The One Where She's Tall and I'm Short

Do you remember what it was like to be 5? I do, though it's vague and a bit hazy.

I remember being in kindergarten (which was in the basement of a local church -- elementary school didn't start until you hit 1st grade in my day), having nap time, snack, and though I don't recall my teacher's name, I do remember she had short, curly brunette hair.

I also remember feeling very small. Truth be told, I was very small. No matter what age or grade, I always was the shortest kid in class. At just 5' 0" I'm still pretty much the shortest person in any group. And, as my sister loves to remind me, if I were just two inches shorter I could officially meet the height requirements to be classified as a "little person" (thanks, Eva). My 5' 8" husband isn't exactly a tall guy, either. In fact, he's often one of the shorter men in any group.

So, you can understand my continual amazement that our daughter is tall.

Seriously tall. Not just "not short." She's taller than most of her friends, and she wears the same size shoe as her friend who is in the third grade, though my daughter is just 5 years old. (Really. Just look at the photo and check out the size of her feet!) My question? Who was this mystery relative who carried the tall gene to my kid? I've tracked most of the family in the past two or three generations, and I can't figure it out.

This morning my daughter came over for a cuddle (which is just about one of the best things EVER). She sat sideways on my lap and tried to nuzzle her head under my chin, the way she's been doing since she began walking. Only, she doesn't really fit anymore. I could feel her trying to scrunch her body lower to tuck her head neatly into the crook of my neck, and even when I stretched as far as I could, the top of her head roughly came to the bottom of my ear. I pulled her in tight, and she didn't seem bothered that we no longer fit together like puzzle pieces from the same box, so I tried not to be, either.

This whole parenting thing? It goes fast. Well, actually, it often goes slow. Incredibly slow. Frustratingly, mind-numbingly, invisibly slow. But it also goes fast. Crazy fast. Lightening speed, blink-and-you'll-miss-it, heartbreakingly fast. Unfortunately, it often seems the hard parts go slow and the amazing parts go fast. Funny how that is.

My daughter will be taller than me, that's a given. But for now, we can still cuddle, head to ear. And soon enough, when she's asking to borrow my shoes (next year, at this rate) I'll be the one to fit under her chin.

The One in Which Life is Good

It's 1:45. In the morning. I've spent the past couple of days trying in vain to fight off a moderately severe sinus headache, and finally this evening, after a dose of Advil Cold and Sinus, I got some relief, which catapulted me into a restrained, yet giddy appreciation of a throbbingless head (and yes, I just invented that word). So, what did I do? Drank two glasses of soda so I could stay up enjoying my non-pounding head.

Not my smartest move.

Now, at 1:47 am, having hoped to have fallen blissfully asleep at least 2 hours ago, I'm still up. I caught up on my tivo'd shows, facebooked myself to death and spent entirely too much time trolling petfinderdotcom. Now I'm left to sit here, uninspired yet introspective (a dull and potentially annoying combination), so I proceeded to take an inventory of sorts.

I looked in on my daughter. She is sleeping sweetly, and following in the footsteps of a scene from a made-for-tv movie, I brushed back a piece of hair from her face and kissed her on the forehead. I stopped short of clutching my heart while gazing at her lovingly, but just barely.

Then, I went over to my dog -- also sleeping, if not quite sweetly, then endearingly cute -- gently rubbed his ears and whispered, "you're a good boy" near his head.

I came back to the couch and looked around.

You know, I could ask for a lot more in this life -- couldn't we all? (this couch, for one, I've never really liked) But when it comes down to it, it doesn't get much better than this: a loving family (of the two- and four-legged variety), a job I'm proud of (did I mention freelance writing has been surprisingly good to me?), and a man I'd marry all over again (thankfully, I don't have to).

Yeah. Life is Good.*

*even if the headache returns.

The One Where I Might be Crazy

I've decided to write a novel.

This, in itself, isn't crazy. Lofty, perhaps. The crazy part is that in the past few weeks I've been intentionally culling my workload down to where I can focus almost all of my attention on this book throughout the summer.

Have I mentioned it's been nothing short of a miracle that I've managed to build up a relatively steady clientele?

So, now you get where the "crazy" label applies.

The biggest problem is that I'm not sure what the novel is about. (Yeah -- that's kind of a big deal.) The thing is I've got no less than 4 potential novels outlined (or copiously noted), so now I've just got to pick the one I want to spend the summer writing.

It's not as easy as it sounds.

Should I go with the story of a young, yet washed up screenwriter? The straight-laced HR manager who begins living different versions of her life? The niece of a famous advice columnist who accidentally rewrites her aunt's column? Or the story set in the afterlife?

Tough choice.

Which would you want to read?

The One Where I Try and Catch Up

Yes, yes, I know it's been a while. QUITE a while, in fact. But in my last post I confided that I cannot multitask, and people, the past 9 months have been nothing but a testament to that.

So, what's gone on since last September?

Lots of normal things -- holidays, birthdays, the close of one year and the start of a new year. The thing that still has me shaking my head in disbelief is that I've been working steadily throughout it all. As in, no down time whatsoever.

This is amazing to me, almost unfathomable.

I've learned a lot about writing since I took the plunge in Spring of 2011 to make a career out of it. Some highlights:

-- Though long-term, recurring projects are always best for the bank account, I tend to enjoy the short, one-off gigs more.
-- I'm much better at this than I thought I would be.*
-- There is a lot of competition out there.
-- I seem to write best in the early morning (who knew?)

* Not that I thought I would be bad at it, I simply thought everyone else was going to be better at it than me.

This jump into freelance writing came on the heels of a miscarriage and the subsequent decision not to have any more kids. Though I've occasionally felt pangs of guilt for not providing a sibling for our super fantastic daughter (who would make a super fantastic sister), I've never questioned or regretted that decision. So, that's good. The last thing I need is something else to generate more angst.

So, that whole growing a human thing? I'm pleased to report it's going well.