I'm thinking a lot about this independent woman thing.

Overrated?

Underrated?

It's all about the day.

Sometimes i feel so proud of my accomplishments. Paying the bills. Feeding the kids. Managing it all. All on my own steam.

Other times i feel so lonely. When i'm in line at the grocery store. $87 in tips in my pocket. $87 to my name. Trying my best to navigate the mathematics of produce while wrangling four kids. Bill coming out to $113. Trying the bank card. Crossing my fingers that it will go through.

Of course, it doesn't. Picking out things to take out. Inevitably they are my things. Some tea. Some coffee. Some cream - useless without coffee. Getting the bill back down. The man behind me looking annoyed, yet sympathetic. Or looking at me like i am pathetic. A failure.

At work, so hungry. Serving all the food. It smells so good. Knowing that if i buy lunch, i'll have less tips. Holding out for some free scraps at the end of the day. A little salad. A few potatoes.

It can be such a lame life.

It can be such an inspiring life.

I haven't officially joined nablopomo this year. The pressure is a little more than i can take right now. The commitment.

I finished work early today. The reality of living in a summer town kicking in as the bistro slows down to a crawl during the day. At least the restaurant stays busy at night.

Having four hours all alone is such a foreign thing to me. To be alone in a house. My house. It is beautiful here. I can see the lake through the wall of windows in my living room. You should really come see it.

I finished unpacking and organizing the kids rooms. Tristan and eliza are in one room, toby and, in theory, parker in another and me , and realistically, parker in another. It is small, but suits us fine. We like to be together anyway. Our rooms are all in a row, with the girls in the middle, and doorways connecting us all. We can see each other from our beds. Little smiles across the way as we all struggle to wake up in the morning. They have all inherited my dislike for waking up early.

I think i will keep them all home from school one day this week so that we can really spend some time together in our new home. Rake leaves, plant some bulbs, perhaps a bonfire.

I miss them when they are not around. The sounds of little voices filling every corner.

What a month.

It has been a great, wonderful, excellent month.

I have reached, i think, the very bottom of my emotional depth. Only to be taken over by nature.

I have not watched television. At all.

I started, and almost finished, my NaBloPoMo novel.

Three days ago when i was hunkered down in my friends house i went to go write and my novel was gone. All except 13,000 words at the beginning and 250 at the end. I was so sad. Devastated.

But, now? I am ready to soldier on. I will finish that novel.

Shane is redesigning my book of poetry.

I have learned how much i love nature. How much it hurts me when the world takes it for granted. I was the one at BlogHer bitching about the lack of recycling. I love animals immensely. We see at least 50 deer a day, but i still slow down every time and point them out to my kids.

I have learned how much all of you mean to me. You are all a part of my life. Every single day. You make me happy. I am thankful for that.

Don't go away. I need you here.

Happy December.

jess
xx

I am without power, without internet access. The snow? It is falling hard.

I am sitting in the driveway of a coffee shop, risking life and limb - in the dark hours - just to post to NaBloPoMo.

My novel? It will be done by christmas, NaNoWriMo? i kissed you goodbye when our power went out thursday and i had only 24% battery power left on my iBook.

I am happy and embarassed that all of you want my book of poetry. It contains, at least, 10 naked photos of me. I'm going to take all of those out. Sorry.

I am good. Okay. Not so good.

It's so hard. Sitting here. Telling you every little thing about my life. My life? It is wonderful and perfect. A husband who loves me, beautiful children, grandparents. Yet. But.

Today i went for a walk alone in the snow. I love the snow. And i thought, i guess this is how it will be, this is the best it will be. Sadness that soaks me. Like wet clothes in the winter that never really dry. I will always be sad. To say that. It is so hard.

I sit with my husband, and we talk, and we laugh, but the whole time i am just pretending to be happy. I am not happy. I am overcome by sadness. My head hurts, it reels.

I don't want advice today.

I know i need to see a doctor, a naturopath, a therapist.

