Men's Toilet Time - and other things I learnt this week

Despite The Builder's loving suggestion this evening, I have decided not to dedicate this blog post to the subject of Men's Toilet Time. Partly because I learnt more about it this evening than I probably ever wanted to know. And partly because I am going to work on removing all that knowledge from my brain forthwith.

Instead, I shall revert to that old faithful, and share with you all the things that I have learnt over the past week or so.

1. Men's Toilet Time is a long and involved subject. It involves considerations that I would never have ... considered. And I for one am glad that I choose to do my reading elsewhere.

2. Five year old boys are the most deliciously maddening creatures ever invented. Even more so than four year old boys, which is saying something. How can one small person be so utterly, utterly revolting one minute and so incredibly delightful the next? It must be exhausting.

3. Dolores Umbridge is possibly one of J.K. Rowling's best characters. My lip curls into a sneer every time I read her name. Mr8 is intoxicated with Harry Number Five and cannot believe how big he is for managing to be halfway through such an enormous tome. Really, it's all about size, isn't it?

4. Women are their own worst enemies when it comes to selling themselves. Of course you can do it. You are already doing it, it's just called something else. Men do not have these doubts (clearly they use all that Toilet Time for positive affirmations).

5. The Spice Girls are very hard to explain to anyone who has never seen them before.

6. It is possible to feel unbelievably happy for someone you've never met. I was beyond thrilled for Anna Meares when she won her gold medal. Hers touched me like no-one else's.

7. People are amazingly generous with the time, knowledge and expertise if you ask them the right way. Really.

8. I need to drink more water. It is possible that I need to sign up for a two-hourly reminder. I must remember to ask Maxabella for a recommendation.

9. I am finally at the point where I can see through the weeds to the trees with my new garden. I was out there watering it this evening, breathing deeply as the scent of the salvias rose on the mist from the hose, and I thought how blessed I am.

10. It occurs to me that with one husband and two boys in my home, I am in for many, many years of Men's Toilet Time ahead. Sob.

What did you learn this week?

[image: signfail/etsy.com]

Motherhood. It does your head in.

I was given this beautiful statue at the baby shower I was lucky to have before Mr8 was born (no shower for Mr5 - funny how that happens...). When I got her, she was whole.

This week, she had a run-in with a soccer ball.

Pretty much sums it up, don't you think?

How do you give your mind a holiday?

Reading Kerri Sackville's post today made me realise just how tired I am. You know how you know you're tired but you just try to forget it and drink too many coffees and forge ahead? I'm there. Mine is not so much a physical tiredness - I'm actually getting more sleep right now than I have for ages, with my insomnia finally deciding that it was done playing with me for a while - but mental exhaustion.

I am so tired of thinking.

My head is full of thoughts all the time. From the moment I wake up to the last ten seconds before I finally fall asleep mid 'I really must xxxx tomorrow'. I am thinking about the boys, The Builder, the house, the bills, the weeding (I'm looking at the image on this post and thinking about the fact that I have more gardening to do...), the fact that I didn't buy the curtain rings yet despite many, many notes to self.

I am thinking about the edits on my novel and having trouble keeping ideas for the next one at bay. I am trying out some new things work-wise and they require a whole lot of extra thought. I have two feature articles on the go, plus some work for regular corporate clients that needs to be monitored.

I am thinking about the fact that I still have not unpacked the 'desk' box in my study - which means that the filing system is not happening. I am thinking that it is ridiculous that I do not have time to unpack the desk box.

I am thinking about what to have for dinner tonight, and tomorrow night and every night ad nauseam.

I am thinking about what time I will need to get up on Friday morning to make a 10.30 appointment in the Big Smoke. I am thinking about my flights to the ProBlogger Event in October. I am thinking about whether or not I have remembered to book accommodation for said event.

