So it’s been a minute. Sorry I haven’t written in awhile (to the few of you who still read these). But I have two very good reasons.
The first was that my husband and I went to Ireland for two weeks in October. We even managed to go without our children after somehow convincing my mom to watch our feral brood (and we’re hoping to be back on speaking terms with Memaw any day now).
The entire experience was straight out of a fairy tale. But instead of having a meet-cute and falling in love on the windswept Cliffs of Moher, we’ve been together for 15 years and privately mocked all the giddy, lovestruck idiots who went right up to the cliff edge to get the perfect selfie despite many signs stating emphatically that that was a very good way to die. We even got caught in a downpour after touring a castle and ran to the nearest pub soaking wet, where we ordered some beers, looked lovingly into each other’s eyes and complained about how loud the music was.
It was a dream come true.
Which led to another dream come true.
Perhaps it was because I had my full brain power for two weeks, or maybe having this big adventure reminded me that before children I was an actual human being with hopes and dreams and a decently working bladder, but last week I finally finished the first draft of a novel I’ve been working on all year.
But it’s out of my head. All 90,000 words are out of my head and written down and existing in the world, complete with The End in giant font on the last page because I am nothing if not dramatic.
It exists and someday (hopefully soon) it might even be, dare I dream, above average. I’ve always wanted to be an author and figured it was time to actually make it happen.
Besides, I’ve also always wanted to read a fantasy novel where the heroine is a busy, tired mom who doesn’t have time for all this hero crap but someone has to do it so everybody move aside and somebody hand her a sword. Added bonus if the book also depicts children in all their blood-thirsty, weapon wielding, fearless, psychopathic glory.
Because moms are strong and children are brave (and terrifying).
I want to read that book. So I wrote it.
And I hope someday (hopefully soon) you get to read it.
But lest you think I have transformed into a fully functional and complex person now, I can assure you I am still the lovable grumpy hot mess of a mom you all know and love. And so, until I can get around to writing my next post about my children showering with their socks on (WHY!?), I’ll leave you with these recent poignant moments of motherhood.
This morning while getting ready for school, no one was listening and when they did, everything was met with irrational counter-demands and complaining.
“Sometimes I just feel like I’m failing on all fronts as a mother,” I finally exclaimed in desperation.
My 8-year-old son, my beautiful baby boy, stopped mid-whine and looked at me with concern on his face. He pulled me down to his level, put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and looked me dead in the eye with his soulful brown eyes.
“Oh mama,” he said “You’re…I mean, listen, you’re doing okay as a mom.”
That’s right. So sorry, other mothers. The title of World’s Okayest Mom is officially mine.
And then last night at dinner, my 6-year-old daughter whispered to me “hey, mom, look” and pulled down her sock to reveal a small Lego sword hidden in there. “It’s in case someone does something I don’t like, I can stab them.”
World’s Okayest Mom, indeed.