Overcoming Oneself

This is another one of those posts where I don't know if I should put it on my author blog or here, because it has to deal with both. But, since I'm going to focus less on writing and more on me, I chose this blog.

We all do it. I do it. You do it. So it should come as no surprise that I've done it.

Again.

What am I talking about? Well, I've been stupid. This is a bit more serious than doing something stupid. It's a moment when you really just shut your brain down and become actual stupid. Briefly.

Years ago when I first accepted God's call to write my stories for His glory, He gave me a precious gift. He said that all I ever needed to do was ask, and He would personally become my barrier between myself and the influences of Satan. He would keep the tempter at bay and allow me to do the work He has ordained me to do.

When you think about it, that is an awesome gift. As in something that can NEVER be paralleled or matched. And I used it. There were times when, creating my first novel, I had to pray before I sent an email or it wouldn't reach it's destination. Satan was working hard against me, and he hasn't given up.

If you've been keeping up with my blogs, you know in early December I chose to heed the Spirit's call to quit my job and write. I received confirmation from my Heavenly Father that I have TWO callings in this life. The first, and most important, is that of mother. Nothing will compensate for short-changing my children. The second was that of writer. This is not a hobby. This is not a job. This is a CALLING FROM GOD. An important distinction, I think.

So, for a while I did pretty well. I took a week off after leaving my job and then wrote a 7500 word Christmas story. And I thought I had found the groove. I started working on The Lost Princess. Then the holiday came. And then we got word that my mother in law had passed away.

And then everything fell apart.

I'm not kidding. The weekend of her death our computer--where I do all my writing--and the refrigerator DIED. Kaput. Within the next week, our heater stopped working as it should. The dryer developed this insanely loud clunking sound every time it runs. The washer refused to operate on any cycle other than normal with cold water. No more large loads. No more small loads. My father in law knew a guy who came out to fix the fridge, which turned out to need only a $22 part. That time. And I managed to get internet on my hubby's laptop, which is what I'm now using. I don't have all my stories, and some of the ones I have aren't current--like the one I was working on when the PC died. That I've had a hard time getting back to.

But it didn't end there. My son broke his arm playing keepaway after mutual one Wed night. His twin brother got the flu. My youngest started getting these incessant and unceasing headaches. Bryan is having a difficult time coping with everything and it's left him troubled and moody. Yesterday, the same son with the broken arm came home and showed me his finger (on the opposite side of the arm he broke) was all swollen and hurting. He'd injured it trying to play one handed basketball with his friends because he didn't want to let them down. While taking him to the ER I had to make a short stop at the school so my daughter could get her play scripts and a guy in a truck backed into me. My 11 yr old daughter lost a classmate in a house fire. And the fridge died again Monday morning. For good this time.

WE are under attack. I'm not kidding. While I can see the hand of God in everything we are going through--the broken bone could have required surgery, but didn't. The flu was extremely mild and he got over it quickly. The finger wasn't broken. The damage to the car was minor. A friend had a spare fridge which we picked up yesterday--it's pretty clear we are being assaulted at every turn. I still haven't been able to fix my PC. The dryer, washer, and heater are all still acting up, but they are working and so aren't getting attention right now. Because of all of this, I have been unable to write anything. Which is what I quit my job to do. And I'm paralyzed. I sit down to write but nothing comes, until I go to bed or am somewhere I can't write. The creativity is there, it's alive in me, but the outlet isn't working.

So I have been thinking quite hard about that gift God gave me, that precious barrier. But I hadn't done anything about it. Why? Well, therein lies the stupid part. I have a horrible weakness that is a form of pride where I don't take my problems to God because I don't want to bother Him.

As if I can burden Him. As if anything I can bring Him would be too much. See, stupid. So I've been trying to take on Satan myself, announcing my plan to fight him and not back down from what I know is my calling in this life.

And, obviously, I've been failing. Duh. Why in the world would I try to take on the father of all lies by myself, when all I have to do is call on God's protection and He takes care of him for me? Again, stupid. What's worse is the detriment to my family.

So last night, while I was minding my own business (which here was being exhausted from yet another round of hospital visits and X-rays, stress, and aggravation) I checked my email. And received this from a friend and fellow writer for God:


Okay, so, you're going to think I'm crazy, but in case you don't, I'm going to say it anyway.

I strongly recommend that you get a blessing of protection.

