The past few years of my life helped me develop some patience, but I still could use quite a bit more. Pregnancy is an exercise in waiting, especially at the end. Children--ah, children are a wonderful way to learn you can't plan everything (or, some days, anything). And then there's publishing, which moves slowly (it doesn't help that I query slowly as well), and finishing books, and polishing books before you send them out...I'd like to think I could tell my five-year-old self, who really, really hated it when her mom said, "Patience is a virtue," that I've finally got it down.
Except that is a lie.
At least I've been patient about talking about the holiday season on this blog! I love Christmas. I love the music and the lights and that warm family-together-fuzzy-nostalgic feeling I'm sucker enough to get. I do not love sappy horrible songs like "Christmas Shoes," but old classics like "Silent Night" and "Angels We Have Heard on High" can put me in a good mood within three or four notes.
But I am patient, and it's November, and I'm not posting about Christmas yet. Nope. Not one word.