Friday, December 25, 2009

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas...



Thank you for reading and for helping us celebrate.


Thursday, December 24, 2009

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas...

The celebrating has already begun!




And then, had to try EVERYTHING on after that.



And then there was just relaxing.

And it was a good day.
And there are many more to come.
Merry. Merry.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

On the Tenth Day of Christmas...











Tuesday, December 22, 2009

On the Ninth Day of Christmas...














Monday, December 21, 2009

On the Eighth Day of Christmas...

I don't know about you,
but I think this guy looks more than a little creepy.











Sunday, December 20, 2009

On the Seventh Day of Christmas...








Saturday, December 19, 2009

On the Sixth Day of Christmas...





Mr. Snowman got the last laugh, though.

Friday, December 18, 2009

On the Fifth Day of Christmas...







Thursday, December 17, 2009

On the Fourth Day of Christmas...


Send your own ElfYourself eCards

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

On the Third Day of Christmas...












Eight more days? Really???

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

On the Second Day of Christmas...






Monday, December 14, 2009

On the First Day of Christmas...









Thursday, December 3, 2009

Geeked for Science







I told you. Geeked.


Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Comfort Me with Food Writing









Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Food and Memory









Monday, November 23, 2009

Top of My List of Swear Words Back in My Teacher Life: BORING

While I was making dinner for myself and the kids tonight, O. commented that he thought cooking was really boring.

"Oh really? Not the word I would choose," I said (I'm testing out a Neutral Response tactic to words I don't want him to say lately. Overreacting and Forbidding trials showed inconclusive results. I'll let you know how the data shakes out.)

"Yeah, boring. Because you just have to go back and forth, back and forth all around the kitchen for a really long time. And then you get our food made, and then you have to go back and forth, back and forth to make your own plate," he replied.

I'm pretty sure he just summed up my whole life.

Friday, November 20, 2009

My Favorite!

One of the 10,000 things I love about O. is that he doesn't play favorites. Oh, not that he's completely inclusive of his playmates, or even that he doesn't have strong preferences for things. Screw up any of his multiple rituals for getting going in the morning or getting ready for bed, and you'll hear about it. But, anytime you ask him what his 'favorite' of something is, he will invariably reply "They are all my favorites."

Favorite animal at a visit to the zoo? "I liked them all."

Favorite color? "I like all colors."

Favorite food? "Corn dogs and jelly sandwiches and bagels and apples and chips and pickles and olives!"

If he does choose thing he likes better than another, he usually qualifies it by saying, "I like orange today." But he will probably like red or pink or blue tomorrow.

It's a charming little quirk of his that I've always enjoyed. Therefore, I know "favorite" isn't a word I use a whole lot, and was surprised when N. showed me a book she wanted to read before bed and said "dat one N. fav-o-ite."

I don't really think it's her "fav-o-ite." There are many others she prefers to have in her crib with her at nap or bedtime, but I suppose it should not surprise me that she has picked up this concept. If ever there were a child with preferences, it is my girl N.

Don't even think about pulling a pair of pajamas out of the drawer for her. No, choosing which ones are just right for bedtime today is a highlight of her day. Luckily or unluckily, we have two drawers full of hand me down options from which to choose.

We have also recently had some loud disputes over what she will wear for the day. I try not to be too particular about my children's clothes, but I really do not prefer for them to wear character themed clothing every day. N., however, ferrets out the leopard print pants and the Dora t-shirt everytime I hide them, and pleads to put them on. "Peeeeze, Mommy! Hello Diddy? Doda??"

Other favorites:

Favorite Princess: Ariel the Mermaid. Yes, we have hit the princess stage full on. This probably deserves a post of its own, because I was so adamant that we not jump on the Disney marketing bandwagon with all its gender stereotyped baggage. But N. has disregarded all of those morals of mine and fallen head over heels for the girl with the fin. The little girl who passed on to us much of N's wardrobe was an Ariel devotee, so there is a nightgown and pair of summer pajamas featuring her that N. would never take off if I didn't make her. I caved and let her use her Halloween money from her grandma to buy a little Ariel doll, and she needs to know where it (and its accompanying miniscule Flounder the fish) is at all times.

