Sherri Cornelius

Well I am really liking this template. I feel like I’ve seen it around, but I guess it’s not over-used. I usually choose cleaner blogs with simple lines and a focus on the content, but I realized I rarely post pictures anymore, and having a busy template seems doable, as the graphics won’t be competing with images and video and yadda yadda. I still have a couple of chores to do with the template before I can call it good enough, such as adding an RSS button up top somewhere. (There’s one at the bottom…don’t ask me why the designer put it down there.) I’m also writing a new front page to tell a little bit about me and probably include a picture (which I must take), and I have to figure out how to get all my pages to show up where I want them to, but that one can come later. Tell me if you have any problems.

I walked with my daughter’s kindergarten class this morning on the yearly trip to the Pumpkin Patch. It’s not a real pumpkin patch, but an empty lot where the local Methodist church sells their pumpkins, and which over the years has grown to be a bumpkin amusement park. There’s a train engine and tractors and a fire truck to climb on, roping and bean bag toss games, and a homemade kiddie train pulled by a lawnmower. It’s country fun at its finest, and the kids have a blast. I was happy to have a school activity for which I could actually volunteer–since we were outside the whole time, the fragrance was negligible, especially since I took it upon myself to be the caboose along the way, while the other parents stayed up toward the middle of the line. Not only was I helping myself, but I also provided a needed service, which was keeping the stragglers somewhat with the group.

Maggie Rose was delightful, as usual, and was proud to have me there. I befriended a couple of other kids whose parents couldn’t come. I wish I’d had more time to talk to those two boys, because they seemed to have things they wanted to get off their chest, like having an adult willing to listen was an opportunity to be jumped on. I remember what it was like to be a kid without a voice. We all need to be heard.

Our school system had a Fall Festival as their yearly fundraiser. I think they must have made a killing, probably way more than they would have made with the catalog sales fundraiser they usually use. Being the first year to try this, it was quite chaotic but everybody seemed to be having a great time. I know my kids did. It didn’t take long for the fragrance to hit sinuses (the eyesight is the first to go) but in those situations autopilot always kicks in.

My fragrance fog may be why I had trouble keeping my composure while listening to kids doing karaoke. First up was a middle school boy who chose AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.” Now mind you, this was a family event with children of all ages running around, and we’re smack in the middle of the Bible Belt. I personally have no problem with the song or my children hearing it, or even singing it, but it seemed a bit inappropriate in the middle of that group, with tiny children lined up for balloon animals and the singer punching that word, “Helllll.” Funny, but then it was over and I figured they wouldn’t let that happen again.

Then I heard the opening strains of “Family Tradition” by Hank Williams Jr., and I knew I had made a wrong assumption. I was watching the balloon animal guy, but when a sweet little voice sang, “Country music singers have always been a real close family,” my head snapped around. The singer was a little girl, I’m guessing nine years old, long hair in a French braid, wearing capris and high top sneakers.

I knew what was coming up in that song. The anticipation nearly did me in, but I looked around at the other parents, and other than a couple of small smirks the faces in the crowd were stone. I controlled myself, just waiting for the chorus, feeling it build, and then finally she sang, “Hank why do you drink? Hank why do you roll smoke?” and I almost lost it! My body shook and tears came out, and I tried really hard to be quiet about it, because I didn’t want the girl to see me. There was nothing wrong with her performance. She did a great job singing about the problems associated with being a stoned old country singer.

I think since I was by the wall and I kept my head down, nobody noticed. Well, except for my husband, who didn’t think it was as funny as I did. I blame the fragrance fog.

Well, I finally got Windows Live Writer installed, hooray. I tried fixing many different things, but I think the thing that made the difference was updating my .NET thingymabob, whatever that’s for. But who cares, it worked and I’m composing this scintillating post in the aforementioned program.

Since I’m constantly connected to the Internet, the main reason I wanted WLW was to back up my blog, and I’m hoping one of the Darcs can help me figure out how to do that. Once it’s backed up I’ll start pulling some of the old posts which are simply spam magnets and fluff. Who knows, maybe I’ll delete everything and start from scratch. That’s a terrifying prospect.

We had a lovely Saturday, with a spontaneous outing to our town’s annual Frontier Days festival. My daughter got to walk in the parade with her academic team, and afterwards the kids rode the tiny roller coaster and the Scrambler, one of my favorites but I’m too old for spinny rides now.

We got home just in time for OU/Tulsa kickoff (I fell asleep before the end, but it was pretty clear we would win) and generally shirked all responsibility for the day. Oh, that’s not true. First thing this morning I wrapped up a little editing work.

I guess we can’t shirk responsibility forever, and tomorrow will see the yard mowed and the kitchen cleaned and hopefully some writing done.

