Summer's End

We had lofty plans for the summer. Okay, not lofty. But we had plans. Most of which didn't ever make it out of the planning stage. They didn't include me selling my first novel (The Art of Adapting) to a real, bonafide publisher just as the school year was winding to an end, so some things turned out a billion times better than planned. They also didn't include my daughter needing 8 stitches in her knee and weeks of healing time, and having to cancel several activities as a result. But here's what we did do this summer:

We went to the horse races, and during the intermission, they held wiener dog races, which are just as hysterical as they sound. Some of those dogs really book it on those short legs. Some run in the complete wrong direction. Some get taken out by huge, unexplained dog piles mid-track. The girls loved it. My youngest, who is on a mission to pet every dog in the universe, got several of them crossed off her list that day.

We took a couple of family trips with my mother, sister, and niece. Somehow we have all ended up single at the same time, with only daughters. We are an all-girl family. Which means lots of fun girl-time when we're all together, wherever we are. And you just can't have too much girl time. My daughters call their cousin their "sister-cousin" which shows how close they are. Just watching the three youngsters play together, at 4, 6, and 8 years old, is a joy like nothing else.

We went to the library, a local amusement park, to swimming pools, and had play dates. The usual stuff, and nothing special, except that I was with my daughters, watching them get taller and stronger and less shy about walking up to the girl behind the counter at the frozen yogurt place and asking for a cup of water all by themselves. Small milestones, but milestones just the same.

I wrote. Not as much as I would've liked, because there were these kids around so much, but when your work day consists of jotting down notes for the chapter you don't have time to write, surrounded on both ends by cuddles with your children, telling them stories, watching them do cartwheels and handstands, making homemade snow cones, and taking endless photos of them being their adorable selves, you have a pretty good life.

And that's the difference for me this summer, compared to last. Yes, the book deal helped immensely. Knowing that The Art of Adapting was going to be in print next July took a lot of pressure off me. Knowing that I had an income on the way in the tail-end of my divorce also relieved a lot of stress. Last summer I was still scraping by while chasing the dream, and felt frustrated when I wasn't making any progress. This summer I wanted time to slow down. I want this moment, the butterflies every time I wake up and remember that my novel is actually getting published, to last as long as possible. I want to relish every moment with my girls, because I can see how fast they are growing up. My eight-year-old is already so tall she barely fits in my lap. Which means I need to get those lap times in as often as I can.

My girls know that The Art of Adapting is getting published. They know that it was inspired by their Uncle Michael, who they will never meet, who had Asperger's. They had lots of questions about Asperger's, and about the other characters in the book. My six-year-old had me summarize the entire novel for her, and after three days of recounting it for her, she told me it sounded good to her. But my girls weren't clear on what getting "published" meant. They wanted to know the difference between my agent, my publisher, and my editor. They wanted to know how books are made. How they get to the bookstore. Who decides how much they cost. Who designs the covers and makes the paper and where the ink comes from. They have more questions than I have answers, but it makes this whole journey more fun and meaningful to have them to share it with, to discover the answers with them.

Originally I wanted to put them in summer camp somewhere so I could have a lot more writing time. Another summer plan that didn't work out, for financial reasons, and I'm grateful for that. My writing time will come. Time with my girls is fleeting.

The school grind kicks off next week for us. Back to lunch prep, stirring cranky girls from bed, brushing their hair while they eat breakfast, and rushing off to school always a few minutes later than we meant to get out the door. Back to homework and school projects that end up being more work for the parent than they are for the child. Back to the weekly "your child has been exposed to lice/strep throat/pink eye" notices. Back to the field trips that I always volunteer for then wonder what I was thinking. And back to writing, all day while they are at school. I have two new novel ideas battling it out in my brain, and my editor and I are going to be working on final revisions for The Art of Adapting. I have plenty of work to do, the kind of work that I love so much that it can't really be called work, and the time to do it. And I'll love every minute of it. And I'll also miss the lazy summer days, sitting on the front steps while the girls draw chalk mermaids on the driveway or put on fashion shows that morph into gymnastics performances for me. I'm ready for summer to be over, and I'm not. Which is exactly how it should feel at summer's end.

What Now?

I made my crazy deadline of finishing the revisions on my new novel before the girls finished school for the year. I actually beat my deadline by 2 days. Hurray! The only trouble is waking up the next day, after all of those weeks/months of putting pressure on myself, and having no novel-in-progress sitting on my shoulders, waiting. I won't work on it at all while it's out with my beta readers, which is a good thing. By the time their comments come in I will have had a much-needed break from it and I'll (hopefully) have a new perspective on it and will be able to revise anew with a fresh viewpoint. But in the mean time, what do I do with myself?

