From the backseat, Kiddo asked, “how many more minutes?” We’d been on the road for the last three hours, so the bigger surprise was the fact that he hadn’t already asked the same question a million times already.
“We still have a ways to go,” I answered, not exactly excited to reveal that we still had another two hours of windshield time ahead of us.
“But how many minutes until the TV can come back on?”
The in-car entertainment system had only been powered off for a second or so, but the boys were clearly missing the distraction. “Eh, a couple of minutes honey. Maybe three. However long it takes for Dad to fill the car up with gas.
“How many seconds is three minutes?” Kiddo asked.
“One hundred eighty.”
Kiddo paused to take in this information. “Ten, twenty, thirty” I heard him begin.
The boy is feeling clever this morning.
“One hundred sixty, one hundred seventy, one hundred eighty. There. One hundred and eighty seconds. Now can we turn the TV back on?”
Sigh. I was going to have to explain to him that time wasn’t moving any faster for the rest of us just because he had figured out a faster way to count to one eighty. Welcome to Relativity 101 Kiddo. Just then the pump clicked, signaling our tank was full. Before long, we were back on the highway with the sounds of Mickey Mouse’s Clubhouse playing over the speaker system. Now I am thinking I am the one in need of a lesson in the manipulation of space-time, because it feels very much like I’ve been here before.
And yet, I feel as if I have gone so very far.
My thanks to everyone who helped make last week’s launch so very special either by checking out my book links, sharing my posts, or simply offering your words of encouragement. I am hopeful that the experience I’ve gained will help me complete my next project that much faster, but I also know not to expect the process to be any easier. I very much appreciate your support.
My plan for world domination er I mean literary success continues. Upon hearing of my upcoming launch, Steven Capps was kind enough to feature me on his blog this week. Thank you once again, Steven.
Hi there guys, for this week I have the honor of introducing the talented Allie Potts onto the blog. Her newest novel, The Fair & Foul, was released earlier this week. It is a science-fiction story set in the near future where the lines between humanity and technology are beginning to blur.
Juliane Faris, an ambitious programmer, shortcuts the next step in her career by undergoing an experimental surgery fusing her brain with a supercomputer. The procedure grants her unprecedented knowledge and cellular control over her body, but threatens everything she holds dear including her sanity. When others undergo the same modifications it becomes apparent that not everyone can afford the price that this technology demands. After reading her guest post, don’t hesitate to click on the cover and support an amazing author.
My First Time
Get your mind out of the gutter. This is a blog about writing, so of…
Kiddo jumped out of bed this morning almost as if his body was as connected to the light switch as was the lamp. As I lifted him up to give him a hug I was hit once again by how long his legs have grown. With his eyes level with mine, his feet dangled only a foot or so above the floor. He grinned and hugged me back.
Kiddo came to my book launch with a flower in hand. He has seen my name on the cover and my picture in the back. Kiddo loves that mommy wrote a book. He wants to one day write one too. He knew that mom had been celebrating, but this morning wasn’t about mom. Today is Kiddo’s 7th birthday.
I lava birthday cake
Even though this week we are celebrating big time in the Potts household, I am reminded of another birthday when things weren’t going quite our way.
I wasn’t sure I was ever going to post this, but here goes – sorry in advance mom.
It was the day of my nephew’s birthday party. Both of my boys were eager to join their cousin and several of his friends at a nearby indoor playground. Within seconds, my eldest was running in between the various bounce houses and jungle gyms, having adventures with kids. His brother, LT, on other hand, made no effort to join their games.
Instead, LT walked over to me with his arms outstretched, a wordless request to be picked up. Once in my arms he rested his head on my shoulder while the rest of the world partied around us. There are so many people out there who want their children to be special, but special isn’t always all it is cracked up to be.