Daughter #2 insisted on riding the bus to her first full day of school. I tried to talk her out of it. Not for her, for me! So many reasons I should’ve taken her to school on her first day of kindergarten:

1. She can’t remember her teacher’s name. She will wander the lonesome halls, crying and calling for me, until someone notices, but by that time it will be far too late. Post-traumatic stress disorder.
2. I will not know if she made it safely to her classroom until she gets off the bus this afternoon. (Oh God, what if she doesn’t get off the bus this afternoon???!!! *faints*)
3. She should NEED ME more than that, damn  it!
4. I’ll look like a bad mom if I don’t usher her to her room and set her at ease.
5. I couldn’t take DS when he started because we didn’t have a car at the time, so I need to make up for that failure.
6. Is this starting to sound like grasping for straws?

The truth is, none of these are real concerns. And here’s why:

1. I wrote her teacher’s name nice and big on a piece of paper and put it in the mesh pocket on her backpack where it can be read from halfway down the hall. Also made her repeat her teacher’s name and directions to the classroom about 50 times.
2. She’s in the same school, just a different classroom. They know her. They will put her on the bus just like they did the previous two kids when it was their first day.
3. I don’t want to ruin her sense of adventure with my smothering.
4. Will I look like a bad mom? I’m probably overthinking this one.
5. DS came home fine on his first bus ride. He was just as excited about riding the bus as DD#2 is. No failure there.
6. I’m grasping because there’s really no good reason!

I can’t believe how calm she was about the whole thing. The older two are old pros, so they were fine. I guess it’s easier being the baby of the family, because she has a big bro and sis whom she trusts completely to keep her safe. They were all sitting in the same seat, right up front, Maggie near the window so she could see all the landmarks as the kids pointed them out. I think they enjoy looking at the dump the most.

I think back to DD#1′s first day and the look on her face as she realized I was leaving her in that classroom with strangers. She didn’t cry, she was so brave, but I barely held the tears till I hit the door.  When DS took the bus to school that first day, I was a wreck, but I was able to hide it pretty well. At least I had somebody left at home to keep me occupied. This morning I caught myself trying to talk DD#2 out of riding the bus, then I realized I was doing it for my own comfort. She’s the last one. She will be fine. But will I?

They should be getting to school about now. My first cup of coffee is almost gone, and my first day as a full-time writer stretches out before me. Doesn’t seem so exciting and wonderful now that I’m faced with it.  It’s quiet in here, people. I feel disconnected. This doesn’t bode well for my time management plans–I think I may be online more than I’d planned. But isn’t that why I set my schedule daily? There will be a period of adjustment. I must be easy on myself today. I forgot how hard it is to let a tiny child go out into the world without me.

Oh man, it’s a beautiful morning, rainy and cool. School starts tomorrow. We went to Open House last night, where we met all the kids’ teachers and found their desks and dropped off the school supplies. The amount of crap they need for school is incredible. I can remember carrying all my school spplies in my backpack on the first day, like pencils, a spiral notebook, glue, crayons and Kleenex. Now they need plastic baggies and dry-erase markers and regular markers and colored pencils and copy paper and two kinds of glue and paper plates and glitter…I mean, seriously. Where do the schools spend all that money the lottery was supposed to give us? Oh yeah, the football program, which my brainiac son might never need, and my brainiac daughters certainly won’t.

I figured something out about school supplies, though, after years of busting my ass and spending big bucks to get every item exactly as described on the list. They even say on the list, “Please buy specified brands and sizes!! Thank you!!!” And of course the brands are all the expensive ones, I guess so there’s some sort of consistency, since grade school is a socialist regime and all the supplies go into one pile to be extracted as needed. We’ve been spending between $150 and $200 for three kids. This year we didn’t have it. Just couldn’t make it work. So I asked the school if they had a program to help with school supplies, and they did. Filled out all the paperwork, went to the school a few days later to pick them up, opened the bag and found…RoseArt brand supplies. Not Crayola, freaking RoseArt. If I had known I could have bought the cheap stuff, I’d have been doing it every year! Shaved 50 bucks off my bill! Geez!

Breathe, Sherri.

So anyway, back to my beautiful morning. Now that I’ll be writing full time, I definitely need to get my daily schedule into shape, and that includes backing off the fun stuff like Facebook and Twitter. To start, I’ll be turning off email notifications on all my accounts. I’ll keep my email up in case of emergency, but I’ll have a prescribed time for replies. This means if you have a pressing need which only your faithful Sherri Blossoms can fulfill, I will still be available, I’ll just be making better use of my time. Here’s my tentative plan:

1. check email, respond to urgent messages
2. write
3. check FB and Twitter during lunch, reply to non-urgent emails
4. housework and exercise
5. editing or more writing, whatever needs doing
6. kid time
7. dinner
8. more FB and twitter, stats, blog posts, crits, etc

It’s not set in stone, because I need to be able to change what’s not working. However, if I don’t think of it as set in stone each day, I’ll fall right back into chaos. So maybe first thing in the morning I should set my schedule for the day, based on what worked yesterday and what errands need to be run, and then it’s set in stone. Till tomorrow.

The kids are back in school, hubby is back at work, and I’m where I always was. The temp will climb to the mid-fifties today, so my guess is that most of the ice/snow will be melted by this evening. The rest will melt tomorrow when it gets in the mid-sixties.

