First Day of School (or, Why I'm Wearing Sunglasses in the Rain)

Why am I wearing sunglasses on this rainy morning?
Let me tell you ...

Yesterday was the first day of school for my children. All four of my children. For the past 14 years I have always had at least one of my kids home with me, but no more. My "baby" started kindergarten and now I was alone.

ALONE. No one to look after. No games to play, no cartoons to be watched. Just me and my now too quiet house.

What to do? What to do??? I could have just relaxed, caught up on some reading, maybe viewed that DVD that's been sitting on the shelf. Not me, no sir. I decided to do something industrious. I decided to clean out the closets.

It was the perfect thing. No husband looking over my shoulder. No kids whining about what was being tossed. With some scheduling I could have all the closets done by the weekend. Absolutely perfect.

After gathering up some cardboard boxes and lawn trash bags (the nice BIG ones), I was ready to donate, keep or chuck. I turned up the stereo and tuned it into a classic rock station and decided to start on the hall closet, our home's version of the "junk drawer". Soon I was purging away to the sounds of Pink Floyd, Ozzy, and Def Leppard.

I'd been at it for a bit when I noticed my cell phone buzzing in my pocket. A quick glance told me it was my mom so I decided to take a break. I was in need of caffeine and mom tends to talk and talk.

I'm in the kitchen, getting my iced coffee and gabbing when I feel something on my arm.

Spider.
I switch hands to swat and...Spider has pulled a Houdini.
Yep, it had completely disappeared.


I tell mom I'll call her later and quickly start the patting technique. Nothing on my shirt, nothing in my hair, nothing one my pants. Nothing.

Now, most likely the Spider has skittered down onto the cabinets and floor and has continued on it's merry way. However in my mind, the Spider is a Black Widow or Brown Recluse and is currently laying an egg sack somewhere on my person (Thank You Urban Legends).

So I did the only logical thing. I stripped off my clothes.

I tossed the bundle into the washing machine and sprinted bare assed for the bathroom (See, good thing I was alone).
I shower, scrubbing and shampoo-ing, assuring myself that the magician spider has met his mentor. I turn off the water and I hear raised voices.

Now, for background, I live in the country. On a fairly large piece of land. I do not have any close neighbors, I shouldn't be hearing voices (hush you).
I search for my phone. Dang it. It's on the dryer where I left it. Okay, I grab the hairspray. I quietly open the door and now I can hear what sounds like two men arguing.

I dash out spraying widely when two things happen simultaneously:

1.) I realize the voices are on the still playing radio

And

2. I realize that wet feet on bare floors are slippery as heck.

Yep, fell right on my butt and sprayed myself in the face with the hairspray.

I'll be alright. The Doctor gave me some eye-drops and hopefully the redness and swelling will dissipate in a few days.

From both areas.

Selling Out.

What's done is done.

Many moons ago,following the suggestion of a friend, I submitted a chunk of stories to different magazines. I had gathered a list and after carefully perusing their guidelines, chose a few that I felt may be interested.I knew that , if any were chosen for publication, I would recieve monetary compensation.


I received a lovely letter from one publication, thanking me for my submission and informing me that my story was being considered.

I thought "YAY".

Then I read all the lovely fine print reminding me that upon publication, the story was the sole property of said magazine, open to editing and review by their writers and that I could pretty much kiss all rights to my story... Good-bye.

Hmmm.

I'm not sure how I feel about it.

Part of me is - "Hey, they want to pay me for my ramblings. All's good."
The other part is mourning the fact that the story being considered was a favorite of mine (I am not surprised that this is the one that was picked) and that I no longer have any claim to it.
Family is excited. I am too, although I have warned them that the story is a bit tawdry and that I am uncertain what editing and re-writing changes may have occured.
Shoot, the more I think about it,I'm not sure if it'll even BE my story. It may be a ghost of what I originally intended it to be. That's dis-heartening.

So now I can't help feeling that I should have held onto my work. Not that I really hold out any hope of compiling my stories into a book and getting that out, but I do have a ton of ideas and who knows what the future holds.

Was selling a piece of myself worth $250???

Security!!!!!

My goodness. This place was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Tis all my fault I suppose. It would appear that it is a crime to forget your gmail password. Yup, a crime punishable by repeated aggravations of attempting to answer your security question and typing in random "case-sensitive" letters to retrieve said password.

I understand and had I been on my second cuppa coffee, I would have been less likely to get so bent out of shape. However, my accidentally closing the blog I was going to put here, without saving, in an effort to open the numerous "help pages", lead me to curse like a sailor.

Not appropriate anger management.

But what are you gonna do. The very same measures that rally against you are the ones that you later end up thanking your lucky stars for.

Take flying.

Following the devastating fallout of 9/11, airlines began screening passengers much more diligently...supposedly.
Removing shoes, opening bags, wand screens- all became common place. Limits on what could be "carried on" were set and the public breathed a sigh of relief.

Then some gumball caught his crotch on fire and some 4 year old ended up on a watch list.
Go figure.

Though I must admit, If my family is going on a plane, I want the whole shubang X-rayed, top to bottom. I want dossiers on the entire flight crew, manifests on the passengers, the whole enchilada. And I would have no problem with others expecting the same from me. I have nothing to hide *shifty*...much.

With technology becoming so advanced, there are bound to be more protocols put into effect. Before you know it, we'll all be sitting in our seats , eating our pretzels, buck-naked.


Ha...My friend's World Domination Plot will finally come to fruition. Now, I understand.

An Introduction...of sorts.

I wonder if there is a Blogging for Dummies manual out there somewhere. I think I could really use it. I never know what to say in order to get started. Millions of opinions and observations are rolling around in my noggin and yet I feel that were I to just start typing them down those of you who would happen to stumble across my ramblings while not knowing from whence they spouted would assume they were the ravings of a madman. Course, I'm not assured that by introducing myself I would convince anyone of my seeming sanity.

It's a conundrum.

I am currently a stay at home mom. I've one last fledgling who will join their scholarly brethren next autumn, leaving me to an empty house. Oh sure, I'll still have the mountains of laundry a family of six mange to mount in very little time. Plus the usual grocery store trips and general errand running. Not to mention the soccer mom chores that accompany having children of varying ages, grades,and interests. However, after being a stay at homer for what will be 14 years....whew.

My feelings bout that are comparable to a kite on a string. Strung out tight at times, soaring high with possibilities before depressingly diving, unable to catch a breath in the stagnant air, toward the rocky ground hoping to be lifted back up by a fresh breeze of insight.

I love kites.

So in an effort to somehow maintain a smidgeon of sanity, I thought- Why not blog?

I have friends who have taken to the blogging world and I read their entries regularly. And though I have no expectations that I will do this blogging thing nearly as well as they, I do hope that this gives me a chance to reflect on and possibly answer those inner musings and questions that crop up every so often.

So that I don't end up talking aloud to all those voices in my head.

On a side note- I tend to type as I think and speak. Meaning that- grammar and puncuation are likely to be....appalling. A few asteriks may even make their way into my text. Just giving you fair warning. You read at your own risk.