I am thinking about Mr8's school work and Mr5's reading. I am thinking that I haven't remembered to subscribe to the Reading Eggs website (have you seen it? It's great for kids!). I am thinking that I haven't bought a birthday present for Mr5's friend or a wedding present for the two (!) weddings I'm attending in the next three weeks.

I am thinking that if I don't get off the internet soon I will be late to pick the boys up from school...

Always, always thinking.

I'm not sure a holiday helps with this kind of tiredness. As they say, 'wherever you go, there you are'. Maybe I should try meditation, or yoga, or some other short break from my brain.

Any suggestions? What strategies do you have in place for giving your mind a rest?

There's a reason they're called classics

I just finished reading Anna Funder's novel All That I Am. It's a wonderful book, worthy of all the prizes its won, but readable. That's important to me. Sometimes I read prize-winning literature, or classics, because I feel I should, not because I particularly enjoy it. Wonderful writing does not always equal wonderful story, or so it seems to me. And while I am enthralled by wonderful writing, it is a wonderful story that keeps me up at night, turning pages.

On the weekend, The Builder and I took a trip to Sydney to go to the theatre. It's a bit of an event these days. I bought the tickets for his birthday a while ago, and then there was the accommodation to the be sorted, the boys to be sorted (thanks Gran and Pops!) and the logistics of getting to a matinee after Saturday morning soccer to be sorted. But we got there.

We went to see Death of a Salesman at Belvoir Street Theatre. I chose it because it a) fitted the schedule and b) I'd heard of it but never read it or seen it. It was written in 1949 by American playwright Arthur Miller. It won the Pulitzer Prize. With such classics there's always the worry that it might be dated. And if a theatre company chooses to 'update' them... well, that can be even worse.

I need not have worried. There's a reason it's a classic. Yes, some of the references and language were very '60 years ago', but the themes remain perfectly relevant today. So many big ideas played out within such smallness. 

Classics can be page-turners.

What was the last 'classic' you read or saw?

The sheer hard graft of writing (again)

Yesterday I received the editor's notes on my first novel. Thirteen pages full of suggestions and ideas and ... stuff.

I read it through once, heart in my mouth. Every suggestion, idea and... stuff... requires me to delve back down into that place from which writing comes and bring forth... more. Better. The best I can do. Even though I thought that I'd already given my best. I need my Bestest Best now.

I got these notes three hours after I had sat down with the first draft of my second novel and gone through it with a fine-tooth comb. All I could see was the work I had to do. So. Much. Work. But it goes on the back-burner now while I focus on the first one.

I am learning so much with this process. I know that I have written before about the fact that your first draft is not your book. But now I know just how much it changes. You can't hide from an editor. Things that in your heart of hearts you know are not developed enough will not be 'overlooked'. They see straight through to the book it could be. And they make you do the work to get it there.

I will not pretend this is not agonising. Because it is. The editor's note that I wanted to receive would have said this: "Dear Allison, we think your book is absolutely perfect the way it is, do not change a word." In some Parallel Universe, Parallel Allison is receiving just that note. She is Parallel Thrilled.

Here though, I'm all wound up and thinking hard, gnashing my teeth and weeping a little inside. It's all about details. More and more and more details. Building the best book that I can. The sheer, hard graft of writing.

And I will take all the lessons I'm learning to the second draft of my second book. Hopefully getting better each time, making the process that bit easier each time. Because I want there to be more times.

And one day, maybe I'll get that Parallel  Editor's Note. (A girl can dream, right?)

[Image from here]

Do your children like to write?

Today I'm over at Planning With Kids, the fabulous home of uber blogger Nicole Avery, writing about writing with children. The post is all about the things I do in my little writing club at the boys' school, and features the first-ever public mention of Bethany, The Saddest Girl In The World. You won't want to miss it. Bethany is going to be famous one day.

You can read the post here.

Do your children like to write? Are you as amazed as I am at some of the magical things their little minds manage to produce?

photo credit: slightly everything via photo pin cc