Curses!

I've been so busy this past week that I haven't even had time for thoughts, no less blogging or working on the novel.  It makes me anxious to not be writing.  Like, reallyreallyreally anxious.

When I write, I neglect things.  Kids tend to stay in their pajamas all day.  Floors don't get swept.  Dinner doesn't get cooked.  So, yeah, I don't like to cook anyway--can't blame that just on writing.   When I sweep the floors and cook dinner and attempt to be domestic, I get to the part of the day where the house is quiet(er) and I'm just too darn sleepy to make the words.  Try as I might, every time I venture down into my newly-redesigned writing room and curl up in my papisan chair under my fuzzy blanket, I fall fast asleep.

In the non-winter months it's worse because my brain is constantly waging a battle between using my "free" time to ride the horses or holing myself away to write stuff.  So what's a rider/writer to do?  If you have the answer for that, please let me know.  Apparently I haven't figured it all out yet.

Last week was an exceptionally weird and hectic week. The oldest Ohboy was away at camp, and my parents were vacationing.  I'll be the first to admit that I'm very dependent on my parents, and in their absence I was forced to do a lot of things they often help with, in addition to taking care of their house and chores.  Without an emergency babysitter system, I had to take kids with me to do everything, like a real mom would.  One night I bought a pizza, spread a blanket on the grass outside the barn and rode my horse while the kids ate dinner.  My selfish attempt at multi-tasking didn't work that well, but I sure gave it my best shot.

The highlight of my exciting week was Tuesday night I went to the Florence + the Machine show at the Fox Theater, which was pretty darn amazing.  Florence is like an Art Deco goddess, and I've never said this before, but I'm pretty sure I have a girl crush.   Shhh!  Don't tell my husband, though I'm sure he already has his suspicions.  During the concert, she sang all of my favorite songs, including “Cosmic Love”, which I consider the theme song to the 1st draft of my novel.  To hear it performed live was completely surreal, and I'm not sure if I can describe it well enough to demonstrate the absolute rush of emotions I felt.  Here was the soundtrack of my love story--in the flesh.  The show was done well before I was ready for it to be, though it could have lasted an entire day and it wouldn't have been enough.  Now I'm looking forward to duplicating the experience with some of the other bands that I listened to while I was writing the 1st draft–including Bon Iver, Mumford and Sons, and Wye Oak.

Thursday night, I was supposed to go to dinner with some old high school  friends, but instead I ended up at a birth with one of the midwives I assist.   The birth wasn't going as smoothly as we assumed it would, and I ended up sleeping on the floor of the nursery all night, only to leave to go home the next morning still waiting for the baby.   Of course, Mr. Ohboy had to leave for work as soon as I walked in the door, leaving me with three boys full of energy.  All day my eyes were on fire, but I couldn't bring myself to take a much-needed nap out of fear of the plots for world domination that the boys might pull off while I was incoherent.  Worse yet, my house was vile and scuzzy, and I needed to create the illusion of cleanliness for the babysitter who was coming over later that evening.  When the husband finally rolled up the drive that evening, we gathered our few dolla bills and headed to the racetrack to have dinner with his sister, her family, and my mother-in-law.  My mother-in-law lives in Texas, but comes to visit about once a year for a couple of weeks, usually for the annual family reunion.  I would have been tempted to stay home to sleep if (a) I saw her more often, and (b) I didn't love watching the races as much as I do.

The family reunion took place all day Saturday.  Like I said, it's a yearly thing, the passion of my husband's grandmother.  To say that she is into genealogy would be a huge understatement, like telling someone that I like horses or coffee or Johnny Depp.  She's devoted years to traveling the world, piecing together her family's past, and takes endless pride in even the most mundane family detail unearthed.  My family had a family reunion, oh, 17 years ago.  My in-laws, it's every year without fail.  

So, Saturday I spent the greater portion of the day at the beach with the family, except for an hour break when I was picking up the oldest Ohboy, who had just returned from summer camp in a haze of sweat and funky, musty clothes.  I had to drag him there ("All I want to do is sleep, Mom!"), but as soon as we hit the beach, I didn't see him again until a thunderstorm rolled in and we were forced to pack everything up.  They frown on lightning and water, for some reason.  Go figure.

A text message startled me from my slumber Sunday morning at about 6:35.  One of the girls singing during morning worship at our church wasn't feeling well and asked me to fill in for her, which I did.  As soon as I returned home from church, I scarfed down a couple of pieces of pizza and ran out to ride my horse.  I always lose track of time when I'm riding, and before I know it, I've been riding for an hour even when it seems like it's only been minutes.  With 12 minutes to spare, sweaty and dirty, I took my second shower of the day and rocketed back into church for Praise Band practice.

After church, I went with one of my friends to a party that her friend was the event planner for.  I wasn't dressed for it, because I honestly just didn't have time to coordinate a cute party ensemble in the 12 minutes I had to shower and dress.  I also was pretty certain that I wasn't going, based on my energy level and because the husband had been home with the boys all day long.  But, alas, I did end up at said party in my sundress and no make-up.  And, if I'm being straight with you, I was okay with that.  When my friend got up to dance with her friend, I was okay holding down the chair I was sitting in.  I had become okay with being old.  Or maybe "old" isn't  the right way to describe it.  Maybe I'm less old than I think, and just prefer not shouting to talk to the person sitting right next to me.  Or maybe I was just exhausted and showing poor party form.

After said party, I had to grocery shop(!), so I didn't roll into bed until nearly 3:30 a.m.  In an unspoken answer to that challenge, Mr. Ohboy decided to vacate the premises for 14 hours yesterday.  Four boys for 14 hours on fumes of sleep.  No bueno! Seriously, not my best decision, but historically I've never been famous for making smart decisions.

And that, good friends, is why I'm making no progress on draft 2.