MommyBlog

10. Running full speed to take a flying leap ontop of Mom’s freshly folded laundry.

9.   Slunking under the highchair at lunchtime waiting for a flying piece of cheese.

8.   Licking suntan lotion off of Kenny’s legs.

7.   Licking where “the boys” used to be.

6.   Stealing the newly made sandwiches when Mom turns around to find the napkins.

5.   Bolting upright from sleep when the extra sensory perception kicks in that there is a duck on the lawn, and ramming through the dog door with enough speed to rattle the windows.

4.   Barking forlornly at the back gate when Mom and Kenny get in the big car without remembering to say, “Dudley come too!”

3.   Curling up on the couch as close as physically possible to Mom and Dad  and hoping for  an ear scratch.

2.   Licking where “the boys” used to be.

1.   Spooning Mom in the big bed, stealing the covers and passing lots of gas before she kicks me out.

10.  Cheering Dudley on as he runs full speed and leaps onto Mom’s pile of freshly folded laundry.

9.   Watching Sesame Street, “organizing” Mommy’s pots and pans and eating a slice of cheese, all at the same time.

8.   Turning circles while giggling, “No Dizzy!” and rolling eyes in the opposite direction as the spin, for maximum vertigo effect.

7.   Hiding little pieces of pretzels and waffles  in the train set; afterall, pretzel sticks make good logs and waffles make realistic road blocks.

6.   Refusing to wear shoes outside, then running down the sidewalk in barefeet,  and yelling, “Mama!   Hold you!   Dound is HOT!”

5.   Eating the “Hole Thing!” of anything.

4.   Pee-peeing in the potty, then running bare-bottomed into the living room to “Show Dudley naked!”

3.   Talking to anyone on the phone, but especially Daddy.

2.   Hiding Baa the sheep.   (Except “hiding” usually involves squatting mysteriously  in the middle of  the floor, holding both Baa and the flashlight, and interupting Mommy’s counting to request a sip of water.)

1. Going to the  Father’s Day ballgame  to cheer on the Orioles, and coming home to watch the last two innings with Daddy…

All of my anxiety over Kenny’s allergy test today was for naught; during the interview and exam portion of the test, the doctor determined that a full-blown skin prick test was unnecessary.   Whew.   It turns out that mosquito venom is nearly impossible to test for, as is spider venom, and to test him would be inconclusive, not to mention that if it was conclusive, there would be nothing for them to do for Kenny anyway, other than the precautions we’ve already taken.   I am so relieved.   Kenny has no idea what he missed.   Thank God.

Kenny himself is becoming more and more a little character everyday.     He is more proficiant by the day at communication, and asks questions and generates responses to things as we play and spend our day together.   It’s really quite fun to be with him and witness his revelations and confusions.  

We are having our back deck replaced, and today was the third day that a team of guys were inches away from our living room; the whole back of the house is sliding glass doors and windows, and the deck spans the house, so they are literally an arms length away.   Kenny is facinated, and stops his play often to press his tiny face against the window and shout, “Hi guys!”   and affirm, “Guys wor-keen hard!”   They are pretty good natured about it, and will nod and smile or even wave at him as he pounds his forehead to the glass and imitates the “shriek!” made by their power drills.     Every once in a while, he’ll look up at me with a perplexed frown and say something like, “Wat’s dat?” or “Wat dey doin’?” and I’ll point at the tools and explain how they are leveling the frame, or whatever they are doing.   He will nod, as if he completely agrees with their decision, and return to playing with his  Thomas  train set and table  just passed down from his cousins that has now taken over the living room.   Sometimes he’ll even look up at the workmen and wave one of his trains and say, “Guys play too?”   He still can’t grasp that we can’t invite them in to play Choo Choo.   But he does settle for taking them drinks at the end of the work day.   Today, he proudly carried a very cold Coke can all the way to one of the guys and reverently set it at his feet.   The guy must be a dad, because he intimated Kenny’s solomn gift and bowed to him before picking it up.   Kenny beamed and ran full speed back to me and yelled, “Inside!   Bathtime!   NAKED TIME!”   The guys cracked up.

That’s my boy.

