Scary Face! Scary Face!

Yesterday I actually started to enjoy my writing course. We had to critique each other's work. I was a bit hesitant to do this as I have a hard time knowing what to say if I don't like something - mostly because I often don't know why I don't like it. It's a gut thing. So actually having to assess 'why' was a very useful exercise. I learned a lot in the analysis. One of the things I learned was why it is that submissions have to be typed double spaced - it is so hard to read a piece that's all squished on top of itself! And why grammar and punctuation are really important. It really ruins the flow of a good piece if it's not structured correctly. I tell you I have new respect for editors.

So I was merrily engaging with it all when Lovely Child #1 made me a cup of tea. I like a good Cuppa - it is my shot in the arm while I write. And endless tea supply is a necessity (as is the downstairs bathroom being 8' from my desk - tea's a diuretic) so it was with pride at my son's thoughtfulness that I took my lovely cuppa cha and popped it down next to me.

"Thank you Honey," I say as I go back to pondering how I could write an original and interesting sentence using the word 'mug'. I'm giving it my full attention when I managed, with an astonishing level of pure klutziness to knock over my own mug and spill its contents directly and fully into my keyboard.

"SHIT! SHIT! #1 get a cloth NOW!" I scream as I turned the keyboard upsidedown to get as much of the offending liquid out as possible. Child #1 unfortunately had headphones on and was conducting warfare (HALO3) on XBox Live and despite my yelling with bloodcurdling ferocity, he ignored me. Then he saw my demonic glare out of the corner of his eye and went into full panic mode. My scary face is terrifying. I know this because I have once or twice caught my reflection whilst in full Mommy Meltdown and I nearly pooped my pants. I look just like my own mother. That's scary! Let's be clear that I don't mean to scare the bejasus out of anyone but 'The Face' does not respect my intentions or feelings. 'The Face' is an independent force of nature and it's only function is to paralyse with fear. In short, instead of inspiring people into action as I'd really like, I have a tendency to achieve the opposite.

"What? Huh? How?" My oldest child is now hopping around trying to rip off his headphones so he can figure out what he did wrong... Oh yeah - 'The Face' has the added feature of instilling deep guilt into the most innocent of beings.

"Cloth quick! I spilled my tea and I can't put the keyboard down. Hurry! And kitchen roll! I need kitchen roll."

#1 Child then runs into kitchen and comes back a split-second later with a dish-cloth he has obviously removed form a bowl of dishwater and 2 squares of kitchen roll. The dripping cloth was already adding to the puddle that was, by now, starting to pour off the desk. The withering "good grief" look I give #1 sends the poor fella into a spiral of panic as he grabs the cloth back, spattering me, the furniture and the computer screen in the process and runs back to the kitchen. I dam the tea waterfall with the 2 bits of kitchen roll.

"Get a DRY cloth and the ENTIRE kitchen roll!" I remind myself for the umpteenth time to 'be specific' when giving orders. It doesn't help that I'm not known for remaining calm. I'm more given to flapping my arms around the place shouting "Don't Panic!" in times of emergency. I think I need to work out how to manage me, 'The Face' and the reaction of others to said 'Face' in order to achieve effective emergency procedures. I'm kinda rubbish at it right now. But I really don't mean it.

"Sorry for yelling," I say as #1 brings back the required mopping-up agents, "just trying to get your attention. Thanks for helping." And I feel bad that my poor Big Son looks relieved. He then goes back to his important game of murder and mayhem. At least that's what I think he's doing - there's an awful lot of shooting involved. And the look of calm returns to his face.

I clean the offending liquid up in double quick time and I set to work with pointy bits of kitchen roll between the keys trying to dry the thing out. That's when I realise that I drop a lot more crumbs when eating toast at the computer than I originally thought. It's not pretty. But I think I get it sorted.

I'm in need of light relief now so I head over to Precie's blog and I'm checking to see of anyone else has posted for the Playtime Contest and see that Blogless Troll has entered too so I click there. BT's entry is a brilliant Love Poem which made me laugh out loud. So I thought I'd leave a comment to show my appreciation.

That'swhenIrealisedthatthekeyboardhadn'tcomeoutofitssoakingunharmed.Thespacebarhadstoppedworking!

This one is the spare!