Today, i am just telling you that i walked down my road alone and i wished that the sadness would go away. I wished that i could be dead.

Thou shalt never post drunk.

Unless it's 11:50pm on day 25 of NaBloPoMo.

There is snow. Lot's of snow.

Grandma is snowed in at our house.

And so shane and i walked the 3km. to the pub. We watched a band, played pool, drank many pints of Hermann's and walked back home in the snow.

Best date ever.

Goodnight day 25.

I am here.

I am around.

I am busy.

Writing.

Never going to be done on time.

But, blugh, who cares about time anyway.

I am writing a novel.

That's what counts.

I have so much to tell you.

I have been lower than low, and a little bit happy.

See above photo.

Parker went to the dentist today and they are going to pull out his tooth that he chipped biting me. My poor boy. Gap toothed for years - he will be. Say's Yoda.

I have a question?

If something is really bad for you or really wrong, but makes you feel better, would you do it?

Ah day 18, how you scorn me.

My little town is flooding. Downtown with it's corner store, post office, pub and gas station is sinking in 5 million gallons of water. Literally.

Our school has become the target for some little hoodlum graffitti kids. Zippo and tag, i assume, are their names. I have spent every day painting over new spray-paint. Nothing is drying because of the rain. Just sticky layer over sticky layer.

A river, that didn't exist two weeks ago, is flowing through our yard. The kids spent the better part of the day building dams. Experimenting on the best way to change the flow. Pretending to be busy beavers. Soaking themselves to their armpits, but playing happily together. All four of them.

We made boats out of fallen maple leaves with pine cone sailors guiding them from frontyard to back. Hot chocolate and homemade brownies for snacks before bed and now they are all slumbering quietly.

I am off to continue "thirty Days in a MiniVan" and then, perhaps, some time alone with my husband. What'shisname.

Sundays are not good when:

• you get your period


• you wake up with a cold sore


• and an ear infection


• and a hangover


• your shopping and your grocery cart runs away in the parking lot and smashes into an old lady's car and she demands your insurance and registration


• there are six loads of laundry to do


• it has been rainy and dark for weeks and you are depressed

Okay, i know it's NaBloPoMo. I haven't corrected that mistake and i apologize.

I am not leaving, not going anywhere, until you pull this iBook out of my cold, dead, hands.

Do any of your kids have WebKinz? The little cute stuffed animal that comes with a secret code that they enter online and then they become hopeless online junkies at the ripe, old age of five?

Well, we have six WebKinz in our house. Every morning it's a race down the stairs: "I get the computer!"

And me racing behind them screaming "NO! YOU KNOW THE RULES!!! Mommy gets coffee and computer before ANYBODY eats or feeds their WebKinz!" Godammit.

Usually followed by moans and groans and parker screaming "I want sesame on the computer! Stupid mommy!"

And then me:

"Parker! No books tonight if you call me stupid mommy."

"Fine!!! Dumb Mommy!!"

"Parker!"

"Okay! Nice, dumb mommy.."

Now i am done.

All i have done for the last nine days is think about writing.

Today?

Today it is killing me. I am writing about the most painful events in my life. I can't sleep.

I am obsessed. Crazed by word counts and uploads.

I am experiencing the highest highs and the lowest lows. It is cathartic. And full of joy. And self-doubt and self-loathing.

Mostly wishing that this life was someone else's.

I am tired of the pain in my head. Of the love in my heart.

I am grateful to have this experience. To put down in words every single thing that has caused me love and joy, and immense pain and sorrow.

I am grateful to this world, the internet world, for bringing me this opportunity.

Although i may not comment like a fiend, or answer all my emails, i am grateful to all of you, to all the blogs i read, to every single one of you who comments (and i always read your blog), i am happy to be a part of all this.

And so, thank you.

Sundays are good for:

• bonfires in the backyard with marshmallows


• swim lessons


• roast chicken with lots of garlic smelling up the house


• quiet reflection


• building pillow forts


• pajamas till noon