Snow Way I Can Do All This [RANT]

Despite the poem I shared on Substack on Sunday, I find myself struggling to make time for God or much of anything really. Are all the mamas feeling like these piles of ice and snow are piled on top of them or is it just me?

I shall try to keep my words brief because we all need to get back in the fray and catch up on January. In my effort to do that, I worked on more of those little journals that I make. I have to grow some confidence and rent a space at a craft fair to get these beauties into the hands of appreciative buyers. 

I also started a top secret mission. I am slowly sneaking garbage out of the hoard of my baby trash dragons into an actual trash can. Even the mama trash dragon, who upcycles paper into lovely journals, has some limits on what is salvageable. Honestly, that might have prompted me to fall down the upcycle rabbit hole again.

Meanwhile, due to an insatiable need to tell everyone that editors have value to writers, I am unofficially editing two of my friends’ contributions to the written word. One has even been letting me know when poems go live, so I can get to them quickly. Anyway, the book I just read needed one editor to catch the easy fixes and another to dig in and convince the writer to fill the plot holes. I am fairly certain my Goodreads followers are questioning why I keep reading when I am clearly aggravated by typos and misused words, but I don’t always push through. I opted to not finish a couple of books already this year, but I have spent too much time on this topic. Please point out my typos to me. I eventually catch them and wonder why no one took the opportunity to correct me.

Maybe that is because so many people think they should tell me I am wrong about such things as my own preferences. I definitely won’t get started on that one. Because I want to reassure you about something important:

I resisted the temptation of my inner redneck today. A cashier at the grocery store was dressed as a cow. A very adorable cow. I giggled to myself, but I did not sneak up on her and tip her over. Overcoming my childhood programming one opportunity at a time over here. 

Hopefully, the huge piles of ice melt enough to not make me feel concerned as I walk my tiny humans to and from the bus in the middle of the road… Stay strong mamas. I’m sending positive energy your way. 

Stray Thoughts [RANT]

I’ve had a million stray thoughts. But every time I sit down to bring them together to share with my dear readers, something intervenes. The phone rings. Questions are fired. People check in because the snow is freezing our brains but thawing our worries. Speaking of that, hope you are all doing well.

In one moment of clarity, I realized why hobbits have so many meals. They get interrupted before they finish the first one, so they need to pep themselves up to continue being adorable and carefree and somehow send some heat to those lovely bare feet. 

Side note, going outside to check the mail in flip-flops when a thin layer of ice covers the sidewalks is colder than one would think, but not as cold as sinking into a snowbank while trying to pitch something in the trash can. I put on thick socks and shoes when I repeated this endeavor at the recycling can a couple days later. This time, I slid down the snowbank surrounding the trash cans instead of falling through. It might be cold out there.

I also found cause to wonder about the difference between a butt dial and a booty call. People who have received them know that a clear difference exists  though the former sounds like the latter if it occurs in an impromptu inappropriate moment. May none of us ever receive those —particularly from a relative. (Now that is the seed of a truly horrifying story…)

Women’s clothes don’t always have pockets, or useful pockets. And some ladies don’t enjoy carrying a purse because it leads to carrying a small yet heavy portion of our hoard around. Thus women have had to rely on nature’s pocket, which for some could house a sizable gun and for others barely offers a place to secrete a small wad of cash to be pulled out and offered in a sodden mass to horrified cashiers. So if a woman stores her phone in her emotion support garment, would an accidental call become a boobie call or a boob dial? And which would people prefer? Ornithologists would definitely vote boobie call (masked or blue-footed preferred).

Now that your mind is clearly in the wrong place, feel free to go plunge into that snow, which has probably turned into a solid layer of ice, and cool yourself off. I shall return to trying to finish anything between interruptions. All the mamas who know they shouldn’t homeschool but suddenly find themselves doing so know what I am talking about…

Getting Things Done [RANT]

A friend invited my tiny hobbits and I to see a live performance of “Annie” with her family this past Saturday. Having never seen more than a few minutes of any version, I was excited as they were. One gave extra cuddles every time the performance reminded us what an orphan is. The other fell in love with dog. But what really caught my heart was how she stretched to her full height and moved to the edge of her seat to watch one of the intricate dance numbers. 

They found the next day less exciting with church as usual, but it started a little later, so they were up and ready well before we needed to leave the house last year. Then it was back to school for them and slowly digging out of the holiday mess for me. My trash and recycling people might get fuller cans than normal from us this week. 

Then Monday came and they returned to school. My legs are in an uproar about my sudden return to taking walks and my renewed obsession with tidying my house. I’m starting small, but I have lots of rooms that need attention. Maybe someday, my house will be clean enough to just maintain instead of constantly trying to dig my way out of the mess. Does that happen with kids?

