Rine-Stone’s Blah Blah BL-AAHH-G

Well, what do you know–I’ve fallen off the literary horse again. I made a vow to write for 10 minutes a night thinking that was such a ridiculously small amount of time that I’d for sure stick to that. It’s been over 2 weeks since I did it. We’re in the midst of putting our condo on the market, so I’ve been cleaning every nook and cranny of this place to give the illusion that it’s never been lived in and Trey’s been rehearsing for a new show he’s in, so I’ve been flying solo. Not to mention there’s that sweet little noodle that needs to be loved, bathed and tickled. But the bug to write is gnawing at me, so I just wanted to check in while hanging my head in shame and admit this gal is tired, but refuses to give up. The good thing about writing is that ideas come to me throughout the day, so I am starting to at least envision my next book and I have about 10 different essays that I’m excited to dig into. You know what? I’m not going to sweat it. I have no doubt this book will get written at the time it’s supposed to be written. I don’t have to be such a control freak that I set the timeframe for it. Right now life is happening and there’s no room for sitting back and writing about it and that’s just fine. Anybody wanna buy a tiny, overpriced condo?

Eventually I’ll actually write longer than 10 minutes a night, but for now I’m proud of myself for doing that much the last three nights. It has at least allowed me to jot down the random ideas that clunk around in my brain throughout the day. After 10 minutes I can at least see where the ideas could potentially go even if they’re not close to being there yet. Tonight I wrote about how I know it sounds like I’m Communist when I say that I think Americans have too many choices. I feel like so much time is wasted in the grocery store alone trying to pick a shampoo b/c there are so many choices. I want to go into a store and see no variety. I want the bag of chips to be labeled “chips” and the soap “soap” and everything to be in a brown plain bag without all the crazy marketing that makes you think that product will change your life. Having choices and variety is of course great, but I find myself getting chest pains just trying to choose between oat bran bread and whole wheat bread. Just give me a freaking loaf of bread and quit printing paranoid quotes about heart disease on your packaging because I’m reading every word of it and wasting my life obsessing over it. Just give me some “bread” and “milk” and “soap.”

Day one of officially committing to writing in this blog every day as well as writing my next book every day…I did write last night for a whopping 10 minutes. But hey, I wrote. I heard something on the radio that struck me as super interesting, so I want to write an essay on it. What I wrote last night was absolute crap, but I’m reminding myself that that’s the first step. I tell my students to not be afraid to throw up on paper before you find your hidden gems. Gross; that sounds like they’re picking through vomit for chunks of good stuff. Weird. What I heard was a story on NPR about a woman whose father died when she was 6 and she clings to the few memories she has. The one memory that was strong was when she lost her tooth and the tooth fairy “forgot” to come. She told her dad and he immediately said, “Oh, that’s because your last name is at the end of the alphabet. I bet she’s on her way now. Get back in bed.” So the little girl got back in bed, but just closed her eyes without falling asleep. She saw her dad sneak into her room and put a quarter under her pillow. She knew it was him because she saw his bald head leaving the room. Long story short, he made up a story saying she must’ve seen the Tooth Fairy’s helper, the Gentle Giant. She didn’t buy the story, but the fact that her dad had messed up and was trying hard to keep it together made her love her dad even more. She loved that he was real and made mistakes. It struck me that a six-year old could be perceptive to such a huge idea, but it just goes to show you kids are in tune. I feel like we spend so much of our lives being sure to set a good example for our kids that we forget it’s good for them to see us fail too. It sort of gives them permission to do the same. I still can’t find all the words to turn that into an essay, but it’ll get there.
Today is my birthday and I spent it getting my hair trimmed at the Hair Cuttery where I was scolded for obviously trimming my own hair for the past 6 months. I then went to Whole Foods and got a slice of pizza that I thought was 4-cheese. It turns out the “cheese” crumbles were piles of pureed garlic! I love love love garlic, but dang I stink now. I came home and Trey immediately told me how nasty I smelled. I’m now chasing the garlic smell with chocolate cake and red wine. He’s right–I’m pretty nasty.

