.

Not good for the psyche.

Well that went totally off the rails, didn’t it? Time for the mall…

SoCS badge by Pamela, at https://achronicalofhope.com/

This post which was meant to be about something else entirely is brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the link to see all the other posts (in the comments) and join in! It’s fun! https://lindaghill.com/2018/11/09/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-nov-10-18/


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The Cycles of Mother’s Day

I have memories as a child of preparing breakfast, with my father’s help, to bring to my mother in bed on Mother’s Day. I knew as well as he did that it would be no surprise, but we pretended, he and I. I remember a few odd gifts I gave her over the years, but the one that stands out the most was a garbage bag full of well-fermented horse shit I brought home in my car from the ranch where I worked. Her roses loved it and yet she still rolls her eyes over it.

As a new mother myself, my very first Mother’s Day was a revelation. Being pampered by my son’s father was a dream come true. Those beginning years were special indeed – breakfast in bed was mine, although sometimes those breakfasts were inedible having been made with love by my young children. I grinned and did my best to eat them without gagging anyway.

Today I find the cycle has changed once again. I made the coffee last night so Alex, my youngest, could come downstairs ahead of me and push the button to start the coffeemaker. I’m in the not-so-unique position of being single, having my three sons at home, and soon I will be picking my own mother up to spend the day caring for her, though she’d never concede to the idea that it’s the other way around. She wants me to depend on her and I’m okay with that. It’s like a dance, graceful in its complexity with me agreeing to almost anything and her… I’m not sure if she still understands that I’m doing it or not, but the grand act of denial, if that’s what she does, is Oscar-worthy. And of course there are my own children. To an extent my eldest is taking care of me, helping me not to pull my hair out both with his physical aid in babysitting and housework and his awesome sense of humour.

So it goes. The child becomes the mother, the caregiver; the giver of life as she comes closer to the end of her own, becomes dependent once again.

I love being a mother, but in the end it can be likened to a bag of horse shit. For the amount of work it takes, the load of stress that accompanies it, and the headache-inducing number of eyerolls, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.