There was a time (about two whole months ago), when I was naive enough to think that once I had a rough draft finished, the rest would be a breeze.

Stop laughing. It’s not nice to laugh at people who are idiots by accident.

So it turns out that revision? Is a JERKY PAIN IN MY BACKSIDE! Going back over the words I’d slaved over for months and months, I read them now and say to myself, “Pshaw, self, you are such an amateur! Who wrote this? A second-grader? On allergy medication?”

Then I get it in my mind that everything I’ve written is crap, and that I should just shred my manuscript and recycle it as hen-house bedding. (y’know… so it can get pooped on? by lots of fat birds?)

But *sigh* instead I try to push my way through it (partially because we don’t actually own any hens). I write different scenes from different character perspectives just to get it all nice and fleshed out, hoping that one day this dumb manuscript will be able to pass for something readable.

Also, I doodle a lot, y’know, when I can’t think of words to write.

Unfortunately, I don’t really know how to draw anything but the swirly-things. So my notebook is full of them. And when revision becomes too much and I desperately need a break, I go outside… where I promptly draw swirly-things on my driveway with sidewalk chalk.

No, seriously.

On a totally unrelated note, I caught someone in our garage trying to steal my car. And though he had the keys, was in the front seat, and knew how to honk the horn… well, he couldn’t seem to figure out how to actually steal the thing.

I went out to get a closer look at the punk.

He was so cute that I couldn’t press charges. I agreed to let him off with a warning if he’d come live with me forever and let me smooch his little cheeks whenever I darn well pleased.

It was an agreeable agreement.

And now, back to drawing swirlies… err, I mean, revising.

I’m lame. Easter this year? I kinda just let it slip.

Because the day before Easter? The kids were being ridiculous. I tried to have an egg hunt in the house. Mostly for Deacon. The older kids and their friends hid the eggs. And then fought over them as they found one another’s eggs. There was a lot of yelling. And pouting. And kicking. And stomping.

Over plastic eggs that each contained 4 jelly beans. I clawed at my own face.

I told Jachin that his Easter was cancelled. About 7 times. Zoe whined, and I put her on notice. She was this close to having Easter cancelled as well.

Deacon… well, he was a sweetie, but I couldn’t find his Easter basket to save my life. Cuz my basement? Have you seen it? So Deacon’s Easter was kind of cancelled because his mom is just lame. And disorganized. And, oy, the basement.

But Deacon’s sort of a baby, so he doesn’t know about Easter and the risen Lord and the subsequent expectation of candy.

But the other two? They know about Easter. They know to flip out when they wake up on Easter morning and find their Easter baskets sitting there on the kitchen table… EMPTY.

yes-huh.

And Zoe came in to my room and woke me up and said, “There’s no candy in our baskets.”

And I rolled over and wiped the drool from my mouth and told her that I’d fill their baskets when I got up. Which was about an hour and half later. Deacon, well, since I couldn’t find his basket, he just carried around a box with a chocolate bunny inside. I didn’t actually let him eat it. Cuz he’s sort of a baby.

Zoe sat at the table writing a story later that day. It was titled “A Really, Really Bad Day — by Zoe Gale”. It wasn’t about her life, per se, but it was based on the life of an 8 year old girl who wakes up on Easter morning and finds her Easter basket EMPTY! And then finds that the pantry is out of her FAVORITE CEREAL! And then her mom DOESN’T EVEN CARE! And then her big brother TEASES HER! And her baby brother MESSES UP HER DS!

It was picked up by Scholastic Press in a six-figure deal, due out this fall.

Happy Belated Easter, friends.

Today is a very weird-feeling day.

Number 1 (though not most importantly), it’s St. Patrick’s Day. So I made sure that the kids and I were wearing green this morning. (Jachin would not wear a green shirt, so he walked out the door this morning with a black t-shirt and a lime green Omniture scarf wrapped around his neck. It was equal parts hilarious and oddly stylish.)

Number 2: I’m sort of a frickin wreck. I’m going on nearly zero sleep, because Jon was re-admitted to the U of U hospital last night. He’s still sick. I don’t know what else to say. ~327 sweet, caring people ask me every day how he’s doing, and I have nothing to tell them. Nothing. Nothing new. Nothing different. I finally broke down and flipped out in the car last night as I left the hospital. I was bawling as I squealed out of the parking garage, nearly taking out a family who were having a calm smoke break together on the curb. I suspect they reported me to the front desk, assuming that I had just escaped from the mental ward.

Number 3: I am so, so dang proud of my little brother, Paul. Today he entered the Missionary Training Center (that’s MTC to all of you hepcat Mormons), marking the official start of his LDS mission. He’s being sent to Orlando, Florida. In a few weeks he’ll be walking the streets, sporting the little black “Elder Brandenburg” name tag. If you see him there, please be kind. Feed him a meal, if you can. And if you utterly do not want to hear about the Book of Mormon, at least don’t swear at him and slam the door in his face. (Thank you in advance for that.)

Here he is (green tie and all) with Jachin, in front of the MTC, giving a manly fist bump.

And here is the most awesome picture of both me and my brother… taken by Jachin.

I know, right? I can only assume that the flattering photography is retribution for making him do a manly fist bump with his uncle.

No, I didn’t look at the picture directly after Jachin took it.

Yes, I should have.

So that’s kind of today: sleepy, weary, worried, proud, blurry… and green. Happy St. Patty’s Day.