Mandajuice

Jack-o-lanterns of DOOOOM

Please to be picking your favorite pumpkin. (Dave and I love to make wagers for marital acts.) (Like emptying the dishwasher.)

  And here are the kids pumpkins; we won't make you play favorites.

 And here's what the front porch looks like:

 

Dave did that. He's... I dunno. WEIRD. He got it in mind to purchase a mannequin SPECIFICALLY for Halloween and nothing could stop him. Not even the fact that for several weeks, every time I walked down the stairs, I thought there was a hot naked gay guy in my dining room.

Needless to say, we aren't having a Halloween party this year, so I haven't done as much decorating inside the house as usual. Last years pictures can still be found here.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Things I do not like

My friend and fellow beer-loather Carrisa posted a list of things she doesn't like. I agreed wholeheartedly with many of them (underwire, football, anything flavored with hazlenuts), but thought I'd do my own list here too.

THINGS I DO NOT LIKE

bras

Burger King chicken sandwiches

men's feet

cilantro

gin

scotch whiskey

moldy kitchen sponges

flossing

clutter

oral

mouse shit

cats

cheese that doesn't come from a cow (goat, sheep, soy, etc.)

Necco wafers

Sean Penn

Glee

rye bread

olives

What am I forgetting? Do share...

Busy-ness is next to Godliness

I would've posted sooner, but our Internet was broken. We switched providers, but even that seems to be helping very little. I can't pull up Twitter OR Flickr. (Can you?)

Anyway, I've been trying to keep myself busy. First we took the skinheads bowling (Dave TOTALLY didn't get that reference when I first said it. It's an old song I barely remember from a million years ago.) I should (and will) admit that absolutely NO PART of me wanted to get up off the couch and take the children bowling. But I did it anyway. Because I promised the bairns* I would.

 

We went right at 2:00 - Genoa's nap time. How could you tell?

* Bairns = Scottish for CRRRAP! No, just kidding. It's Scottish for 'kids'. I think I'm gonna have to write a list of all the fun Scottish words I'm learning while slugging through the Outlander series. (Book five is killing me. It's way. too. long. And am I mistaken or does The Fiery Cross actually contain a deathbed hand-job? I've read that scene a half-dozen times now and I can't figure out whether I'm reading it wrong or if my own dirty mind is filling in the details.)

Right after bowling, I met my friend Kristie at the park and the kids got to play in the cold while we laughed ourselves silly sharing pregnancy and birth stories. Is it me or does that topic virtually NEVER get old (when told in the company of well-adjusted people)? I think I could take a safari to the wildest jungles of Africa and still find a way to use pantomime and tongue-clicking to share the story about how Alex came out of me and promptly peed on the nearest doctor, which served him right because that bastard (the doctor, not Alex) had just given me an episiotomy without my consent. 

I have so much more to say about my friends right now, but I have to leave and go meet several of them for a birthday party at Chuck-E-Cheese.

Tomorrow then.

Aye, Sassenach (Review of Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon)

Outlander was one of the very first books I downloaded onto my Kindle (Wirelessly! 656 pages in less than 60 seconds!). Everyone and my mother had mentioned reading it, so I thought I would too. (My mother didn't like it, but then again, she didn't like Lord of Scoundrels either.)

Anyway, I WANTED to like it. And I really, REALLY tried. I did! But it took me three months to get through the first two chapters. It was just so... DRY. I would read a few pages and try to get into it before giving up, but this book spent most of the summer collecting virtual dust in the archives of my Kindle. I didn't go back to it until I realized I was spending too much money on books and needed to read something I already owned.

That was about two weeks ago and I've now read something like 4,000 pages of the Outlander series. I'm about to start book five.

Outlander is one of those novels to which readers have a STRONG reaction, much like one's reaction to cilantro. LOVE or HATE. Nothing much in the middle.

I loved it.

I mean, honestly? It's a romance novel with time travel, Scottish history and men in kilts. How could I NOT love it? And then there's the added perk of having the voice in my head pronounce most of the Scottish accents in this book in either the voice of a drunken Sean Connery or like that SNL skit: "If it's not Scottish, it's Crrap!"

That being said, it really bugged me that I had such a hard time getting into it. It's rare that I start off NOT liking a book and then end up TOTALLY AND UTTERLY ADORING IT. So, being a wanna-be-novelist my own self, I set about figuring out why. 