Favorite Blanket: "Hoft Bankee" (trans: Soft Blankie) This is not the blanket I tried to get her to love, a satin backed one like her brother's. Instead it's a fleece pink and white checked one, that I'm concerned will not stay "hoft" for quite as long as she may be attached to it. But for now she rubs it up against her face and snuggles down in to her bed.

Favorite Meal: "Macanoni" She doesn't always eat much of it, but if you ask her what she wants to eat, this is the automatic response. Unless she's given some time to reconsider, at which point she may waver and say "Ice Neem"

Favorite Book: "Silent Night" She loves to find the picture of the "Baby Dejus" and all the animals surrounding him in the stable.

Favorite Color: Pink. It's the only one she can consistently name accurately. Asked if she wanted to help put candles on my dad's birthday cake, she replied "Oh, Yes! Pink Ones!"

Favorite Song: "Rocky Baby One" (AKA "Rockabye Baby") This is what she sings to her dolls and her animals after she covers them with a blanket and tucks them into their doll crib, or into a laundry basket. "Rocky baby. In tee tops. Rock-eee baby. Win bows."

Favorite Action: "Dance" This is what she always chooses during the "Hello Song" at music class. "How would you like us to sing to you today, N?" "Dance!!"

Favorite Swear Word: "Poopie Butt" Thanks, O.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Even If I Try...


Wednesday, November 11, 2009

A Crazy Mess

Back when I was in fifth grade, there was this teacher that frightened everyone I knew. She had a reputation for being not only mean, but also a little crazy. You could see it in her eyes. She was the teacher that yelled so loud you could hear her if your class was walking down the hall to go to a special, and the one that you dreaded having recess duty, especially indoor recess duty. I distinctly remember having to play checkers really really quietly in her classroom.

However, the thing for which this teacher was most infamous was lunch duty. She was known to have a real problem with food waste, and positioned herself near the garbage cans to police what kids were throwing away. I often witnessed her salvaging whole apples from lunch trays before they got passed through the window to the dishwasher. There was even a rumor for a time that she had rescued a banana from a tray that a boy vomited on, and that it had been rinsed off and replaced on the lunch line. Who knows if this was true or not, but I was always glad that I usually packed my lunch, and could safely hide my leftovers in my Muppets lunch box and take them home.

I have no idea how it started, but at some point during that year, several of my friends started making "creations" with leftovers from their bought lunches. If there were extra of the limp green beans, they got mixed in with the uneaten portion of mashed potato. It turned into a bit of a competition to see who could find just the right texture and color combination, adding dashes of crushed cookie or splashes of chocolate milk. I don't know why this was so fascinating to us, but we found it both hilarious and daring. At first, these creations were made right on the cafeteria tray, but as they became more elaborate, we had to find ways to hide them, lest they be commented on by Mrs. Crazyteacher. The used milk carton became the usual receptacle.

Until one day, Mrs. Crazyteacher noticed. And stood over our table, asking who was responsible. Crazy eyes rolling, she threatened that whoever thought it was SO funny to waste food could just drink that mess. Luckily, another teacher showed up and called Mrs. C away before any of us peed our pants or created another vomity urban legend. I know we were being ridiculous, but what fifth grader isn't? For a long long time after that, I was just appalled that someone would even think of threatening children over a few remains of food. Sure, wasting is not great, but forced feeding seems much more potentially harmful.

These days, I'm the one that has the issues with wasted food. And we waste A LOT of food. O. has never eaten much of anything, although I keep trying all the techniques I've read about, continuing to offer new foods, creating interesting ways to serve food, and just in general trying not to turn it into a power struggle. N. is a better eater, but lately has taken to only eating breakfast food and fruit. You can imagine the results of that sort of diet, and I won't go into the gory details there, but it doesn't bother me nearly as much as pitching out all the other foods I serve her alongside her pears, peaches, apples and oranges.

She will ask for a third bowl of cereal in the morning, and while I'm loathe to pour it, she will sometimes eat it, so I usually do. And then dump most of it down the garbage disposal. Same goes for a waffle that she sees me making for O. and just HAS to have one of her own.

Sometimes I purposely leave the excess food on the table for a while, with the pretense that they'll come back and eat it later for a snack, but really because I know the dog will probably get it, and at least it won't be wasted.

