Last week, Martin asked me to send him some pictures. I sent pictures of each child doing what they do, a shot of the lawn and house and then I decided to spice things up and send him some sexy selfies.
He has been in ND for 10 months with week long visits during most months--but gone more than he is home. I know he thinks about the things he is missing: Ike's amazing football ability (He is the QB and the half back; he is an animal on the field) Kt's first day of college and her braces (She is going to be a stunningly beautiful doctor someday) and Jake's growth spurt and his maturity in stepping up and doing the dirty jobs (like cleaning hairballs out of drains, checking automobile fluids and lawn care business).
I planned to send Martin some sexy shots of me, so that he could look at me semi-clad and think that I was one hot mama and he can't wait to get his hands on me.
I got all dolled up and took the bathroom mirror shots. I couldn't get the angle right and I created wrinkles and fat rolls that I didn't know I had. I tried the bedroom mirror shots and discovered cellulite--so I got out the tripod and ended up with shots of me with closed eyes and odd half poses that exposed some crepe-like skin I can't possibly really possess.
In all of the selfies, I ended up looking like a 43 year old woman wearing men's underwear.
To be fair, I am 43 and I was wearing Martin's underwear and tie--
I deleted all of the pictures that I took and remembered that I had a picture disk of boudoir photos that my friend Mary took 11 years ago. When she mailed me the disk, I looked at all the shots and immediately hid it from all other eyes. I didn't want anyone to see them because I thought I looked like a woman who just had a baby (I had a toddler) that got a little tipsy, then put on her husbands leather coat and nothing else for an artsy black and white photo shoot.
In the tens months that Martin has been gone, I have been doing the mother thing and I have figured out how to control my intestinal issues and I have watched a lot of movies and I have spent entire days doing not a whole lot of anything.
I have also started editing that book that I have been working on for oh-so-many years. I found it when I was organizing my office closet; 297 pages of a book that I abandoned because I had other things to do (like getting a college degree, raising kid and working). I also abandoned it because it isn't that good. There are story lines begun that trail to nowhere, details that don't need to be added and dialogue that doesn't read true.
When I found it and started reading it, I found some good stuff and a story-line that reads true once the fat is trimmed. There was enough good that I grabbed hold of it and used it as my reason to stop checking out the help wanted ads. For quite some time now, when people ask me what I am doing I say, "I am in the editing process of my book."
Mostly I say that because it sounds better than, "I am sitting at home watching netflix while Martin works his ass off him ND."
But I also say that because it is true.
When I get into the book and start typing it again, I see so many flaws that I get overwhelmed and walk away.
The book and the pictures are similar in that they are both something I did many years ago that I hid away because I didn't think they were very good. They could be so much better.
The deeper I get into the book the more I realize that--much like the pictures--there is some pretty good stuff that just needs some tweaking and a better angle to be great (or at least good enough).