I just finished editing the month of August from my manuscript. August and December are the 2 months that are the toughest to work through, so I fear them a little. How silly is that last sentence? I’m fearful of my own writing? Pshaw. Anyway, I used to be afraid of August and December because both months have so much going on in them. August was our 1300+ mile road trip around the British Isles (well, 2 of them anyway), and December is our coming-home month and the nightmare that was our journey home.
Anyway, I got through my 2nd go-round with August and lived to tell about it. I had some great laughs – did I mention that #2 stuffed a balloon animal into her purse after she got it from a magician? The amazing thing was that IT SURVIVED FOR A WEEK in there. I swear that girl was Mary Poppins, but only where the bag was concerned. No sunny disposition inspiring all around to better themselves. Just whining that made you want to stuff some of the dirty socks from her bag into your ears.
I’m turning my attention to September now. September, 2006, not the month we are currently in, although I might want to think about that. The weeds are almost as tall as the flowers in my front yard – and we’ve got an 8′ sunflower. The morning glories are trying to take over the bonzai-ed Juniper bushes, and there are fat horned caterpillars hiding under leaves waiting to jump out and scare the bejeezus out of me. I honestly thought one was a snake last weekend. Children #1 and 3 were dangerously close to wetting themselves riotously laughing at their wussy of a mother. I bet they’re in cahoots with those stupid armed mini-snakes. Not mini-snakes with actual arms, mini-snakes with weapons. The orange pokey horns on their heads. Or their rear ends. We can’t tell end from end, which should probably make me feel better, but in reality makes me fear them more since I don’t know from which end the attack will come.
Maybe September ’06 is where I want to stay, after all.