I throw away halves of sandwiches, 3/4 full yogurt containers, slices of cheese with only a bite taken out, piles of 'macanoni', and bananas that have been completely unpeeled (b/c N. likes to pretend she's a monkey) but not eaten at all.

Today it was an entire can of tomato soup that O. promised he would like, even though I told him it would taste just like TOMATOES which he does not like. I'm so invested in them actually eating something that I will most often make them whatever it is they say they will eat at breakfast and lunch. Dinner, they usually have to endure what I've made for everyone or have nothing. Which means I usually ditch the portion I've measured out on their animal shaped plates (purchased because I hope they'll make food more appealing) at the end of the meal. It makes me nearly physically ill to throw all that food away.

Last night, I made meatballs and Rice-a-Roni with broccoli. This is a meal that each child likes at least a portion of: O. loves the rice, N. usually eats the meatballs, and O. likes to pretend that he's a dinosaur eating trees with the broccoli. However, on this night, neither wanted anything to do with the main parts of the dish, and N. ate broccoli, but nothing else. I offered each some applesauce and crackers to entice them to eat something. O. proceeded to mix the rice, applesauce and crushed up crackers in a small bowl. He called it a 'salad' but then refused to eat any of it.

And God help me, I found myself yelling at him and came this close to forcing him to eat it all.
I haven't checked in the mirror yet for the crazy eyes, but I'm pretty sure I have them.

Friday, November 6, 2009

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

This is J's busiest time of the year, work wise, so he's been traveling for business even more than usual. Thankfully, he was here for most of the Week of Illness. It was so nice to have him around so that there was someone other than me for the sick children to drape their bodies across, or to entertain one while the other one was feeling like dirt.

He took O. to and from preschool on Monday so that I could take N. to the doctor, and invented a run to Lowe's to entertain O. on Sunday.

Also, he kept offering to go to the store for me, asking if there was anything we needed that he could run out to get. He hates going to the grocery store, so this was a big deal. I took him up on the offer twice. Once for milk, once for kleenex.

So nice. So thoughtful. The day before he left this week, he even brought these home.

I know. Awesome, right?

I'm pretty sure all these kind offers had nothing to do with a certain release date of a certain favorite beverage only available for two months each year and its tendency to frequently sell out once it finally arrives. Right?

(P.S. to J: Your welcome home gift awaits. I bought two. Love you.)

Thursday, November 5, 2009

This is about as close as we get to educational at 7PM...

  1. Watch N. display her stellar listening skills as O. reads the Opposites book.
  2. See her find a new use for the neck of her shirt.
  3. Witness textbook example of residual H1N1 cough (and elbow covering technique!).
  4. N. illustrates her knowledge of closure.
  5. Of course they know "Noisy!"
  6. Watch for the big finish.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Dear Piggy (Flu): Sucks to Your Ass-Mar!

Because yes, we seem to have emerged on the other side of H1N1 relatively unscathed, even the toddler with asthma in the house.
We were successful at obtaining the H1N1 vaccine for the kids on our visit to Cleveland a week and a half ago. (I told you I wasn't kidding.) However, as you may be aware, a two shot dose has been shown to be necessary to produce an immune response in children under nine.
And so, it appears we were exposed to the virus in that window of time before they were fully protected, and we have had a rough few days in the last week.
Not least of the problems was that I could not monitor the spread of the disease outside my own home because my Facebook account was unavailable for nearly 72 hours. Don't laugh. It could happen to you, too.
Basically, I had a bad night that may or may not have been food poisoning, and several days of achiness that may or may not have been related to planting bulbs and raking leaves. Not so bad.
Both kids had a cough/fever/general awful-lying-in-bed couple of days. And of course, N. developed a wheeze almost as soon as she started to be feverish. Amazingly, I did not panic in the ways that I had envisioned myself doing at the height of my flu fervor. It seems that doing all that I could do to prepare and prevent something basically uncontrollable was enough to calm me. We just started using the nebulizer, and it seemed to keep things under control. There was one very scary hour in the middle of the night when she was holding her hands over her eyes and crying out in pain, then grabbing at her stomach and her back as if they also were in extreme pain. However, as soon as a new dose of Tylenol kicked in, the pain seemed to calm, too, and she went back to sleep for a few hours.
Later that morning, J. took O. to school for me, and N. and I curled up on the couch under a blanket. "'Nuggle in, Mommy." I had the phone with me, trying to get through to the pediatrician's office. Monday morning, busy signal a given. When I got through, I got up from the couch for a moment to talk to the nurse. When I came back, N. was asleep again, sitting straight up.
This was perhaps the first time she's been sick that I felt like I was consoling a child, not a baby through the illness. When she woke up coughing the first time, and I tried to give her a breathing treatment, she kept shaking her head and trying to get off my lap, but when I promised her that she could get in my bed after the treatment, she calmed right down and sat still for the ten minutes required. Reason worked, and I was amazed.
Two days later, and half a prescription of Tamiflu behind us, and my bright eyed toddler is back. Are we sure they had H1N1? No. Could be some other nasty virus. Either way, I'm thankful we were able to weather it in a relatively short time.
Ways that I know that everyone is on the mend? Yesterday was almost a worse day than when both were sick. We couldn't go anywhere because they were still potentially contagious, but the kids were well enough to torment each other and myself by jumping off of various pieces of furniture and bouncing various body parts off each other. And they were both awake at 6AM. Daylight savings time could not have been scheduled more poorly.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Still More O-Speak.

