Generation Exhausted

And they say teenagers don't communicate

Teens will talk to their parents. They will. Honest. Especially if there is something that is so important, so vitally crucial to the continuation of their happy existence, that they must make contact with said parent, and find out what they need to know immediately. Right. Now. This. Minute.

For instance...

Having enjoyed a bit of a sleep in, I ventured out to the living room mid-morning today and parked myself in my chair. Hubby was out of the room. Something beeped. I looked around the room curiously (gack! adverb alert!) but dismissed it. With three children, two televisions, four computers, five alarm clocks and any number of watches in the house, something beeping really isn't that disturbing. Besides, it stopped beeping.

Five minutes later, hubby having returned to the room, something beeped again. I glanced around again. "Sure wish I knew what that was," said the hubby. "Yeah, that's the second time," I replied. "No," he said. "It's the 35th time. It's been beeping every few minutes all morning."

Hmm. This had gone from minor aberration (hang on, have to look up "aberration", yep, that's the word I want) to major what-the-heck-is-it? I looked around. He looked around. We waited.

Beep. Beep.

Ed. note: Neither of us was so panicked by these beeping occurences to actually get up out of a chair. I love being so laid-back.

At last, I reached for my purse, and pulled out my cell phone. Perhaps the battery was low?

Ah hah! I had a text message! It said so on the screen. My first text message!

(Sent at 9:30 a.m.) "What time does School X get out for early dismissal?"

My baby had a question and she asked me! ME! She knew Mommy would know all the secrets of the universe that she didn't know! She wanted info and went to the Source Of Everything I Ever Need To Know. Right there in the middle of Photography class!

And because she knows that Mommy abhors "Netspeak" she spelled everything right. And used punctuation. That's my girl.

Not wanting my teen to have to wait a minute longer for my reply (she'd waited two whole hours already) texted (is that even a word?) her back right away.

"I donot no." Took me five whole minutes to punch that in, and I couldn't get the extra "o" out of "don't", nor did I dare attempt a "k" or a "w". And an apostrophe? Are you kidding?

Later in the afternoon, I discovered that apparently, I was the hit of week. A parent who can text. "Boy-howdy, your mom's cool!"

So don't you tell me that teens don't talk to their parents. You just have to have the right technology to be able to hear them.

Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

Today loomed...I had nothing to do. The mag was put to bed on Friday, and scheduled for delivery this Thursday. I had turned in my last-minute assignment for a well-known magazine. I cleaned the office (mostly) last night. It was going to be a quiet day.

Except for the orthodontist's appointment. Wouldn't take long. I'd have most of the day to putter with "housekeeping" type tasks. (I don't, of course, mean actual housekeeping)

Oh, and the appointment at Early Years. Wouldn't take long. Lots of day left over.

Oh, and since I missed delivery of the new computer yesterday, I had to go to Purolator. Wouldn't take long.

Oh, and since the insurance forms hadn't arrived at the auto glass place yesterday, I'd have to stop by there and pay the deductible. Wouldn't take long.

I'm not sure at which point the day spiralled out of control. Perhaps it was when my brother woke me up needing a ride to school since he'd overslept. Or perhaps it was when the contract arrived out-of-the-blue from Reader's Digest, with a cover letter referencing an email conversation I didn't recall having. Or perhaps it was when the delivery truck driver called to let me know the magazines would arrive in two hours - 48 hours ahead of schedule.

Or perhaps it was when the orthodontist said we'd have to come back in an hour for the starter retainers. Or maybe it was when I got the email from an anthology saying they wanted to print my previously unpublished essay which had been published since I sent it to them three years ago. Or it might have been the urgent email from the editor of last week's last-minute assignment wanting one more detail that I didn't have.

The day went on and on and on. One more thing after another thing after another. In the end, I got the all the editors dealt with, arranged early distribution of the mag, visited the orthodontist twice, got my brother to school only 15 minutes after the morning bell, and managed to find time to make the bed.

However, I did not get to the auto glass place. And my brand new computer is still sitting in the box in the living room because there's no way in the world I'm even going to start that journey today.

On the up side, I'm going to be in Reader's Digest and Canadian Living, and a new Cup of Comfort anthology. So I can take a day like today every now and then, I think.

Yesterday's news

Once upon a time, before God and Bill Gates invented the Internet**, I used to spend a lot of time at the library. Often, I'd borrow books I'd borrowed once before. That's right, I didn't just read, I re-read. For whatever reason, certain books left such an impression that, sometimes, rather than taking a chance on something new, I'd settle for something that was guaranteed.

Also, at the library, when I was ten or eleven, I discovered the microfilm. At the main branch of the library, back in a dusty corner of the first floor, there was a wall of metal cabinets as high as my head, and in the drawers of those cabinets, safely recorded on microfilm, were back issues of the local daily and the New York Times.

I just this minute realized how odd it is that the local library had 70 years worth of New York Times on microfilm, and only a week's worth of the Globe and Mail on any given day.