So, here’s the deal–it’s my birthday tomorrow. Instead of treating myself to something fancy and relaxing (trust me, if I had a couple hundred bucks lying around, I’d be the first one in line to get a massage) I’m instead going to crack down on myself and get to work. I’ve been awful at carving out time to write lately and it’s understandable because I have a toddler and it’s been the holidays, but the truth is there will always be an excuse if I’m not careful. So as a beginning to my 34th year on this planet, I’m making a vow to you, oh, fellow blog follower of mine, to make time each and every day to write. Even if it’s 10 minutes, those 10 minutes could uncover some sparkling idea that’s hiding under fatty layers of stupid in my brain. My book came out nearly a year ago, so it’s time to get crackin’ on the next one. I told myself I would have a chunk of it done by December and now it’s almost February and I’ve written exactly zero words of it. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to be putting updates on this blog every day to hold me accountable. I think that’s what’s hard about sticking to writing–there’s no tangible loss if I don’t do it. My life’s not in danger if I don’t do it. But my happiness relies heavily on it. In fact, I’ve been having nightmares where people are in my face telling me, “You’re not a writer. You don’t write anymore!” And then it always ends with me in real life waking up and cursing myself for passing out at 8:30 at night yet again. So, please join me in my gruelling journey to crank out book #2. I hope you’ll come along for the bumpy, why-am-I-doing-this-to-myself? ride. Happy birthday to me and here’s to a year of coming closer and closer to being a writer who actually writes.

Well, as usual I have a whole lot of nothing focused to say. Cece (daughter) and I went to North Carolina to visit my family for a week last week and we had a great time. I ran into kind strangers along the way that seriously made me think we’re all cut from the same cloth. A woman came up to me in the airport to tell me how cute my son was (Cece kinda did look like a boy with her red t-shirt and brown pants) and then she told me she hopes I enjoy the holiday season. She said it so sincerely that I couldn’t help saying, “I really really will. Thank you.” On the flight to Charlotte, a pregnant woman saw me struggling to get the bundle of books, etc. together when I was trying to get ready to get off the plane. She put out her arms and said, “Here, let me hold her while you gather your things.” Cece was happy for the change of scenery and I was happy to have my hands free. Then on the flight home I sat next to a grandmother of five and across the aisle from a woman who made faces at Cece to make her laugh. It was like they knew I needed help and they stepped up and for that, my faith in the world is stronger.
I don’t go back to teaching until January 19, but the time is already whipping by. I have to make my syllabus for next semester and I was hoping to crank out a few chapters to my next book. But it’s nice to put all work on the backburner if only for a few days and enjoy the holidays, overeat and under-think. There’s something to be said for staring blankly out the window at the falling snow and doing absolutely nothing but sitting still and watching. It’s not easy to turn off my crazy, shouting brain who’s screaming at me about all the things I need to get done, but when I manage to turn it off, I’m grateful for the moments of clarity.
But most times I’m really just a hyper mess who’s all over the place with my thoughts and to-do lists. Didn’t want you to think I had it all under control. That would be hilarious. Speaking of crazy, I have to pull a lesson plan out of my rump for a standup comedy workshop I’m teaching to 11-year-olds tomorrow. Lordy lordy.
Trey’s working and Cece is sleeping, so time for Mama to stuff her face with random leftovers (french onion soup meets tofu stirfry meets brie with cranberries).
Happy New Year!