In other news, my oldest thought messing around in daddy’s office was the best way to spend Tuesday night. This created a day for grumping. Since the day also included two special activities just for her, she didn’t get the most out of her day. The same principle holds true when I fail to get my beauty sleep. I feel like we all have that failing, so let’s try to get some good sleep from now on.

My youngest enjoyed an activity at church while sister grouchily slumbered on the couch. The kids went from station to station, trying to complete tasks and getting to know each other. I think the favorite station was the one where they put a cracker or cookie on their forehead and tried to get it to their mouth without using their hands. Definitely fun to watch. I didn’t try it myself, but some of the kids made it look like a task I could not complete without lots of trial and error. I was busy trying to motivate anyone at all to come drop tiny animals into a vase from their forehead.

Not much else to chat about. I did take down my Christmas tree. Yes, we put one up this year. I have already filled that space with boxes that I hope will help declutter the house. Come on 2026, we’ve got this. 

New Beginnings On Our Minds [RANT]

This poor blog falls into a bit of neglect every time the real world throws up roadblocks to getting my words out there. And festive roadblocks abound in the latter months of every year. I’d say costumes start all the wild distraction, but those who know me have heard how I put a costume together by rooting through my stash. That means costumes distract me all year round. If people aren’t appreciating me, I can always hide away and dress as someone else (and then write about it).

You have read about my obsession with pie, pie, pie, turkey, pie, pie, and more pie. And my last post obviously shared my love for Christmas assemblies and disappointment in other people’s unwillingness to think about other people as they celebrate how adorable their kids are. I hope I made it clear that all of the children and many of the adults were adorable.

Then I disappeared into a whirl of wrapping paper, updating a list and checking it twice, opening gifts from secret Santas, packing to be elves ourselves, and continuing to work through a myriad of other life complications that my casual reader need not worry about…

So now I write and give a brief update. I have returned from being a guest in a house where one of the hosts was recovering from major surgery. I assure you I suggested we stay elsewhere (like a hotel) and visit most of the day so the patient could recuperate without tiny clones cavorting around him for three days straight. I was vetoed. My children kept the patient company (or awake) at all hours, but he didn’t complain and thankfully seemed to be improving over the course of our stay. I hope his body made the resolution to keep getting healthier as this year progresses.

My resolutions are more of a list of foci that my brain generally bounces between. I just need to figure out how to keep that focus where it needs to be at varying times to make all my goals into reality. I won’t bore you with the entire list of twenty-five items to date.

However, you need to know that I shall continue updating this blog, hopefully weekly. I plan to keep this grumpy life log format here, since my fiction has moved to Substack. Follow me there for free or pay to subscribe for special and longer stories. I also need to expend more effort to get my crafts into the hands of appreciative buyers. I have a group on Facebook but that hasn’t been overly effective, so I need to find the best way to get people interested in paying me for my hard work.

Feel free to cheer me on in the best way you can and I wish you luck in keeping all your resolutions and meeting all your goals.

Merry Etiquette! {RANT]

The week leading up to Christmas has proved as insanely busy as we now expect it to be. I have been wrapping gifts, searching for gifts I know I bought, reviewing lists, and wishing I had more jolly in my holly, but it has been a long year and an even longer month. Some of you know what I saying. Others are questioning whether I ate enough cookies.

Don’t worry, some elves have been dropping off goodies for us. This has been getting us through since other priorities have kept me from doing my holiday baking. So far, I have received a dozen pairs of adorable socks, hot cocoa with a mug and fun flavor options, a gingerbread house which my family decorated beautifully while I got distracted by laundry and tidying, tiny little cookies, festive snack mix, hugs from my two favorite girls, and other things I have already forgotten. My brain is already back to pondering last minute gifts and some time with friends…

But I was able to attend Christmas concerts for both of my little angels. They seem to have inherited the problem of breathing wrong, so they end up yawning halfway through any given song. Luckily, they are adorable, so it somehow worked for them. I was able to get one child’s attention early on, so they knew I was there. The other didn’t see me until the end of the program and it showed. She was glum and barely involved as she sang along with her friends during the first round of songs. During the second round, She was animated and, dare I say, excited to be singing her heart out.

Aside from seeing my two favorite girls, I got to see some of their friends and some of mine. I even reconnected with another mom that I would like to get know better. And her child and mine would love to spend more time playing together, so I think this will work out for everybody. I also got to sit with friends both days and see their adorable babies sing along with mine. In fact, I got to see more of their kids than mine. This is where the rant begins.

Who is the modern Emily Post? I need to know, so I can look to see if she has updated etiquette for the use of cell phones during public performances. Yes, it is just a kids’ show. Yes, we all want to take some pictures and maybe some video for long-distance grandparents. But what is the etiquette for this???

I usually try to make sure my camera screen is hidden by my gargantuan, alien head. I also pick a spot and try my best not to move around, so people behind me can, hopefully, do the same and make some memories that can be shared (even by those of us who can barely draw a stick figure). I fear I might be alone. The principal asked us to remain seated, yet people kept standing up to get a better view or waving their hands in the air, screens out. One guy arrived late and slow walked all the way across the room and then stood chatting between this short woman and her short child for a couple minutes before finally sitting down. 

