A break from my high-speed hilarity

As the morning progressed, several ideas for today's blog ran through my head. I could write about the ridiculous things I found in even more ridiculous places, or the little corner of our living room that my daughter has made into her own personal haven. I could write about the seven quick-changes baby girl made every time she went down the hall into her bedroom, or the woman-beast war I just had with my 75 pound lab in the backyard. And maybe they will all appear in a different post one day, but for now, there is something a little more serious that I wanted to get off my chest.

I'm sure every parent feels like they have failed their children at one time or another. I constantly have that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, this week in particular. I'm convinced that if there was a program that could read your future and display it for a committee (yes, this is the sci-fi, distopian side of my brain talking), they would have confiscated my uterus so I wouldn't have had the chance to procreate.

And here is why:

On Friday an incident ensued in my household that involved tears and blood and five stitches in my four year old son's right pinkie. I was in the shower when it happened. Not only should I have been there to stop this, but the responsible parties should have known better. I should have taught them better. Either way you look at it, it was essentially my fault.

Which leads me to the point of all of this.

Not a one of us is perfect. We are human. That title gives us the right to screw up every now and then. And even though I feel like the worst Mommy in the whole wide world right now, I have been blessed with the opportunity to learn from this and do better next time. I have also been blessed with very forgiving, loving, beautiful children who love me despite my gray spots.

And hide sit-on bouncy balls under the sink to remind me that life goes on.

-Ali

More antics

So today I'm feeding the baby when my husband leans out of my sons room and calls "honey, do you know what the hell is all over in here?" Knowing my children, I can only imagine. I go back to spooning Gerber spaghetti into my hungry little one, hoping my husband will handle it.

Two hours later I go in to help my son clean his room, and there it is... Diaper innards... Everywhere! I'm talking the little absorbent beads that suck up the pee. They're stuck to the wall, splattered on the window, ground into the carpet, and my personal favorite, dripping from the ceiling.

My husband comes in when I start yelling. I tell him what they are and watch the horror creep across his face. He shudders and says "good luck with that." And then he leaves.

Just another day in paradise!

-Ali

Creative Juices

I am always in awe of my children, but there are some days where the things they do and say have me scrapping my jaw off the floor. My three year old daughter, for example, has more creativity in her little finger than I do in my whole body. And more personality than a prime-time sitcom.

Yesterday my husband and I took the kids to the store to get them out of the house. This in itself is an ordeal. Before she makes the thirty foot trip from the front door to the truck, my little girl has to pick every single dandelion in the yard. Said dandelions must fit a certain criteria. The ones that haven't fully bloomed yet are deemed "mommy's." All the rest are bunched up in her left hand.

It is tradition, and it must happen for her to function. So just imagine her shock when she walks outside to find a freshly mowed yard and (brace yourself) no dandelions. Baby girl stops in her tracks, scans the yard again to make sure she saw things right, and bursts into tears.

"Daddy killed my flowers!" she screams. The man walking his dog turns to give me a knowing smile.

"It's okay, honey, they will grow back," I promise.

Another high pitched sob echoes down the street. "But I want those flowers!" The neighbor checking his mailbox stops to watch. "Where is the lawn eater? Get them out!" She is so devastated that the "lawn eater" has her weeds that I can't even get mad at the foot stomping.

It is time to think on my feet, because it is getting late, and if we don't get to the store, my husband insists he will wither away to nothing. I do a quick scan of the yard myself, and thank the good Lord, there is a small patch of yellow under the boat trailer. I wiggle myself underneath, trying to ignore the horror movie-like spiderwebs next to my left ear, and pick every last one.

I hand them over.

She gets in the truck like nothing ever happened.

Calgon take me away! And bring chocolate...

And Vodka...

-Ali

The Writer's Voice

Somehow, with a child on my lap and another tugging at my arm, I managed to squeeze myself into this awesome contest called "The Writer's Voice" at number 98. I'm quite literally scared out of my mind! Oh sure, I want others to meet my characters, but I feel a certain vulnerability in sharing my query letter. So it is with shaking hands that I post it here, along with my first 250 words.

Hooray for doing something bold today!

Query

     Being a third generation Enhanced, Clair Donahue's future has already been written. Thanks to genetics and the WTPC, she would turn eighteen and become a car mechanic like her mother. But after testing much too high for her parentage, Clair jumps at the chance to choose a career all her own. She knows rejection means placing her occupation in the hands of the World Technological Pharmaceutical Corporation.

      What she doesn’t know is how long they have been waiting for her to take that risk.

      Now that Clair’s dream of the medical profession has been refused, the WTPC reveal that she is to become a Harvester of Phenomenon, to rid their new world of supernatural fear. The serums used to Enhance one’s physical aspects needed in their specific fields have kept many from passing on after death, creating a fortified soul capable of entering the human body and erasing the person inside.

      And now it is Clair‘s job to collect them.

      Flanked by her deadly smart boyfriend, Evan, and her ever-present best friend, Matt, Clair has two weeks to choose between facing her future head on, or leaving everything she has ever known behind her. Staying means being internally assaulted by the Phenomenon; running means sacrificing what is left of her family and her freedom.

 

 

 

 

First 250

The voice of the news anchor droned on in the living room as we waited. Superior hearing aside, I couldn’t make out his words over the pounding of my heart. Each minute felt like its own hour as I stared at the inoffensive white envelope resting against my untouched water glass.

            “Clair,” my mother soothed in her melodic voice. I had forgotten there were other people in the world, let alone the stuffy little kitchen. “It doesn’t matter what it says.” Her emerald green eyes held the same certainty as her words, but they did nothing to calm me. It did matter.

            “That’s right, silly girl,” Matt grinned, his rumbling baritone filling the room. “It’s not like this is the deciding factor for the rest of your life or anything.” My mother shook her head as I let a nervous chuckle slip.

            “Gee, thanks, best friend,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster, placing both hands over my heart to keep it from busting through my chest.

            Matt peered over his habitually worn sunglasses, his dark eyes alive and penetrating. "That thing has been sitting there for a week. Staring at it won't change what it says."

            I let his truth sink in for a moment, cursing myself for the thousandth time for being foolish enough to request a career outside of my bloodline, no matter how badly I wanted it. No matter the fact I had been instructed to do so by each of my professors, hearing them say over and over how my intellect was rare for my parentage.

Best of luck to those who entered!

-Ali