So I’ve been thinking. When I set out to be a writer, I drew a pretty deep line in the sand. I told myself that I’d come up with a nice likable pen name and establish my writing persona totally separate from my “real” life. At the time, I had lots of good reasons for doing this. My job. My family. There’s sex in some of my books… and before I had a contract or a book out, it was tough to own that “writer” title. So Delancey Stewart was born. And by building her as a whole new person, I kind of left out all the people in my life who had been supportive of my “real” persona. 

And now I’m not sure why. I was digging back through this blog, and I’m not sure I even seem like a real person here. And truly, I am. 

So I’m taking a chance and reintroducing myself to those who have been nice enough to follow along with me here. And I’m making a change. I’m not doing much author promo here anymore. And I’m not going to talk a lot about writing. You can definitely find all kinds of great tips about publishing, writing, and all that good stuff on sites far more useful and informed than mine. Instead, I’m just going to blog about real things.

Things that matter. At least to me. 

And tonight, what matters is that the tiny little a-holes who live in my house still haven’t gone to sleep (yes, we call our kids a-holes… but no one else better). I read this great article once about how if you give your kids the responsibility to put themselves to bed, they’ll end up establishing a bedtime earlier than the one you’re trying to enforce. You’re supposed to tell them that they have to stay in their room, and that they have to be quiet, and that they can do nice quiet activities in there until they’re ready to sleep. And then they’re allowed to come out to say goodnight and then they will magically put themselves to bed. We tried this. I had to intervene when the quiet activities morphed into frenzied battle cries and were accompanied by sounds of furniture crashing to the ground. All those books on the bookcase make handy missiles when you’re playing “storm the castle.” Who knew? The point is, my kids don’t have the “put ourselves to bed” gene. 

Tonight there’s been much debate about having the door open or closed. In the summer, we left it cracked because it became hotter than Satan’s Den up there. (Satan’s Den is an actual place — at least that is what my friends called the place we used to live, which was in the high desert near Death Valley. That’s another story). But since the weather is cooler now, I guess the wood doorframe has contracted, and the door won’t stay cracked. It’s either open or shut. And I like it shut. And so does Lunchbox (the tiny terrorist, who is 4.) His brother, Turbo, has a darkness issue (despite being the older kiddo), and insists on the door being open. I, as the mother, have a sanity issue and insist on at least one hour of peace and quiet before I go to bed or else I will seriously lose my mind. We finally mitigated the door issue with a bright night light. 

But now, they have both emerged. Magically, they both need to use the bathroom. They’re in sync like that, I guess. 

I’m going to pour a bottle, ahem, I mean a glass of wine, but I’ll leave you with this rather explicit song performed by Samuel L. Jackson. We’ve all seen the book, “Go the F*** to Sleep” by now. But this was the first time I’d heard it sung. And SLJ has an awesome deadpan voice. (Warning – explicit content. You know, explicit but classy. That’s how I roll.)