I Honestly Love You
Note to Readers: There are many times when I kid around and say things just to be funny. Sometimes they work, sometimes, they don't. Please be advised that most of these times, I realize that the topic of which I speak is serious. Also, I don't always tell the truth when I retell a story.
These days, I find myself with a stalker. Yes, a stalker.
I know, how could a little A & P instructor who mostly stays at home and do nothing but volunteer, teach, and write, have a stalker? I can if she's my sister. Yes, you heard me right. My sister is stalking me.
Let me paint the picture. Early this week, I sent her an email asking her to read a little piece for me. "Is this readable?" I wanted to know. What I should have thought to myself before sending anything to her was, "Am I sending this to the right person?"
Had I asked myself that question, I would have come up with the answer that no, FRN is not the right person. Not because she's not a frequent reader (she is). Not because she wouldn't be the intended audience (she's not YA, but she's been known to read YA, so again, she is). Why then? Because she owns a smartphone or an iPhone or some other technologically savvy phone that keeps her plugged in at all times.
The phone is the problem.
"More," she said, politely I might add, the first time she replied to my email. Great, I thought. I kind of like this idea, too. I think I can do this. And I sat down and pounded the keys as if I couldn't get the story on the screen fast enough.
But then, she started to become demanding. "Any more?" No.
She tried again, sweetly this time in her attempt to extricate more pages from me. "I LOVE the XXXXXXXX! That he XXXXXXXXX!"
And of course, I send her more pages because who doesn't want to hear that someone likes them, right? (I am having a Sally Field moment right now. Let's pause.) The words keep coming and I'm not showering or eating or vaccuming at all; the kids are barely being tended to and I forget to go to library time for Aaron (Yes, I did that. I forgot to go to library time for goodness sakes. All because of a story. Get a grip, I say to myself!)
It wasn't until she started to get belligerent that I realized I had a problem.
This comes right from her mouth: "You do realize I wake up and the first thing I do EVERY morning is grab my phone. 1) check your blog, 2)check my email, 3) check FB 4) roll back over 5) check blog/email again then get up and work out."
She signed it Pathetic, and I tend to agree, don't you. But wouldn't stalker be a better word?
And then there was this, sitting in my inbox: "You're a %%^&$##@! MORE!!! -Neglectful mother from the north."
That's when it hit me. FRN is not only pathetic and a stalker, but truly a neglectful mother because I'm certain her child is saying, "Hey mom, I need to show you this," and she has her face to the phone and waves her hand and responds, "Of course, honey, go ahead. I'm watching." But she really isn't. FRN is stalking me or reading my pages and truly playing the part of the neglectful mom.
Just like me.
Which just gives me fodder for yet another story. I'm so $%^#@^&!
These days, I find myself with a stalker. Yes, a stalker.
I know, how could a little A & P instructor who mostly stays at home and do nothing but volunteer, teach, and write, have a stalker? I can if she's my sister. Yes, you heard me right. My sister is stalking me.
Let me paint the picture. Early this week, I sent her an email asking her to read a little piece for me. "Is this readable?" I wanted to know. What I should have thought to myself before sending anything to her was, "Am I sending this to the right person?"
Had I asked myself that question, I would have come up with the answer that no, FRN is not the right person. Not because she's not a frequent reader (she is). Not because she wouldn't be the intended audience (she's not YA, but she's been known to read YA, so again, she is). Why then? Because she owns a smartphone or an iPhone or some other technologically savvy phone that keeps her plugged in at all times.
The phone is the problem.
"More," she said, politely I might add, the first time she replied to my email. Great, I thought. I kind of like this idea, too. I think I can do this. And I sat down and pounded the keys as if I couldn't get the story on the screen fast enough.
But then, she started to become demanding. "Any more?" No.
She tried again, sweetly this time in her attempt to extricate more pages from me. "I LOVE the XXXXXXXX! That he XXXXXXXXX!"
And of course, I send her more pages because who doesn't want to hear that someone likes them, right? (I am having a Sally Field moment right now. Let's pause.) The words keep coming and I'm not showering or eating or vaccuming at all; the kids are barely being tended to and I forget to go to library time for Aaron (Yes, I did that. I forgot to go to library time for goodness sakes. All because of a story. Get a grip, I say to myself!)
It wasn't until she started to get belligerent that I realized I had a problem.
This comes right from her mouth: "You do realize I wake up and the first thing I do EVERY morning is grab my phone. 1) check your blog, 2)check my email, 3) check FB 4) roll back over 5) check blog/email again then get up and work out."
She signed it Pathetic, and I tend to agree, don't you. But wouldn't stalker be a better word?
And then there was this, sitting in my inbox: "You're a %%^&$##@! MORE!!! -Neglectful mother from the north."
That's when it hit me. FRN is not only pathetic and a stalker, but truly a neglectful mother because I'm certain her child is saying, "Hey mom, I need to show you this," and she has her face to the phone and waves her hand and responds, "Of course, honey, go ahead. I'm watching." But she really isn't. FRN is stalking me or reading my pages and truly playing the part of the neglectful mom.
Just like me.
Which just gives me fodder for yet another story. I'm so $%^#@^&!
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