Tomorrow we are taking Kenny to an allergist to try to get to the bottom of his wild reaction to bug bites.   (For those of you who are new to the blog, Kenny spent four days in the hospital in April for a staph infection that generated in a mosquito bite.)   I am sick to my stomach with the thought of what he’s going to have to go through.   The visit is supposed to last four hours.   Four hours!?!   Kenny wouldn’t even last at a playground for four hours, much less a doctor’s office where they are intermittently sticking him with venom-infused needles.

If it weren’t for the fear of another infected bite and a recurrent staph infection, there’s no way I would put my precious little guy through this.   I can’t imagine what he’s going to be thinking tomorrow as I sit there holding his hand and allowing a doctor to cover his arms and back with tiny pin-pricks.     Is he old enough to understand that he’s not being punished?   That this won’t hurt him in the long run but might keep him from getting sick again?

Pain aside, I don’t know how it’s going to work keeping him there that long.   We’re scheduled from 8:30 until 12:30… he usually eats lunch at 11… do we get a lunch break?   And what about his flailing nap schedule?  

I ache just thinking about his perfect little body covered with welts and needle marks.   I’m worried that he will somehow be mad at me, or feel betrayed by me, for letting the doctors do all this to him.   I hope he’s young enough that he won’t even remember it all.   Has anyone else out there had to take a toddler to an allergist?     Was it as bad as I’m fearing??

Lack of antics and adventure is certainly not the reason for my lapse in writing over this long five day void.   I can blame it on only one thing.   Kenny hasn’t napped since last Wednesday.  

For my long-time readers, you will remember that Kenny was otherwise known as “No Nap Joe” for the first fourteen months of his life.   He miraculously started taking them precisely the time we moved out to Scottsdale, AZ for our our annual five-month stint.   He even took naps the first five days we were back in Maryland, but now, wham! NO NAP JOE RETURNS.

I can’t tell you what an emotional toll this is taking on me.   Not only was  I totally used to my one-or-two hours a day to get things done (or just mentally recharge), but now is the time I desperately need those naptimes so that I can finish getting us unpacked and settled in.   Today he screached every five minutes for the hour I left him in his bed.   It’s the same screech he’s been doing since last Thursday: “Blan-ked-on!”   He wails this with such heartwrenchingly pathetic sincerity, I’ve actually found myself returning to his room multiple times to pull the little blanket back over his back from whence he kicked it off.   (He hasn’t done this at night once.)   In Scottsdale when I put him down for a nap, he would play happily for up to a half hour before putting himself to sleep.   But here, all he will do is immediately lay down, then get frustrated when he can’t sleep due to the skewed feng shui of his environment.

I have found myself in a ball of anxiousness over it.   All I can envision is a return to the Life With Non-Napping Child and a messy house, a pile of unopened mail and bathrooms nearly shelacked with hairspray residue.   Not only that, but I fear my own demise as the little hours I had squireled away for myself to write and pursue non-mommy-eque goals  are  stolen by a tricky blanket that won’t stay put.

What do I DO?!?   I have enforced putting him in his bed, and letting him cry.   But the hour he’s in there is no respite for me and certainly no rest for him.    This evening  he fell asleep on the way home from getting his haircut (it was five PM),  then wailed through  dinner, demanding “Mo’wer GOAT CHEESE!” of all things.   I’m frazzled.

Ah, but he is  still the apple of my eye, and I supposed I could view this as an opportunity to spend an extra hour with him every day.

Hm.   Ok, I’m still going to pray that he takes  a nap tomorrow.  

First off, thanks to all the well-wishes for Dudley… my little canine companion is nearly recovered.   He’s a little “mellow” still, but he has once again noticed the  herons on our pier and is giving them a run for their money.

I however, after 48 hours or so of dog-nursing, am way behind on the unpacking and cleaning.   I have spent every spare moment (read: when Kenny is sleeping) working on it, and yet the laundry pile is looming, the spider webs on the ceiling are growing and the floor is spattered with sippy-cup refuse.   There is still an unopened box in my closet and a pile of clean clothes with no place to go on the floor.   I am a neat-freak.   I can’t deal with this much longer.

In spite of my frenzied pace, Kenny and I are having fun re-aquianting ourselves with life on the water.   We have traipsed down the side yard in chase of ducks, gone to  a playgroup and had some friends over to play.   We have also re-aquainted ourselves with the fact that it takes half an hour or more to get anywhere around here.   We have suddenly found ourselves in the car a lot more than we’d like to be.   Kenny, in fact, fell asleep in the backseat out of boredom today a mere one minute from our house, and then had no inclination whatsoever to take a real nap once inside the house.