All the stuff you're going through sounds a whole lot like my last year, and I can't share everything that happened, but I'll just say that I got a blessing of protection, and most of it stopped.

So ... take that for what it's worth.  :)

I knew she was right. And I knew the time had come to stop putting off asking for God's protection. So when my husband called I told him I needed that blessing, and he reminded me there was something I can do myself until I got it.

So I did. I got down on my knees and apologized to my Heavenly Father for my pride and weakness. I begged Him for the barrier He promised me. I renewed my promise to write good things.

And then I wiped my tears and sat in the silence of my house (at 1:30 am even though the kitten tried everything to get my attention during my supplication) and realized something vital--

I could breathe again. The air was somehow cleaner. I felt peace. And it was precious. You sometimes don't notice how deeply the influence of evil has permeated your life until you ask God to force it out.

I can still feel it, the peace. I noticed a distinct change as I listened to the kids getting off to school this morning. (yeah, after not going to sleep until well after 2am I could not get up at 6 to help with that) Bryan was calmer. The kids were kinder. It was a miracle, right here in my home.

So I thank God again for helping me. The gratitude will remain in my heart, but I wanted to say it publicly. He loves me. He loves all of us, but that doesn't diminish the fact that He loves each of us individually. He knows us. He knows what we need. He is never as far away from us as we are of Him. Think about it.

Tender Mercies

Not entirely sure why I post these things here. Maybe it's to help someone who may be struggling too. Or maybe it's just because this is as close to a journal as I'm ever going to get.

I want to share something personal that happened to me Sunday. Lately I've missed a lot of Sundays at church due to incredible headaches or work, and I kind of think God was just waiting for me to show up so we could have words. See, I've really, truly been struggling with the status of my job in my life. I hate that it takes up so much of my time, and that I feel so responsible and that it pulls me away from what I know in my heart to be what I'm supposed to do on this earth.

5 years ago, I accepted God's entreaty to write for Him. Last summer, I became so concerned about temporal needs that I got a job. At the time it felt very much the right thing to do. I even got a blessing. And, to be blunt, I still don't know why getting this job was the right thing then and isn't now. Perhaps it's just because of how it's taken over my life. One promotion. Then another. And suddenly it's all I think about.

Back to Sunday. I was in the middle of Sacrament meeting, filled with inner turmoil, when very suddenly I heard in my head these words, "Quit your job and write."

Immediately I balked. "No! We can't afford to live if I quit now. Bryan's income won't support the family by itself! I can't. I want to, but I can't."

Again. "Quit your job and write."

Those of you who have had the holy spirit overwhelm you understand that it creates a physical response. My whole face opened up. My eyes were leaking. My nose was leaking. (I don't cry like one of those dainty movie people) I was shaking all over. You simply can't DENY the spirit when it hits you so strong.

Obviously, since I'd just become a sprinkler in the middle of Sacrament, my family noticed. The girls asked what's wrong. Bryan asked what's wrong. He passed me a note because I couldn't speak. I wrote it out to him. And I added that I needed a blessing and a quiet place to pray. So we got up and went to a room and I cried all over his clean white shirt and expressed all my doubts and fears and yet knowing it's what I have to do.

Quit my job and write.

After I'd settled down a bit and run out of tissues, he gave me a priesthood blessing. It was simply a confirmation of what I already knew but had temporarily lost sight of. My first calling is that of Mother. My second is that of Writer. Then the other things come into play. I need to pray more. Go to the temple. He has things for me to do, and, with faith, He will take care of our needs.

I know this. And I have let my job interfere with mothering my children. It's certainly derailed my writing. So, deep breath and plunge. Sometimes I feel the net is there to catch me, but it also has deep holes just big enough for me to fall through. I'm not perfect. My faith is not perfect. But I'm trying.

God's timing is exceptional. That night at work I got a call from one of my son's friends about something my son had done. If I had faced that, and the ensuing fallout, without that blessing and renewal of purpose, I would have been at a loss as to how I would work my job, help my son, and still make everything work out.

I keep forgetting this is God's concert. We're just the instruments in His orchestra. It's NOT up to me to make everything work out. It's up to ME to let HIM in enough to provide the answers we need.

Gratitude

You're getting an After-Thanksgiving-I-didn't-post-Wednesday-making-up-for-it-now sorta post today.

Gratitude. It's part of a healthy lifestyle. I had 19 people at my house yesterday, and, though I love them, let's start there.

