Who said that?
A little glitch in computer operations and my NaBloPoMo plans were scuttled.
No matter. I was starting to feel the strain. And I do need to clean around here once in a while. And cook. And do laundry. And show up for work two days a week. And sew. And knit. And read. And try not to commit catricide.....
So you see, NaBloPoMo was not meant for me. Phew! I feel better having had a few days away, though at the time I was fuming. And embarrassed when the Bean showed up on Saturday, and revealed how simple the solution was........You don't need to know. I feel humiliated enough! In my defense though, I have not made much of an effort to educate myself on the inner workings and mysterious random behaviours of my computer......Because......... the menfolk, who are occasionally around here, know it all, so why clutter up my head when I can call on them? I need that space for other stuff. And after all, they call on me to sew on buttons and fix ripped seams.
I have no ambition to be a renaissance woman who changes her own oil and tires, trundles around the garden on the John Deere [I did try once. It was not a success] or understands how computers work. I admire women who do it all, but since there is limited space in my head, I'm holding out as long as I can before I'm forced to join them.. I believe in a division of labor. If they'll set the darn thing up, I'll do the blog work. I think that's fair, don't you?
So now I'm back in the saddle, so to speak, and not a moment too soon. Today is the day my oldest child turns, I can't say it -----four decades, cough, splutter, choke!
She has a much better approach to it all than her mother....
"Mom, age is all in your head!" And of course she's right. Anyone who can run a marathon as frequently as she does is certainly not over the hill.
Except, I'd really like to look now as I did, back then, when she was born.
I remember the pale pink, onion skin paper I took with me to the hospital, and the letter I wrote on it to my mother, pouring out my soul and my feelings for this tiny new person who had been entrusted to me. Were they mad, the Gods, or whoever was in charge of such things? Did they know how little I knew about babies? How could they be so irresponsible? And yet I loved that little scrapeen [all 9lbs. 3 ozs.] of humanity with a fierceness I'd never felt before. When I took her home to Ireland for the first time I eagerly asked my mother if she still had that letter I'd sent her in the very first flush of motherhood. She didn't have it. Could hardly even remember it. I was crushed that what was so important to me wasn't to her. But it wasn't that she didn't care. It was just that she wasn't sentimental, as I, for better or worse, am. My poor father was forever lamenting the papers, or whatever, that he had "left right there!" and she'd come along and "tidied them up," and more than likely burned them at the end of the garden!
Put it down to the raging hormones, but one memory I have of holding her and cradling her in my arms while still in the hospital, is of looking at her tiny ring finger and breaking out in sobs at the thought that some day, some young fellow [turns out he was just learning to walk at the time] would come along and whisk her away from me. Yes M! I'm talking about you....Congratulations on finding her!
So, to the beautiful girl who started me down this path called motherhood ---
Happy Birthday Lily!
Here's to the next forty....aarrgh!.
And the hell with NaBloPoMo.