Category: Blog

Blog, Ramblings

Growing Up

Alexandra Alessandri

Lately, my three-year-old son has become obsessed with growing up. It’s not the simple obsession of “My birthday’s coming up” or “I’m getting older.” No, he wants to be a grown-up “like mommy and daddy.”I’m certainly not ready for that yet. I’m still mourning the infant and the baby as he’s now an active, rowdy, funny kid. There’s not much baby left in him yet.

Yet the delicate balance between dependence and independence is such a wondrous phenomena, especially in children. They year to do things themselves (we constantly hear in our home: “No, I do it myself!”) but at the same time, they don’t want mom or dad to be too far away (we still get tears and sobs, with little arms clung to my legs and his sad voice begging “Mommy, don’t go. I want to stay home with you.”) At each stage, my heart melts and breaks, becoming an indefinite form of mush. At night, when he sleeps, I can only pray, God, please keep him safe always.

Last night, we were reading I Love You Forever, a children’s book about a mother’s love as her child grows up, through each stage, until the mother herself is old, frail, sick, and the roles reverse. It’s a beautiful book (though some find it creepy as the mother creeps into her child’s home to hold him, rock him, and sing to him – I take it figuratively), though I can hardly ever finish the book without a lump tugging and threatening to bring on the waterworks. So I don’t read it to him too often. Last night, when we got to the part of the teenager now grown into a man and leaving home, we have the following conversation:

Him: Mommy, why is the boy leaving his house?
Me: Because he’s a grown-up now, and grown-ups don’t live with their mommies and daddies.
Him: Why?
Me: Because they have their own houses and families.
Him: (pause, then eyebrows bunch up, head tilts back) I don’t want to be a grown-up anymore.

We followed this conversation in the morning, on our way to school.

Him: Mommy, I want to be a grown-up.
Me: But then you won’t live with mommy and daddy anymore.
Him: But I want to live with you! (his eyes were starting to shine)
Me: Me, too, baby. I want you to live with us for a very long time. That’s why I’m not ready for you to be a grown-up yet.
Him: Okay.

I know he’ll be a grown-up soon enough. Before I know it (or like Kenny Chesney’s song says, as I blink), he’ll be that teenager going off to college, getting married, having kids. And I’m so not ready for that yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be, but he’s already growing up way too fast and I’m afraid I’m blinking too much. He’s going to be four this summer; he’s starting Pre-K in Aug. Next year, he’ll be in Kindergarten. Yet, I feel as if I just brought him home from the hospital yesterday, cuddled him in my arms, nursed him, sat mesmerized by his gummy smile.

It’s bittersweet indeed.

Blog, Writing

I Remember: Middle School (7th Grade)

Alexandra Alessandri

I remember middle school. Seventh grade to be exact. I was in that awkward transition from girl to preteen and trying my hardest to be “cool” – what “cool” meant at that time is a foggy memory, though. I wanted shaved legs (the memory of the previous summer in Colombia and the ambush to see my hairy legs still a vivid hue of humiliation), I wanted make up. I wanted a boyfriend.

Of course, my father wouldn’t hear of it. Me estaba madurando biche, or growing up ahead of my time. Like a fruit, I wasn’t ripe enough, and yet that’s what I wanted to be: ripe. After the short taste of freedom in Colombia, where I spent three months with aunts and uncles, away from my father’s gaze, and after I realized that women, in order to receive men’s attention (or, in my case, for girls to receive boys’ attention), needed smooth legs, painted lips, I sought that in my small, Westchester house. When I pleaded to shave my legs, and my father responded with a short “no,” I proceeded to sneak my mother’s razor into my bathroom and, with lukewarm water and some soap, I shaved my legs. That was my first act of rebellion, and it came with some sharp, stinging cuts. I don’t remember my punishment, but perhaps my mother interceded for me and I was allowed to continue shaving my legs. For me, it was a blessing; I was cursed with pale skin and dark hair, something that didn’t quite cry feminine for me.

When I started middle school, it was the first year that six graders would be moved to middle school, and I was in seventh grade, so I never got to be in the bottom of the hierarchy. Other seventh grade girls were showing their legs, in rolled-up or cuffed shorts, or skirts. They wore their big hair, bangs stiff with hairspray and teasing. And they wore makeup. I wanted to be like them, but when I asked permission for at least a little blush and lipstick, I was told, again, absolutely not. So I snuck it.

