Getting Older (by the second!)

11:50 p.m.  Half cup of lukewarm coffee beside me. I can hear the breathing of everyone else in the house.... because they are sleeping.... and I am not sleeping.

I am currently waiting up for my oldest to get home.

See, she thought she needed to go to the "Halloween Festival" at her college. And mom gets to sit here, tapping my fingers on the keyboard, waiting for the minutes to tick by, until I hear the sound of the car coming up the driveway. She's 19. But there's just so much she doesn't know. So much that I don't think she's ready for.

I hate telling her no. In fact, other than the fact that she lives in my house, I almost (that's: almost) feel like I don't have the right to tell her she can't do this or can't go there. The kid, er, young adult needs her freedom - to a certain extent. If I could have all of my kids live in glass bubbles and still be well-developed, socially accepted individuals, I totally would.

But I can't. And that's hard. The silver hairs are sprouting left and right. Literally. Some on the left side. More on the right side. But then, the right side is thinner so maybe they're just easier to see.

I know she doesn't realize how much stress mom goes through staying up 3 hours past her bedtime, waiting for her to get home. She drove and picked up two friends, whom I've met and typically like. She then drove them to the college, which she apparently made it to safe and sound because she sent me a  text when she got there. And now.... I wait.

Hoping that she fixes her own drinks and doesn't accept any food or drink from a stranger. (She should remember that one; we've been covering that since first grade.) And she'd better not go out any back doors. And she should know not to go to the restroom alone. And have her car key at the ready when she goes to the parking lot so she doesn't fumble around in the dark. And I'm really hoping she remembers that the roads are still wet in places from the rain, and that there are deer that like to jump in front of cars, and that it's a Friday night and there are drunk drivers and stupid people that text while driving. And there's just so much that you'll hope they remember. After all, you don't want to sound like a nag by repeating the same things every single time she goes out.

But I do. Even though I know she doesn't like it.





Okay. I'm back. Just wanted to make sure for the fourth time that the outside lights have been left on.

Oh I remember the days when I thought mom and dad were being completely ridiculous. Driving around at night was no big deal. I never saw deer on the road. And drunk drivers? They weren't near as common as they are today..... Or maybe they were, but I was to busy being oblivious to all of the real dangers that mom and dad constantly harped about.

12:09 a.m. Officially Saturday morning. she should have texted me by now saying that she is leaving the party. Should I start freaking out now? I've asked her a million times (okay, many times) why she thinks I pay for her cell phone. Does she think I pay for it so she can text her friends, leaving her mom hanging by a thread, sags and bags building under my eyes that take more and more time every morning to try to conceal. I'm going to be forced to stop paying for her cell phone just so I can afford an eye lift in another year.

12:12 a.m. Still no text. How could she forget? Is it so hard to pull out the phone and type a two word message and press 'Send'? No. The answer is "No". She's admitted this before. In fact, I know she will get home, walk in the door, stop in to see if I'm awake, collect her laptop so she can begin posting about her fun evening. I'll ask her that question: Would it have so difficult for you to send your mother a message so that she can rest a little easier. "No. Sorry." (with stupid look on face - like she's really sorry. Who is she trying to kid?)

12:16 a.m. Coffee is officially cold. I'm slightly chilled. She told me earlier that the party ended at midnight. She and her friends would probably leave early. They would then need to be dropped off and she should be home by 12:40. I warned her: one minute past, and she won't be going out for a very long time. I can't imagine what it's going to be like waiting up for my other kids. When my youngest is 19, I will be 55-ish. How is a 55-year old woman, who probably is still going to be working full-time, supposed to stay up this late?

12:28 a.m. I just killed a little more time looking up photos for bags under the eyes and this is what I found. I thought it was pretty humorous. Maybe that's just because it's excruciatingly late and I'm so very tired. Boy when that girl gets home she's going to hear it from me. I'll have to whisper because everyone else is sleeping, but she's going to get it good for not sending a message.

12:39 a.m. Well what do you know... I just got a phone call. Yes, from my daughter. She's just leaving her friend's house to head home. There's fog. And her dippy little friend (according to my daughter) is one of the reasons why she is going to be home past 12:40. Teens today... so inconsiderate of anyone else around them and the repercussions that their actions and choices have on so many other people. Do any of them ever think that "Oh, your mom is waiting up, maybe I shouldn't take off and start dancing with some stranger when I know you have to leave soon." But they don't think.