It started back when the hubby and I noticed a large lump in LT’s lower left abdomen. We had detected a similar lump the year before and had rushed to radiology only to learn that the lump’s source was nothing more than a hardened brick of fecal matter. We were told how to treat it and after a few long days it eventually passed. It wasn’t the last time. He has a chronic condition, so when this new lump formed, we thought we knew how to make it better, only what worked before didn’t seem to completely do the trick.
His doctor told me in no uncertain terms that we weren’t working hard enough. Triple his dose (like a colon blow for kids). Eliminate potential food sources like dairy and bread (the only food he enjoys – natch). Increase his fluids and his level of activity. Don’t give him a choice in the matter (oh – that’s what I’ve been doing wrong all this time). “You have to brace yourself to go to war.”
He wasn’t kidding (perhaps he has met my son after all). It is a wonder we haven’t had a knock at our door from a concerned neighbor considering the frequent sounds of pain coming from the bathroom. Finally, just as I was beginning to wonder if we needed to schedule surgery, it happened – a major crack in the dam (just in time for the party). We were exhausted. LT, from the process, the rest of us from watching the tears stream down his face as he begged for it to stop all the while pretending it was anything other than completely heart-wrenching (you’re doing great honey!).
He cried when we returned to the restroom later that day. I fought back my own tears. But we got through it because we had to. Eventually, his cry tapered off and he looked at me and said, “I a brave boy?” I nodded and told him how proud I was of him. The next day was easier, as was the day after that.
I apologize to my mom who I know reads this blog, but I cannot think of any better way to say the following:
Shit happens. Shit hurts. Shit doesn’t always make sense.
It doesn’t matter if it is in the form of an earthquake, a riot, or the very literal variety. Shit makes us scared. Shit makes us angry. Shit makes us question everything, including our beliefs or our resolve.
And yet if we try to avoid it or ignore it, we grow weaker and when it hits (which it will) it is ten hundred times worse. There is a reason we refer to a courageous person as one who has intestinal fortitude. Adversity may make us cry, but we have to find a way to push through, to seek answers, make adjustments, or offer comfort where we can. So that the next time it hits, we are braver, stronger, and faster to respond. That is the only way to ensure that next time, it too will pass.
We have reached that point in the year in which my daily commute is conducted entirely in the dark. The days are getting shorter. It is one of the only aspects of Fall I dislike. To make matters worse, dense cloud cover blocked out what little light remained in the sky as I pulled out onto the highway. A misty rain ensured that traffic would be particularly brutal.
Luckily my destination was nearby. Unluckily that meant it was that much closer to show time. My knuckles were still white from clutching the steering wheel like a life raft. I began to regret eating a large lunch.
Get it together, Allie. I told myself. You will be among friends.
I entered the shop thirty minutes ahead of schedule, which was a good thing as the barista had lost my order. Fortunately we came up with a quick plan B. Please let that be the worst that happens tonight. I could feel my limbs begin to shake as my adrenaline levels began to climb. Where is Lamont?
I pulled out my phone and hit the icon for the find my friend app. There he was, on his way, but still several minutes away. I have to find something to do to stay busy or I’ll go crazy. I returned to my car and popped open the truck. I retrieved two heavy boxes – my sole reason for being at this shop on a dark and dreary night.
The boxes felt heavier than I remembered from when I loaded them just that morning. Balancing on one foot while bracing the boxes on my other leg I pulled open the shop doors and placed the boxes on a nearby table. I waited. Lamont’s dot on the map moved maybe a fraction of an inch. Agony. I waited some more.
I watched as the barista placed my order in the adjacent conference room. Another minute passed as I stared at my phone’s display. I felt my stomach lurch. You have to do something. Now.
I grabbed my boxes and walked toward the conference room. A pair of double doors blocked my way. I’ve gotten this far by myself. I lifted my leg to repeat the balancing act that had gotten me to this point.
Crash. The boxes tumbled down, their contents spilling out across the floor. Other casual patrons stopped their conversations and came to offer their help. As they picked up several copies of identical books, I realized I could no longer hide who I was or why I was there.
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Allie Potts 