I took a small, private bus to school then. Camacho’s Bus Service, with Camacho being our driver. I would sit by the window and, when we were a safe distance away from my house, I would bring out the compact and lipstick. I didn’t choose anything loud. A simple mauve was my favorite shade. When I was on my way home, I’d quickly scrub the makeup off with some wet napkins and my parents never found out.

Blog, Health, Ramblings

Finding My Center of Balance

Alexandra Alessandri

The new year is here, and with it, I’ve joined the gaming community. Well, “joined” is a strong word since I don’t actually do any online gaming nor am I playing hard core video games. Or maybe that’s just what’s inferred when one says “gaming community.” We simply purchased our first video game system: the Nintendo Wii and Wii Fit Plus. Our goal? Family fun games (with a three-year-old) that would also allow us to get healthy. That’s one of our resolutions/goals for this year: get healthy.

It’s been fun, actually, though already I see the beginnings of possible addictions. The first thing my son says in the morning and when we get home from school is: “Mommy, I want to play our game.” That scares me. So, we’re building it into our schedule. Just like we have nap time, play time, dinner time, etc., we’ll have game time.

I do like this game, though. The game console came with two games, Sports and Resort Sports (or is it Sports Resort…. I don’t remember), and the Wii Fit Plus came so many exercise possibilities that I haven’t missed a beat in the past seven days. I’ve moved my body more in these seven days than I have in the last few months – that’s got to be a great thing!

One of the things I like about the Wii Fit is the ability to track my own coordination and balance, in addition to weight, BMI and time spent “working out.” (It also has yoga and strength training poses that are great for beginners like me.) Every morning, I wake up and, while getting breakfast ready, I lay out the yoga mat and balance board. Every morning I turn on the console and select my little avatar. And every morning, I step on that board and do my weigh-in. After my balance (which is always slightly to the left or right, but never centered) BMI and weight are displayed (and after my Mii avatar gets socked with a sudden gut, belly rubbing and all), I am then guided towards the body tests, which supposedly test my balance and agility. Then, like in the Biggest Loser, I am given my approximate age based on how I perform on those tests. Well, the first time I took those tests, without knowing what the heck I was doing,  my “age” came back at 48 – I’m 31! Yea, that was fun. But, once I figured out what was expected, and once I warmed up, I was better. I’ve been able to lower my “age” to 27. Not bad. 🙂

Of course, what I find the most ironic is that my “center of balance” is off, literally. This I knew. I’m clumsy. I trip over my own feet. I’ve fallen down the stairs in my house, twice. I’m constantly finding bruises on my arms and legs because, well, I’m constantly hitting myself with things and bumping into tables, and chairs, and walls. So, when I stepped on that balance board, and the little machine came back and said I was off-balance and asked if I bumped myself or tripped often, I laughed. Out loud.

It’s not just my literal balance that’s off. I seem to be slightly off balance, period. I’m constantly trying to find that balance between family, career, and creativity. It’s hard. Freaking hard. And I’m still bumping myself along the way, finding new bruises just when I though I’d balance myself out.

The good news is that after day 7 of this Wii Fit thing, I’m almost dead center. The yoga poses and fun “exercises” and games have kept me going, and I’ve been losing weigh and feeling more flexible – hey, I can actually touch my toes now! In this new year, I find I’m also closer to finding that other balance. I’m trying to plan ahead, to keep myself on track, to sketch out times and assign priorities, so I can do it all. I CAN do it all…. I hope.

Blog, Ramblings, Writing

El Niño Dios: A Christmas Reflection

Alexandra Alessandri

While I was growing up, Christmas celebrations always centered around the coming of el Niño Dios, or Baby Jesus (well, actually, the literal translation would be something like the child God). Presents under the tree would be addressed from el Niño Dios, and, after I found the stash of presents in my parents’ bedroom closet, my father explained that el Niño Dios gave mommies and daddies the money to go buy the presents.

Santa Claus was an American abstraction. I don’t remember him much in my childhood, though I’m sure I must’ve believed in him somehow. After all, I grew up somewhere in the gray area between el Niño Dios and Santa – between Colombia and USA.

