It’s Pretty Clear That Toddlers Suck.

Yes, their chubby cheeks are cute, and their kisses are heaven-sent, but the catastrophic messes they make, and the unpredictable tantrums they throw, can give anyone the urge to lock themselves into a room, crawl into a ball, and cry…

It’s already bad enough, you can no longer keep a single morsel of food to yourself without your child’s precious little ravenous fingers reaching up to claim whatever, fork, spoon, or snack, that was about to descend into the depths of your mouth. Let alone that their time is their time, and your time is… well of course it’s their time as well!

Parenting is hard. If you think dealing with one toddler is a strenuous task, try raising two at the exact same age. It gets tough.

 

It’s hard not to lose your sanity when two toddlers insist that dinner should be smeared on the walls, and floors as art, or that their diapers should be worn on their heads as hats, instead of their butts, which in just moments, inevitably creates, one really big mess.

And please, do not dare commit the heinous act, of not refilling a sippy cup within the allotted time of 60 seconds; it just may as well be, the end of the world.

Yes I know, I shouldn’t complain, because they are healthy, and happy, and as constantly growing humans, they are going through a lot.

Sure, it’s tough work being a toddler. There’s so much to see, so much learn and do; lots of teeth to grow, and different things to chew. There’s always new things to discover; even if it is that bottle of chocolate syrup, you thought, you put high enough, up… Newsflash: You didn’t.

And no one, not a single soul, desires to have their sleep blatantly interrupted, by a toddler’s,–in this case two– blood-curdling scream, at 2 in the morning, to have them only return to bed an enervating, 3 hours later…

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This is Jada. Jada is 17 months old. It is currently 4 am. I am tired. She is also tired, but she insists that playing with the door, is more important than getting a good night’s sleep.

 

Most parents would agree that, raising childreneven a single child is often a daunting task. Parenting has it’s ups and it’s downs, and while the joys of parenthood are abundant, we understand that our precious little angels can be some of the most unpleasant creatures, that we’ve ever met.

 

Handling Rejection Like A Pro.

No one likes to accept rejection. In all honesty it sucks. No one wants to be told that they are not good enough. A “No,” can literally feel like a slap in the face.

In most cases, rejection doesn’t mean that you should give up.

In actuality, it means that you should try harder. Unless of course, you are pursuing that irresistibly hot guy, or gal at your job that has been intentionally avoiding you, and giving you the cold shoulder.

In that case you should stop, and abort all hopes and dreams of becoming romantically involved; there’s no need for you to receive a restraining order, or appear on an episode of fatal attraction because they politely declined your advances…

But, when it comes to that really big project that you’ve poured all your effort and time in to: do not let anyone steal your confidence, or cause you to doubt your own work.

Not everyone can do what you do.

Whether it’s a song, poem, or book you wrote, or a photo you took, or a picture you drew, it is uniquely yoursYou must believe in yourself, even when no one else does.

Whatever you do, don’t give up, and always try just one more time.

You never know who’s going to give you that “yes,” you’ve been searching for.

 

P. S. This post was inspired by a rejection letter I received today, for my novel, THE ELITE. Below I have inserted the politely kind, yet disappointing rejection.

Rejection Letter Never the less, I am not discouraged.

Do you have fear of rejection? Have you had your works rejected? How did you feel, and what did you do?

Flash Into The Past

Yesterday I stumbled upon an old file containing a novel I had been working on years ago; you know the kind, the one inspired by your awkward teenage life, and your infatuation with Werewolves and magic.

It’s that story with all it’s mystical charm, but it’s also the one that needs so much work…

Today I have decided to share the Beginning of this story, and I desperately would love your feedback. Should I fight for this teenage, adventure love story, or should I place the file neatly back in it’s folder to collect virtual dust.

I have posted the first short chapter on Wattpad. You be the judge.

Feel free to comment your feedback.

Finding Evee More Chapter One Beginnings

I realize that not everyone has Wattpad so I have pasted a copy of the story here.

Beginnings

 

I stared down at the ugly crest hill academy logo staring up at me. It was indeed no doubt the same logo of the dreadful place I was to arrive to in the next three hours.

Boarding school.

But I couldn’t blame anyone, not even Bill or Wanda, only myself, because after all it was my choice and I had agreed to it.

