Merry Christ… err, I mean Happy New Y… what? It’s almost February already? Well, shoot. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I swear, this blog isn’t dead. It’s just been the low woman on the totem pole while I’ve been spreading my words in far too many places.
So let’s just get caught up, shall we? Here are the top five things I’ve wanted to write about (but haven’t found the words).
I finished my book.
Let me say that again. I FINISHED MY BOOK. Draft two, that is. After adding oh, 20,000 words or so, nitpicking every little scene, and doubting my every literary decision, I sent it off to Harlequin Headquarters, where it awaits judgement. And that’s all I’m going to say about that, because thinking about it makes me nervous.
I survived the holidays without a single bout of illness.
What’s the big deal, you ask? Of the five Christmases since Tori was born, this was the first one that I was healthy enough to appreciate. I guess the universe decided I needed a break after giving me a particularly virulent case of the stomach flu AND a broken knee last Christmas (and, for those of you who have never tried to worship at the porcelain altar while being completely unable to bend your leg, let me just tell you: it was unpleasant).
I arrived at my parents’ house on Christmas Eve without a single one of my daughter’s gifts.
Yep, you heard that right. After spending a month agonizing over finding the perfect gifts, we forgot the whole damn box in the garage. And my parents’ house? Is seven hours away. When the discovery was made, there was a lot of finger pointing, tear wiping, and nose blowing, followed by a panicked trip to Target. Thank God Target was celebrating the lord’s birth by making their workers stay until midnight. We found plenty of toys (more, actually than we had originally planned on giving her) but no Furbies. Which was the one thing she asked Santa for. The one we wrote an extra special letter to tell him about after she forgot to remind him while sitting on his lap.
Side note: we gave her the Furby when we got home. In the four weeks since, she has played with it exactly twice. Sure am glad I worried about that one.
I served myself an extra heaping of vegetarianism-induced holiday guilt.
I hate to be a bother. I really do. Especially at the holidays, when everyone’s already stressed and working far too hard trying to put together the perfect meal. But, I just don’t eat meat anymore. Won’t. Which meant that both my mother and mother in law felt they had to knock themselves out providing me with alternatives. Which was awesome and very appreciated. But man, I felt like a bona fide pain in the ass.
I’m going to Disney World… the week of my daughter’s dance recital.
We’ve been talking about making the trip for 18 months now. And we finally found a week that would work (both from a budgetary and scheduling standpoint). Except…there’s this little thing called her yearly dance recital happening at the same time. Wanna talk about self-inflicted guilt? There’s another heaping dose for you. She doesn’t care. Would rather go to Disney (what kid wouldn’t?). But I feel like a shit.
I’m sure I’ll get over it though. I’m certainly not spending all this money to not enjoy myself!
And that’s that. The things that are occupying my brain while I try not to turn into a popsicle. I mean, seriously. This weather? Sucks. May can’t get here fast enough…
In the meantime, I guess I’ll start writing another book.