Crazy Week and It's Only Monday

I spent the weekend filling boxes with loot from last year's Kickstarter. It will be a relief to have my living room and office back. DH asked why I wasn't sitting on the floor, which has been SOP for years when I was mailing Christmas presents to out-of-state nieces and nephews.

Needless to say, I dared him to sit on the floor. He quickly learned that if a human is on the floor, it's a signal to Princess Bella to drag all her toys over to you and place them in the open boxes. Some of my backers almost ended up with Kongs.

I'm still putting together the paperback for Queer Eye for the Super Guy. The re-write of Spells and Sleuths is finished and edits have started. And I need to finish the two short stories that were the part of the Kickstarter stretch goals so the audiobooks can be recorded.

There are surprises in the works for the Justice series' tenth anniversary. I really, really hope the readers of that series love the things in the works. My artist is doing some wonderful artwork for the projects.

Best of all, I had my annual mammogram this morning. For the last five years, it's been like sitting on a grenade. Has the cancer taken hold in the other breast? I've already had a lumpectomy, several needle biopsies, and a core sample. 

To my relief, the radiologist said everything looked good. Which means I'll be off tamoxifen at the end of June and I can drink during a writers' retreat I'm going to in July in Oregon. Like I told a few friends, it's not that I'm a huge drinker. I just don't like choices being taken away from me.

Actually, it's the second best thing. Genius Kid and the Grandpuppy are on their way here. Which means it'll be a Cincinnati chili and Long Johns week, too.

A Change in the Air

A couple of days ago, I stood at the kitchen sink. The window overlooks the neighbor's backyard. There's a small tree by his deck, and the leaves had already turned yellow. As I watched, the small tree dropped nearly every leave, a la the Whomping Willow in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I thoroughly expected the tree to shake itself in order to dislodge the last few stragglers clinging to its branches.

The tree reminded me the warm days are coming to an end. I've stocked up on tea and coffee. I found some sugar-free peppermint mocha and pumpkin spice creamers. It's time for spilling words on cold days with a warm puppy on my lap.

Speaking of which, I need to go finish up a novel now that a huge chunk of furniture is out of the father-in-law's old Victorian. I'm so ready for the physical break.

Haircuts and Paperbacks

I seriously overslept on Monday, so I didn't get much done. Yesterday, I was up at 7:30 to take Bella to her appointment to have her hair and nails done. You'd think I would have gotten more done.

But no, I was making phone calls, answering texts, and sending e-mail. The family grapevine was working overtime now that Genius Kid and Significant Other are officially producing Adorable Spawn in July. Maybe.

S.O.'s doctors keep changing the due date because of A.S.'s size. He's going to be a big boy according to the ultrasound.

In preparation, everyone at Casa Harden is getting haircuts. Because we know how babies like grabbing things. Things like hair and fur and dangling earrings.

I'm the only one that has to worry about that last one. However, DH's haircut from last Thursday was so radical it caused commentary among the young gentlemen sacking our groceries. Bella looks like an entirely different dog after yesterday's grooming (see photos for comparison).

And today, I'll be heading in to the salon to whack off a few inches. Then with DH's help, I'll turn into a little old blue-haired granny. Specifically, Midnight Indigo from Splat.

DH suggested we be called Gramps and Grams. I kind of like that. "Grams" is what the Halliwell sisters on Charmed called their grandmother.

But in the meantime, I've got a lot of writing to write and paperbacks to publish before Adorable Spawn makes his debut.

 

It's Too Quiet on the Western Front

After all the tricks I learned to tune out the guys in a small apartment, I found it was too quiet yesterday.

Genius Kid left for Army basic training at the beginning of the week. The local school districts started this week as well, which means DH was at the soccer stadium running the time clock for games. I ended up driving over to one of the Tim Horton's in town for some background noise so I could get words in on Resurrected.

I know it's going to be an adjustment period. But I'm already looking at the Ohio dog rescue websites for a furbaby who would be good for apartment living.

After I swore I was not getting another dog after Dax died four years ago.

Goddess, I need help!

Buddy the Elf Dog Is Home!

On the evening of December 13th, GK went out to bring in the trash cans and found a full-bred Yorkie sitting in our driveway. We nicknamed him Buddy the Elf Dog. We contacted our neighborhood's pet hotline, posted pictures, and drove around our subdivision, hoping to find his owner.

