Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?
I can really use a wish right now...
The lyrics to another song which has been running through my mind all day. Actually ever since the first time I heard it vis a vis my twelve year old sons blaring Ipod.
Catchy song, nonetheless. And the lyrics really, really appeal to me.
Yes, we can pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars. I LOVE that idea!! In fact, I really wish I would have thought of that earlier.
I, too, could really use a wish right now.
What is plaguing me? I don't know. I just have this sense of discontent that I can't seem to shake.
Of course it doesn't help when:
at 1500h the daycare phones me and tells me that Payton is laying on the floor crying with some kind of a stomach thing...
at 1600 I ditch work early to go get said kid. Go and get Payton and then proceed to Alex's daycare...
at 1630 Arrive at Alex's daycare where I find him laying on the kitchen floor ("Your baby just threw up all over the floor," Tasia says by way of a greeting.)
Maybe I'm under cooking their meat, was my first thought, as I recalled the chicken fingers I hastily withdrew from the oven last night so that we could make Paytons' 6:30 ball game.
at 17:00 I get home, withdraw a frozen lasagna from the freezer, thinking this will simplify my life and I can get dinner cooked in a hurry. I read the instructions, which call for baking at four hundred degrees for one hundred minutes. I do the math and put the lasagna in the oven with a heavy sigh.
Spend the next twenty minutes looking for AA batteries for the automated Bubble Blower that Payton insisted on. Rifle through several drawers but turn up nothing but various USB cables and corkscrews. Now, if I were actually looking for a USB cable, I am certain that the batteries would have presented themselves instead.
In this midst of this search, practically salivate over a discarded toy that has four new AA batteries in it. Try to secretly dismantle the toy while the children are not watching.
Spend the next twenty minutes looking for a screwdriver to remove the battery compartment of said toy.
Abandon that search and begin searching for an improvised screwdriver- knives, scissors, etc.
Give up on the bubble toy. Tell Payton that she is just going to have to blow bubbles the old fashioned way. Deal kid.
At 1800- Payton (suddenly- suspiciously(?) is feeling better. She ducks outside to play with her friend.
Ten minutes later said friend is wailing at the door holding his left ear. "The dog bit me," he sobs.
Spend the next ten minutes applying polysporin to his ear and trying to apply a bandaid. (Note: the human ear not designed for band aids.)
Spend the next ten minutes drafting a note to send home with said friend (Beginning with "Dear Theresa" and ending with "our dog has had her rabies vaccinations, etc."
At 18:30 Alex has a temper tantrum, demanding his monkey blanky, which is currently in the wash due to daycare related puking incident.
18:40 Put Alex to bed (the lasagna still isn't ready but whatevs.)
18:50 Alex still crying hysterically. Peek in on him to find him covered in vomit.
1900: Bath Alex and do the laundry.
And so on and forth.
Not to mention that this querying process is really starting to get me down.
I think I'm just going to quit.
Rejection is really hard to take, no matter how much your try to tell yourself "writing is its own reward."
The whole situation is slightly reminiscent of my pregnancy test addiction. You do the pregnancy test, so hopeful, knowing that in the matter of mere moments your whole life could be changed forever, for the better. When I hit the 'send' button after writing a query, I feel that same mix of emotions: anxiety, excitement, hope and fear.
The problem is that with pregnancy tests you get an answer in two minutes.
With querying there is a lot more waiting, and what answers you do get are usually negative ones "Thank you for sharing your work with us, however..."
It's hard not to take it personally, for some reason.
The other major news around here is that Payton has a loose tooth.
I wiggled it last night and was completely freaked out about it. I realize yes, that this doesn't exactly make her grown up and halfway out the door- she hasn't exactly packed her bags yet- but still. I found the whole thing bittersweet.
Of course, I find everything bittersweet. Literally everything. For example: "this is so sad we're throwing away this toilet brush. This is the very first toilet brush that I bought when we moved into our first place. Remember that toilet??"
But the fact that my daughter's shedding her baby teeth means that she's shedding her babyhood, which I might have suspected when she announced during brunch on the weekend that she was breaking up with her boyfriend so she could focus on her studies. But as her mother, I still cling to this belief that she is still my baby. I guess she will always be, loose teeth or not.
Already, I can't even deal with the fact that we have a high chair in our kitchen which has sat, unused, for about four months. "Do you think we should put this in the garage?" Geoff asked, tentatively, knowing that this could full well precipitate a break down- being the virtually last vestige of babydom we have left. I looked at the high chair. "I think we might still get some use out of it." Geoff looked doubtful but didn't push me. Never mind the fact that every time I try to put Alex in it he screams at the top of his lungs "NOT A BABY" and arches his back so that you can not physically sit him in it.
Issues for another day.
Have a good night.