I'm glad they're not still here. :) Imagine the food consumption, the mess. No, yesterday was good. lol

I snuggled with my daughters this morning before getting out of bed and having cinnamon rolls. Yep, another gratitude moment.

I'm really glad my husband made the turkey yesterday. It was PERFECT.

A writer friend recently asked, as part of a contest, where/what would you be if you could have anything or be anything you wanted? I pondered this, probably more than I should, until I realized I'm LIVING it already.

I'm not saying my life is perfect. But perfect is boring. Challenge is growth and, please don't take this as an open invitation for challenges, but I know their value.

This is actually what I mean:

I wanted to be a schoolteacher for years. That was my goal, until I discovered writing. I'd always loved to write, but didn't think I could actually do anything with it--until I wrote my first book in high school.

My goals changed. I wanted to raise children and write books.

Then I got married. And we struggled. A lot. For a long time. When my twins were babies, I tried to get a job. Didn't work. I tried working at home. Didn't work. We moved from OK to UT in that time, and when my daughter was a baby I got an opportunity to work for my brother's new company. At home. In my jammies. It was a good job financially but, ultimately soul-sucking (at least for my creativity). So I tried day care. Fun and rewarding in its way; hard and challenging too. But between that and my own family, it left me almost no time to write. At least if I wanted to sleep. Ever.

Something had to give. After the first book came out in 2010, I struggled with time to write and money to live. We never seemed to be able to find the balance. In July, we visited OK again and chose to move back here.

Now, after so much (much of which I have not gone into here), I have a home for my family. I'm writing. I have time with my kids. And my husband. It's an amazing place to be in. That's what I've wanted since I was 14. Sure, there's room for growth and improvement. Furniture, at the moment, would be a great improvement.

But that's the fun of it. I wouldn't want to have everything I wanted right now. Where would the growth be then? ;)

City of Light Preview, Continued

If you missed the beginning, you can go to my AUTHOR BLOG for a recap.

Chapter 1, continued

People packed the streets, as though they had all come from their houses to trace the source of the voice. Genna led Aisilyn through the throngs, anxious until she saw the high walls of their home. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her mother standing at the doorway. Her mother would have a solution.

Her mother wrapped both daughters in her embrace. “Come inside.”

Genna stepped into the house, her childhood home. Never before had she appreciated how safe she felt there. As they entered the main living area, her father, who had been sitting on a well padded chair, rose to his feet. He took Aisilyn by the arm and led her to the gilded chair by the fireplace. Her mother sat on the thick cushion at the foot of the chair. She put a hand on Aisilyn’s knee.

“You look pale, child,” she said. “I’ll have Sorai bring you water.”

“No, thank you.” Aisilyn put a hand on her arm.

Genna looked at her father. His deep frown was at odds with his trembling hands. He was nervous, she knew, but he would approach the problem with logic.

He didn’t disappoint. “The Council will check the birth records. I expect they will summon Aisilyn soon, along with any other women named Aisilyn.”

“How many can there be?” her mother asked.

“In a city this size?” He stroked his beard. “A dozen, perhaps, but I can’t be certain.”

Genna’s mother breathed a sigh of relief. “Then it may not be our Aisilyn.”

Aisilyn’s eyes found Genna’s. They didn’t realize, Genna thought. They don’t know.
Her father continued. “Exactly. I propose we not panic until we are given a reason.”

“What if it is her?”

Both her parents looked at Genna as though she’d grown a spare head. She regretted the words, but couldn’t keep them inside. She knew with a certainty that shook her that the chosen bride was her sister. She also knew Aisilyn felt that, too. How could she make them understand?

“Genna, child, you mustn’t worry your sister,” her mother said. “Your father is right. We don’t know yet who is the chosen Aisilyn. Besides, this isn’t the first time the City of Light has been threatened. We don’t know what is going to happen.”

“The Barrier of Light has protected our people from the demon’s agents for centuries,” said her father. “Even if he has a servant who can breach the Barrier, our soldiers could easily stop one, lone enemy.”

Genna thought of the soldiers, the peacekeepers of the City, who patrol in their shining armor but have not fought for generations. They have no trouble apprehending the odd cutpurse, but how would they fare against an enemy who could fight back?

She held her tongue; it did no good to argue with her parents, and she didn’t want to say anything that might further worry her sister. “Aisilyn and I made some purchases this afternoon. I’ll go help Sorai put them away.”