Anyway. Paper copies of the paper, and many other papers from around the world, as well as magazines, were stored for about a month. Then they were committed to microfilm and stored in a drawer, labelled with the date, etc etc.

This is the part where you find out I was a nerd.

I used to love to read the newspapers on microfilm. For fun. At the age of eleven. I started out, as most children will, by checking to see if my parents had paid to have a birth announcement printed when I was born. And when my brother was born. I moved on to looking at articles about "historical" events. Like when the Beatles came to the States for the first time. And when JFK was shot. And when Pearl Harbour was bombed.

For fun.

As I got older, I tapped into those microfilms for high school papers, and reports. I could count on the microfilm being there if I needed to look anything up that might not be covered in the old newspapers and Reader's Digests that my mother kept in the basement. And I remember wondering what would happen as time passed when the amount of microfilm grew to such quantity that the library couldn't store it anymore.

And then the Internet was born, and I lost interest in the microfilm. Because now, I could look up more than just the NYT and the local daily. And although 100 years of newspapers weren't necessarily being stored in cyberspace, I could pretty well depend on publications developing their archives as time passed. So if I wanted to re-read an article I read last month, for work or for fun, it wouldn't be hard to find.

Tonight, I was going to blog about something I read in yesterday's National Post. But I put my copy in the Blue Box. And I can't look it up online, because the Post wants you to pay for that privilege. As does the local paper. And the Globe and Mail.

And if you want to look up an article that was in Newsweek six weeks ago, well, that's going to cost you too.

I know that space - cyber or otherwise - is not infinite. But with mainstream media lamenting the increase in "unofficial" or "unverified" or "unedited" information, you'd think said mainstream media would be working on making themselves more accessible, not less. Because really - I can pay to access yesterday's Post online, or I can get me down to the library and look at it there.

So I guess the microfilm and microfiche down at the library isn't going to be obsolete any time soon. (Side note: I never did understand the difference between microfilm and microfiche. Any thoughts?) Although they still run the risk of running out of storage space.

**Please spare me any discussion on who really invented the Internet. I'm not that much of a geek, so I don't really care. Bill Gates makes it possible for me to enjoy it, and that's all I really need to know. Although I'm sure if I looked up a few back issues of the New York Times on microfilm, I could probably tell you who it actually was.

Shattered

My neighbour woke me up this morning to let me know I was part of a trend that I didn't even know existed.

Someone smashed the window of my van in the night. And, as it turns out, the night before, four other cars on the street received the same treatment, including my dad. So now, on top of the computer, and the retainer, I have to fork out the $300 deductible to replace the window. The problem with driving a better car, of course, is that it costs more to fix. In this case, the window has to come from Chrysler, and can't be fixed until Monday.

It was a less than ideal way to start the day.

Word on the street is that the same thing happened a block over too. The auto glass guy said that in the last 48 hours, the insurance company alone has sent him $4000 worth of business.

We all, of course, say "Kids." It's hard to imagine that "kids" would be out roaming the street at 2 in the morning, but imagining that is easier than thinking it's adults. The thought that adults might possibly be so irrational as to commit this kind of pointless destruction is just too hard to wrap our heads around.

But what in God's name are "kids" doing on the street at 2 in the morning on a school night?

The kind of people that do this thing rank right up there with the kind of people that steal children's bicycles. There's just no rationale. There's no theft, it's just...breaking something. Something that belongs to someone they don't even know, that never did anything to them.

Pointless.

I spend most of my time believing that people are basically good. Some days, that's easier than other days.

Tomorrow's got to be better, right?

A sleepless night pays off

I'm in the Trib! I'm in the Trib!

You have to be a subscriber (it's free) to see my essay in this week's WomanNews.

I'm in the Trib!

Long, long day

Special thanks to Ann, The Mother of All Friends, for talking me down off the ledge this morning. I'll be meeting Ann for the first time this October, and I'm hoping she might have some time and we can do lunch or something. Ann just amazes me - she's accomplished so much, and she has so much energy. And yet she always has time for a kind word.

Production week is always hard on me, but I'm starting to realize that it doesn't have to be quite this difficult. There are things I could do - better time management, less procrastination - that would make it less of the ulcer-inducing experience it tends to become. Be it resolved -I will start work on the November issue early!

Any writers out there that might be looking for motivation, here's a suggestion - take your kid to the orthodontist. It's amazing what being faced with a $3k bill will do for your ability to get those queries out there. Got word this morning of a likely assignment, though the final word won't come for another week or so. Two words - follow up.

So - three a.m. and final proofing tomorrow. In addition to my real job, today's events have included a revise on last week's assignment, a panic-stricken conversation with another editor about a completed assignment, and a tentative assignment from somewhere else. I also got the agenda finished for the School Council meeting tomorrow night. And hubby has a cold, which means I'll likely be sniffling and hacking by next week.

