That's a really lame metaphor for how I view Fridays. The week's been brutal and fast-paced, the finish line is in sight, and I'm about to wipe out from all the stress, hoping my momentum will carry me through to the relief of the weekend. How long I skid depends on how late my husband works, and that always varies.
- Drum roll over who will be chosen for a page critique at Nathan Bransford's site.
- Drum roll before the NaNoWriMo 2010 site goes live.
- The drum roll before the wipe out described above.
Plus, a battle with my muleheaded five-year-old:
He reads a short book and is supposed to talk about it, then draw a picture with the book's title at the top.
I sit down with him. "So is this a true story, Youngest? Or is it make-believe."
"Is it something that really happened? Or do you mean it's a story about something that could really happen?"
"It really happened. I was there!" He gives me his scowling bull expression.
"Um. Okay." I'll fight that battle later. "Tell me what it was about."
"It was about me and Daddy and [his brother] going to Legoland last weekend."
"This book was?"
"No. My story is."
"Well, we're supposed to be talking about this book you just read."
"I don't want to talk about that story." Scornful look. "I want to tell my story."
Then he didn't want to write the book's title.; he wanted to make up a sentence at random. He didn't want to draw a picture about the book; he wanted to draw the pedal cars at Legoland. He didn't want half a dozen other things. Much finagling later, I'm still not sure his picture had much to do with the story, but he drew it with glee: a happy hedgehog with an apple stuck to its back standing beneath a tree that grows blue apples.