Bragging Rights

I have this awesome overachiever son. He's the kind of kid who's ahead of his grade in math, has papers he writes get read aloud in class by the teacher, and scores A's on science projects. Ya--I have no idea how he got to be this way, either. But I'm loving it.

Today I'm sharing a fun poem he wrote:
What do Scholars do When the Teacher Isn’t Looking?
By Daniel Chesley

When teachers don’t look,
We make funny faces.
What else do we do?
Leave books in bad places!

We get out some paper,
Then fold it a lot,
Out comes the airplane,
Oh, yeah! Evil plot!

So then get it ready,
As the clock goes tick,
Pull your arm backward,
Then give it a flick!

It flies around the room,
The teacher doesn’t look,
She is way too busy,
She’s reading a book.

Down it’s descending,
The small paper craft.
Then, something’s just blowing;
A little wind shaft.

It blows the plane up,
High up to the sky,
Then down it descends,
To hit the teacher’s eye.

“Who threw that airplane?”
She cried in a rage,
She was nearly blind,
Not to turn a page.

The room is so timid,
No one says a word,
And so not a sound
By the class had been heard.

The teacher says, “Fine!”
Goes back to her book,
I yearn to get up,
‘Cause I need a look.

I creep off my seat,
Then crawl on the floor.
I am very careful,
When I dart out the door.

I sneak up on teacher,
Then take a little peek,
I see a little bird,
With a very long beak.

It is called a Toucan,
It said in the book.
I lean in closer,
Just for a better look.

That was a mistake,
For then I was caught!
The teacher was angry,
I had a dumb thought.

Was sent to the office,
Right on the double,
The principal was mad,
For I was in trouble!

So now, my dear children,
As I read to you,
Do not be naughty,
Or you’re in deep doo-doo!

Oops

I missed posting yesterday, but I have a good excuse. Sort of. While I should have prepared my post earlier in the week, we had some sickness issues, and Tuesday was a complete wash. In fact, I was up until 2 am Wed morning just catching up on everything I had to to Tuesday.

Yesterday, I didn't post because I had a book signing. Living in Tooele makes book signings inconvenient, unless they're here in town. That rocks. :) But, I drove into Orem yesterday, which meant I had to leave early enough to get out there, allowing for any weather conditions and traffic back ups that may occur--and arrive early enough to set up. Coming home takes much less time, seeing as I can just pack up and go.

Lately, I've been begging my kids for patience. I don't know how it happened, but I ended up being the most popular person in the house. EVERYONE wants their time with Mommy. My 9 yr old daughter commented recently that, now that I'm a writer, I have no time for them anymore.

Of course, I explained to her that it was my day job that took away the time. If I didn't have to work, then I could write while they were in school and have time for them when they get home, instead of trying to play catch up on my writing every evening.

But she got me thinking. I've never been a great time manager. I set up schedules that make perfect sense on paper, but I can't implement in my life. And December is going to be a mess, with 11 signings in one month. Plus my day job. Plus my family. I know they're really going to feel like they're getting the short end of the stick by New Year's.

I had the brilliant idea to just take one kid with me to each signing, save the one I did yesterday. 5 kids, 10 signings, that's 2 signings per kid. And they'd get one on one time with me. Wouldn't that be great?

But reality set in, and I thought, "What if the stores find it incredibly unprofessional that I bring my kids along to book signings?" Nix that idea. I HAVE to make a good impression--I'm a newbie. And I want to be invited back. A lot. :)

I try to equate it to them like this: the more books I sell, the less I'll have to babysit. As it is, I bring in less than $200/wk. If I can make that up in signing and speaking engagements, then I won't have to work and I'll have more time to write.

Of course, you know that when I say I won't have to work, I mean at another job. The being an author thing is a job. So, when you think about it, I'm working two jobs right now. Kinda stinks. But we all do what we have to do. This writing thing is my dream; it's what fulfills me inside. I love the kids I look after, but it's not where my heart is. If that makes sense.

Life is fun, no? :)

Creativity and Motherhood

I believe, passionately, that everyone has at least one talent. Discovering that talent should be a priority in all our lives.

Now it's also true that some people seem to have MANY talents. Sometimes I think that I come across that way. But the truth is, I only have the one talent. Creativity. It manifests in different ways--drawing (which I hardly do anymore), writing, baking, sewing, taking pictures--but it is essentially a single talent.