Now for the most part, I'm not overly critical of writing style. I'm interested in a good story, no matter how it gets on the page, (Hence my utter adoration for Charlain Harris's Sookie Stackhouse books, Twilight, etc.) but when I broke it down, page by page, the problem turned out to be simple:

Gabaldon takes the cardinal rule of fiction entirely too seriously. SHOW DON'T TELL is all verra well and good, but it shouldn't be employed at the exclusion of character and/or common sense.

It's also the reason this book is so. damn. long.

** Spoiler Alert - there are some quotes here, but I don't think they're much worse than what you'd read on the back of a book jacket **

For example, Claire, our bonny protagonist, a 27-year-old English nurse who accidentally time-travels back to 1743, has just found out that she's been summoned for questioning by an English Captain named Jonathan Randall. Claire knows this Captain to be a sadistic torturer. He is the most terrifying specimen of humanity the woman has ever encountered. When Dougal, the leader of the Scottish Clan that's been keeping Claire safe, informs her of the summons, this is her reaction to the news:.

I must have looked truly alarming, for [Dougal]  jumped to his feet and came over to me.

"Put your head between your knees, lass," he instructed, pushing on the back of my neck, "'til the faintness passes off." 

"I know what to do," I said irritably, doing it nonetheless. I closed me eyes, feeling the ebbing blood begin to throb in my temples again. The clammy sensation around my face and ears began to disappear, though my hands were still icy. ...

And while that is a perfectly lovely, not to mention medically accurate, description of hyperventilation, it might have been nice to know what Claire was THINKING. How about: I WAS SO SCARED I COULDN'T BREATHE. For a novel written in first person point of view, there is an awful lot of distance between the narrator and the action.

Another example:

We were nearly at the bottom [of the hill] when lack of food, the remnants of a hangover, and the general stresses of the day caught up with me. I came to lying on damp leaves, my head in my new husband's lap.

Wait. What? Oh... After the wedding ceremony, she promptly passes out! THAT's what happened. Why didn't she just SAY SO? Again, no mention of how Claire feels. I can't tell you how much it BUGGED me to only find out how Claire felt about something AFTER it happened to her. I wanted the pleasure of being inside her head in a more connected way. I mean, the reader doesn't learn that she's even attracted to Jamie until AFTER she marries him and then she admits that, well, the thought of doing the dirty with him HAD crossed her mind...

Because I knew this was a romance, I kept waiting for the hero to appear and when he finally did, I felt bad for spending something like 300 pages with the poor bloke without knowing he was The One. I wanted that first rush of attraction to be on the page and it wasn't. The reader sees the action through Claire's EYES, but we aren't necessarily seeing it through the filter of her EMOTIONS. The good thing, though, is that you don't have to care about Claire much or worry about the writing style to LOVE this book.

Jamie Fraser makes this book worth reading.

He's perhaps my most favorite romance novel hero of all time - smart (multilingual even), morally noble without being self-righteous, stubborn, tortured (figuratively AND literally) and verra verra nekkid under that plaid skirt. Also - a virgin! He marries the good lass for three reasons: 1) to keep her safe from Black Jack Randall, 2) Because "Perhaps it's just that I want to bed you. ... Did ye think of that?"  and 3) for luuuuurve:

"There was another reason. The main one."

"Reason?" I said stupidly.

"Why I married you."

"Which was?" I don't know what I expected him to say, perhaps some further revelation of his family's contorted affairs. What he did say was more of a shock, in its way.

"Because I wanted you." He turned from the window to face me. "More than I ever wanted anything in my life," he added softly.

I continued staring at him, dumbstruck. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't this. Seeing my openmouthed expression, he continued lightly, "When I asked my Da how ye knew which was the right woman, he told me when the time came, I'd have no doubt. And I didn't. When I woke in the dark under that tree on the road Leoch, with you sitting on my chest, cursing me for bleeding to death, I said to myself, "Jamie Fraser, for all ye canna see what she looks like, and for all she weighs as much as a good draft horse, this is the woman.'"

