Flopping Fish Brain

I passed 20,000 words today in the saga of Emily and Eddie, which is nowhere close to 50,000 words, but, considering the distractions I have in my days, is pretty darn good. I'm pleased. It's a whole hell of a lot better than nothing and that is exactly what I had at the start of November. The best part is that I am only just now half way through my outline. The plot is more complicated in the second half, so if I continue, I ought to be able to reach between 50,000 and 70,000 words easily and that is, well, fun. It's fun. We'll leave it at that for now.

There are only two days left of posting every day. I have things to say. Half formed blog posts sift through the holes in my mind. I can't hold them. I am tired and the points and themes and images get clogged in the gears. I'll let this one jump and flip and reverse like my flopping fish out of water brain.

We did a craft. With acrylic paint. In my living room. Right? Matt was all, who are you and where is my severely craft-averse anal retentive wife? Recall, I need therapy to let my children eat popsicles. It gets better. I painted their little hands with honest-to-goodness, doesn't-wash-off-easily paint and we printed projects. They are going to be the kids' presents to aunties and grandparents for the holidays, so I can't get specific and give it all away, but they turned out downright adorable.

In case you fear my blog (or my body) has been taken over by aliens, no, no, it's me. I yelled at Cue so loudly while his little hand was covered in lemon yellow acrylic paint that he sat down on his bottom and did the open mouth, someone-killed-my-puppy cry. That would be me. His mother. I killed his puppy. For revenge, while I had the baby's entire hand painted bright green, he insisted on covering the wet canvasses with his nanny blanket so that they could "go nigh-nigh."

My crafty quota is filled for the century.

ALSO, because I don't have enough misery going on at night, Gee is sleep walking. Actually, he is sleep pee-pee dancing all around the upstairs. He's sort of looking for the toilet, but if one of us doesn't get there fast enough and aim him in the right direction, he'll pee on whatever is handy. He favors the step stool, which is like three freaking inches from the toilet.

Finally, I took all the kids to a large box bookstore because something is wrong with my brain. Reference above, re: non-water based paints. It was packed. The aisles were so narrow. Our little procession involving stroller and kids holding stroller on both sides and Cue "pushing" stroller (oh my god, Cue, there is no where for ME to stand when you "push" the stroller) did not fit. I failed to hit the eject button and bail before we were well and truly into the store and COULD NOT TURN AROUND.

I have new appreciation for Cos.tco and its wide enough for the pallet trolley aisles. Those are my people. The pallet trolley people (thumps chest above heart while flashing cost.co spelled in a bizarre gang-sign-esque configuration of my fingers).

I'm closing my comments for most of the month of November while I participate in National Novel Writing Month and National Blog Posting Month. I can't ask you to talk to me every freaking day for thirty days. That's cruel and usual punishment. My email is always open - anymommyoutthere@gmail.com.


E&E Tally: 20620 words
Blog posts: 28/30