Why I know Skype was Not Invented by a Woman

Good morning Friday.  I’m glad to see you; however, I would prefer your sunny smile to your sad, gray mood.  We are wet with your tears.  No need to be sad.  It’s officially summer, and we need your warmth.  Our southern friends are bragging of your goodness, your smiling face, and the warm golden glow you give them whenever you are near.  That’s what we want – to sit at your feet and bask in your rays, to speckle with freckles after your visit.  So dry off your tears, try a smile on, and spend a little time happy in our presence.  We’ll thank you.

Happy Friday!

I know today is Fiction Friday, and I hope you’ll excuse me, but I have no fiction for you.  Although I have ninety pages of fiction complete, a little over 17,000 words, I really have nothing to share.  It’s choppy, too rough of a draft.  It needs red marks and slashes, rewrites, and thought-filled words.  It needs time, an editor, and perhaps a different writer.

Not counting the three paragraphs I wrote last night, the truth is I haven’t written anything on my work in progress in two weeks.  I lost my mojo, my creative edge, my ability to think.  My mind is all mumble-jumbled and nothing good is cranking out when I boot her up.

Do you ever have times like that?

Maybe it’s an end of the school year slump.  After getting the last of my homeschool paperwork in the mail yesterday, I finally feel like I’m finished.


One of these days soon, I’m going to post a review of my curriculum – what I liked and what I wouldn’t use again.  I knew my kids were accomplishing much this year, but I hadn’t realize how much until I sat down to write an end of the review.  No wonder we are all thrilled to see summer.

Yesterday was one of those days that make me long to lounge by a swimming pool with sunscreen in my nose and sleep on my mind.  I woke early, ready to tackle my to-do list.  First up was my end of the year reports.  I could have avoided this by purchasing achievement tests for my kids and submitting their results, but honestly, two month ago I didn’t have the extra fifty or seventy bucks I needed.  So I opted to list, in great detail, every single little thing we covered this year.  My-oh-me, but I’m tired.

I set up on the kitchen table with my computer, piles of books, and a cup of coffee.  Graphs were filling with bullets and words and then the phone rang.  An ordered home can turn to chaos the minute a mother says “Hello.”

I honestly think ringing phones spark some neurological disconnect in children’s brains.  The once quiet and content child, now schemes brilliant and destructive plans.  Their little bodies mobilize.  By the time you’ve greeted the caller, the children have spilled a gallon of milk, knocked over a glass vase full of slimy water with mostly dead flowers, and let the dog loose to run haphazardly through the neighborhood.  With each bark, a neighbor’s scream pierces your mind and you can no longer think straight.  The person on the other end of your call begins to worry.

“Are you ok?  Is everything all right at home?”

You smile, despite your inner desire to lock your children in the bathroom for the rest of the day with nothing but a box of cheesy goldfish and a single cup to catch tap water.

Let’s face it, they don’t even need the cup.  In all reality, they’ll probably find a way to slurp toilet water, even though there’s a sink hanging on the wall behind them.  Children are like that.

My dear friend called, upset because tests concluded that her little girl is mostly deaf.  My heart broke for her and at the same time I knew God would do amazing things through this little girl.  Hearing loss would not stop her from becoming an amazing young woman, but a momma’s heart hurts at her child’s suffering.

My heart hurt as I watched my own daughter spill a bottle of nail-polish remover all over my nearly complete school paperwork.  I didn’t care that my vintage tablecloth was saturated with a color remover.  After all maybe it would fade the rocket ship drawn in permanent marker.

No such luck.  Sharpies are permanent, despite an acetone bath.

My table wasn’t so fortunate.  My daughter’s cup-half-full view on life said, “At least there’s white paint under the green?”

Yes, white, wood, and green swirls across table-tops are the new rage.  You must try it in your house.  I’ll send my kids to help!

I threw the soaked and smelly tablecloth out the back door into the rain-soaked grass.  It was the best option at the time.  My kids threw books and papers from the table, assuring me in their most confident voices that the papers did not get wet.

All this time I was on the telephone having a meaningful conversation with a lifelong friend.  This is precisely why I do not like Skype.  I mean, really?  Skype was not created by mothers.

My papers did not escape sudden destruction.  The few I salvaged have ink smudges and the distinct smell of having lived in a nail salon.  I hope the Superintendent of Schools won’t notice.

He’s a man.  My luck he’ll probably call hazmat on suspicion of a toxic substance, no doubt sent by a terrorist, homeschooling, mother of two.

So today I am glad for Friday, for no school, for the onset of summer vacation.  I do hope to see sunshine, but right now I’m welcoming my sad, teary-eyed Friday with open arms.

Forgive me for no fiction, but really, truth is always better than fiction anyway.

Love you all,

Here is Mr. Linky, in case some of you have your lives in order and are bubbling with creative masterpieces. I’d love to read your work and thank you for linking. 🙂


5 thoughts on “Why I know Skype was Not Invented by a Woman

  1. Cathy

    Trust me I understand. Our kitchen table is the table my husband grew up with and there were 2 boys in that house. It was in perfect shape when we got it. With 2 girls in our house, trust me when I say it is no longer in perfect shape. Chairs have been broken (of course no one did it). There is fingernail polish, scratches and dings, lime green wallpaint, etc. all over the table and chairs. Hubby & I were just talking last night…when the girls move out we’ll get a new table and chairs. We’re just living with the broken & banged up things we have until they grow up and move out. Of course, that’s a little easier for me because mine are already 19 & 16. So maybe 5 years or so. hahaha

  2. Tori Nelson

    Stick with it! I’m sure your rough draft isn’t nearly so rough as you think! And on the furniture with kids front? I’ve given up. Yes, that’s chocolate milk on my couch, and it’s here to stay.


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