You Can Say You Knew Me When

Far be it for me to be so bragadocious, but I think I've got something tucked up my sleeve:

Stay at home mother of two, part time special ed teacher, full-time spitfire with an impatient streak and a tendency to take everything personally breaks through the literary world with a blockbuster smash about what it's like to be a real housewife.

Ok. Perhaps I could loosen up the phrasing on 'housewife' because the dustbunnies are at the moment having talks about an uprising about their overly-dusty situation.

But why not? I almost cried at the library today. Haven't you? When the 2 year old has dumped every. single. puzzle. on the floor and you know, looking at it, that the next 18 minutes of your life will be spent putting pieces back in spots whilst managing an already misbehaving toddler and an older sibling who's now stuck helping you and is pretty pissed about it. I pieced those puzzles like a pro and realized, as I put the Arthur pieces back with nimble fingers and dubious dexterity that all those books written and sold and read and shared at book clubs across the world are stories just like mine. Like yours, like ours. Women who just finally put pen to paper (finger to keyboard?) and did it. Think of all the good ideas you've had and then some other whippersnapper took it and made a boatload of cash.

So I don't know what my timeline is, but the clock is tickin'.

What do you want to do?