Oh joy.

Oh, Sheila

Yet one more example of the difference between Americans and Canadians.

In the States, actors become politicians.

In Canada, the politicians become actors.

In other news, I am resurfacing from beneath the pile of work on my desk that threatens to topple and crush me. I also appear to have broken my toe, which is amazing, considering I've spent eleven hours in this chair today. No, don't ask me how it happened. I have no idea.

But there is light! At the end of the tunnel! And I am realizing! That far too many people! Use exclamation marks to excess! And it bothers me immensely!

However, I hope to be working this hard - or nearly this hard - for much time to come, as we discovered on Saturday just what it takes to straighten a child's teeth.

It takes $3300. For Phase One. Which isn't even braces, but instead is a retainer that she can remove and accidentally throw in the garbage.

And do you know, that I had my very first ever serious moment of Mother Guilt when the orthodontist asked me if she'd ever had a mouth injury when she was small, and I couldn't remember which one of the kids it was that tumbled down the stairs at 18 months?

Just about qualifies me for Mother Of The Yearrrrr.

A new addition

Well, it's official. Having had three in the house for some time now, today it was confirmed that we will soon have four. I never pictured us having four. One, absolutely, two made good sense, and three - well, three was an unexpected blessing. But four? It seems a little over the top somehow. Mind you, we've been talking about the possibility for a while, so it's not completely out of the blue.

I know there are other families that have four, but they're rare. Most are content with one or two. We already stood out a little amongst our peers for having three. But four? I can just imagine what my mother will say.

"Really, Shelley, was that a responsible choice to make? I just don't understand you sometimes."

But I'm excited. I don't care what people think. There's nothing wrong with four. We can afford it, as long as everyone buys my book, and the freelance assignments continue to roll in, and my job continues to go well. Besides, it will keep hubby busy.

I've already told Linda, and she wasn't shocked. But then, she understands these things. I wonder what Kim will say?

So we're going to have to do some reshuffling. I like my small house, I really do, but this is just the sort of situation that makes me realize how small it actually is. I mean, we don't exactly have a "spare" room, now do we? Maybe we can clear out a corner of the teenager's room. If she keeps her room tidy, it shouldn't be too crowded. All it needs is a corner.

And the Dell guy said I only have to wait a week until delivery! So one more week and we'll officially have four computers in the house. I'm so excited!

What, you thought I was talking about something else?

Just one more reason...

Right at the end of the work day today, I began to get the craft materials ready for this weekend's Children's Fest. I took over the kitchen, and in short order there was food coloring, pasta, and plastic containers spread out all over the place. This, of course, eliminated any possibility of my husband making dinner at, like, dinner time. (inconvenient!)

The smell of rubbing alcohol (stinky!) permeated the air as I filled bag after bag with pasta to dye. I set the middle daughter up drying the dyed pasta with the hair dryer (noisy!)

At no point in time did hubby say, "How does this relate to being a magazine editor? And why are you wrecking/interfering with my kitchen? And when will that infernal noise stop?"

He just took himself out to the porch and smoked his pipe, and when we were done, he cooked our supper, and hasn't mentioned the fact that there are now fifteen bags of coloured pasta in the living room.

Which is just one more reason I love him.

Persistence

For the third night in a row, I will be logging off before 12:30 a.m. I started this little experiment just after returning home. During our entire vacation, we were fast asleep before midnight every night and up bright and early every morning. (Truly - Disney is not restful. Wasn't meant to be. If I want restful, I'll send everyone else on vacation and stay home) So, since I was already into the groove of more normal hours, I figured I'd see if I could keep it going.

So far, not so bad. I tossed and turned a bit last night, but I was also suffering from a sinus headache that had refused to go away. (Know what else they don't have at Disney? Pollen. Or whatever it is that sets my allergies off like that.) But at least I tried.

If I can really get into this sleep cycle, it will be a good thing. The fact of the matter is, although I'm perfectly happy putting in my eight or more hours of work after noon, the rest of the world is nine-to-five, and these days I'm doing a lot of interviews and stuff with the rest of the world. So I simply can't afford to burn the first four hours of daylight anymore. Maybe a more regular sleep schedule will help me feel a little more energetic too.

And I will need that energy, for yesterday I was reminded that it never rains, but it pours. It's good rain though. I was also reminded of what should really be the Freelancers' Creed:

Never. Give. Up.
Really.
Never.

There's this mag I've been trying to get into for more than four years. Four. Since before I was ever published at all. I've pitched them so much, the editors recognize my voice when I call. And never an acceptance came my way.

They called yesterday. With an assignment, based on a query I sent nine months ago.

Four years.

We interrupt this blogging momentarily so that Shelley may do the Writer's Happy Dance.

Dance over. Work to be done. Yay me!

In other news, today my not-quite-eight-year-old decided to become a teenager, or at least exhibit the attitude of one. Heaven help me.