Right before my eyes

In my nearly 38 years on this Earth, there have only been two times when my life flashed before my eyes.

When I was 16 years old, my mother and I were involved in a horrible car crash. After coming to, I found myself gasping for air, my lungs working overtime trying to get a full breath. I frantically struggled with my seat belt trying to free myself. That's when it happened. These images of my life, more like snippets, flashed in my mind. It wasn't like I saw pictures of Christmases past or my first day of kindergarten. They were flashes of what could have been - I'd never had a boyfriend, never been asked to a school dance, never gone to college. In a few short seconds I thought So this is it. This is how it's going to end. On a beautiful, sunny September morning. Sitting next to my mother. A patch of blood seeping through the leg of my brand new jeans. My red backpack, stuffed to the gills, sitting at my feet.

Turns out that seat belts like to lock when you're in a crash. The gasping I was doing was because the wind was knocked out of me as the seat belt locked and I was thrown forward. After a minute or so my breathing returned to normal and my thoughts went from Oh my God, I'm dying to I'm going to be late for my French test. Oh how the mind works at a time like that.

The second time my life flashed before my eyes? Last night. During what should have been a fun night at the mall doing some Christmas shopping, Griffin managed to take off and get lost. We were only going to be there for a little while, just long enough for me to buy something for my Grandma at JC Penney and then off to see Santa. We forgot the stroller and when we saw that it cost $5 to rent one at the mall, Patrick decided we'd take turns holding Griffin since we wouldn't be there very long.

As I paid for my Grandma's gift, Patrick came around the corner and said, "Griffin's gone." The funny thing was that I didn't panic. Griffin's a fast little bugger and as soon as we stepped inside the mall, he took off running through the shoe department. I assumed he was just hiding nearby, but the look on Patrick's face told a much different story.

Patrick went in one direction and I went in the other. We shouted for him. We ran. We looked underneath tables and in between aisles. No Griffin, but I still wasn't panicked. It wasn't until I heard a voice on the intercom call for a "Code Adam" that my breath caught in my throat. I looked down and in my hands I was clutching Griffin's winter coat, his little fleece hat still nestled in his sleeve. I ran faster.

We got paged to one of the registers where I was immediately put on the phone with security. They asked me to describe Griffin. I wanted to tell them that he was the sweetest little boy who loved fire trucks and frosted cookies, but that's not what they were looking for. The call went out over the intercom and my sweet little boy was reduced to a few measly descriptions: Griffin Moore. Two-and-a-half years old. Short blond hair. Khaki pants. Red shirt. I dropped the phone and ran.

It was then when  it hit me. For the past couple of minutes I just assumed he was hiding or that he'd run right past me. I envisioned seeing him and scooping him up in my arms. People are good, right? We had complete strangers running through the mall helping us look for him. Someone would see him and come find us. But that's not always the case. That's when I let my mind wander off a bit. That's when those could have beens flashed in my mind. He never got to sit on Santa's lap. He never had his first day of school. He never got to play with the red fire truck that we got him for Christmas. And me? What if I never saw him again?

Just as I was headed up the escalator, I saw Patrick out of the corner of my eye. He was holding a smiling Griffin. As I approached them, Griffin held out his arms, smiled at me, and said, "Mommy up!" And just like that it was over.

No tears were shed until I sat down to write this. In fact, once Griffin was safe and asleep in his race car bed, Patrick and I sat on the couch watching TV. Without even turning to me, he said, "I can't believe we lost our child at the mall." My first instinct was to laugh - just my habit of using humor and sarcasm to cover up some of the panic. We joked about it for a second because, let's face it, Griffin was sound asleep upstairs and all was right with the world. But then Patrick said it again a few minutes later and then again. And again. It sank in and I eventually crept upstairs and looked in on Griffin as he slept.

Just like that, he disappeared, and just like that, we found him. We were lucky. We know that. I will hug Griffin just a little bit tighter when he wakes up this morning...and every day from now on.

The best laid plans of moms and sons...

I'm going to get this out of the way early - I sent Griffin to day care this morning without any breakfast. Please don't tell me what an awful mother I am because I've already told myself that at least 100 times today...and it's only 2 PM.

Here's the deal. Griffin usually gets breakfast at day care. It's a really good breakfast, too. Believe me, my stomach starts growling as soon as I walk in the front door of our provider's house. Breakfast casseroles. Eggs. Biscuits and gravy. Pancakes with real blueberries. The kid's got it good. The only problem is that we need to be there by 7:15 AM so she can serve breakfast and get some of the older kids off to school. I have no problem with that, but someone does (think short, cute, and blond curly hair).

Griffin is not a morning person. He's also not someone who likes to be rushed, which is exactly what I have to do Monday through Friday in order to get him to day care in time for breakfast. He's still sleepy and rubs his eyes and swats at anyone who comes near him with clothing. I swear he can spot a pair of jeans from across the room. It's a struggle to get him dressed, and once he's dressed, it's a struggle to get out the door.