As for me, it’s back to the grind.   I want to cry when I look at my master bathroom in the state it’s in.   Remind me to hire a maid before we move houses again next year.

I mentioned in my post last night that I took our weimaraner Dudley to the Veterinary Emergency Room for some uncontrollable vomitting.   Well, not one hour after our return home, he started doing something that I’m not going to describe in too much detail, lest I cause one of my readers to lose their lunch.   We thought he was hemorraging, and I raced him back to the puppy ER (which is 35 minutes from our house, by the way), only to be told that this sort of.. uh.. discharge was the result of some bad tummy bile making its way down poor Dudley’s intestinal tract and eating away at his colon.   He had absolutely no control of what was seeping (and alternately flooding) out of him, and he was miserably ashamed and in pain.

Casey and I slept less than an hour each last night, between getting up and changing his bedding and calming him down.   This morning, Kenny and I took Dudley to our regular vet (who is 45 minutes away), and she admitted him to the Vet Hospital for the day to get him on an IV and keep him clean.     I spent Kenny’s nap time sanitizing various floors in the house where he lost control.   We traipsed back to pick him up at six tonight (and caught in the afterwork traffic, the ride cost us an hour each way), and he is now leashed to the front stairs, lying on an old blanket and whining.   The vet said to expect another 24 to 48 hours of this before it “runs its course” and I shiver to think of what our house may look like by the time he’s better.

While I was making dinner, Kenny, who is Dudley’s biggest fan, tentatively walked over to where he was laying.   “Dudley’s sad,” he said, and the next time I looked up, he had walked over to the bookshelf and gotten down a picture of Dudley as a puppy and laid it next to Dudley’s head.   He caught me watching and said, “Dudley’s pitcher!   Dudley all better!” Then he proceeded to take several other pictures over to Dudley’s head, somehow constructing a little offering to the ill pup.   He wanted to give Dudley a sip of his juice, too, but I had to intervene.

Needless to say, we’ve come to the conclusion that Dudley wasn’t meant to fly the friendly skies.   It seems that all this is a direct result of the “stress of airline travel.”   Guess who’s getting a car ride all the way to Scottsdale next fall…

… Your dog throws up in the room you just finished vacuming (four times)….

… Your toddler gets his head stuck between a chair and the corner of  a bookcase…

… You toddler watches his very first episode of “Go Diego, Go!” as you ice the goose egg on the side of his head with frozen blueberries…

… You remember at six o’clock that you had planned a roast chicken for supper, and seeing that you don’t want to eat dinner at nine, you hand carve it into pieces to fry in the skillet…   (I am such a pioneer)

… You take the dog to the emergency vet when he won’t eat, then throws up again, only to discover that he has a three hundred and eighty dollar belly ache…

… You drag fourteen bags, two trashcans, three boxes, a full recycle bin and a broken mop to the curb in the rain for your first trash day, post move-in…

I hope tomorrow is only half full…

We are in our third full day of our return to Maryland ~ between the cleaning and unpacking and rearranging, we are slowly getting settled back in.     Kenny is getting used to a big green yard, and Dudley has picked up where he left off chasing ducks and geese.       Once again we are awakened with a sunrise over the water and boats slicing through the water in our back yard.   Today it rained all day, and Kenny spent many long minutes staring out the window exclaiming, “Rainin’ outside!”

All in all, it’s good to be home.

I hope to be back in full “blogging mode” in the next few days, but I have had little time to sit and write; much less to sit and collect my thoughts.   I am also dealing with between 200 and 300 spam comments every day to sift through on my site… it seems some unsavory character over at a rude website picked me to  feature in his “Worst Site of the Day” column last week, and though I saw a fun bump in my web traffic, I’ve also been hit with double the spam.   As for my fifteen minutes of unfortunate web fame, I am not even going to say who or what, because the last thing I want is a back-handed link to this creep’s site.   Suffice to say he wrote some immature and down-right mean things about me (and mommybloggers in general), and I hope to make that my last foray into the mainstream web-world, at least until I’m recognized for something more admirable.   Casey has made some jokes about calls from Fox News for my “response” but I prefer to move on.

