Children are like books. This strikes me at the oddest times.
My oldest chicken will be thirteen this year. THIRTEEN. An official teenager.
Let me just say that I almost had a breakdown when she couldn't fit into 3T clothes anymore. I didn't understand it! How could this be? I had to buy a *gasp* 4T? WTF?
I managed this with my usual aplomb. Or something of the sort. No gory details provided.
But then it was easier for me when the other two chickens did the same. Then OC moved out of the Sesame Street clothes at K-Mart. (They only go up to 5.) I had a quick grieving period (ended last week) and have now moved on. Okay. Week before last.
OC is the pioneer of the girls. She experiences it first. Then we have the trickle-down effect. The latest Rite is shaving legs. Baby chicken will have a razor in her hot, little hands next Friday. She will be shaving her legs for the VERY first time. She's excited. I'm buying band-aids in bulk. The other two have been shaving theirs for awhile.
But this is the end of an era. There will be FOUR razors in my shower. *choke* I have to keep track of deoderant and shaving cream in multiples. Individuality, once again, reigns supreme. And Mama needs some ibuprofen.
My books are similar. The first one, I was so damn nervous that I cried when I got the contract. Everything was so new. I didn't know about editing. I didn't know about some dialogue tags. But I muddled through. I'm very proud of it, by the way. And then I finished another. And another. And somehow they weren't just MY BOOKS, they were individual products. I have characters who I sometimes can't remember their names. I remember trying to tell my Mom about The Portrait a month ago and couldn't remember the hero's name! I could remember the DOG'S name, oh sure, but not the hero's.
And the writing has grown. Sometimes it takes on a life of its own. And as much as I'm the Creator of my work, it's as individual as my children.
I wrote about a paragraph of dialogue between two characters yesterday that I had NO idea where it came from or WHO the characters where. And right before I went to bed last night, I KNEW who they were. Spooky, that.
The children and the books grow with a speed that sometimes scares the bejeezus out of me. They move through their Rites of Passage seemingly without a care or concern. But I know better. They both still need me. No matter how much the children or books THINK they know, they'll always need me to step-up as the semi-voice of reasoning and do a little guiding.
And I'm well with that. I NEED that.
Now where can I get a razor rack?
3 months ago