Fortunately, creativity is a talent that serves me well in my role as a mother. But there's difficulty making time to exercise my creativity in healthy outlets. The primary outlet I've chosen, because I can do the most good with it, is writing. Occasionally I will let myself believe what others have said about my skills. Most of the time I deflect compliments because they make me uncomfortable. But the truth is, there are a LOT of talented, creative authors out there. Which is a good thing, since variety is the spice of life.

But having an overabundance of creativity often clashes with my duties as a wife, mother and day care provider. Not that I can really call watching one toddler a day care. But I have enough experience with children to confidently call myself a professional. That's another story.

Here's an example of what happens when I don't exercise my writing demons frequently enough: Yesterday I showed up early to pick up my kids from school. I chose to use the time to relax, and parked under a shade tree at the nearby church, turned on my iPod and played Pyramid Solitaire while listening to music.

After a few minutes, a white car pulled into the parking lot. It drove all the way to the back of the lot and sat there for ten minutes. During those ten minutes, my imagination took me on a wild ride where the occupants of the car fight, one shoots the other and dumps the body, then drives by my van on the way out and fires some shots at me. What would I do if I was suddenly a witness to murder? How would I protect myself and my family if the murderer came after me? It went on from there.

Remember, all that white car did was drive into the parking lot and sit there for a bit before pulling out again. In reality, not much different than what I did. But my mind ran with it.

The other problem I have is turning off my brain long enough to fall asleep. Did you know that insomnia is defined as an inability to fall asleep within 15 minutes of starting to try to sleep more frequently than once or twice a month? Guess what--I'm an insomniac. Why? Because it takes me no less than 45 min to 2 hours to fall asleep EVERY NIGHT. And it doesn't matter if I go to bed at midnight or 9pm. It's the same thing. Lately I turn on my iPod and listen to music and play games until my eyes refuse to stay open. It actually works, though it does mean if I want to go to sleep around 11 I have to start my ritual around 10.

Otherwise I'll just lay there, going over story scenarios and scenes and plots from my existing stories forever.

Here's where I'm lucky. My kids and hubby are universally supportive of my writing. My kids even pray I'll get published, which is what I credit for my current publishing contract. Once I was under contract, my youngest started to pray that I'd be published "all the way," which to her means a book in hand. Gotta love that kid.

It's great to be able to be myself in my little family, and have them love me anyway. I'm blessed, and I'm grateful.

Now I can spell it.

I t. See, I spelled it. K, end of post.

Kidding.

Here's the word I learned to spell: epinephrine. Had to look it up and everything. Why? Well, I figured if something was going to be injected into my body, I should at least know how to spell it.

I know what you're thinking. Why? Why did I have my little brush with epinephrine? As it turns out, I'm allergic to Avelox--the antibiotic. I was on it for an ear infection a month ago, right in the middle of our move. Toward the end of my 10 days on the medication, I broke out in uncomfortable hives all over my body. But I attributed it to stress. I mean, there was tons of stress at the time--it made sense.

So yesterday I went back to the doctor because I was miserable with congestion and sinus pain. I'd tried to ignore it, thought it was allergies, but the pain won out. He asked me, as he always does, what works best. I told him what he gave me last time. So he wrote me a prescription for Avelox and sent it over to the pharmacy to be filled.

I had some running around to do, so I didn't pick up my prescription until lunchtime, and didn't take it until after I took my youngest to school. My hubby woke up and rejoined the world of the living, and I sat down to finish reading a book for a blog review.

The first thing I noticed was that I started getting hot. I asked Bryan to check my skin and see if I felt warm. He told me I did, and that my neck looked red. I went back to my reading. After a while, my discomfort increased so I took some ibuprofin and hoped it would take down my fever. Except I noticed that the creases of my arms were red. And my wrists. And my lips felt funny.

So I got up and took a look at myself in the mirror. Not only was my neck red, but the red stripe went all the way up my face to my forehead, and my lips were swollen. I'd also started to itch. Bryan took a look at me and exclaimed about the redness that was now obviously everywhere.

I called the doctor's office to report that I seemed to be allergic to the antibiotic. I remembered the previous rash that I had attributed to stress and told them about it. The receptionist said she'd let the doctor know, and that she'd call me back. When she called back, we'd already decided I should go in and were halfway there.

The saddest thing was that I had to wake up the baby I was tending from her nap. It took her a solid hour to wake up and start jabbering again.

I took some Benadryl before we hurried out the door, so it had started to work before we got there. By the time I walked into the doctor's office, I looked like a puffy lobster. Redness everywhere. And boy had it started to itch.