If you will remember, dear old Scout recently had some mild health issues. Our carpet is a little worse for it, so we purchased a carpet steam cleaner (Used the $100 rebate coupon I got at BlogHer from Bissell! Already got the check back!). Haven't used it yet, but it's sitting in the dining room. N. likes to climb on it. O. likes to tattle.
"Mom! N.'s standing on the pee cleaner again!"

N is babbling in a very cute way about something, and getting enough attention that she keeps saying it: "N., let's stop talking about this already!"

"Everyone knows that the world turns around and around."

"Mom, did God make even the dogs? Does Scout know God?"

"Mom, you are ruining my life." (This is later attributed to N's Barbie and Pegasus DVD. I knew Barbie was a bad idea.)

"I love you bigger than our whole house. I love you bigger'n the whole world."

"When you put your arm around me, that's called snuggling, right?"

"Can you believe it is October? And summer is gone? It is almost Christmas! Well, it's almost Halloween."

"What is spring all about? What is autumn? Why did they name my friend Autumn, if that's the same as fall?"


"Everyone in my class knows my name. And I'm not even friends with all of my schoolmates. Just some of my schoolmates." (Seriously. Who says 'schoolmates'??)

Better not change those reality TV child labor laws yet:
"Mom, maybe I should just have a video with me while I'm at school. Then I won't have to tell you all about it."

"We're having story club over here! (Begins to look at a book with his sister) Mom! N. knows what purple is! And a hat! Okay. Story club didn't really start yet. I'm teaching N. some things over here. (Two minutes pass.) Okay. Story club is starting! We're about to read! You don't want to miss it, do ya?"

"Mom, what do you think we should do at the end? You know, when I don't have to go to school anymore? No, when I am all done with school and am a grown up. What should we do together then? It's okay. We have a long time to think about it. I'm still just a little kid."

Thursday, October 22, 2009

I'm Taking Today Pass/Fail













Friday, October 16, 2009

What Day is it today?


Nothing. Not so far as I can tell.












Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Dear N., You Know You're the Second Child When Your Birthday Letter Arrives More Than A Month Late.

Dear N.,

In celebration of your second year of life, if not your actual birthday, some thoughts.

There is so much to say about you and who you've become, how do you put it all in one letter, one page, one anything?

What I know is that you are a delight, just as you've been since the day we knew you would be a part of our family. You've been through an awful lot this year, things that could keep just about anyone down, but you've emerged from all the itching, the food restrictions, and the rounds of doctor visits with a winning personality, a real ability to connect with other people, and with the world at large, a sense of humor and air of joy that sparkles right out of those eyes, those blue blue eyes.

"I thought my little girl smiled a lot, but man. She has an amazing smile. She just grins through the whole class. Has she always been like that?"
The dad in your music class asked me this question last week, and I immediately answered, "Oh yes, she's always been my happy baby."