It reminds me of when I finished grad school. It was a ridiculously busy two years of my life. I was working full time, attending grad school full time, and doing my own divorce, because it just killed me to think of hiring a lawyer to do a bunch of negotiating and paperwork that I knew I could do myself. It also meant that for those two years I had a grand total of maybe ten free minutes each and every day. I worked from 8am-3pm, raced across town to school, was in class until 7pm, headed home to log onto my work account for two more hours of work, then tackled my studies until 1am or so. The same routine every day, for two years. And then one day it was all over. The divorce and school part anyway, and a simple full-time job just didn't seem like enough to keep me busy to my new standard for normal. So I joined two writing groups, took a writing workshop to develop my master's thesis into a book, organized daily outings with friends I hadn't seen in two years, took a tarot class, chased a promotion at work, and started following about 10 local bands from bar to club so that I was never, for a second, sitting still. After I finished the workshop and tarot class, after half the bands had either broken up or moved to LA for their big break, after I'd had ample time to catch up with every friend I had, I did eventually slow down into a more relaxed routine.

This time around I have the benefit of having two small children, so sitting still just isn't an option. But the feeling of being in a race against time, of needing to get a lot of words down on the page every day, is still going strong. But after tomorrow summer vacation is here, and my girls don't let me write all day while they play nicely together. They need an activities coordinator, and most importantly, a referee. I'm sure they'll keep me busy enough that before I know it my beta readers will be done and I'll have a novel to revise. In the mean time I'll do my best to maintain momentum on smaller projects. I have three short story ideas to develop. Two parenting essays in mind. A novel I've never been happy with that I'm tempted to overhaul. I'm sure eventually I'll settle down and just enjoy the sunny weather and park visits with my girls. But until then I'm going to sneak in as much writing as I can.

Scrambling

So, my girls have exactly 7 days of school left this year. That means 7 days of writing left for me. Not that  I won't write at all this summer, but it won't be the same daily affair that it's been lately. I've been on a mission to get my latest novel done and revised so that I can send my second (or third, or fourth) draft out to my trusted beta readers for feedback. While they have the novel, I'll be hitting up local parks with my kids and trying to read a few of the dozen books sitting on my nightstand waiting for me. I might also try writing a few new short stories. And a screenplay or two.

The truth is, I'm terrified of losing the momentum that I've built up this school year. I'm ready for summer: for play dates and homemade snow cones and sleeping in and no more late-night lunch prep when I just want to go to bed, and no more standing over my kids forcing them to do tedious homework assignments. But I'm also sad to give up my daily block of a few hours to myself, and my guaranteed daily writing time.

My dad and step-mom have graciously offered to watch my girls a couple times a week, for a few hours each time, so that I can have some dedicated writing time. I intend to use that time well. Discipline hasn't really been an issue for me. I work well under pressure. Often, the less time I have, the more effectively I use that time. That's been one of my most important lessons to learn as a writer: carve out the time, and guard it. No phone calls, no internet, no email, no texts. Just write, for however long I can. I'm frequently at the tail-end of my three-hour writing block, watching the clock, counting how many minutes it'll take me to get home to relieve my babysitters, typing those last few words as fast as I can. And that's my happy place, racing the clock with my words.

Two writing breaks a week is a lot less than I've had this school year, but that's exactly what I started with when I got back to writing a few years ago. And at that pace I wrote a novel in four months. Two and a half years later I have five novels plus twenty-something short stories done. They aren't all good, and they won't all make the cut of revision rounds and beta-readers and agent/literary journal submissions. But they all mattered. Every single word, every second of time I gave to myself. I've had nine stories published or accepted for publication, and nine agents are currently looking at one of my novels. It isn't just a dream anymore, this writer thing. It's actually happening. And I don't want to let it go.

I'm almost ready for summer. But first I have 7 more days of writing. And I'm going to make the most of each of them, watching the clock as it gets closer to pick-up time at school, scrambling to get those last few words down before I have to go.

Vacation

One of the hardest things for me to master as a single mom has been vacationing. Not just the epic packing battles with two little girls who only want to bring 3 swim suits and 5 sundresses even when it's a snow trip, but the logistics of traveling alone with two small kids, and frequently a dog as well: all of those contingency plans and nerve-wracking crowded airports or hopes that the car doesn't break down en route to some hours-away destination.

Last summer was my first time driving to our family's cabin, 4.5 hours away, through hot valley towns and up into the Sierras, finishing with a 45 minute trek along a rutted dirt logging road, with two girls and a dog. There were bathroom breaks, dog water breaks, snack breaks, general runaround breaks for two girls who could only be happily confined to their hot pink car seats for so long. I stressed about the the possibility of having car issues, about the dog overheating in the car as I ran the girls into the next rest stop, about getting too tired and fed up with the back seat fighting and having no one to help me out.

