Okay, I have to just do this. For my sanity. To get the remainder of my day back on track. And I promise to recant if I should ever find my accusation is false.
I woke up this morning with great intentions. After a cleaning frenzy over the weekend and finishing up working through college applications with my son, I was finally going to have some time for myself; time to work on “book stuff,” and writing. The first thing on my list was to get up a new blog post. Here’s something I need to change about blogging: I need to do it directly on the computer, not write in notebooks first. That way I don’t have 42 half-written notebooks lying indiscriminately around my house. And I don’t lose things.And maybe my posts actually make it to publication. But I digress. So I have the various rough drafts lying about, ideas scrawled here and there, etc. This morning I was going to get back to one on forgiveness and tidy it up and get it posted before its timeliness expired…not that forgiveness ever expires, but there were some seasonal references. Anyway, so I go to find the draft and it’s not anywhere. I checked through all 42 notebooks, the pile next to the bed, all the regular places. Then I started to get suspicious. I had mentioned this post last week to my seventeen-year-old son. I hadn’t mentioned that it was about struggling with forgiveness, only that his twenty-year-old (away at college) sister had upset me and I was going to blog about it. As I continued to search and search for the notebook where the post has been written, I started to wonder if Child #2 has found my draft and destroyed it. Yes, I did. So much so that if you had driven past my house early this morning you would have seen a middle-aged woman in a red nightgown going through her recycle bin. I knew, of course, that if he actually was the culprit, my work would most likely be ashes in the ash bin, as we keep a wood stove burning for heat all day long. In fact, didn’t I see some suspicious papers in there, not burning well, just the other day? Now that I think about it, what was my son really doing hiding in my bedroom closet two days ago? He claimed he had been putting my shoes away and the sliding door had fallen off it’s track. And then there was the time recently when he was suddenly very interested in my the storyline of my current book. “Say, Mom, you haven’t written in your book for awhile have you?” And then he started going on and on offering me ideas. That was strange. And there obviously were pages torn out of the notebook…
I wish I could say that I discovered the secret Facebook account my children share and caught them red-handed, discussing the nefarious activities of destroying my draft, but no such luck. In fact, I admit there is only about a 25% chance that any of this really happened. My son is so disorganized he often still leaves his lunch (that I prepare for him) sitting on the counter. The idea that he would go looking for a post I mentioned a few times and destroy it is pretty far-fetched. He’s a writer, too, after all. How could he do something like that? And, honestly, why would he care that much? Still, there is the aforementioned suspicious behavior and the admonitions not to post about my anger at Child #1. (“No one wants to read about you complaining about your children, Mom.”) Maybe not. But sometimes we just need to get things out of our systems in order to move on.
And nothing is as frustrating as searching over and over for something and NOT FINDING IT. So in order to salvage my day, I had to blog about the missing post. Unfortunately,this one is not about forgiveness. It’s about frustration, unwieldy suspicions, and the need to move ahead. And he is probably right: no one wants to read about it. Forgive me.
*DISCLAIMER: I do hereby promise to post an apology to Child #2 in the event that I ever find the piece on forgiveness.