We had a major debate about what to do. We couldn't take him to a shelter. We knew how crowded they became this time of year with unwanted "Christmas presents." And Buddy was so sweet and good-natured we feared what might happen if he managed to get adopted.

We know all-to-well that some people think dogs are things to be kicked around, not living beings. Our last two dogs were rescue dogs that had been horribly abused. It had taken a lot of patience and a lot of love for them to trust humans again.

Tuesday morning, January 1st, DH and I planned one more round of posting pictures of Buddy this week. We decided if that didn't work, we would keep him. He'd already claimed me as his human. Sleeping with me. Snuggling on my legs while I wrote.

Then, amazingly, we got a call from Christie, the Lost Pet coordinator, on Tuesday afternoon. Did we still have the Yorkie? She feared we had found another home for Buddy or had taken him to one of the local shelters.

Nope, he was still here. A few minutes later, DH spoke with the owner who was on the verge of crying over the phone.

Turns out Buddy's name is Toby. He's the companion of an older, disabled gentlemen named Enrique who feared he'd never see his beloved dog again. Unfortunately, Enrique and his wife were out of town for the holidays when they got the call from Christie. Within a couple of hours though, Mrs. Enrique was at our door, and Buddy/Toby's excitement at seeing her confirmed we had the right people.

All's well that ends well, right? Except I missed the little ball fluff who curled up and slept next to my chest for the last three weeks.

Where the Hell Is the Next Book?

The last two-and-a-half months have been...weird, I guess is the best way to put it.

First, back-to-back colds waylaid me. It's one of the drawbacks of having a chronic health condition that leaves me immune deficient. A friend blames my diseases of the month on my trips to the B&N Cafe' or Starbucks, but there are times when you just need to get out of the house. And I can stay away from strangers, but that doesn't mean DH or GK won't carry some germ home that doesn't affect them in the slightest but sends me to the hospital.

On top of my illnesses, one of GK's wisdom impacted against the twelve-year molar that hadn't erupted yet, shoving it under the six-year molar. This happened in the two months between regular dentist and orthodontist visits (I saw the x-rays), which meant it had to be dealt with NOW. Of course, the kid bounced right back within two hours after surgery.

Mom, on the other hand, had massive amounts of parental stress and financial anxiety. First, the orthodontist and the oral surgeon decided to put me in this middle of their argument over the best course of treatment. Then, the money I had put aside from this summer's excellent sales for the fall slow down had to be used for GK's surgery because the insurance company decided to be dicks about covering the amount that, according their own f***ing policy, should have been covered.

Unfortunately, illnesses, the professional prick-waving contest, and yelling at insurance personnel over the phone meant I fell wa-a-ay behind on my word output for both the Suzan books and the Alter Ego's holiday release. And we won't even talk about editing.

I got the final edits done on Season of Magick: Winter and uploaded the story two weeks ago. That means it was only five weeks late.

I thought if I plowed through, I might get Blood Sacrifice finished and up before the end of this month. Then this weekend happened.

In the wake of certain events, I realized how little time I was spending with GK, how damn lucky I am to have him. I spent a lot of time hugging him over the last three days. At twelve, he's starting to hit the "Mo-o-o-m, really?" stage when it comes to displays of affection. But he's been pretty tolerant after what happened in Connecticut.

On top of everything else, GK found a stray dog in our driveway when he went out to bring in our garbage can Thursday night. Buddy (we had to call him something) appears to be a full-bred Yorkie about four-five years old. We've spent the last four days combing the neighborhood for his owner, posting his picture on our subdivision's Facebook page, and hitting the local vets and pet stores.

The three of us humans agreed we couldn't take him to a shelter. We also couldn't leave him outside when the temps were dipping into the thirties, and a coyote pack has been known to eat other small pets from the neighborhood. Dax the Wonder Dog gave in when he realized he had a playmate closer to his size.

So Buddy the Elf Dog is staying with us until we can locate the owner. This means I get to referee between a long-legged beagle and a Yorkie whose balls are bigger than his brain. It's been interesting.

So what does this all mean?

Hug your kids. Cuddle your puppies. And you'll see Blood Sacrifice sometime in 2013.