Wanda my sweet, loving, foster mother thought me unearthly quiet for a girl my age.

        Okay, so I admit that I was almost 15 and never had anyone of the same age to call my friend. It was probably just my luck to be the only friendless teenager in the world. Everyone had someone but not me. I was born to be a loner.

The fact that I was home schooled didn’t help any either. And because I didn’t take to people as quickly as others Wanda came up with the brilliant solution to send me off to boarding school. A place where I could be surrounded 24/7 by a bunch of loud, obnoxious pimple faced teens.

Great.

I couldn’t bear to see my loving– over protective— parents worry so I’d convinced myself along with them that it would be a good idea that I’d go, that I needed the experience, and being around people my own age would help me to become more social.

Of course what I said was all lies but I didn’t want to let her and Bill down. They were always worried about me. Besides Bill and Wanda needed some alone time, away from me–the grumpy, moody, confused, teenager that no one wanted to be around—-and going to a boarding school 3 hours away, would definitely be a good way for them to get some. Maybe now they could take that vacation to Paris they always dreamed of.

My parents really were the greatest —no kid could ask for any parents more loving or understanding–it wasn’t their fault that I turned out to be so gauche and stubborn—the only problem was….. that they weren’t my own.

I sighed and picked up the old rusted chain that held the last memory in existence of my actual birth parents. The one object I held most dear. I unclasped the locket that revealed the two smiling faces of my mom—who was my mirror image, and dad with the same young, handsome, curious look he always had in that picture. He looked like the type that broke every girls fragile beating heart with just the twinkle of his dark eyes or the flash of his bright smile.

I always wondered who this man was, that’s why it always pained me to know that neither of my parents cared so they abandoned me. They may have forgotten me but that didn’t mean that I had forgotten them.

Bill and Wanda say I was adopted from an orphanage in England when I was only two years old and that the only thing I had was a tattered photograph and a long thin scar on my left forearm. Souvenirs of my past life.

I traced the faint scar lightly, a habit, something I did whenever it came to mind. No one knew how I had got the scar not even my previous caretakers, for as long as they knew it had always been there. The strange thing was, was that it never went away.

“Evee darling, are you ready, Bill’s in the car, you know how your father is when you make him wait!”

“Coming mom,” I yelled slipping the rusted locket around my neck and in my shirt.

I stuffed the last of the ugly gray, blue and black uniforms in my duffle bag, took one last look at the small lavender room I had called mine for the past 14 years of my life and was on my way out not knowing that I was to never return.

“Evee,” Wanda called again.

I sighed. “Coming,” I called shutting the door, then jogging down the hall and steps to meet her at the bottom.

She looked over me worried. “There you are, I was beginning to think you had changed your mind.” She stepped back to give me an appraising look, while tugging determinedly at the collar of my uniform and skirt.

“Wanda,” I sighed. “I’m not three anymore.”

She smiled sadly and ran a hand through my long, dark, curly hair, before resting it at her side. “Almost 15 years old, sometimes I forget how old you are and how much you’ve grown.”

         If five feet is what you call grown, I thought sourly. I was nearly 15 years old and still had to ask for someone to get me the cereal. Ridiculous.

My long hair didn’t make me look any older either but I didn’t dare cut it I was too afraid because I didn’t know how I’d look.

A car horn honked impatiently. “That would be Bill.” “Come on” I said leading the way to door reiterating what she said, “you know Bill doesn’t like to wait.”

Bill was a restless person, who could never sit still without doing something for more than five minutes. That’s why it amazed me that he agreed to drive all the way there. I stopped a moment in the doorway to catch a glimpse of Bill waiting as patiently as he possibly could behind the wheel of his silver SUV. I smiled I was going to miss him.

“Took you long enough,” he greeted as I slid onto the backseat next to the rest of my things.

“Sorry Bill,” I chimed.

“It’s okay kid”. And that was the end of that.

Me and Bill weren’t bitter with each other, but he, like I just wasn’t much for words. Any conversations we shared were usually meaningful but nevertheless always brisk.Wanda locked up and got in,and the journey began.

