On writing and mama-ing and getting stitches out and putting new floors in and some renegade fake Emily Dickinson just for fun


I have been busy doing the things busy people do, mainly trying to prevent my children from getting any more stitches. I've also been trying to finish the third draft of a new manuscript so that my agent will smile upon it and we can get it out to some editors and see what's what.

In the middle of all of that there was a doctors appointment to get stitches out, an ear infection discovered, a shark's tooth growing out of someone's tonsil, a writerly conference that was busy and fun, then I got sick with some kind of sinus funk and my husband and his dad started replacing our floors and I have had a headache that's lasted for six days (and counting).

These are all excuses as to why you haven't heard from me in a while.


You will be hearing from me more, as I have been freed of the hockey date with my husband on Sunday and can now liveblog the Oscars. WOO. (And don't worry, we are not getting divorced over this, he is just going to take the wee one to the game and we are going to have another non-Oscar night date instead. All because he loves me and somewhat tolerates my dorky need to publicly make fun of people who are fancier than I am.)

ADDITIONALLY, I have written you all a poem that is not a haiku:

(with apologies to Emily Dickinson, who wrote a lovely poem that I have corrupted by changing the subject [and words] to be about the cold brew coffee I ordered from my farm delivery people this week)

God Gave a Venti

God gave a Venti to every gal,
But just a tall to me;
I dare not drink it, though I'm dazed,–
My caffeinated treat
To sniff it, hold it, enjoy the heat
That makes the cup all mine,–
Too happy in my tea-scarred ways
For larger plumes of steam.

It might be exhaustion all around,
I am in a dream,
Such a score within my mug,
My luck's come in it seems.
I wonder how the dailies feel,–
With Starbucks and trades fair?
Regardless, I with this small tall
Am brew queen of my lair.

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