We spent the nine days leading up to Christmas Eve, the main celebration, migrating from family home to family home, reciting the prayers of the Christmas Novena (each day, a different prayer in addition to prayers for Baby Jesus, the Virgin Mary, and San José)  and singing villancicos, spanish Christmas songs. We’d bring out guitars, maracas, panderetas and any other noisemaker to accompany the songs: Tutaina, Rin Rin, A la Nanita Nana, Noche de Paz, Los Peces en el Rio and many more. We’d cram into the homes, because we were many and our homes were small, and lay out buñuelos and natilla to munch on after we’d prayed and sung. Then, we’d just talk, laugh, and spend time together, as a family.

(Side-note – this is the bulk of my memories as an older child/teenager/young adult. As a young child, when I still lived in Westchester and my mom’s family was still scattered between Cali and New York, I don’t remember lively Novenas. Instead, I remember my father teaching me to play the piano and then playing select Christmas songs in English and Spanish for my neighbors while reading verses of the Christmas story from St. Luke.)

On Christmas Eve, we’d gather in someone’s house, like with the novenas, and each family would bring a dish. Chairs would line the walls and the furniture would be temporarily rearranged to make room for everyone. When everyone was there, we’d pray and sing the last novena. The kids would run around (and there were always many kids), and the teenagers would meander around the front yard or sometimes sit on the stairs, rolling their eyes at the traditions but enjoying the time with their cousins. Adults would sit and reminisce, as is usually done when they get together, far from their native land. They’d say a lot of “Remember when…” The “party” would start anywhere between 6 and 8 PM, and we’d stay up past midnight. At midnight, we’d exchange gifts and then some would go home, some would go to midnight mass, and others would sleep over and leave the next day. Christmas day was spent quietly, in smaller numbers, with immediate families.

But celebrating Christmas was always about the coming of the Christ child. Baby Jesus. El Niño Dios. While Christmas trees and lights were nice, and we had both, they weren’t the focus of the holiday.

I see my son now, at three, beginning to understand what Christmas is and I worry. I love the “non-religious” associations of Christmas: the trees, the lights, the Santas (and snowmen). I love that it’s a time to spend with family. But I worry because sometimes it seems that’s all Christmas is today. If you go to the store, the commercialization of Christmas is evident. Isles and isles of indoor and outdoor decorations, lights, presents, and knick knacks fill the stores. Neighbors try to outdo each other in decking the homes with “Christmas cheer.” But ask anyone to talk about the real meaning of Christmas, the reason why we celebrate, and people get quiet. They whisper.

Of course, that’s not everyone. I smile when I see nativity sets embedded in the Christmas decorations. It’s a way of saying: I enjoy the outward showings of this holiday, but I know why I’m celebrating it.

My son doesn’t yet understand Santa. When he had his picture taken with Santa, Santa asked him what he wanted for Christmas. My son replied: jingle bells and a star. (That might be because he was watching Mickey Mouse Christmas DVD, but I found it cute that he didn’t ask for presents.) But everything we see on TV about Christmas is related to Santa bringing presents. There’s no mention of Baby Jesus at all. I mean, I like Santa. He’s a nice guy and he’s got a giving heart. I love watching the Santa/Christmas shows that show good values, the “Christmas Spirit,” etc. But what worries me, I guess, is that if I didn’t explain to my son why we have Christmas, all he’d know is that Christmas is a holiday to spend with family and get presents from Santa. That’s certainly part of what’s done in Christmas, but it’s not the reason we have Christmas.

(Side note, I’ve realized I don’t know much about Santa, either, other than what’s been fed to me by the media. I mean, how did the figure of Santa come to be? Why is he known as Santa, St. Nicholas (who was actually a Catholic saint), Kris Kringle? I’ve heard rumors of him being a pagan figure to representing the winter solstice. Someday, I’ll find the time to read about the history of all that with which we associate Christmas.)

But I want my son to know why we celebrate Christmas. It’s because el Niño Dios was born, the first Christmas gift given to a world that was in need. It’s because we’re celebrating the birth of Baby Jesus. There are other good associations that I want him to take from Christmas: hope, faith, love, family. Doing good. Helping others. Of course, many of these should be done year-round, but Christmas seems to be a good time to remind ourselves of those things that are important to us, really important (not the latest video game or gadget – those are nice if we can afford them, but they’re NOT the reason for Christmas). In the middle of it all, though, is that lonely manger where God’s only son was born. That’s why we’re celebrating.