We drove slowly past the homes of our neighbors in the suburban community of Hillsborough San Francisco. A place I had become most familiar with, seeing that it had been my home for all the years I could remember, but what awaited me at my new destination in Black Oak Grove was something I didn’t know or expect.

        I watched as the only place I’d ever remembered calling home drift away behind me and become a small dot. I would never see that place again.

Struggles of A Socially Awkward Introvert.

Being a social introvert does have some perks to it. Sure, having alone time is great, and not being pressured to attend excessively, loud and crowded gatherings and events is a plus as well… But when you stop and realize that you’ve only acquainted approximately 3 and a half people out of nearly 7.5 billion, and even then, you only speak to one of the three on occasion; you might say to yourself:

Oh my God I think it’s time for me to make some new friends.

I have recently had this epiphany. As a social introvert myself, social scenes can be an absolute nightmare.

So many people, each with their own personality, thoughts, and opinions. Who wants to deal with them all? What should I say, how should I act, what if no one likes me, are very real fears of a social introvert.

I have never been a cool kid; growing up I was the exact opposite. I could never fit in.

I wore weird clothes, matched with awkwardly colored shaped hats, listened to strange music, read lots of books, and kept to myself. I guess my weird appearance gave me an excuse to be a loner, and in turn made me into the social introvert that I am today.

Usually I dread even the simplest of everyday social activities such as going to the market or taking my kids to the park.  Even crossing the threshold of my own door can sometimes cause an irrational anxiety and fear to bubble up inside me.

Oh, and dear God, don’t let the door bell ring. I can’t imagine what foul and repulsive soul would have the audacity to appear outside my home and summon me from my reclusive activities. I was just fine in my own world, quite possibly on a planet in a whole different galaxy.

Yes I would love to imagine that I’ve made great strides with my anxiety, since my awkward adolescent years, but I’ve realized I’ve only managed to subtly subdue my social fears at most, for certain social events when needed.

I have often wondered, if I will ever over come my social anxiety. I mean sure this must be unnatural, and unhealthy for the average human being but social anxiety is an issue that we really  don’t see.

With our TVs, laptops, smart phones and other handheld devices encouraging more and more screen time and less interaction; social introverts are definitely on the rise. And while this may not necessarily be a deplorable case  in my eyes, or the minds of fellow introverts; it does leave one to ponder what a futuristic society would be like if we had all morphed into antisocial introverts.

What are your thoughts on technology and the rise of social introverts. Do you believe this to be true? Are you perhaps an introvert too?

dailysun_smartphones

 

 

My Apologies.

I love my children very much but 90% of the time my nerves are always on edge. Whether it be figuring out what we’re going to eat today, or because I have two toddlers screaming at me, or each other, it gets very frustrating.

This mom thing is still fairly new to me, so I don’t always catch the clues that my babies are frustrated because they’re getting sleepy, or they’re in pain because another pair of teeth are filling in.

The point I’m trying to make is, even though I try to be a perfect parent, I still fall short, which is natural because I’m only human.

My nerves are stretched so thin, that I forget so many things, and the tiniest things, can push me over the edge. For instance; 

I overslept, now the kids will be up late.  

May result in mental break.

The kids are screaming because I can’t get food prepared fast enough.

Definite mental break.

The kids are refusing to take a nap, but I want to be alone and now the pets want attention.

Total meltdown.

You get the point.

It’s hard enough trying to make sure the twins don’t kill each other over a toy or a plastic spoon, but then you add chores into the mix, and it can be overwhelming. All of that doesn’t leave me much time or energy for my own creativity, which just happens to be an absolute necessity for my sanity.

Without my writing I wouldn’t know how to cope. I imagine I would find myself staring around lost, pointlessly wondering what to do.

So I want to sincerely apologize to everyone who has ever came by our home, and it smelled like baby diapers and cat liter, and for things not being neat and tidy, how I would absolutely love for them to be.

Even if I didn’t answer your phone call or text message till three hours later or perhaps even the next day, I am deeply sorry, I probably forgot while I was trying to console an irrationally emotional toddler.

So my apologies. I’m not the perfect mom or person but, I promise I will try to do better.

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By the way, if this image made you want to listen to Justin Bieber here you go. It’s okay, you can hate me for it. Justin Bieber. Sorry.

A blog about my dreams of becoming an author while raising twins.

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