Epic Fail

Quote: “Marriage is a Marathon” — two weeks ago from both my husband and from the movie “The Kids are Alright.”

I don’t really want to write this entry, but I said the point was to be accountable, so I’ll just say up front that I failed.  Last week was really bad — one of the worst, though not THE worst of my life.  I was frustrated with being a stay-at-home-mom, got a rejection note from one of the stories I submitted during the last entry, was wondering if being married was easier or harder, and making myself physically sick with self-pity. Not my most shining moments.
My ‘plan’ for the week was to go to the movies with Isabel before she went back to Germany.  I knew this wasn’t a good idea.  I was exhausted and the movie didn’t start until 10 pm. Indeed, I fell asleep a few minutes after the opening scene.  I woke up periodically and, of course, was awake for the ‘terrible, awful’ and they kept going on and on about it.  (BTW, I had to look away in Harry Potter when Ron was throwing up slugs because I got queasy).  So, watching someone even act like they were eating that….pie.  I threw up in the movie theater.  Seriously.   Not just a little gag, cover your mouth, but actually threw up on the seat next to me. Nice one, Sherri.
I also, despite compaining that I didn’t have any time, volunteered to grade papers for Chance’s teacher and to co-teach a children’s Sunday school class.  I don’t regret either of those things, I like to help out, but for the goal of doing something only for myself, to look forward to each week:  FAIL.
This week I was less full of self-pity, but more full of anger.  Starting Monday Evelyn has a ridiculous amount of medicine to drink — including the steroid that makes her emotions swing like a bi-polar monkey on a chandelier.  I’m impatient and I get so angry when she refuses to drink the various concoctions; I take it personally.  She doesn’t get her meds checked off = Sherri is doing a bad job.  She doesn’t want to drink the smoothie/Hawaiian punch/milkshake because it tastes bad despite sugar, coffee, peanut butter, chocolate sauce whatever and because it makes her stomach ache afterwards. I understand, but by the time she’s finally finished one, it’s already time for another *special* drink and she just wants her gatorade and a frozen pretzel.
Last week I skipped ballet class because there was too much work to do, but then took the class on Saturday.  Today I skipped and curled up in bed with a book while the rain poured down.  It was quiet and nobody was asking if I’d washed her soccer shirt or making a mess somewhere in the house. “The Blue Sword” is one of my favorites, short, and I read most of it before I had to go get the twins from preschool.
Mike is on his way to Virginia right now to move his mother up to a nursing home in Delaware.  He’ll still have to go down there a few times while the house is being listed and to move furniture, but fingers crossed that between getting this move accomplished and the new au pair, the stress level of the house will drop from emergency back down to urgent. 

The Help

And if your friends make fun of you for chasing your dream, remember—just lie. — Kathryn Stockett (author of “The Help”)

My Sunday School class has been talking about this book and movie for weeks.  So, I gave in and ordered the book.  It was good and I finished it this weekend at the beach.  Next week I’d like to see the movie with Isabel (interesting to see a European view of this American view of the 1950’s South).  More than that, though, was the story behind the story.
Kathryn Stockett said she submitted her query letter and sample chapters to 61 agents before one said yes to representing her.  Right now I have two stories that are ready to be published.  One is about the runaway Chinese au pair I had when the twins were young.  Another is about a beach trip I took a few years ago.  They’ve been through several drafts, gone to an editor and come back.  “Tiburon” has been turned down three times.  “Intersection” has been turned down four times and not won three contests. 
This week I sent them both out.
Not a feeling I enjoy.  Like drinking too much coffee too quickly and your stomach aches and your eyes twich nervously and you spend the next few weeks checking your e-mail compulsively.  But there is nothing in your inbox until you get the one line.  “Thank you, but you’re not what we’re looking for at the moment.”
To get to some of my other dreams, I have to get through this one. 
I don’t know if I can keep going in the face of 60 rejections, but I think I should at least get to ten before I start complaining.