So there it is, and hopefully in the next day or two I will have stories to tell, and pictures to post!  

please check back tomorrow for something more

…   Ok, so we actually did end up driving to Las Vegas yesterday (6+ hours), then checking in at the airport with Dudley (2 hours) then waiting for our redeye to board (another 2 hours) then we flew to Washington, DC (nearly 5 hours), then drove through the morning rush hour traffic to our little home on the creek (3 hours).   And in all the bleary whilrwind, I never had a chance to get online and post our second winner of the “Living the Dream” contest, Jessamyn of Learn as We Grow!   So congratulations and read on… (and check out her blog!)

I AM

I woke up this morning with a deep, piercing longing.   The kind of longing that
doesn’t go away without great intention.   I woke up to a small sweet voice
speaking right into my ear.   “Mama:UP UP!   Mama:.UP UP!”
It was time for me to get to work.   But today I didn’t want to go.   I wanted
to call in.   I wanted to use a vacation day.   I wanted to not show up.  
“Mama:More ju??”
I redirected my toddler to his daddy’s side of the bed.  
“Ask daddy if he can get you some more juice bud”
I hear his pleading into his daddy’s ear.   Josh gets up and they both go into
the kitchen.   The momentary solitude allows me to escape into my own mind which
is now remembering the imprints of last night’s dream.   My body begins to feel
the emotions that came along with my dream.   I am remembering:and
feeling:and wanting to escape into my imagination once again.
I think I lived in South America.   I can’t remember what country it was
exactly:.but it was foreign to me.   I had just arrived there, in a small
village.   I was a teacher.   I had a certificate that allowed me to travel the
world and take on teaching jobs for 6 months at a time.   If I enjoyed the place,
I could stay longer.   If not, I could move on and discover something new and
different.   I taught English.   I was able to immerse myself into various
cultures.   I was multi-lingual by the time I had reached this village.   I
enjoyed my life.
My babies didn’t exist in my dream.   I didn’t know what it was like to be a
mother.   I was a traveler.   I followed my intuition, I was an activist for
justice, and I sought out new and daring adventures.   There was no one else to
worry about but me.  
Now, in the waking hours, it is hard to even imagine what that felt like.   But
it was so real to me last night.   The feeling of complete freedom lingered with
me, and when I woke up to my reality, I couldn’t help but LONG for more of my
dream.  
I didn’t want to get up today.   I didn’t want to start work.   I didn’t
want to meet the demands of my reality.   I just wanted to dream.
There are so many times when I struggle with my life at this point.   Sometimes
it is something that debilitates me; sometimes it is just a moment of longing
that is short-lived.   In college I was a women’s studies major.   I knew the
political science of women’s issues with my mind.   I knew the complexities of
what it means to be a woman in this world through my studies and through my
experiences up to that point.   But nothing teaches you about it more than living
it out day to day.   And nothing gets you right into the realm of the personal
and political inequalities that come with being a woman and a mother in this
society than actually being one.   I learned it with my mind in college, and now
I am learning it with all my heart and soul as a mother.   Sometimes it feels
like I don’t have a place.   I have been exiled from the corporate world with
my decision to stay at home with my babes.   I have been challenged with the
decision to stay at home full time or take on the balancing act of working
outside the home as well.   I am challenged with all that is implied in my
decision to stay at home with my little ones.   I am finally understanding why
the personal IS political and how undervalued we as women, as mothers, can often
feel at times.   Sometimes, after I haven’t talked to a friend in a while, my
answer to the typical question, “So, what have you been up to?”, actually
astounds me.   Often times, without even thinking, I blurb out something like
“Oh, I’m JUSt being a mom!”, all the while trying to scrounge up some