Maybe it's not exactly true that you were always happy. I look at photos of you during that rough patch in the winter and spring before we got a handle on the itching and the swelling preceding your allergy diagnosis and it is clear that at least some of the anxiety I felt got transferred to you. It was the not knowing how to help you that was hardest on us all. Now, that we have clear answers, and plans for treating you, it seems the only restrictions on your enjoyment of life are the few foods you can't eat.

I watch you slide face first down a slide on the playground just for the pure joy of it, chase after your brother and the other big kids in tumbling class as fast as your feet can run down the tumble track and jump with NO fear off the end into the big padded "pool." I watch you clap your hands and twirl, and sit right in the middle of the story blanket at music class. I watch you laugh with abandon as you make some funny motion that will delight your brother. I can hardly remember a time when you weren't this delighted with life on a regular basis.

You are so much more willing to engage with new situations than your brother ever was, and I love the way you participate in life with so little anxiety. I wouldn't call you gregarious, as you still have to check to see if I am close by, and come back over for some "up" time in my arms after you dance, wave hello to a potential new friend, or show off your newest "Shortcake" doll.

In the last month or so, you've started to speak in phrases. You've always been good at communicating, though you were slow to use actual words to do so. Facial expressions, gestures, and just grabbing my hand and taking me where you wanted to go worked quite well for you for a good long time. So it still takes me by surprise at times when I realize that I'm actually having conversations with you, not just interpreting your body language. I tuck you into your bed at night, and you give me instructions:

"Monkey night night." (Put my stuffed Curious George next to me and cover us both up with a blanket)
"Cowie tummy." (Now put that giant stuffed horse right on top of me, on my tummy.)
"Dove Ew, Mommy. Munning." (Love you Mommy. See you in the morning)
And then in the morning, when you wake up, and I go to get you up, you greet me with:
"Hi Mommy, hi. Munning." I get the distinct impression that nothing could thrill you more than to see me, and I don't think I have to tell you how amazing THAT feels.

Oh, you are not all sweetness and light, not all sugar and spice and everything nice. I don't know whose little girls are made of all that. No, you're pretty darn demanding, and have the shriek to prove it. The facial expressions and gestures still go a long way in this regard. Yesterday, you shot me the evil eye right out from underneath your eyebrows. Also, when you recovered the princess book your dad and I told you was missing (we really didn't know where it was!) from underneath the coffee table, your dad tells me the look of 'how-dare-you' triumph on your face was unmistakable. And if something is smelly, or messy, or otherwise potentially off-putting, you loudly proclaim "Ewwww. Dohhss!" with a definite crinkle of the nose.

You are a girl, there is no mistaking that. Ponies, Strawberry Shortcake, stickers, stuffed animals, and babies, always the babies. These are your favorite things, and you actually play with them on your own. You fill up your purse, ask for crayons to color in your Little People book (Girl. Girl.), then make me tea and plastic hot dog soup. And then, because you are lucky enough to have a big brother, you go pile up some dinosaurs and cram as many marbles and bouncy balls as you can in your purse on top of the ponies and hair bows.

O is still your very best friend, and you are missing him when he's at school, so much so that you often squeal and run to hug him when he comes out of his classroom at the end of his day. But it is clear you are loving having some time on your own, for you and I to go to the grocery store together, sit at the table and play with playdoh, or just snuggle in a chair and eat dry cereal out of a cup.

I am so glad I get to be your mom.

Happy Belated Birthday, sweet girl.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Lucky Guess

Yesterday, I actually had the local news on for a little bit in the evening, just as the weather report came on to inform us that O's very first field trip, a visit to the pumpkin farm for a hayride, will most likely be accompanied by by rain and mud. We had some discussion about the fact that he would most likely get to wear his boots and raincoat.
Today, the rain arrived a little ahead of schedule, and as I was wiping the dogs paws off, O. looked thoughtfully out at the rain splashed driveway.
I thought he was getting concerned about the pile of berries he had plucked from our burning bush and left for the birds, but instead, he asked, "Mom, how do the weather people know what is going to happen? Is it just a lucky guess?"
I explained that they study the wind and the clouds and what's going on in the rest of the country and that they use their computers help them figure some of this out as well.
"Oh wow. That sounds really cool."
"Do you think you'd like to do something like that someday?" I asked. does sound cool, but also really hard and tiring. Do you think they ever get to sleep?"
I tell him that one of his friend's mommy does this for a living, and remind him that he's seen her on TV before.
"Oh. Yeah. And does she get to have a drink? And eat something sometimes?"