So, I said I would stick to writing at least 15 minutes a day and tonight I stuck to it. Of course, the second I sat down I got intimidated and had no idea what to write about, but as I saw the glow of the Christmas tree lights from the other room, I at least had a starting point. I did what’s called “freewriting” where you don’t trip over your ideas and thoughts, but rather you just get the words onto paper and worry about finding the point later when you go back and revise. So, in the spirit of kicking myself back into writing shape, here’s what I wrote:
Sometimes I get sucked in by all the sales advertisements this time of year: 50% off this and buy one, get one free of that. Today I stopped and remembered the one thing that’s cheaper than something on sale is not buying anything at all. The truth is, I really don’t need anything this holiday season. Sure, if you took a look in my closet you might disagree. Most people speak of taking their sweaters out of storage. That alone is hint enough to me that they have enough clothes to warrant a storage for different season’s wardrobes. For me, my limited wardrobe cohabitates side by side in one happily diverse closet. The summer’s t-shirts become my winter’s t-shirts with the help of a thrift store Mr. Rogers cardigan. No storage necessary. I’m not one to shop or to get caught up in the desire to buy unnecessary possessions, but when it comes to the holidays, it’s hard to put up a shield to every ridiculous flyer that finds its way to our mailbox or windshield. My heart starts to race and I think, “I definitely need a 12-pack of argyle socks and a red pleather purse. They’re so inexpensive right now.” I have to say those marketing gurus out there are clever. It’s like they’re waiting outside my window watching my every frugal move from giving myself haircuts to serving beans and rice. They know I’m just going to crack and give in one of these days and go hog wild, running through the stores, rolling around in a pile of superfluous things I don’t need, but man oh man were they cheap. So far that hasn’t happened, but with each new wave of sales papers targeted to catch my eye, I admittedly look twice before chucking them into the recycling bin. Although it’s sometimes hard not to get caught up in the glimmer and glitz of the holidays, my husband and I choose not to. Granted, it’s easy when you don’t have a lot of extra income to throw around, but I actually prefer it that way. There’s something wonderful about not being rich. We don’t exchange gifts because we both agree it’s more stressful than anything. ……There are commercials with men presenting diamonds that are more expensive than our car. I’ve never received such a gift from my husband, but it’s because I don’t want it. I’d be angry that he would blow our hard-earned cash on something so silly.
We’ve stripped away the materialistic part of the holidays and truly enjoy being with each other and our toddler. Don’t worry—we don’t force our frugal ways on her just yet. She’ll have plenty of gifts under the tree this year, but I hope when she grows up and looks back it’s not the presents she’ll remember most, but the imperfect homemade cookies, the songs sung just a bit off-key and the bellyaches we’ll have from all the laughter we’ll fill this overpriced, headache of a condo with during the holidays.

I’m in the midst of changing my mindset. I’m having a hard time finding time to write each day and inevitably each night finds my head hitting the pillow and cursing myself. I’m officially going to put writing first (well, maybe second or third–I’m a mom, after all) on my list. At the end of the day, it’s not the dirty dishes in the sink that keep me awake, but the fact that I’m not making a living on being a writer. Instead of saying I want to have my next book written by spring, I’m switching gears to say I want to write an article for a magazine/newspaper/etc. each week. And to reach that I’m going to say I’ll write 15 minutes every day. I’m hoping I just turned a mountain into a mole hill and one day that mole hill will turn into a hill of beans that pays our mortgage. Stay tuned.

Well, it’s official–I’m addicted to caffeine. I didn’t drink it this morning and boy oh boy was that a rough morning. I got to work just fine and my workout was even the same as usual, but when I went to teach my classes, the three hours felt like 400 hours. So, I won’t be quitting my little one-cup-a-day habit anytime soon. It’s nice to have something pseudo-naughty to look forward to.
The semester is winding down and it feels great to have the first semester of teaching under my belt. I’ve learned a lot and next semester will not be as time-consuming as this semester was. I had to retrain my brain to go back to the basics of writing and then figure out how to convey that to students who are most often not interested at all.
I taught a humor writing class at Story Studio last Monday night and it went well enough for the owner to book me for another class on Monday, January 25.
I had a goal to have at least 50 pages written of my next book by the beginning of December, but guess how many I have written….ZERO. There’s a shocker. I’m not intimidated by the task, though. The words are floating in my head where they sneak in throughout the day and linger. Now it’s just a matter of going up in my head with a net and collecting all those sneaky creatures.
As I write this, our upstairs neighbors are clearly entertaining a herd of tap-dancing elephants or something. I truly can’t wait to get out of this condo. We’re putting it on the market in February and we’ll leave it on the market for 3 months and then if we haven’t sold it at the end of those 3 months, we say to the bank, “It’s all yours. Enjoy.” I’ve always been a person who hates money and the very idea of getting caught up in materialism, but we bought this condo in hopes of making an investment and starting a nest egg. It turns out to be way too expensive and now with the market, it’s not worth what we paid for it.
(Now it seems the tap-dancing elephants are using hammers)
So this spring we’ll be renting–what a breeze that will be! We’ll stay in Chicago for another year–or maybe forever–and then entertain the idea of moving to Kentucky. It’s funny b/c we’ve been talking about moving to Kentucky for years now and in the meantime, we’ve been falling in love with Chicago and our neighbors and our network of friends. The idea of sitting in a quiet house where we don’t share our tiny deck seems sad to me sometimes. But the idea of having a backyard and a garden really makes my heart beat fast. Who knows what will happen or where we’ll end up. All I know is that I’m glad I just had a cup of coffee and my sweet Cece Lou is napping to a Led Zeppelin CD. Really, how could my day be any better at this moment?