story of how I am saving the world through the comfort of my own home.   The
minute those words make their way across my lips I want to take them back.   I
want to leave out the “JUST”, I want to compose my words in such a way that
reveal the true height and depth of what it means to mother, of what it means to
be a Mama.   There really is no way to translate it.  
So, lately I have been thinking about all of that.   I always think about it.   I
always wonder about my place.   Sometime I fight to see my own importance.
Sometimes I see things as clear as day and KNOW that my work is more valuable
than gold.   But sometimes, on days like to day:.I can’t help but feel
insufficient.   I can’t help but wonder if there was something else out there
that was meant for me.   I can’t help but notice that in my mind I am saying
the words “Who am I?   What do I do?”
My thoughts are quickly interrupted by the scuffles from my 6 month old moving
about in her cradle.   She’s waking to start her day and she is hungry.   It is
time for me to start my work.   It is time for me to show up.
I reach into the cradle, greet her with a soft kiss, a gentle squeeze and a
whispered “good morning love”.   She meets it all with a bright smile and a
long stretch.   I pick her up and put her to my breast.   She nurses.   I am a
provider.
I walk into the kitchen and notice that Asher hasn’t eaten breakfast yet.   I
conjure up some berries, make some bacon, and toast a bagel for him.   I arrange
it all on his plastic toddler plate and present it to him with a smile.   I am a
chef.
I gather a change of clothes and diapers for both of my babes.   I change
Journey quickly and easily and wait patiently for Asher to decide he is ready to
get dressed.   I am his support when stepping into his over-alls; I gently nudge
his hands through his shirt sleeves.   There.   We are dressed.   I am a guide.
I turn on the TV for Sesame Street and walk over to my computer.   I read the
list on my desk of things to research.   Today:I look up natural remedies for
ear infections, I read a post on a feminist housewife’s blog, and I research
books for homemade baby food.   I am a student.
I sit down with a parenting magazine and read up on the various food groups,
how many servings of each that my toddler should be getting construct a chart
and place it on my fridge.   I am a nutritionist.
I have to involve myself among the interaction between Asher and Journey.
Asher is blowing in her face in attempt to make her laugh.   Journey isn’t
enjoying the spit shower in the least bit.   I have to intervene.   I am a
mediator.
Asher doesn’t listen to my requests and continues with his behavior which has
now become less of a spit shower and more of a “licking your face while I pin
you to the ground” sort of thing.   I separate him from us and tell him to join
us when he is ready to play nicely.   I am a judge.  
Asher wants to play with a toy boat that he has.   He can’t quite grasp how to
make it glide across the tile.   I show him how to gently pull back and release
it.   He tries by himself and he gets it!   His face lights up.   Again!   Again!   I
am a teacher.
Journey starts to fuss as she sits on the floor with her toys.   She needs some
attention.   I crawl towards her on my hands and knees, making noises that get
louder as I draw closer to her.   She joyfully anticipates my arrival.   She
laughs.   I am an entertainer.
It is time for Asher to take some medication.   I administer the medicine and
lovingly praise him for his willingness.   I am a nurse.
I read in my book on natural children’s health care about eye and ear
infections.   I search for homeopathic remedies and proactive recommendations.   I
am a researcher, a healer, a naturopath.
Asher and I get out some play dough and start to make shapes.   I start rolling
the dough between my palms and form a snake.   It becomes a cobra, with forked
tongue and all.   Asher is thrilled.   I am an artist.
I start to play pee-ka-boo with Journey on the floor.   Asher comes to join us,
mimicking my every move because of the reaction it is getting from his baby
sister.   I am a leader.
We turn on some music.   Baby Boogie is today’s choice.   I sit Journey in the
middle of the living room.   Asher grabs his toy lizards with both hands.   We
turn up the music and dance about the room.   Asher shows me his latest moves and
I fire back with some of my own.   I am a dancer.
We are outside enjoying the sun.   Asher wants to kick a ball.   I alternate my
body between kicking with Asher and swinging Journey on the baby swing.   I am an
athlete.
Asher screams from his bedroom.   I hear his yells “Mama HEP!   Mama HEP!”   I
see his small frame stuck between his toy box and the wall.   I reach under his
arms and take him out.   I am a rescuer.
I make a list of things to do before our small trip up to the mountains this
weekend.   I start to create a packing list.   I begin to compose a grocery list.
I am an event coordinator.
Asher can’t find his baby fishy.   We trace his steps.   I think of when I last
saw him with his fishy.   I remember he was playing with it when we were outside.
I seek out the place he LOVES to hide his toys in.   There is baby fishy.   I am
an investigator.
It is time for Journey and Asher to take a nap.   First, I lay Asher in his bed
and start to take his song requests.   Today he wants a fishy song, a BIG fishy