I started toward him, and he backed away, talking rapidly. "I said to myself, 'She's mended ye twice in as many hours, me lad; life amongst the MacKenzies being what it is, it might be well to wed a woman as can stanch a wound and set broken bones.' And I said to myself, 'Jamie, lad, if her touch feels so bonny on your collarbone, imagine what it might feel like lower down...'"

Och, Jamie, dinna fash yourself, lad, ye had me at hello.

Dude. You guys.

Thank you.

Just sitting here tonight, I'm already in a better place than I was even three days ago. I've always joked about it, but I'm starting to wonder how literal the Blog = Therapy formula is for me. I can't help but notice the correlation between my withdrawal from blogging and my general withdrawal from life. I wonder if the internet fills in some necessary part of my brain chemistry. The statistician in me is curious to whittle it down into a formula, into units of social interaction. Maybe blog posts are worth 5 units, comments are 3, tweets are 1. Then I could write my own prescription. 10 units a day keeps the happy pills away!

Of course it didn't hurt AT ALL that we went out last night. Brandy and Wayne made us a yummy dinner and the kids played Wii bowling. (I'm hoping Brandy will send me the pictures she took because the kids were hilarious. We SO need a Wii.) It's nice to have friends with whom you can be yourself, even on your worst day. Most of my friends fall into that category, obviously, but it's been hard to let them in, even though I know I should.

I'll put it on my list.

Chugging right along

I won't get the chance to write tonight because we're actually LEAVING the house to have dinner with friends, but I'm half-way through a somewhat productive day, list-wise:

1. I will admit that I spent most of the morning reading (okay ALL of it, save feeding myself and my children and drinking 12 cups of coffee and checking e-mail, etc). But I'm in the middle of the fourth Outlander book and they are somewhat distracting. (Review(s) coming soon). I know that's kind of a lot of reading, BUT! I sat in the sunshine for a good portion of that time, so whatever, one stone, two birds, even if they're only crows.

2. I've been across the street twice to Carol's house. Once to try and hook up my MacBook to her printer. The second time was with a CD of stuff I needed to print. I love love LOVE my Apple products, but for whatever reason, printing has always proved a challenge.

3. Said printing consisted of 17 resumes I'll be sending out tomorrow. I would send them out today, but I don't have any envelopes. Sure, we've got enough linen-laid 8.5 x 11's to wallpaper half the house, but nary an envelope in sight.

4. I'm baking. Let me say that again: BAKE-ING. Given the fact that part of my slump has had me noticing a decided disinterest in food, this is a GOOD good thing. If my brownie bars turn out tasty, I'll post the recipe. They're in the oven right now.

5. This is my third blog post in as many days.

6. I only had ONE cocktail last night, instead of my usual two. Of course, that was only because I ran out of vodka, but STILL. That counts, right?

Choking, but swallowing

Dave and I stayed up talking late last night and I went to bed with a strong conviction to drag my hide to the doctor this morning and get myself a prescription. I'm 100% sure my doctor would concur with the bulk of my readership here and happily sign his name at the bottom of his magical notepad. But I woke up this morning, thought about the flu germs I'd be forced to touch when the receptionist at the clinic handed me the waiting room pager (exactly like what they hand you at Olive Garden) and decided to give myself another week or two.

I'm leaning toward the idea that whatever it is that's happening to me, it probably is chemical, but I also remembered that this isn't the first time I've felt like this. During the year leading up to my gastric bypass surgery, I rarely ever left the house, insisting instead on shooting up bad guys in one version of Half-Life or another. The surgery itself seemed to bring me out of that mental coma by giving me something to focus on, some sense of accomplishment. The year before, however, was the calm before the storm and I think that's what's happening to me now. While I'm sure medication would definitely help, I don't feel like I've exhausted all my non-medical resources yet. Taking Prozac at this point would be like having gastric bypass surgery without ever trying Weight Watchers first.

So.

I came up with a list instead:

I'm going to get out of the house every. single. day. Even if only to walk Alex to school.

I'm going to write every day. Here. I think it helps.

I'm going to sit in the sunshine for at least an hour every day (weather permitting). Even if it's just to read or write blog posts.

I'm going to submit my novel to all seven agents/editors who've requested it. Before the end of the month.