There’s a beautiful section in Epcot’s Candlelight Processional, possibly one of my favorite renditions of the Christmas story, and it says something along the lines of this: of all the kings, armies, parliaments, put together, none have affected mankind the way this one man, Jesus, has for over two-thousand years. Jesus’s birth is the reason we celebrate Christmas.

I’m still trying to find ways of merging the two forms of celebration so it’s seamless for my son. So he can understand. We bought a Christmas flag recently, which I think sums it up nicely:  Santa is kneeling down besides Baby Jesus, his head bowed. Underneath is an inscription: Santa’s first stop.

I’ve made a decision: Santa’s not bringing my son presents this year, el Niño Dios is. But I’m not going to keep Santa away, either. Somehow, someway, I’ll make the two fit together so it’s understandable for a three-year-old.

Blog, Health, Ramblings

Fibro-what? Oh yeah, I’m Back.

Alexandra Alessandri

The semester is finally done! Though I’m going to miss my students, I am happy to have a break. This semester has been beyond rough for many reasons, the biggest one being my health.

Right before the semester started, I began with some joint pain. The pain progresse throughout the semester to the point where I was having trouble doing the basics, like brushing my teeth, walking. And then I had an anxiety attack. Not fun. Well, I went to see a rheumatologist mid-semester (I blogged about that before) and then I just waited – first for the results of blood work, and then for the follow up appointment so I could talk to my doctor.

(The pain, while better, hasn’t gone away and, in fact, had been getting worse this week. My hands and fingers, especially, have been aching so bad I was having trouble driving and typing. But yesterday, after all grades were in, I felt the culmination of pain: I couldn’t move because every movement was excruciating, from my arms, to my wrists/hands, to my hips, to my legs and knees. All I could do was take some Advil and lay down.)

Wednesday morning I had my follow up appointment. My blood tests came out, to use the doctor’s words: “perfect” except for Vitamin D being slightly low. This is very good as that rules out other, more serious illnesses like lupus or rheumatoid arthritis. Or, rather, it rules them out right now. She explained there is a possibility I could still have any of these diseases, but at the beginning stages where they wouldn’t register in blood tests. Great. Comforting.

She did the physical examination again, which consisted of pressing several areas around muscles and joints, which hurt – a lot. Diagnosis? I don’t have one yet. I have obvious inflammation throughout the body. She said while she won’t call it fibromyalgia just yet, I seem to be headed in that direction. The first step, for now, is to “fix” my sleeping, since that may be triggering the pain response in my nervous system. She prescribed a small dose of a muscle relaxant and some pain medication to see if it helps me. I’m to take these for the next couple of weeks and see if my sleeping improves and if my pain subsides.

I go back in two months for another follow up.

So though I still don’t know what’s going on with me, I’m a little closer to finding out. I’ve realized a few things:

1) Glucosamine seems to help me a bit, especially the knees.
2) Caffeine, even in the smallest quantity, seems to make me feel worse, so I’m taking everything decaf for now.
3) Stress makes me feel worse. The worst I felt this semester was during midterms and finals.
4) Sleep helps.

Most of this seems basic. All I can do is try little things that will help me out. I am praying this doesn’t develop into anything worse.

I also think a lot about my grandmother, who I never met. She suffered from inexplicable pains and was sent to “warmer climate” to get better – this was in Colombia in the early- to mid-1900’s. My father, too, was always in pain. I wonder if their unexplained pains are the same I have now. I guess I’ll never know because both have passed on.

Blog, Ramblings

Pardon the Small Hiatus

Alexandra Alessandri

I’m taking a small hiatus from blogging. The papers to grade have accumulated, the Thanksgiving weekend (and Black Friday shopping and Christmas decorating) demanded my attention, and I got sick. Too much for one person, I tell ya. So blogging has taken a back seat.

I will say, however, that soon (I just don’t know HOW soon yet) I will be on here to write my review for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I, which we saw this past Saturday night. In short, I was disappointed. It wasn’t as magnificent as it could’ve been. But perhaps, no movie could ever live up to the book’s expectations. I don’t know. I’ll explain more when I write the review. I want to try to churn it out before things get really sticky since we only have a week left of classes (and two more weeks if we count finals) and I have A TON of grading to do. Way too much grading. Did I mention it was a lot of grading? Oh yea, I did. Sigh. I never learn.