I caravanned with some family friends that first time up, just in case anything went awry, and during the long drive I realized something invaluable: I had it down. This single-motherhood thing had already become second-nature to me. The girls had a bin of books and games wedged between their car seats that kept them busy for much of the time. We blasted music and sang together when we needed to perk up. I had a mini-cooler of food and drinks on the passenger seat, full of pre-cut, single-serve portions I'd readied the night before. I had a clear view of the dog sleeping on top of our pile of suitcases in the back, and could see when he was getting restless. When we had to stop in hot towns I blasted the A/C to cool off the car, then found a shady parking spot and made a game out of rushing the girls off to the bathroom and back to the car as quickly as possible. I lounged on random lawns outside fast food restaurants while the dog trotted around and the girls picked dandelions. I let go of my usual travel timetable, any expectations, and relaxed. And it was fine.

That's not to say I haven't had any travel or vacation hiccups in my year of doing it solo. We've been stranded with a dead car battery. We've had throwing up children traveling with borrowed bowls on their laps in the car. We've had the dog get into some sort of insect nest and end up with a face swollen with three baseball-size lumps and had to rush him to the nearest emergency vet. We've had a cross-country flight just days after Peanut fell and knocked out her front tooth and loosened up a handful of others, juggling her all-liquid diet on an airline in this no-liquids-through-security era. And we've made it through it all. And got some good stories to boot.

So today I'm packing up for our first big trip of the season. I have lists of all of the clothes, food, meds, toys, and dog supplies I will need. And I have the confidence, that even if some disaster befalls us mid-route, we'll get through it, we'll make the best of it, and we'll still have a good time.

And if it's really bad, I'll end up with a great story out of it.

Summer

After a slow, chilly start, I guess summer’s officially here. We finally made it up to the family’s cabin, one of the latest openings I can remember. Our trip was delayed due to huge snow drifts blocking the road into camp. A few warm, sunny days melted the last of the snow on the road, and we spent a great weekend up there with family and friends. It was too cool to swim, but the girls used their shovels and buckets to dig in a snow bank that was sheltered in the cool shade of cabin while wearing shorts and t-shirts. We hiked, swung in the hammock, sat around the fire pit at night, played with the puppy our friends brought along, had play dates with other kids in camp, found a small garter snake, tracked butterflies and lady bugs, and Peanut handled the rest of the insects as if she’d never had a hysterical fear of them before. The girls ran wild and got dirty and made “salad” with pine needles and gooseberry leaves and stalked the beautiful but rare snow flower around camp. This cabin, built by my grandfather, has now charmed its fourth generation in our family.

Back home, I brought out the kiddie pool and let the girls loose. We’re alternating between swim lesson days and kiddie pool in the back yard days, and I’m training the girls on applying their own thick slathers of sunscreen. Next week we’re off to the east coast, to spend a week on the beach with the in-laws, and I’m hoping to get either a Hawaii or a San Diego trip on the books before String Bean starts kindergarten in the fall. Since the summery weather took a while to get here, we’ll have to make the most of it while we can.

End of Summer

This weekend we’re off to our family’s cabin in the Sierras, for our annual Labor Day end-of-summer vacation together. There will be eleven of us there in all, a reasonably sized group, perfect for busy dinner conversation, late night chats around the fire out back, large enough to break into groups of hikers, fishermen, and book-readers each day, but not too large for the small cabin with its one bathroom.

It’s nice to have a place to go where everyone is like family, and kids run around together, and dogs roam freely, visiting all of the cabins like official camp greeters. And the fact that my mom will be there to help out with the munchkins is pretty nice, too. Also coming are my sister and my five-month-old niece, who is growing in personality and size so quickly that I feel like if I don’t see her for a week, I’m missing some special milestone. It’ll be nice to spend three solid days with her to see what new tricks she’s up to.

Now, if I could just get some sort of guarantee that the kids will sleep up there (always an issue), I’d consider myself home free.

Glowing Stars

Peanut has had a packet of glow-in-the-dark stars in her drawer for a long time. Possibly since last Christmas. Today, as a means of negotiating some nap time cooperation, I put a few up as a reward for her getting into bed without a fuss. Then came the fuss. Because, of course, at 2pm, the glow-in-the-dark stars don’t glow.

