Well, NaNo is here again.  I can't believe it is November already.  So last night I tried to stay up to start writing but just couldn't, especially knowing I would be up at 6am with Meagan this morning.

So I got up bright and early and sat down at the computer.  Unfortunetly I did no planning before today.  I didn't have an inkling of what I was going to write about this year.  Talk about procrastination.

I'm happy to say, though that a story came to mind while I was at the laundromat this morning.  It is about an average stay at home mom, Amy, and her 4 unruly kids.  Of course a lot will be based off of my life but I'll have to spice it all up a little.

So far Amy has had a major confrontation with "Little Miss Perfect" the queen of the playground and met Scott, the single dad struggling to raise two girls.

Amy has 2 boys and 2 girls.  Connor is 4, Austin is 2 1/2, Carys is 18 months and Holly is 5 months old.

Her husband is distant and uncaring towards her and the kids causing Amy to seek comfort elsewhere.

That is about all I have so far.

here is the beginning of chapter one:

Border Street Park was one of those places that attracted families from all over town.  The playground had ample swings in both styles and for the handicapped too.  It had six slides and three play structures so that the toddlers were separated from the older kids and thus safer.  The ground cover was a perfect twelve inches deep and the playing fields around the park were free from weeds and always immaculate.

Amy Parker hated Border Street.  It was just too perfect for her taste.  The other mothers that the park attracted made her sick.  They came from all over in their shiny new SUVs, dressed in crisp designer jeans and high heeled boots or smart velour jogging suits that didn’t have a hint of sweat on them.  Their children were always impeccably clean and touting Gap sweatshirts and little Adidas sneakers with nary a smudge on their perfect white leather.  It was enough to make any middle class housewife sick.

They sat chatting front and center, babes attached to a boob, without a care in the world.  They never seemed to have to stop mid-sentence to answer the same question a hundred times or to yell at someone to not climb the slide the wrong way.

Amy watched “Little Miss Perfect” hold court at the bench under the shady maple.  She sat perfectly straight, blond curls draping her shoulders.  The little cretin (known as Jack) suckled sweetly on her teet, his blond head pulling away every few seconds to look around.  Her perfect ness never seemed to notice her exposure or attempt to cover up.  When it was evident that Jack was done she lifted him high above her head, her breast dangling from above the brim of her neat white tank top.

“You are a boob monster, aren’t you,” she said bringing his face to hers and kissing up the little bits of milk at the corner of his mouth.  He squealed with glee.  “Yes you are, aren’t you.  You just love Mama’s milk.”  The other mothers nodded approval as she sat Jack on her knee to wipe up a little spit up.

“Seven month now,” she said to her captive audience, “and not a drop of formula.”  She raised her voice as she said formula.  “Not even a bottle of EBM.  It was hard at first.  He nursed every hour it seemed the first two months but I am so glad we stuck it out.  In fact I never thought twice about quitting.  I could never live with myself knowing I didn’t give him my best and best is Mama’s milk, isn’t it?”  She gooed and gawed at Jack again as her friends nodded some more.

Amy felt the urge to vomit suddenly and turned away.  She just couldn’t stand the sight of “Little Miss’s” perfectly round breast or her prefect smile or her perfect baby any more.

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