Today I decided that I would feed him breakfast myself and get him to day care by 7:45 AM. Sounded like a good plan. It was a good plan, but we all know about the best laid plans. Griffin and I had a battle royale. When I finally got him in the car (I practically had to sit on top of him to buckle him in), I tried to get him to eat something on our drive to day care. He had a sippy cup of milk, a banana, a small bag of Goldfish crackers, and a few broken pieces of a raspberry Poptart (the breakfast of champions, I know, but it was food). He had a few crackers, but that was it. He was really tired and when that happens, he doesn't want anything.

We got to our provider's house and she was already loading kids in the van. I handed him over and she got him in his seat. I got back to my car, pulled away, and felt a heaviness in my chest I haven't felt since the day I went back to work after my maternity leave. Guilt. How could I have sent my son without any breakfast? I know what you're all thinking. But Tracy, you tried. You had Poptarts and Goldfish. You did the best you could. But that's the funny thing about guilt. It never feels like you did good enough. There's always something more you could have done. I'm not sure what that "something" is, but I feel it.

Of course he can survive without breakfast, but the real question is how am I going to survive if I keep feeling this kind of guilt?

Addendum: This post makes Griffin sound like a whiny brat. He's not. He just inherited my stubborn streak and Patrick's short fuse (lethal combo). Lord help us all if he inherits my passive-aggressiveness and ability to hold a grudge for an abnormal amount of time.

All over but the shoutin'

NaNoWriMo 2010 will come to an end this evening. I plan to be snuggled in my warm bed with my blanket pulled up to my ears. Another win under my NaNo belt.

I noticed a number of differences between this year and last year:

1. I love this story so much more than last year's story. I should really say that I was in love with last year's idea more than the end product, which is probably a direct result of my lack of novel writing experience. What I had in my head did not come through on paper. It was disappointing, but then again, it was my first novel. It was my starting point. Someday I would love to bring those characters back to life.

2. I had no idea where to start with this novel. Last year I had the opening sentence in my head ready to go when I opened my eyes on November 1st. This year, not so much. I sat at my laptop and stared at the blank screen for about ten minutes before I typed the first word.

3. I struggled more this year with pacing.  This isn't necessarily a bad thing. Not every single detail needs to be written into the story, which is what was happening last year. My main character works in a diner, but we don't need to know every tiny detail of her workday, or what happens on her way home from work (unless it pertains to the plot or subplot). Who cares that she couldn't find a decent radio station or that she ate a bag of M&Ms because she hadn't had time for lunch? I ran into that problem last year and I made an effort this time around. I think it paid off.

4. I'm learning! I could tell about one week in that I had learned quite a lot between last year and this year. Like last year, I wrote this story in third person. I toyed with the idea of first person, but I realized a few days before NaNo started that I wouldn't be able to tell the story I wanted by sticking with my main character's POV. I'm glad I made the switch because I was able to write from two different POVs and also had the chance to write from the perspective of a sympathetic antagonist. Who knew I could write so well as an ex-con? I was also more aware of switching POVs. It's tempting to switch in mid-scene, but I was careful not to head-hop.

5. I still have lots more to learn. This is only my second novel (and I never fully revised the first one). I'm a beginner, but I'm okay with that status. For now. I hope that with each one I will learn more and grow as a writer.

6. NaNo has its pros and cons. The biggest pro? Getting in the habit of writing every day. I'm a sucker for a serious deadline, so that's why this works for me. Without the deadline? I flounder. I hope to keep up a decent pace so I can finish by my birthday (mid-January). The other pro is that NaNo lets me squash my inner critic. She is a boisterous gal, but I've learned to keep her in check. As for the cons, NaNo does focus on quantity over quality. Now that doesn't mean that I typed away without thinking of plot or character motivation. There were days when I wanted to write, but knew that I needed to sit and think for an hour or so. Sometimes I stopped in mid-scene because as I wrote I thought, "My main character would never do that!" So yes, there is a somewhat haphazard approach to writing. I've learned that while I'm not a total plotter/planner, I also can't completely make things up on the spot. I need to do plenty of prep work and research (how I love my research!) and I need direction.

As happy as I am to be done with NaNo, there's a little part of me that will miss the frenzied pace of writing. I'll miss word count checks. And more than anything, I will miss having something to call my own - this little (or not-so-little) challenge. Just me against my evil inner critic...and I won!

New math

Math was never my strong subject. I don't need to say anything other than that. However, I found this great web site. This is the kind of math I can handle:

That's all for today. Patrick starts his new job today and is heading to Portland for a week of training and orientation. I'm past the halfway mark for NaNo and I hope I can stay on track while I'm the only parent at home.

The weight of my world

We're eight days into NaNoWriMo and I'm still a tad behind in my word count. I'm not too concerned - I caught up a lot during the weekend. In the meantime, I pasted what I've written so far into Wordle to see what my novel looks like. Obviously my characters' names are what I use most, but otherwise here's what it looks like:

I didn't realize I used the word "just" so often. My characters use it a lot when they're talking. Does that count? Is it better to use that word when a character says, "I just want you to understand me" versus the narrator saying "He was just too young to understand the difference."

Eh. I'm still only 11,500 words in. I'm sure this will look different when I'm done. OK, I hope it looks different when I'm done.