The doctor ordered a half dose of epinephrine, which was probably for the best. My heart started to race and pound; my hands started to shake. My teeth started chattering. We sat there for nearly a half hour so they could monitor me, check my pulse rate--basically make sure I wasn't going to have some horrible reaction. The redness started to fade. My heart rate slowed down to passable, and I started to feel the tiredness that always comes when I take Benadryl.

Crisis averted.

Bryan took me home and then went to do my afternoon running around--dropping kids off, picking kids up. I stayed home, got a little cold, and put a blanket over my legs. I kept my feet uncovered--the doctor had warned me not to get too hot or too cold, or I could aggravate the rash and make it come back. He's a smart guy.

By the time Bryan got back with our kids, my feet and lower legs were striped with red. We applied cool towels, until the rash heated them up--then we cooled them again and reapplied. The redness started to fade, so Bryan stopped worrying so much. I scared him. I kinda scared myself.

I drove myself to the pharmacy that night to pick up my new prescription. Ceflex. I've taken it before, but still. I kinda held my breath when I took my first dose this morning.

I did convince him to go to work that night. He called me at 2am to make sure I was taking my next dose of Benadryl. Today, I still kinda feel like I was run over by a truck, but at least I haven't broken out in any rashes. Hopefully, by the time Friday rolls around and I go off to Provo for the Storymakers conference, I'll be able to keep up.

Sudden Silence

No, I actually have not been sick since my last post. I've been busy. Several things have crossed my mind to post, but I haven't had time. As mentioned in my other blog, through November I will be participating in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). This is where insane people, usually with other people talking in their heads, sit down and pound out at least 50,000 (that's fifty thousand) words in 30 days. Seeing as I'm working my little fingers off doing that, I won't be posting much here.

Suffice it to say, my sons are still handsome and my daughters still beautiful. The youngest will continue to be precocious through the month of November. The oldest will still keep trying to wear my shoes. The twins will still be silly, and yet brilliant. Did I miss anyone?

See you in December.

ACK!!!

My baby made it in the play!

Ironically, none of the other kids got a part, but the little 5 year old, the definition of "precocious" got a spot in the mini cast. My beautiful, caring, exuberant child is performing in her first community play this Saturday.

AND I'M GOING TO MISS IT??!!! WHAT KIND OF MOMMY AM I ANYWAY??!!!

This is one of those things I'm going to have to take day by day, play by ear, etc. I'll probably waffle back and forth half a dozen times between now and Saturday. I may stay through the Saturday banquet at Roundup, or I may cut out early so I can see the second performance at 7. I have to plan the drive into my timing and all, since Midway to Tooele isn't a short trip.

I want to see her on stage. As a mom, I know the video tape isn't going to be enough. Parents miss their kids' milestones because of distance, jobs, divorce, etc. And if I want to be considered an author, I should consider this trip part of my job. But, like every other working parent, I have to find the balance between work and family that I can live with.

Wish me luck!

Double Whammy

Early this year I committed to attend the League of Utah Writer's annual author roundup. It's part of the continued commitment to my writing, to take time and (family) money and attend regular conventions and author gatherings to connect with others like me and to improve myself as an author.

I paid my dues as a member of the League, and later committed to share a hotel with another author (it's fun making new friends) and send in my registration and payment for the Roundup. And then I got hit with life.

My son, the one who doesn't like trying new things, brought me the flier for a play and begged me to try out. How can I say no to that? He wants to broaden his horizons, stretch as a person and perform in a play. I'm thrilled. But guess what? They have this fantastic one week timeline where the auditions are Monday (today) and the performances are Saturday (while I'll be in Midway at Roundup). Wait, hold the phone. My kids are auditioning for a play with likely success and I'm going to miss their performance??? Talk about sacrifice!

Then my local bookstore, The Purple Cow, is having Brandon Mull and Lisa Mangum out for this great author fest thing Saturday. And I'm going to miss it. I need some explanation from the universe about why everything is happening the same weekend.

Sure, if it was any other weekend I'd take the kids down and we'd visit with the authors and partake of their wisdom, but let's be honest. I want to see my kids in the play. Even if only one of them is accepted I want to see them on stage. It's their first performance of anything outside of those mandatory school performances where everyone participates. And for at least one of them, I suspect it might be the beginning of a life love of acting in plays.

Why can't mothers clone themselves?