What a lovely weekend. That’s all I have to say. Thanks for stopping by my blog.
Well, of course I’d like to ramble on a bit more than THAT….
Friday and Saturday Trey was busy with gigs here and there for Halloween and I was feeling really run-down and almost sad because although I absolutely love spending so much time with Cece, so much of it is spent with just the two of us. I start to yearn for some adult interaction. Granted, most my “adult” conversations are about as mature as what I say to Cece anyway, but that’s besides the point. Sometimes it can be a tad overwhelming to not have any family here to help. I go to work and then come home and start my second job of being a mom and most days Trey is heading out the door as soon as I get home, so it’s all the more tiring. I got to thinking–how lovely would it be to be able to drop off Cece one afternoon at my mom’s at the drop of a hat just because I needed to run some errands? That’s what happens in people’s lives who have family in town. I can’t even imagine it. We manage just fine on our own, but the heavier Cece gets and the more I lug her up the stairs to our apartment, it’s hard not to imagine how much easier life would be if we had our peeps here. Then I went to a party Saturday afternoon where I had this exact conversation with another party-goer. She and her husband also have no family in town and they also have a toddler. We had a great conversation about how we long for just a nano-second to ourselves. It was eye-opening and it lifted the gray cloud of “wah-wah-poor-me” that had been lurking over my head for quite some time now. The truth is, no one asked Trey or me to move away from our parents/siblings. We wanted to be in Chicago and great things have been happening here for us. The harder path is the better path sometimes. I hate that I get these spurts of self-pity. It really takes my focus off the ridiculously HUGE amounts of blessings in my life.
Speaking of which, great things ARE happening. I’m teaching a humor-writing class next Monday 11/9 at Story Studio in Chicago. I believe it starts at 6:30 and I believe it’s free. (I should know this, huh? But I don’t). I’m starting my second book. I’m in the stage of compiling thoughts/ideas and it feels like it’s going to be another conversational style book. Whereas my last book was about looking back and memories, this book will be about present-day observations.
We’re taking Cece to get her first haircut today. So, yeah, great things are happening. What a shame that Ms. Grouchy Rebecca has to peek her head around the corner every now and then and get in the way of seeing those great things.

It’s been a year and a half since my sweet Cecelia entered this world and my mind continues to be blown each and every day with overwhelming gratefulness. Each night I carefully tiptoe into her room, memorizing where not to step on the squeaky floorboards, and I look at her. Of course, this is normal; every parent has watched their sleeping baby. But each night I get down on my knees and look at her through the spaces in her crib and I really look at her and try to commit that image of her to memory. I put my hand on her belly that’s moving up and down with each breath and every single night I get choked up with emotion because I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life. To have a healthy, happy child is just simply life-altering. Tonight as I was kneeling by her crib, I closed my eyes and pictured all the intricacies in her little body–her tiny heart pumping blood, her tiny lungs taking in oxygen, her blood coursing through her veins–the fact that all these parts work is not something I ever take for granted. In fact, to remind me that I need to hold on to this gratefulness, I am a Partner in Hope for St. Jude’s Hospital. I cannot imagine anything more devastating than having a sick child and my hope is that by giving money to St. Jude I’ll not only financially help sick children in need, but I’m also holding those families in my heart and never forgetting just how absolutely lucky I am. My hope is that as Cece grows up and if we’re fortunate enough to one day have another child, I remember to find these moments of silence each night. Even as Cece becomes a teenager and tests her boundaries and can’t stand me, my hope is that no matter what trials the day has brought, every night I will find this moment of silence where I watch her stomach move in and out with breath and don’t take the miracle of life for granted. At the end of the day, it is the only thing that matters; the bills that aren’t paid and the to-do lists that have been left untouched become simply laughable.