Category — Uncategorized

Like last year, I am not writing my blog right now because I need to navigate the twins returning to college. I scheduled these posts so the blog wouldn’t be empty and I could have space to process my feelings. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

The night I finished the book, the Wolvog threw a tantrum during tuck-in and we had to follow through with the consequences which meant that I didn’t sing his goodnight song. This has only happened maybe once or twice before and it was terrible timing to have it happen on a night where my heart felt so raw.

I finished the final chapter edit and wrote the epilogue. I’ve never liked the last page of a book. I’m really not a fan of having a book end. So I wrote the last page to be an open moment, where the reader and the writer (who is who? Truly–since so many readers contributed to the book and were the writer and I felt like I learned just as much as someone reading the book) can sit together indefinitely on a final thought that needs to be considered in every moment of every day.

I went downstairs to get Josh to read the epilogue and then slipped into the twins’ room, intending just to give the Wolvog a kiss. But he was still awake, silently watching me while I stroked his head.

We climbed into the glider and he rested his head against my shoulder and we both closed our eyes. And my heart broke into 1000 thousand tiny shards. It literally exploded inside my chest. Because the glider felt like a boat and I had just written all of these pages about this fictive island–the Land of If–and it felt like by writing that epilogue, I was somehow rowing away even if not really. At least I was sailing around the island, sea monsters be damned, even if my plan is to remain on this island for longer.

Read the whole post here.

Like last year, I am not writing my blog right now because I need to navigate the twins returning to college. I scheduled these posts so the blog wouldn’t be empty and I could have space to process my feelings. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

Perhaps this is the best part of the Internet: you write a post and someone bounces off of it, and then you read their post and bounce back off of it, exchanging ideas in these chain-linked posts which circle back into thoughts through various paths of words until we come — perhaps — to the heart of the matter. And perhaps what women owe one another has always been the heart of the matter.

What do we owe one another as women? We explore this idea time and time again. While we may have come to expect men to range from holding us back to marginally supporting women’s rights (“I mean, if it matters to you, it matters to me.” Which can also mean, “if it didn’t matter to you, it wouldn’t have crossed my mind.”), we expect women to give each other a boost, to have each other’s backs, keeping in mind that we’re all individuals as well as members of this collective sorority.

Read the whole post here.

Like last year, I am not writing my blog right now because I need to navigate the twins returning to college. I scheduled these posts so the blog wouldn’t be empty and I could have space to process my feelings. A cop-out, but forgive me. Having them go is really, really hard. I need mental space to feel what I am feeling, help the kids through the transition, and sit in the quiet for a moment on the other side.

We survived the first day of kindergarten.

They were excited to get to the building, but when we walked up to the door for drop-off, the Wolvog became wide-eyed and quiet, saying goodbye to us in a daze while he allowed himself to be led inside. The ChickieNob burst into tears and screamed, “I’m scared! I’m overwhelmed! I’m overwhelmed!” and begged us not to make her go to kindergarten because “there are too many kids! Too much noise!” But she too allowed herself to be led inside.

I walked back to the car with Josh and drove home in tears, and once he left for work, cried like an animal. I sat on the sofa and did one of those screaming cries, not caring if the neighbours heard. I literally felt as if my skin was being yanked inside out, with all my organs spilling to the floor and rolling away to the far-reaches of the room.

Read the whole post here.

The Wall Street Journal had a great article about what happens when a series comes to an end. The dek: “Such fictional endings can bring up real emotions for readers.”

I think that is true for fictional endings as well as non-fictional endings, such as the closure of a blog. You’ve been invested in the story. You want to know what happens next or visit your favourite characters. I perhaps feel it more when it’s a blog because I know the person is real, but I also feel it with characters.

I have a terrible feeling the arc of the Thursday Murder Club may be complete, especially now that Richard Osman has a new series coming out this fall. And yes, I can (and do) go back and visit with the characters, but it’s hard to spend so much time with characters, book after book, and then have the door figuratively close on you while you’re still invested in knowing what happens next.

The ChickieNob and I were talking, and it became clear that she believed there would be a day when she would not only be an adult agewise but also feel like an adult, capable of taking care of things and understanding everything.

She will be waiting forever.

As a middle-aged woman, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of many overwhelming tasks on my own, and I have been taking care of those tasks for years. But every time I have to deal with insurance, make financial decisions, or figure out a new vacuum to buy, my first thought is that I wish an adult would come by and take care of all of this for me. I have spent the last thirty years waiting to feel like an adult. I only feel like a grown-up when I realize it’s my choice to consume popsicles for breakfast. That’s it. At all other moments, I feel like I’m waiting for the real adult to arrive and figure out everything.