Most importantly, and the thing that worked the last time, is that I'm going to find myself a JOB. I'm long overdue for a paycheck anyway. I had always planned to wait to go back to work until Genoa was in Kindergarten, but honestly, she'd be better off in daycare than sitting home having her mother tell her "go play" a dozen times a day. I have no qualm admitting that I've not been a stellar example of motherhood lately and that I'd relish the opportunity to miss her. I know she'd love getting to play with other kids all day and Alex is having plenty of fun at Kindergarten without me already.

The last thing is that I'm going to participate in Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) this November. I think I wrote 30,000 words in April and I swear I've never felt more alive. The goal will be to write 50,000 words in a month and I'm definitely up to the challenge. Book number two has been weighing me down like a fat girl on the edge of a diving board. I'll feel better when I spit it out. It also might be fun to come back here every day and post a few tidbits of whatever I end up writing. Maybe I'll post my best sentence every day. (Or my worst, which would be even more fun.)

The Rx

I haven't checked my e-mail in at least three days, but I just found this note from my mother:

Hello?
I love you.

That's all it said.

It made me cry.

I talked to her last night and she knows I'm okay, but I'm going to be honest and say that I'm really not okay at all. How can I be okay when it takes a half dozen phone calls and an acute e-mail to get me to call my own mother back? My. own. mother.

And I'm not just avoiding HER, I'm avoiding everyone. And everything.

It's been a slow retreat, like a quiet vortex inward. Surprisingly incremental. And slippery. At first, I just flinched when the phone rang. Then I "forgot" to call people back. Now I don't even lie to myself and say I'm forgetting. I have no intention of calling anyone unless I absolutely have to. 

Me! The queen of company! Mistress of the invitation! Purveyor of the play date! Chief of the chat!

What is wrong with me?

I'm not sad at all. But I want to read all day. I want not to be interrupted, not even by my own beautiful, clamorous children. I want another cocktail. I want the phone to stop ringing because I have no desire to talk to anyone except Dave and he's already right here where he belongs. I am completely inside myself. Or inside any book that's good enough to distract me from whatever it is I'm avoiding.

Not that I have any idea what I'm avoiding! I just know I'm avoiding it hard. The strangest thing for me is that I'm not doing it on purpose. It's not a choice.

There are a million excuses and I've used them all - I'm too busy! I can't think of anything to write about! But this is the truth and the reason I'm forcing myself to write this post:

If I'm not filling this space with words, it is because I'm not doing well.

This blog has always been my therapy. I might not have a choice about how I feel or what I want, but I CAN choose to write here again and that's the pill I'm going to butter up and force myself to swallow.

But it's been so long that I don't know where to start. Anyone care to shake me by the shoulders and tell me what to write about? Help me, you guys. I'm *THIS CLOSE* to wearing sweat pants in public.

Today's inspiration is to go back to bed

I'm sick today, for the first time in more than a year. I honestly forgot how much it sucks to wish you could drill a hole in your own head just to relieve the pressure.

Anyway, no one wants to read about how sick I am. Instead, go check out this lovely interview that Ericka posted yesterday. I'm normally too stingy to respond to such requests, but Ericka had such thoughtful questions, I actually wanted to make myself answer them.  Her blog is beautiful, too; I'm glad I got the chance to be part of it.

Inspiring Mama: Considering you were a financial planner before becoming a stay at home mom, do you have any tips or advice for managing the family finances?

Amanda: I think my biggest piece of advice is the simplest one: HAVE A PLAN. I repeat: HAVE. A. PLAN. Nothing breaks my heart more than to see families living paycheck to paycheck, never achieving any goals because they never SET any. It doesn't matter how much money you make, you still need to be the captain of your own ship, even if the winds aren't blowing in the right direction.

The rest of the interview can be found here.

Events like...

I'm trying to get through my tougher days by drinking less and writing more, but I feel stumped by a huge backlog of Important Events I Should Write About.

Like how my brother came to visit for a weekend.

His wife took both kids to China to see their grandparents and he used his frequent flier miles to come see us. He was lonely (as evidenced by how I caught him staring googly-eyed at random newborn babies), but he managed to help cheer me up when I needed it.

Like how Alex turned six. (He wipes his own butt now, thankyouverymuch.)

Like how we threw him a Mentos & Diet Coke Themed Birthday Party.

(I bet you thought I was kidding about that.)

Like how I went on a job interview.

But I didn't get the job.

Like how lucky I am to know we're still holding it together just fine.