First she demanded that I turn off the light. Then, when I showed her the light was already off, she demanded that I turn it “really off,” as in, turn off the sun, so she could see her stars glow. It’s a tough concept to explain to a two-year-old, this whole notion of things that glow all day, but can only be seen glowing at night, but I think she got it. But then at bedtime, when I wanted to leave her light on for a few minutes to charge up the stars, she demanded that I keep it off so she could see them glow, and we got to have the conversation all over again.

And then there’s the whole fact that it’s summer and it stays light so late that it wasn’t really dark when she went to bed, so she could just faintly make out a hint of glowing in the darkening room. But a couple of wonderful things about this girl, she’s got a terrific imagination and, for the most part, a great positive outlook on life, so she just looked around at the barely glowing stars and started giving them names. This one’s the mommy star, this one’s the baby star, that one’s the sister star... I snuck out and left her and her new stars to the business of getting to know each other.

Last Month of Summer

It’s August now, which means that at the end of the month, four-year-old String Bean will start her pre-K class (sort of advanced preschool), and two-and-a-half-year-old Peanut will be starting preschool for the first time. On the one hand, it means I’ll have a little more alone time, on the two days per week that they’re both in school for three hours. On the other hand, it means that my baby is definitely not a baby anymore, and this makes me feel a little sad.

My husband and I both agree that Peanut is in one of her most adorable phases right now: still perfectly lap-sized, with pinch-able hints of toddler chub in her cheeks, able to communicate clearly and walk everywhere by herself, and past the worst of the terrible-twos, but not sassy yet. She’s ticklish and giggly and excited about everything (except food), she loves to sing and play make-believe, and she’s a little bundle of joyful energy and enthusiasm, who laughs more than the rest of the family combined.

So, of course, what I’m saying is that while I can’t wait for those extra hours of freedom per week, I really don’t want to spend any less time with her. At least not until this very cute and agreeable phase of hers is over.

Missing School

I know I’ve mentioned that I’m missing preschool these days, when I have to come up with new and interesting means of entertaining my kids all by myself. The funny thing is, I’m not the only one who’s missing it. My 4-year-old woke up on Wednesday, quickly reminding me that it was a school day, and when I told her that she had no school this week, she started to cry: “But I love school!” So, any guilt I had for signing her up for the summer session evaporated right there.

It was so hard to get her used to preschool in the first place, that I couldn’t imagine pulling her out for the entire summer, then going through all of that separation anxiety stuff all over again in the fall. It’s easier on both of us if she goes all summer, too (same school, same teachers), because, like me, she functions better on a reliable schedule. Oh, and then there’s the fact during school, there are two less days per week that I have to come up with fun outings or projects to impress her.

Really, nothing I seem to come up with competes with the endless art projects, music teachers, dance sessions, and good friends she has available at school. And that’s how it should be. She’ll have plenty of years of having to go to school when she’d rather not, all of those teen years of just desperately wanting to sleep in instead of racing to make it to her first class of the day. I’m glad she has these less serious years of sliding and singing the day away, when school is just a really fun play group she can’t wait to get back to.

Summer Break

So, my oldest is on summer vacation from school, halfway through that two-week pocket of time between regular school and summer school that I like to think of as a special challenge. She only went to preschool two days a week, so that’s only two three-hour timeslots per week that I need to fill. Why then does it feel like so much longer?

I’ve realized two things. One, those three hours of down time Monday morning are something I really look forward to. That’s when I take the time to make a perfect mocha at home, start the laundry, get caught up on email, write my blog, and, amazingly, I’m able to get all of this done with my two-year-old at home with me. But one kid is infinitely easier to care for than two, and my daughter seems to relish this alone time, when she can choose any toy to play with, and relax knowing no older sister will be coming up to snatch it away moments later. We usually spend a good hour or so cuddling together, either reading one of her books out loud, or doing our own thing: she’ll act out a scene with her favorite stuffed animals and I’ll read a few pages of my book, the perfect curve of her tiny back against my hip, together and separate all at once.

Having my oldest home means none of these quiet moments will happen. When the two girls are home together, there simply aren’t any moments of quiet. There are song and dance numbers, rowdy games of princess and beast/pirate/evil queen, games of hide-and-seek where both the hider and seeker take turns yelling random things, good-old-fashioned shouting matches, and, of course, tug-of-war over everything. The other day I actually had to yell at them for fighting over a clothes pin. And there was another clothes pin all of two feet away at the time.

So, one week down and one to go. I’ve scheduled in extra play dates to fill the preschool time slot and am squeezing my Monday/Wednesday chores and writing time into nap times and evenings after the girls have gone to bed. But what I miss most are those quiet times with my youngest. She didn’t have the 20 months of being my only child that her sister got, and I find myself yearning for that time alone with her. One week down, and one to go.