12:43 a.m. She'll be home soon. I can finally run Spell Check and get this thing posted. Then I can snuggle into my warm bed and pick up my book and pretend that I wasn't completely freaked out of my mind. Nope. Going to play it nice and cool - after I inform her that she's grounded.

Can you ground a 19 year old?

Shopping Alone

I have a confession.

I don't like being alone.

Well I do. I totally love being alone - and left alone. Nearly all of the time.

But, doing certain things alone is really nerve-wracking for me. Okay, really only one thing freaks me out.

Shopping.

Weird, huh? I know I'm always going on about how I can't get enough peace and quiet around here. And about how I wish I could just have a few hours alone. But that's when I'm here at home. Where I'm safe and secure and I've got things to do, like write to you.

I can drive alone. I can go to the library alone. I can work alone. I can go for walks alone. But shopping..... yeah. Just awkward.

And sadly, I really need to get used to doing it on my own. My oldest daughter used to go with me all the time. She was my Go-To grocery partner. But she's growing up and she's busy and she just doesn't want to spend as much time as she used to with her mother - particularly grocery shopping.

My son is sometimes a willing participant, but I find myself avoiding asking him to accompany me because I always get suckered into buying him something that, on the ride home, I question why in the world I just did it again! And while we're shopping, he continuously bugs me to get him this, get him that, so he's a major distraction as well. And in today's Super Markets that are as big as 5 football fields, missing something on the shopping list due to distracted shopping, makes for a very perturbed mother.

My third child is a girl. But not your atypical girl. She's more of a tom-boy (never understood that expression). She doesn't really enjoy getting cleaned up and going anywhere. If she's psyched about it one minute, she always turns ice-cold within the first aisle. It's like, in her mind, we are going shopping for soccer balls or something; but when mom puts cotton balls in the cart and then heads to the toilet paper aisle, it occurs to her, yet again, that shopping with mom is not her cup of tea.

Then, of course, there's my five-year-old. Now this child is you're all-around girly-girl. Up until she started Kindergarten, she actually believed her name ended with "Princess". She likes to do her hair and make up and nails. She likes to wear dresses and click-y shoes. And she loves to shop. But, and let me first preface this by telling you that I dearly love all of my children. And when Princess cries because she so badly wants to go with mom, it really, really breaks my heart. So much so that I have actually broken down and taken her shopping with me. Which I know is a major mistake. She doesn't want to ever sit in the cart. She prefers to walk. She likes to disappear around the ends of the aisles instead of staying within peripheral vision of her mother. She asks for things that are, in a little girls mind, so beautiful she simply must have it or she will have a crying fit. You know, those super cheap fake jewelry and tiara sets they have hanging from the shelves in the cereal aisle? Those things that break if you even just look at them. And of course she will need to visit the bathroom at least once. And I will literally gag if I explain the bathroom. Besides the fact that they always smell and are gross, gross, gross - I mean, can't they even try to make them pretty instead of that brain tissue gray color? Blech!

     (Okay, that analogy was a little gruesome for me... how about... that gray paint they used in
     the old, old schools? Usually in the locker rooms. I think that thick, rubberized gray paint
     actually came with it's own salty urine smell. Maybe that's why I hate it so much.)

So this is why I'm left to do the grocery shopping alone. Or really any kind of shopping.

I think it's because I've been a mom for so long now that it just feels weird to go to a store alone. You know when you're backing out of your driveway heading somewhere and you get that feeling. "What am I forgetting?" That's kind of what it's like. And I can sit here right now and tell you with all honesty that I know people don't pay me any attention at all when I'm in a store. But when I'm in a store - all by myself - I feel like they're are looking at me. And I don't have any kids there to steal their attention away or distract me from this weird line of thought. And weirder still, is when I run into someone I know - and we start talking. Really, I could talk all day. And without a child there with me as an excuse to get going, or as a topic of conversation, it just gets awkward, fast. I feel my face turn red, the sweat prickling my scalp. I don't know why I react this way. I could talk a mean streak at work (but I don't) and not blink an eye.

I know it won't be long before all my kids are grown and doing things completely on their own. And thank goodness that when that time comes, I will be shopping a lot less. But even for those quick trips to the grocery store for those few items that I may eventually need, I'm going to have to start practicing doing it - All. By. Myself.

Just a little freaked out, but I think I can. I think I can.

Okay! So who wants to go with mom?

Tea Cups and Doilies

I've managed to get about 4 more lines down on paper today. And looked up manufacturer names of vintage tea cups. My main character has decided she likes the Japanese styles the best. So do I. I still pine away for that one cupboard in my kitchen that has glass doors that will be home to my teapots and tea cups. A girl's gotta have something pretty.