But anyway, I digress. Writing on here is taking a small backseat. But when I come back, I have plans. Oh, so many plans, so I hope you stay tuned. 🙂

Blog, Writing

Miami Book Fair International 2010

Alexandra Alessandri

This is one of those busy weekends where several fall and/or literary events are going on and I want to go to them all, only that’s not feasible. We allocated Saturday to the Miami Book Fair International at Miami Dade College’s Wolfson Campus is Downtown Miami, though we hoped to get there early enough so that we could go to Miracle on 136 Street Parade at The Falls Shopping Center with my son. That last part didn’t happen for two reasons: 1) had a crappy night the night before where my son didn’t sleep well (which means we didn’t sleep well) so we got to the book fair late and 2) we stayed longer than we anticipated.

The Miami Book Fair International is one of those events I look forward to every year. I stalk the website months before the event, looking for clues that detail the upcoming authors. I also look for workshops that may be offered in conjunction with the fair. This year, Cristina Garcia (Dreaming in Cuban) was giving a workshop on the first day of the street fair, Friday, but unfortunately, I had meetings and work that had to be taken care of. The Book Fair consists of both street fair and author readings. Everywhere you look you see authors proudly displaying their books and eager to sign them for you, if you buy them, of course.

The tents – with their red, green, orange roofs that contrast on the white shells – line up the street of MDC’s Wolfson Campus/Downtown in the shape of a cross. Book vendors include bookstores (like Books and Books), publishers (like University of Florida Press), self-publishing, electronic publishing, book T-Shirts (these were NEAT! They’re T-shirts that resemble sports shirts: a name and number on the back, only the name is a famous author! Some have images on them; e.g. Edgar Allan Poe’s shirt had a black raven on it. It was awesome!), literary magazines, the world’s smallest books, newspaper subscriptions, and so many more. Some of the booths house an author displaying his/her work.

There’s a Children’s Alley where characters from children’s stories walk through, getting pictures taken with children. Clifford the Big Red Dog, Olivia, Curious George, and others I’ve seen but don’t know were there. My son’s favorite was Curious George – when he saw him, my son squealed his name, jumped up and ran towards him with a grin on his face. In Children’s Alley, several larger tents, all themed, are set up with stations inside for stories, games, activities for the kids. These were a little too packed so we only looked around before continuing.

We mostly meandered throughout the street fair. I think we covered every side twice: Once before my son fell asleep, and once after. We spoke to authors, we bought books, and we ate ice cream and frozen lemonade. It was a hot day, but in the shade, a nice breeze kept us comfortable.

I enjoyed getting there rather early (not as early as I’d have liked, but before noon). The street fair hadn’t gotten packed yet (which it does), and we could comfortably move.

The best line of the day was my husband’s. When we arrived, a lady asked him, “What kind of books are you looking for?” To which he replied, without missing a beat, “One with words.” She automatically looked at her list only to stop and look at him quizzically; then she just laughed, and my husband laughed, and my son laughed (though he had no idea why he was laughing) and I laughed.

Blog, Ramblings

Grasping for Patience

Alexandra Alessandri

I’ve debated whether or not to blog about this. On the one hand, I don’t have any concrete answers. On the other, I feel I’m *thisclose* to finally getting some answers, whatever those may be. One thing’s for certain: the last couple of months have been rough physically and emotionally.

Last Friday I went to visit a rheumatologist because the pain in my joints had started to interfere with regular activities, like brushing my teeth, walking up stairs, typing. The beginning of the semester brought with it subtle pains in my jaw and my wrists, but by last week, I was aching in elbows, ankles, fingers, toes. Forget wearing heels – I couldn’t do that (I tried, heeled boots, and boy did I regret it!) Added to that was the fact that sleep has been shaky for the bulk of this semester. My son went through over a month of night terrors, and while he doesn’t have those severe episodes anymore, he’s still waking up at least once or twice throughout the night (monsters, shadows seem to be the culprits). My memory has been fading. All this I understood to be part of the role of a parent. Suck it up, right? Then, why, when he does sleep, do I still have trouble sleeping? The few times he slept through the night, or those Saturdays when my mom took him, I still woke up a few times or, if I slept through, I still woke up tired. And the week before Halloween, I had my first anxiety attack. This can’t just be a turning-30 thing. There’s more, but I’ll spare you the entire clinical symptom list.