Good thing we took advantage of the sunshiney weather yesterday to play in the snow. Neighbor Lady saw us playing outside and brought her grandkids over to play with us. Since we ere outside the fragrance wasn’t too much of an issue. Whenever I caught a whiff I just moved further up-wind. I’m a be-near person, not a stay-away person, so it was weird trying to keep my distance from them.

This is the same neighbor whose daughter has been fighting cancer, don’t know if you remember, and I was watching the granddaughter from time to time before I realized the smell her shampoo was a trigger for my migraines. I wish I could do more for Neighbor Lady, because she’s the only one who can take up the slack with her grandchildren while their mother is ill. I appreciate Neighbor Lady’s understanding. If you have a moment to spare, could you say a short prayer for the family’s healing?

In other “news”, I had planned to call my agent today. I’m at a crossroads, as one book is losing momentum and the new one is just starting its submission life. I emailed my list of questions to Sara almost two weeks ago, and as it became clear my email got lost somewhere, I figured she’d probably rather have a phone conversation.

Only here’s what happened: I sat down to make that call at 9 a.m. my time, which would mean it was 10 a.m. her time. Got ready to dial, and the phone rang in my hand. It was my brother, checking to see if I had done a bit of business we’d talked about, which I hadn’t. Time was of the essence, so I called the business, hung up, called my brother again, hung up, business was done in a half hour. Prepared to dial Sara, again the phone rang. This time it was a wrong number. Hung up. Checked email while I waited to see how it played out, if the phone would ring again. After 5-10 minutes it hadn’t, so I thought about calling again, and just then my mother called. By the end of  that conversation an hour had elapsed.

Mind you, I’d not had one call before I tried to call Sara, nor one since I decided not to. I’ve had enough experience with signs to know it’s best to heed them. The call can wait till another day.

Today is May 12. For some reason it seems like an important day to me, but here I sit as usual, on the couch, in jammies, drinking coffee. Easing into my day. I googled the date, and the only thing I can see is that stamps go up a penny today. It may be I’m still riding high from the con and every day seems important. I feel like I’m in the middle of the most exciting time of my life, but it’s hard to put a finger on why. Nothing has happened that I can point to and say, “That’s when my life changed.”

The hinges are loose on my laptop screen. I have to keep it perfectly balanced or it flops back. I’ll rig up some kind of support before I press my luck too far and it snaps off. It’ll probably be ugly. Good thing I never go anywhere. (Yeah, right.)

I hope all you fathers out there did something good for the mothers of your children yesterday. My mother’s day was mostly like all other days, except it started with extra love and hand-made cards and chorus after chorus of “Happy Mother’s Day!” My 9-year-old made a card with a drawing of a boulder that said, “You rock!”

Yesterday was not only Mother’s Day, but also my lovely bonus daughter’s 16th birthday. I’ve known the girl since she was 4, before I’d had any children from my own body, so I love her like one of my own. It’s hard to watch her grow up, but her satisfaction at becoming an adult is fulfilling to me as well. She got her first job at the neighborhood pizza place last week, and will be driving soon. I hope she always considers me her friend. Love you, Z! (I tried to get a pic uploaded in here, but WP is not cooperating!! argh!)

That’s enough from me. I feel like I’m forgetting something, but who says I can’t post again if I remember later? Nobody, that’s who.

I love the writer psychology pieces on Buzz, Balls & Hype. This week’s is about how to control an over-active imagination. The querier says:

My novelistic abilities are making me crazy. The very thing that enables me to be a writer is torturing me in real life. I find that I am projecting my imagination onto already stressful situations and making them almost untenable.

I do this a lot, and if you are a creative type, you may, too. It took a long time to realize that not everyone does it. I think my mom and brother do it, but not my husband or other brother. I wasn’t truly able to release my paralyzing anxiety until I recognized the problem. It’s too easy to walk through my day in a dream state, with unfocused (or too focused) images taking precedence over what is right in front of me: a book, a chore, a child. It really is enough to drive a person crazy. Coincidentally, my husband and I established last night that only I am allowed to question my sanity.

I know one thing, I’d be a lot happier without the g-d writer’s mind. After the birth of my son, images of horror were uncontrollable and rampant. Images, and sometimes entire scenes, would superimpose on reality. Accidentally dropping a knife on him, our family dog turning rabid and ripping him apart, him burning to death in front of my eyes, really horrible stuff. Eventually I recognized that I was suffering from serious post-partum depression, as similar stories surfaced over the intervening years, but still…I wonder if it was made worse by my powerful imagination. I wonder if they’ve ever done a tally of the jobs held by the sufferers of post-partum depression.

Anyhoo, now that I’ve gone in a completely different direction than I planned… Don’t worry, my son is six, and the things I described in the previous paragraph have been over for a long time. Though never as intense or horrible since (the thoughts have been expanded to include good stuff), they are still distracting. Over the past year or so I’ve gotten much better at recognizing when my thoughts fall in that pattern, and as the Practical Vampire Slayer says, when you bring vampires into the light, they lose their power.

Go read the article.