What is it about candles, tea cups, vintage handkerchiefs, lace tablecloths, claw-footed tubs...? And why are guys (most guys) so against pretty, clean, feminine things? They are such dirty, smelly, cloddy beings. Always stomping around the house. Always stinking things up. I mean, they can't even say the word "doily" without sounding like a complete Neanderthal.

Mom, Sis and I have often discussed having a little getaway cottage that us females could escape too. Sadly, I fear I would end up living there, in our little secret Utopia, never, ever, ever wanting to return. Clean wooden floors. No grungy sofa arms. No pieces of popcorn all over the floor near their favorite chair. No plates with dried, hardened egg left on them. No whiskers in the sink. There would be toilet paper always on the roll. The cupboard doors would all be shut. The cushions and throw pillows on the furniture would always be neat and tidy. Closet doors would be shut. No dirty boxers would lay within millimeters of the dirty clothes basket.

I just got a little worked up. That's all. I don't think there is a female on this earth that doesn't feel the same way. Men are just men. Some of them are smart, or talented, or sweet, or funny.... But they are still men. And it just goes with the territory of being a man, that they do the everything (and more) on the list noted above.

And, what's sadder, is that guys aren't willing to change, or better themselves to make anyone happy. They would prefer to fight you on it, making it sound as though we are the bad guys because we nag, because we're never happy. Well, of course we're not happy, when you accuse us of bickering with you constantly just to get our way. If men could simply take a calm, common sense moment, they would probably all agree that "Hey, it would make life easier if I got my boxers in the basket. And it would make my life better if my spouse were happy. What should I do to make her happy? Should I walk around the house, especially the kitchen, in my underwear? Should I use the last of the toilet paper - every time and then not replace it with a new roll? Maybe I should fry an egg, splatter oil all over the stove top and tea pot, then when I eat the egg, let the yolk smear all over the plate and fork, then let it sit and glue themselves together."

Hint: the answer is 'No'. Don't do that. When it comes to doing almost anything in the house, you should really just stop for a split second and think: Is there a way to do this better? Can I do something different to make my life easier?

Doubt it. But there's no harm in trying.

S.O.S.

Friday night.

Quiet.

Boys at football game.

Can't decide what I want to do first. I've plugged in my thumb drive with the best of intentions to write some more. However, after plugging in the earbuds, it has become a little hard to concentrate. A little S.O.S. by Abba, Run Around - Blues Traveler, Salt'N'Peppa, Savage Garden...

I do have "writing music" loaded onto my little music device... but this is what came up first and I really don't want to change it right now. Which stinks, because I'm watching my precious writing time shrink minute by minute. The weekend has only just begun, but I'm already down almost one entire evening.

What I really should be doing is cleaning up my room - and the rest of the house. But I'm kind of miffed that I'm working all week long, and my weekend is still full - completely full - of household chores. I really don't mind chipping in once in a while, but there are a few other people in the house who seem to not do their fair share. Gahhh!

It's Friday. I won't start venting. Friday night is a happy time.

Hey! Guess what? I'm going to try to shoot my cover photo this weekend! I need a book cover and I have a specific idea in my head, but need to photograph it - and then edit it. I should also be putting together the "front matter" for my book. Never would have guessed that it was called "front matter".

Times are tight and I'd really like to get this going. But I don't to rush it to the point where it's just a piece of fodder either. I want to do it right. At least, as right as I know how. This work was started in June 2011.... so why rush it now?

I'll let you in on a little secret... I've begun a second book. Since I'm waiting (patiently) for my current work to be gone over and honestly rated, I figured I might as well. Since I've got a few ideas, might as well put them on paper - or the thumb drive. Mostly it's on paper - since I don't have my own laptop and I have to beg and borrow from other people. Which really, really stinks! I keep telling myself: One of these days, I'll get my own laptop. I'll be able to crank out blog posts and stories by the gazillions! But then something always happens. Something that makes me redirect any money that I've managed to save up into bills, bills and more bills.

Sorry. There I go again. Ranting, venting. Getting my stomach all upset so I can taste dinner. Tasting it once was enough, thank you!

So I'm just going to go now. Wash my face, brush my teeth, put on the flannel jammies. Curl up in bed with my pencil and notebook. To anyone who doesn't write, or who doesn't get writers, this may sound really pathetic. But trust me. This fills a gap for me. Because it's for me. From me.

Good night!