During my regular doctor’s office, when I had the anxiety attack and she claimed I was too young to be having a heart attack, she suggested if the joint pain continued to go see a rheumatologist. So I did just that (right when I struggled to brush my teeth and, after, dying my hair, my left arm became practically useless).

I took a leap of faith and picked a name out of the listing. I saw some reviews, all positive, online, so I went with my gut. I wanted a woman doctor (for whatever reason I feel more comfortable with them) and received my appointment with one of the newer doctors in the group the Friday after I got back from Sanibel. After a slew of questions and xrays to the wrists/hands and knees, this is what she said: From the physical examination, she suspects fibromyalgia. I looked up the symptoms to fibromyalgia and they do seem to fit. However, apparently, fibromyalgia is only diagnosed through exclusion of other diseases with similar symptoms: hypothyroidism, lupus, rheumatoid arthritis (RA), vitamin D deficiency, strep-induced RA. So I got six vials of blood taken and I’m anxiously watching my phone for the results. One reason why I’m anxious is because back in 2005, my ANA (antinuclear antibodies) came out positive/elevated and since then, have for the most part remained positive (they have gone back to “normal” once or twice – I get them checked every year). Positive ANAs are, sometimes, precursors to autoimmune disorders, like lupus and RA. So of course, I’m nervous.

The xrays showed I have the beginnings of osteoarthritis in my knees, which really means I have to get up off my behind find time to exercise and lose weight. Walking, according to the doctor, is not enough. I need something like an elliptical machine. Which means gym. And I have no time for gym. I barely have time to grade all my students’ papers! But whatever- I have to figure how to make it happen.  The xrays also showed some possible inflammation in my fingers.

But I can’t jump to conclusions, so I not-so-patiently wait for the blood work results (which I was told could take up to a week). All I really want is to find out what’s going on in me so I can get some energy back and not feel like I’m falling apart. Is that really too much to ask?

Blog, Travel, Writing

The Island, Part 3 (The Conference)

Alexandra Alessandri

The actual conference – the reason why I was in Sanibel to begin with – started off slow, but ended nicely. The first few workshops I attended were, I think, designed more for the beginning writer. While I’m certainly not a pro (yet), I don’t consider myself a beginning. If I were, I wouldn’t be teaching writing in any sense of the word! Therefore, I had an issue when the bulk of one of the workshops revolved on the “show don’t tell” principle. No shit, Sherlock! I assumed anyone who was in a writing conference would have a grasp on that concept.

But as Thursday bled into Friday, I was happier with my choices and I even carved out some writing time in between the workshops and panels. My favorite workshops were John Dufresne’s workshop on the novel, Debra Monroe’s workshop on memoir writing, and Denise Duhamel’s workshop on poetry. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the rest, only that these were my favorites because I learned new “things” (yes, vague word, I know). The panel on memoir writing was interesting, though I didn’t get much out of it that I didn’t already know. The panel on online publishing was better; it tackled blogs, Facebook, twitter, publishing, copyrighting, and the pros/cons of publishing in online journals.

Meeting the authors, though, had to be one of the best parts of this conference. It reinforces the ideal that writing and publishing is possible, even with a family. I gained encouragement from the manuscript consultation with Debra Monroe, who was so down to earth, helpful, funny, and real. I was validated as a writer which, sometimes, is needed. Well, at least I do, anyway. In trying to juggle a full-time job (or, like they called it, a “day job”), motherhood, family life, and writing, sometimes I feel like I’m failing at all, because it’s too much. I’m splitting myself into too many scarps. Forget binary opposites – there is nothing binary about it!

So it was nice, seeing Margo Rabb, author of young adult fiction, there with her two kids – a baby and a preschooler – and her husband. It was nice hearing Debra Monroe tell me how she got two books published in the first ten years of her daughter’s life. It was comforting to know Robert Wilder can teach, write (and publish) and still have time for his family. It was reassuring seeing Steve Almond and his wife, both writers, there with their two kids, navigating the responsibilities of writer and parent.

Damnit – if they (and countless other writers) can do it, so can I! 😉

Of course, ironically, after the wonderful review of my manuscript, I received in the mail, when I got home, two more rejection letters. So close. Oh, so close. But I’m revisiting the pieces and sending out more work. If only the wait wasn’t so excruciating.