guilt trip

Sorry I haven't been writing in here more often. But I have excuses, really I do.

The first one was a car accident. Rear-ended, car totaled. Compressed disc(k?) at L5 and still having headaches. I suspect I had a very mild concussion, but the urgent care doc didn't think so.

The second one was my kids came home from three weeks in Massachusetts and I've been snuggling all over them. (In fact, I am also planning a little welcome home party for them tomorrow.)

The third excuse is actually taking up more mental and physical space than the other two. I've got the Willamette Writers Conference coming up next week and I'm pitching my non-fiction book: "Grief Shadows: Young, Pregnant and Widowed" to THREE different agent/editors. So I'm working on my outline, essays and most importantly -- my pitch.

I'm also trying to settle into my routine of having the children back.

It's harder than I thought.

I really just want to grab a bowl of refried beans with rice cheese melted over it and start writing my next essay that is plaguing my brain. It's buffeting around in there doing cartwheels trying to get my attention before I forget it and it melts away. I understand this and want to honor it, but ... (and, as my gramma used to say, "here's the BIG but(t) ...") instead I must: worry about Robert being on the xbox 360 too long and make lunch for the kids who are STARVING and starting to concoct weird things in the kitchen, and get to the store to buy water balloons for the gathering tomorrow and food. Get the back yard decent. (Read: pick up poop and mow.)

I guess that means no essay for now.

But how will I remember what I want to say for later, and still stay present for the kids and my other responsibilities, like ... oops. I forgot to feed the chickens this morning.

Best go check that now.