Okay, so it’s been five days or so since I posted here.  I’m going to update by day, stream-of-consciousness.

Friday, March 6: Daughter did not go to school again due to her lingering illness.  I worked eight hours.  Picked up son from lacrosse.   Have absolutely no other recollection of that day.

Husband took son to early-morning lacrosse game.  I woke up early (for a Saturday) to get ready for a day away.  My daughter slept until after 9 a.m., which is the latest she has ever slept.  I dropped her off at Grandma’s house, then hit the road for an hour’s drive to a conference.

However, just as I approached the freeway, I peeked at myself in the rear-view mirror and noticed that my eyes looked strangely naked.  That’s when I realized I forgot to put on mascara.  Nice.  I was trying to look my best, too, and my best includes mascara.  ( I arrived thirty minutes late but I swear my detour to Walgreens for mascara and an eyelash curler did NOT take long.)

A writing friend of mine, Linda Vujnov, was speaking at a conference at Overlake Christian Church.  Linda and I met at Mt. Hermon’s Writing Conference two years ago.  I drove up to spend the day with her–and ended up giving her an afternoon driving tour of Seattle’s most iconic sites (Space Needle, Pike Place Market, waterfront).  The sun even came out for a moment–but it was snowing by evening.  Weird.

I totally invited myself over to Jodie Howerton’s house.  (She and Linda are friends–Jodie used to live in Southern California, too.)  She blogs at Sun Breaks in the Rainy City. Anyway, I have no manners, so I tagged along.  Jodie and her husband, Mike, are super nice people with two cute kids and an enthusiastic dog.

I left home at 9:30 a.m. and returned home twelve hours later.  The last thirty minutes on the freeway were torturous because my left contact lense felt like it had sand under it.  Ouch.

Sunday, March 7: We slept in.  I was so exhausted from Saturday.  When we got up, I took my two youngest kids to the dollar store where they picked out a bunch of cheap things to buy.  We ran into a couple we know and when my phone rang, I handed it to Keith and had him answer it.  Freaking out my husband is not easy to do, so that was quite satisfying.  He was stunned to hear a man answer my phone.  Gotcha!

I went to a movie that afternoon (“Taken” which was quite entertaining), then to Target.   I spent two hours trimming the laurel hedges in the backyard.  Then my husband and I watched television:  “The Amazing Race” and “The Celebrity Apprentice.”

Monday, March 8: Took kids to school, did DVD work-out (ouch, lunges hurt).  My daughter called and reminded me it was her snack-day, so I took snacks to school.  As soon as Grace saw me, she cried and I took her into the hallway to beg, threaten, cajole and insist that she stay at school for the last forty-five minutes.  After school was out, the teacher said she was totally fine.  Worked eight hours today.

Oh, did I mention we woke up to snow today?  How weird is that?

* * *

And that’s what I’ve been doing.  Not exciting or glamorous or anything.  Tomorrow I’m meeting with an ER nurse to discuss some details necessary to the fiction I’m writing.  I am trying to get some “real” writing done, but I’m finding it nearly impossible to find time.  I haven’t even had much time for reading lately, either, which is distressing to me.

But at least I updated this blog.  That’s something.

Since last Friday, my daughter has been struggling with a virus.  She missed three days of school and today when I picked her up at 11:45 a.m., her teacher told me that she was really tired.  Poor kid.  All my kids have been sick and have lingering coughs.  My husband and I have missed the worst of the illness.  We are too busy to get sick.

The main problem with writing a blog at 12:10 a.m. is that I can’t remember what I might have wanted to say a few hours ago when I had an idea.  The topics that come to mind are scattered and just bits of irrelevance.  For instance:

1)  Miley Cyrus has written an autobiography.  Really?  Seriously?  She’s sixteen!  I hear there is breaking news, like the fact that there were mean girls in her fourth grade class.  Oh, call me a waaaaaambulance.  Aren’t there mean fourth grade girls in every fourth grade class?

2)  The Octomom:  How can someone so articulate be so detached from reality?  Fourteen babies.  On the other hand, I don’t want the government to decide who can be a parent.  On the other hand, the doctor who did this?  Unethical for starters and stupid besides.

3)  The stock market.  Stop.  Falling.  Please.

4)  I have crocuses blooming in my backyard.  Spring is coming.  But not without a lot of rain and wind.

5)  I haven’t grocery shopped in any substantial and organized way in a long time.  I keep running in for milk and a “few things.”  Tomorrow I really need to grocery shop, but I fear I will spend my morning napping, right after I mail my tax information to the accountant.

6)  I hate taxes.  Hate.  Cold hatred.

7)  Digital photography means that I haven’t actually had my photos from part of 2007 and all of 2008 developed yet.

8)  My son’s first lacrosse game is Saturday morning, but I am going to be out of town visiting a friend that day.  My husband will be Superdad that day.  Just one of the many reasons I married him.

9)  My husband’s “new” Cadillac has seat-warmers.  Motoring down cold suburban roads with a warm butt is a fine way to travel.

10)  I have started five books this past week, but have yet to get hooked by any of them.  I think that William Zinnser’s book about writing memoir will win, though.  I love his writing.

The end.

My daughter has been sick again.  She falls asleep watching cartoons in the afternoon, then wakes up inconsolable but refuses all medication.  This afternoon, I was rocking her in the gliding rocker in my room, channel surfing for some entertainment suitable for us both.  I happened upon “America’s Best Dance Crew,” a show I like to watch for the commentary by the judge “Lil Mama.”  I can’t tell you exactly what she says or even how she says it, but I am mightily amused.  She’s so un-housewife, so un-suburban.

Also?  I like to watch the dancing.  I could no sooner dance that I could dive to the ocean floor without an oxygen.  I might not have been born without rhythm but what little ability I might have had was crushed out by a religion that believed that square dancing could send you straight to hell.  So, I can clap in rhythm but dancing?  Uh, no.  Never.  I am dance-impaired, much to my chagrin.  (I cannot imagine purposely drawing attention to my body in motion, ever.)

Anyway, so the dancing began and my daughter turns her stinky-sick-breath face to me and said, “Mom, do you have any talents?”

And I said, rather lamely, “Well, I do play the piano and sing.”

I don’t think she was impressed.  I cannot fly-kick or head-spin or shake my booty.  (Wait?  Did I just slip into a past decade of dance moves?)

When your kid has to ask if you have any talents, it might be time to hire a public relations expert to polish your image a bit.  I’m not feeling the love.