What a week.  Small Girl is home at “camp mom” this week, which I had envisioned as a lovely, end of summer gift to both of us where we could go to the beach, eat copious ice cream cones, and generally enjoy each others’ company.  Instead I have been dealing with two cars that are broken to greater or lesser extents, a serious delayed work project, unpacking the last bucolic family adventure and repacking for the next one, which begins tomorrow. We’re not exactly feeling the love.  In fact, she stated dispassionately tonight, while refusing to eat the rather disgusting pizza I served (along with a slew of farm veggies, for whatever that’s worth), that I might be the meanest mommy ever. Huh.  This after I took her on a whale watch this morning and we saw roughly a bazillion dolphins leaping around our boat, along with a wildly rare sperm whale.*

*So what if I feel asleep on the boat ride home and had no idea she was on the top deck?  She enjoyed it up there!

Meanwhile, Larger Boy is at a Boat Camp where he has 1) been told to shape up or leave (day 1); 2) puked over the side of the boat (day 3); and 3) been yelled at by the captain so loudly that I heard it from shore before the boat docked (day 4).  He’s not sure he wants to go back tomorrow, and frankly I’m tempted to go down and have a few words with el capitano myself.

I am still writing, though even there all is not rosy.  I am in the Middle.  I’m in the middle of edits for Dangerous School and the middle of the manuscript for Swim. I hate the middle. The middle is slog-city; it is mediocre-burger with average fries and a side of boring.  As Shakespeare would say, it sucketh.

So with all that in mind, it should be clear why I so enjoyed the blog post below. It was written by the talented and successful NY Times bestselling YA author Maggie Stiefvater, but with a few small tweaks (including the ages and, alas, the descriptor “NY Times bestseller”) this is my life.  Thank you Maggie, for capturing it so eloquently.

Starring players in conversation:
Me: 28 year old author.
Thing 1: 6 year old daughter.
Thing 2: 5 year old son.

THING 1: *noise*

THING 2: *noise*

THING 1: *noise*

THING 2: *noise*

ME: Could you guys please be quiet for just one minute? You can talk all you want in the car later, but right now, this is MAMA TIME.

THING 1: . . .

THING 2: . . .

*10 seconds elapsed time*

THING 2: I’m an evil beaver.