P.S. I am working on a much overdue post to celebrate Miss N's second year, just so you don't think she's being neglected around here. Look for it soon. (Maybe if I write it here, it will happen more quickly??)

Tuesday, October 6, 2009


I can barely remember a time when I didn't call myself a writer. I've been scribbling stories since I was a kid and ripped off the plot of "The Popcorn Dragon" (a lame story I read in school) and called it my own. I've written plays for puppets, scripts for magic shows, and newspapers with single copy subscriptions.

I've kept journals off and on, written short stories and essays about my life. When I was a teacher, I was most energized when I was helping students work through the painful process of writing. For a two year period, I even worked at a serious level on a book of poems, and emerged with a degree in creative writing. I still claim the title of poet, though I haven't written a single line of verse in six years. I call myself a writer, because I think in terms of character, voice, and phrasing. I understand the world through metaphor, often living figuratively instead of literally through struggle.

In my teaching history, I've come across many who were afraid to claim the title of writer, afraid to let their own voices be enough to share their experiences. So maybe it's my training to encourage reluctant and timid writers that allows me to so freely call myself a writer. After all, I've been telling my story my whole life on the page, what else would I be?

However, there's always been a disconnect between my willingness to claim the role of writer and my ability to maintain it as a constant in my everyday life Writers when interviewed always talk about the urge to write, the compulsion, the hunger, the NEED to get words on the page, to create, to tame the beast that compels them to listen to the characters or the ideas that are speaking to them in their heads. While I recognize I'm lacking the ambition and drive that would push me out into the frightening arena of publication, what's more puzzling is that for much of my life, those beasts and voices simply haven't been hounding me. I could go long stretches, years even, without writing anything of real substance.

Part of it was that I never saw a purpose to what I was writing. I'd jot down a scrap of this, an encapsulated essay on that, a line or two that really captured the essence of how I was feeling at a particular time, and then the blank book I'd started would be abandoned until I had to do a timed writing assignment along with my students, wherein I'd jot down another thought or two. But they were all jumbled up, no real order or direction to any of these ramblings about myself, and certainly no audience. For that is something we discussed a lot in my writing classes. Who is your audience? What are you writing this to accomplish? And the answer to that question was always 'I have no idea.' So the blank book would get put on a shelf, until I got another one as a gift, and the process started anew.

Until that is, until I found this blog. And suddenly, there was a format that fit exactly all the writing I'd been doing all these years. Certainly, it's not as polished as the writing I did back when I was a practicing poet, but then I had a workshop to answer to, and an assignment every week, and time and reason to revise. But every day, I flip open my laptop, and staring back at me from the bookmark bar is the title of my blog and the reminder that I probably didn't write anything yesterday, or the day before, or maybe even the week before.

And while there are not so many of you that make up my audience, there are a few, and so I feel an obligation again to produce. If only to gain the satisfaction of a couple of written comments, or the idea that my husband who is traveling will have a concrete way to participate in the activity Small World while he's absent, more fleshed out than I'd be able to convey in a phone call. And certainly, it's for me, as well. The days I can compose a post and actually get it on the blogger screen are days that I feel like I've won the battle against entropy that is raising small children.

I don't achieve poetry here, not that often. I don't even get half of what I'd like to write down. There are times when I get so overwhelmed by the fact that I've missed so many moments that I wanted to digest, crystalize and treasure that I can't even write a single word. But always, I am drawn back in, beckoned by the blogs of others that I read and am in awe of, ones that can coax beauty and sense out of almost every single day in the form of a post.

There are times when keeping a blog seems far too much for me. I get a sick headache feeling when I try to figure out where in the day I'm going to carve out the moment to do some writing other than in my head. But guess what?

I'm writing in my head.

Nearly all of the time.


That sick headache, I fear, means I'm becoming even more the real writer I've claimed to be for so long, but was secretly afraid I wasn't. The beasts whisper to me in the night of posts I'm supposed to be writing. The voices of my children, my characters, long to speak from the screen. So many of these ideas and stories have slid away from me before I've gotten there, and I feel actually sick about it. Today I realize that this means I'm doomed.

Doomed and compelled to continue to be a writer.