And the rudeness didn’t end there. A family near me kept a running commentary, which begs the question of why they came if they didn’t want to see and hear the kids. Or maybe their kid wasn’t performing yet, so they assumed no one else wanted to hear their own kids? Admittedly, I made the occasional comment because some kids that I didn’t know (pretty much every kindergarten student) was too cute not to make sure they were seen by my friends, but I tried to not be a constant voice in the background. I also tried to make sure I couldn’t be easily overheard by people six feet from me—over the music…

And the icing on the cake resulted from three grade levels participating in each show. I understand that people have work. I know that watching other people’s kids perform might not be your jam. I realize that getting in and out of an overloaded parking lot can be a hassle. But how do you think the last group of kids feels when they look out an audience that has shrunk to a third of its original size? Add to that, the fact that people disregarded the principal’s information about the flow of students to and from the stage and basically waded through the groups of students trying to stay with their class. And these adults, who should know better, sometimes felt it necessary to show displeasure that the children were exactly where they were meant to be by glaring at them. Not cool. Also not in the spirit of the season.

Hopefully, Christmas will work it’s magic on me and turn me into more of a jolly old elf by the new year.

Rest Well Inspiration [RANT]

Once more life has crept in and piled stones on top of my muse. As she has been unable to breathe, the words dried up. I am working to lift off the stones but it is hard going, and people who claim to be helping are piling more stones on the pile faster than I can remove them. We’ll get there, dear readers. And then enjoyable stories will flow freely once more.

I need the stories to flow because, frankly, not having my own source of income has reached an untenable point. I have mentioned it before, but sometimes I just want to provide things for my children without having to ask, beg, or get a second or third opinion that agrees with mine and comes with a different degree than the two I possess. 

I have a BS in French and a BS in International Business. The university I received them from was accredited for both at the time of my graduation. I’ll spare you my disappointment with recent curriculum changes. But neither of those degrees was as industriously earned as the unofficial one I get every day in the trenches of motherhood and marriage. So trust me when I say that I have the best interests of my children at heart and I think about them all of the time. If I happen to forget, they invite me to cuddle them to sleep or allow me to pull them into my coat as we huddle at the bus stop in the freezing cold. If I have reached a conclusion regarding those tiny suns that I orbit, it isn’t a whim or a fancy, a lot of thought and planning went into my decision.

As previously alluded, November proved a dry month for my musings. Did you notice? I did but I couldn’t force out subpar writing and pass it off as worth the price of admission. So some feelings bled out in poetry and radio silence took hold here for a bit, but I am trying to rally. After all, I used to think I could write 50,000 words every November between family engagements and being high on pie.

The demise of Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) hit some of us a little harder than expected. Yes, we could still write but where were our comrades in the fight against that blank page? I feel disconnected from my writer friends. Was it COVID? Was it discovering part of my heart wandering around outside my body and needing mama’s love and attention? Maybe?

Maybe I need to rebuild some severed connections with people who get me and value my opinion and share my love for words and weird and wild and wonderful. Why do we let ourselves get disconnected? Why do we let our loved ones become less of who we fell in love with?

I’m all questions, so perhaps I should wrap this up and go answer questions my writing pieces have been asking for months now. Cheer me on!

The Right to Be Heard [RANT]

As a child, I used to throw tantrums. Not little ones either. I would scream, cry, kick, and make a ruckus. And let me tell you, tiny little legs can be a massive destructive power against the walls of a trailer. But that was the only way I could make people hear me. Blood pouring from my mouth, knees, or feet generally caused minimum interest. Asking for help fell on deaf ears. It feels like I am back there now.

When you calmly try to tell people that everything isn’t okay, they nod hopefully and offer advice. They mean well, but you can tell that they aren’t seeing the problem because you aren’t screaming it at the top of your lungs. If there isn’t blood, how could you be hurting? And, of course, if anyone else is involved in the issue, we have to give them consideration and time to be better. But what about the one who has been trying to be better all along? And is now being told to dig in some more and it might take a while?

The only conclusion I can reach is that the problem does indeed rest with me. How many times will I be told I am not worthy of respect and that I asked to be hurt because I bothered to wake up and breath? Do you really think it is helpful to cast blame on the person who is seeking to make it better?

I guess my option is to dig in and wait. Hopefully, while doing that I can protect others from letting part of themselves languish in limbo because someone else doesn’t want them to shine…

In the meantime, at least I have tiny koalas to remind me that I am important. They don’t shun me for trespasses that don’t exist enough to be voiced. They don’t turn their back on me because I express complicated human emotions. And they aren’t teenagers yet, so they still believe I know a couple of things.

Do you?