Fantasy Romance
Claudia watched her mother all but beg for her father’s attention and was disgusted with both of them.
Her mother would never be the Duke of Whitecliff’s first wife.
She should stop trying.
Claudia stared down at the mage tome in front of her. She would never let herself be anyone’s second choice.
Besides, she had a war to end.
Not that I thought parenting was going to be easy, but it is so much harder than I thought it was going to be.
I love my kids. I love snuggling with them, hearing about their days, and seeing them grow as people. They are amazing.
But I honestly think parenting is even harder if you are an introvert.
I’ve learned to tolerate the hour a day it takes to pick them up from school.
I still dislike sitting through dance class week after week, but I manage, mostly because I plan ahead with books and snacks for the child stuck sitting with me.
Then there is all the other things you have to remember to do, like buying new fall jackets after they lost theirs at the zoo. Or, just in general, noticing their pants are getting too short or they need new socks and underwear. There’s the yearly purchase of winter gear etc.
These are all things I can handle. I may not be good at them, but I an handle them.
Then there are other things that you feel obligated to do because kids should experience them even if you would really rather not. Really, really rather not.
Like the children’s museum.
Or a water park.
Or state fair.
I hate crowds. Hate them.
Too many people. Too much noise. Too many distractions.
I feel overloaded.
Add to that trying to keep track of two children in the middle of all of that, one who wants to go, go, go, and the other who wants to walk slowly and observe everything and you have an introvert’s nightmare.
This was brought home to me when I made the mistake of going to the state fair with my husband and kids.
Before children, we never went to the state fair. It was of no interest to us. Then some friends invited us to go with and bring the girls. My husband took them, and I stayed home. My allergies thanked me, and he and the kids had a great time, and I got some quiet alone time. Win-win.
Then this year there was a spate of shootings right before they went to the fair.
Fueled by fear, I begged my husband not to take the kids. The last place I wanted them to be was another large public venue.
He said he wouldn’t live life in fear, he’d promised the kids the fair, and they were going with our friends.
I am not entirely certain why I chose to go other than fear. Fear that I wouldn’t be there to protect my little ones if the unthinkable happened. Not that I could do much other than throw myself over top of them, but it still seemed like a smart idea in our quiet home that morning.
It wasn’t a good idea.
The fair is everything I hate.
Hot. Crowded. Overstimulated and Bored.
Is that possible to be overstimulated and bored at the same time?
I wouldn’t have thought so, but it is. I felt assaulted by smells from food vendors, noise from the crowds and bands, and the visual panoply of booths, rides, and people. Add to that the heat, the low grade fear from the evening news, and the very real need to keep a close eye on two energetic kids.
But none of this entertained me.
I couldn’t enjoy my time with our friends as I was too stressed. Sitting and waiting for my kids to get off of rides was not exactly exciting. And the heat made eating less desirable. Even when I was hungry, nothing tasted all that good because of the assault of smells from everything else.
Still, I tried my best to give my kids a great time. This was made all the more difficult by not knowing what to expect, so being unprepared for it.
My husband is great at going with the flow of things, and I figured he had everything all set for the big day.
Love him dearly, but no.
I will stick to what I am better at.
Next year, when/if he takes the kids, I will stay home. I will make sure he has enough cash, sunscreen, and water bottles packed in a backpack. I will make sure he has tickets and ride bracelets. I will make sure they have a spectacular time.
While I enjoy the quiet.
I accept I am an introvert. This means there are some thing I won;t be able to give my kids other parents can. I also think this means we are not doing Disney.
As they said their final goodbyes to Claudia’s brother, no one cried.
No one said anything.
Another death. Another family suffering. Another casualty of war.
Claudia was done with war, and she would do anything to stop it.
I have mentioned before that the backdrop for my fantasy story is grounded more in ancient Rome that more traditional medieval Europe.
One of the areas I spent some time researching was food. As it happens, the scale of food production would not achieve the same levels in ancient Rome in Europe again until the 18th century. So they were quite advanced on this. Here are a few other things I learned.
Meals
Most people, even slaves, ate three meals a day at similar times to modern breakfast, lunch and dinner. While originally lunch was their largest meal of the day, it would eventually move to supper.
Cooking
Cooking was considered an art, and particularly fine cooking was associated with tasty and unique sauces. It was not uncommon to find wine, oils, vinegar, herbs, spices, and meat or fish juices mixed together to create these sauces. Much of this is known because books were dedicated to these recipes.
Available Foods
Food Conservation
They were adept at food conservation, and mastered numerous techniques.
This made sure they could feed their large population and allowed more specialization
Feeding the Poor
Maintaining a regular food supply was very important. There was actually a part of the Roman bureaucracy dedicated to overseeing the regular supply of foodstuffs. In addition, the Romans established a monthly quota of grain at a fixed reasonable price for citizens. Olive oil, pork and wine were also allocated to poorer citizens.
I was surprised doing the research how much closer the ancient Roman diet was to our modern diet than medieval Europe. Now, about clan water…
Claudia stood beside Anton’s casket, barely registering the words being said.
Her brother had been over twenty years her senior, but he had still been her brother.
Still been her family.
And Ilyious had taken him from her.
We just recently got back from vacation. Once upon a time, a vacation from work was a relaxing time, a time I could catch up on my writing, maybe even get a little bit ahead. We’d have things planned, of course, and spontaneous things would come up, but there always seemed to be plenty of time to get in a few thousand more words.
Then we had kids.
I had thought the four day weekend we had for the Fourth of July or the week of vacation we took would give me some time to work on my writing and maybe do a few other things like update my mailing list. We had quite a bit of time after all. Sure, we had things planned, like a small cook-out with close family and a larger graduation party for my niece. I already had the food planned, and I had selected tasty things with minimal prep. The gift was already purchased. And yes, we were taking the kids to a water park. Wait, what do you mean my expectations weren’t realistic?
But I hadn’t figured that one or the other of my children would want to snuggle the entire vacation. And by snuggle, I mean never leave my side. Even in ninety degree weather.
While this is a gift, and I like snuggling them, by day two, I am getting a bit annoyed. Snuggling literally means they sit on me. Both of them. At the same time. While still cute, they are a lot bigger and heavier than they were. And they squirm. And wriggle. And try to steal more real estate on my lap from each other until they both get tossed off.
And there comes a point where I simply want my space back.
And writing does not happen when there is snuggling. Most of the time, writing doesn’t happen when they are awake and in the house. My oldest one is an avid reader, and despite her age, she can and will read over my shoulder as I am typing. Yeah, not cool, especially if I am “in the zone” and don’t see her right away as I don’t write “closed door” romance.
Reading doesn’t usually happen, either. I don’t read “closed door” romance, either.
While I wouldn’t trade these days for the world, I do need to adjust my expectations.
Vacation doesn’t mean what it used to, and if I still want time to write every day, I am going to have to get up at 5am like it’s a work day.
Not that I want to get up at 5am. If left to my own devices, I wouldn’t go to bed until well after midnight then sleep in every morning. But that hasn’t been my life since college. The one and only time my natural sleep cycle meshed with my obligations.
I wish I were a morning person.