Now That You Mention It...

Dear Husband, Your Tommy Bahama Shirt is Fugly.

Sorry for the blogging lapse, but huge edits are due tomorrow on NOT READY FOR MOM JEANS. (Due in bookstores next summer. Look for it! Er, when I know the release date and stuff...) so I've been kicking my book's ass to get it in shape.

Much like I've been kicking my own ass, quite literally, to get in shape for next week. Because next week, we're packing up this show and hitting the road! For a week at least. We're going down to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina with my extended family and some of my husband's family. Look for us--we'll be the sunburned crew, wearing Salty Dog t-shirts and getting wasted off grain alcohol daiquiris. I predict some serious oversharing and drinking games.

Speaking of drinking (nice segway, no?) last weekend was, as my father called it, my "three day bender." Which means dinner with bloggers and BlogHer parties, hotel rooms, two Cubs games, my sister's 21st birthday party (where my parents danced to Michael Jackson and tried to remember the Thriller dance. I did not, for one of the college students asked if we were the chaperones), waaay too many sports bars, the WORST karaoke ever sung (Seriously. My husband and friend did a rendition of "Sweet Home Chicago" that involved spitting and shouting and resulted in ear-bleeding) and pizza at 4am. It was awesome but I fear the brain cells lost.

And this week has been: Need to unpack from this weekend...need to pack for vacation...need to revise my book so it isn't a piece of crap...return overdue library books...find way to make son not throw himself on the ground in the middle of Trader Joe's and cause cart collision...stop eating so can fit into bathing suit...hide husband's ugly tropical print shirt that he thinks is "vacation-like" to avoid public embarrassment.

Toddler Intermission...

This is what happens when you're trying to edit a book with a toddler:

 

"My mommy mapped out all of her plotlines on index cards. I decided this approach was stupid."

 

"Not to mention, her subplots didn't relate to the driving force of her book in a relevant, cohesive manner."

  

"And don't even get me started on this scene. PUH-LEASE."

 

"She didn't like my help, so she made me clean the floors instead. Harumph."

My July O' Bugs and Molars

I can't believe there's only 2.5 weeks left in the July O' Sparkle and Edits. My YA revisions are dunzo and all wrapped in a nice pretty bow for my agent. My Book Numero Dos edits are on deck, threatening to enthrall and kill me all at the same time. Did I mention this book needs to be back to my editor by August 1st so I can go on vacation without any night terrors? (Somewhere inside my brain, a few neurons just broke.)

This weekend I attended the American Library Association's conference here in Chicago. It was amazing to see all of the publishing folks and industry people at the various booths. Us writers are always so trapped in our own little ficitonal worlds, with imaginary people, so it's astounding to see the business side of this industry. But very, very cool. It reminded me that my book is way, way bigger than me. The Macmillan people were wonderful and I was scheduled to sign copies of my book for about an hour. After a half-hour, we were all out and I had to shrug my shoulders and look sheepish at the people standing in line. I even signed a few books for guys. I wanted to be like, "Really? Are you sure? It's about pregnancy and, um, girl stuff." I guess the pink cover is fair warning, though.

But, overall, a huge success and a very cool way to spend a Saturday.

My Monday was not So Wonderful. I was convinced my son had a cold yesterday with all of the runny nose, fever, coughing and general irritability. It wasn't until he tried to bite me for the Third Freaking Time on the way to the playground (torture, obvs), that I had the genius idea of looking in his mouth. Yep, that's right. All 4 2-year-old molars coming in at the same time. He rewarded me by biting my leg so hard that I had a nice imprint of every one of his precious teeth on my thigh. Aw, so cute.

Then, he left a graham cracker next to a microscropic crack in our floor and suddenly, 300 ants showed up to party with little ant kegs and insect beer bongs. I greeted them with some squirts of carpet cleaner, which made them scatter the party like teenagers after the cops show up.

So, yeah, lots of fun stuff around here. Thank god I have a cage big enough for two:

 

Edited to Add: WHY do I always forget to post this? Come friend me on Facebook, where you'll get to read my daily musings on the Trashfully Awesome guests on Maury Povich. Or just see pictures of my friends drunk. Your choice.

My Awesome July of Sparkle. And Edits.

I think I'm finally detoxed from the Weekend of Fried Food, Beer and Festivals. Over four days, we went to Taste of Chicago, Ribs Fest and fireworks. That might not seem like a lot, but with a two year old, it was practically insane. It would be nice if some of these were, you know, SPREAD OUT, but it's fine. We got our annual allowance of cholesterol and lard all in one weekend. And yes, I ate a fried candy bar. And it was everything I thought it could be.

We had a great time, with some hilarious moments--like when my sister apparently thought "nuclear hot" barbecue sauce actually was, you know, radioactive. And asked how that could be legal and shouldn't kids and pregnant women stay away from it? (Sorry sis! Had to tell that one.) We won't get into what she though the Planetarium housed or what she thought was in a dragon sushi roll.

Toddler Son behaved for the most part, except for a serious meltdown on Sunday night when he did not understand why the people on the blanket next to us did not want to share their food. And I nearly killed all of our blanket neighbors for bringing an awesome sparkly purple bouncy ball...and then setting it down right next to us. It's no surprise that my son didn't understand Awesome Ball of Sparkle is Not For You to Play With.

I'm happy to get back to my new "normal" routine, though. I'm still working on a few edits to my YA--formerly titled This Book Rulez and Has Irish Stuff In It. It's hereafter known as I Want This Book to Die and Has Irish Stuff In It. And I just got edits from my editor on Book #2. So July is officially the Month That Will Break Maureen's Brain Until She Ends Up as Clueless and Dopey as Her Cat Blackjack.

I'm thinking I need to stop watching all trashy daytime television immediately.

No Sweaty Fat Men: Bonus!

I'm still settling in nicely to my fancy new rootin-tootin WAHM acronym. To celebrate my first week of freeeedom, we went to the Taste of Chicago this afternoon. For those not in the Chicago area, it's basically a street festival with music and tons of food. The bonus was that it wasn't as warm as previous years--when hairy, fat men wearing tank tops would sweat all over you while you waited in line for a rainbow cone. The downside was that my kid wanted nothing to do with, um, ANYTHING. Although he did enjoy a pierogi at one point. Being the responsible, loving mother that I am, I simply ignored his screams and suspicious looks of child abuse from other festival-goers. Because nothing gets between me and my Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ meatballs.

Besides the obligatory fireworks-watching, I'll be working a lot this weekend. I'm giving my YA one last ass-kicking before sending it off to my agent and into to the vast world of publishing. (More like black hole of publishing.) Since I'm a full-time writer now, it's that much more important that the book freaking sparkle.

Then, I'll get to sit by the phone and wait for the 212 area code to pop up. The other night, I caught up on last season's Entourage and cracked up at the last episode--where they're waiting for a phone call re: Vince's new movie and they all freak out when they see a 212 area code on his cell phone. And someone remarked that acting is all about waiting for the phone to ring. Yeah, well, RIGHT BACK AT YA, movie-star people. Of course, it all worked out in the end for Vince & Co. And yeah, it gave me a bit of warm fuzzy inspiration. A reminder that, sometimes, everything works out just right. Puppies, unicorns, sparkly kittens and all that crap. And at least my agent doesn't yell the F word into the phone repeatedly. Or, at least I don't think she does.