song, a whale song, and a shark song.   I do my best to appease him.   I begin to
create new melodies and lyrics.   I am a musician.
I sit down with Journey and rock her.   Noticing how much hair has grown on her
head.   Adjusting to her desire to sit up and then lay down again.   Watching as
to how she drifts off to sleep.   Noticing when her body gets heavy and her
breathing changes.   I am an observer.
Asher wakes with tears.   He is scared or uncomfortable or mad.   He is very
tired.   I ask him to talk with me, to use his words so that I can help.   He
tells me he wants his lizards.   I help him find his lizards.   We sit in silence
for a while, me holding him, him holding his lizards.   He is content.   I am a
counselor.
I sneak a few moments while the children are entertaining each other to write
in my journal.   I let my heart run out through my hand.   I allow my yearnings to
exist on paper.   I try to make space for all of the thoughts flowing in my mind.
I close the journal.   I am an author.
Journey is letting out high pitched squeals.   She is very unhappy.   I use
deductive reasoning.   I have just nursed her.   She has just been changed.   I
spent almost an hour with her in the sling.   I think she is cutting some teeth.
I give her a teething ring that has been in the fridge.   She starts to gnaw on
it and seems to be content.   I am a problem solver.
I take pictures of my babes as they move about the day.   To capture the essence
of their individual personalities is my goal.   I want to be able to look at
their pictures and not only remember the moment but also the spirit of the
moment by what was captured.   I am a photographer.
I sort through my mail and read a letter from the Southern Poverty Law Center
and their efforts to bring justice to victims of hate crimes and to rid the
world of hate and prejudice through education, tolerance, and social justice.
It is time to renew my membership.   I write a check and put it in my diaper bag
to be mailed.   I am an activist for social change.
I keep an article on how to teach children ways to share concern for the earth
and our natural resources.   I have Asher help me empty the recycle bin today.   I
am always looking for ways to become a better advocate for our earth.   I am an
environmentalist.
Bath time begins!   Asher splashes about in the tub.   We sing the bath time
song.   I give him minutes of splash time as I sit closely and admire his energy.
I am there to watch over him.   I am a lifequard.
It is time to read books before bedtime.   Asher picks out three books.   He sits
down next to me and says “Mama read book.”   I am a storyteller.
The babies take baths and I massage lotion on their little bodies.   Taking
great care to try and calm them with a loving touch.   I am a massage therapist.
Asher is having trouble sleeping.   He comes out of his room saying that he is
“sared”.   He says there is a monster in his room.   I give him a flashlight
and tell him that it keeps the friendly monsters at bay.   It seems to work and
he is safe to dream.   I am a magician.
My babes are asleep and I am able to put some attention on my husband.   He is
stressed out from work.   We have been having some terrible luck with our van.
He is down.   I wrap my arms around him on the couch and lay close.   It has been
a long day.   I am a lover.
I lay down in my bed at the day’s end.   I anticipate waking several times
throughout the night either to calm a frightened Asher or to nurse a hungry
Journey.   I know that my job doesn’t stop when the sun goes down.   There is no
beginning and no end.   Moments turn into days, days to weeks, weeks to months,
months to years and there is no paycheck:no review:no raise:no
compensation plan:no retirement plan:no cash bonus.   And yet, right in the
circle of it all, I feel complete.   I go to my bed feeling fuller after a days
work.   I look at all the things I became that day, the moments in between that
there are no labels for and all the opportunities I had to exercise different
parts of myself. I look forward to tomorrow.   For it is a new day, with new
roles and new parts of myself to discover.   There is no other job, no other
place that could fit my spirit more perfectly.   There is nothing that could
better encompass my eclectic nature.   I must always attend:always show
up:and really there is no other way to do it.   There is no other position on
this earth that requires the flexibility, the change of titles, and the
willingness to be all sorts of things:than being a mother.   So, tonight I feel
grateful.   I feel grateful for those moments of longing because they help me
feel the fullness of this life.   I feel grateful for the wholeness that is
required of me to fulfill my role as a mama.   I feel grateful that I am all of
these things and beyond.   I feel grateful that I mother these two children, that
there are two bright stars of the future depending on my ability to seek and
grow and learn and change.   When I lay down tonight with the day’s events on
my heart and when my mind begs the question “WHO ARE YOU?” there will be no
hesitation in saying:
I AM MAMA.

Beautiful!     And again, thanks to all who submitted stories.   Keep submitting them, too, because I always post new entries on “Mommy Story of the Week” and you never know when you might see your own story published!