Life Lessons

What I won't do

2011-03-18T13:31:00.000-05:00

This morning I woke up and, with a few minutes of peace and quiet, I thought about what I had to accomplish today. And then I thought otherwise.

I thought about everything I won’t do today.

I won’t sift through rubble and debris to find my kitchen. Nor will I wonder if today’s radiation levels will be more than my family can safely endure.

I will not walk barefoot miles down a dirt road to a filthy river and scoop water for my children to drink.

Nor will I have to take three buses to get to my job, only to discover I’ve been laid off. I won’t have to tell my son that he can’t go back to college after spring break because there’s no money for tuition and he has to get a job to help support his family.

When my children get hungry for lunch, I won’t have to tell them there’s nothing to eat. And when dinner comes, I won’t have to trade my body in hopes of making enough money to buy them supper.

When I kiss them goodnight, I won’t tuck nets around their bodies to ward off malaria-carrying mosquitoes and wonder if they’ll wake up too weak to stand because we’ve gone another day without food.

I won’t worry about my boys when they go to visit friends, that they might get shot or tortured or kidnapped. When we go to church on Sunday, I won’t expect guerrillas to storm the building and kill us for worshiping our God.

People who know me might label me: white, upper-middle class, middle-aged, mother, wife, writer, homeowner, tax-payer, Christian, woman.

But to the rest of the world I am privileged, wealthy.

What will you not do today?

Red Ribbons

2010-11-28T16:30:00.000-06:00

Ever since the Red Ribbon campaigns hit my kids in elementary school, I've had mixed emotions. Is it really appropriate to tell a kindergartner about the perils of drug use, only to have them rush home and label Mommy a druggie for having a glass of wine? Try giving Tylenol to a kid fresh off of Red Ribbon Week. "No," they'll scream. "I don't do drugs." So you chase them around the kitchen, trying to reassure them you're not a pusher, just a woman trying to keep her kids healthy.

This year's Red Ribbon Week brought about a sweet reprieve. My daughter's second grade class wrote letters to the high school students, asking them to stay off drugs and alcohol. Since she has a brother who's a junior, Mia was allowed to address hers to him. Then, in return, Ben wrote one back to her. Here's their correspondence:

Dear Benny:

Please stay drug and alcohol free. Don't smoke. If you do, we will wrestle over you drinking. So Ben, do not go drunk. Make healthy choices or Mom and Dad will be mad. At you.

Sincerely,

Mia

Dear Mia:

Thank you so much for sending me the letter. It made my day. You don't need to worry about me doing drugs or alcohol. First of all, I am way too smart to get into that sort of shenanigans. Second, look at me. Well, you can't, but when you get home, do. I'm super cute. Why would I throw that away by doing drugs or alcohol? You know who is also cute...you are!! So, I don't want you getting into that crap either or I'll have to wrestle you. And watch out, because I have been working on some moves and when I get my cast off, I can take you. Also, Mom and Dad would get super mad at you too. Also, it's hard to ride a horse drunk. Trust me. Just kidding. I have not and never will drink or smoke bad things and neither should you. Anyway, have a good day at school. LEARN!!

h&k's

Love,

Benny ♥

Now I understand the value of Red Ribbons.

Let's eat!

2010-05-28T12:08:00.002-05:00

Tell me I'm a good dancer and I know you're humoring me. Tell me I'm a good cook and I might agree with you. I think I'm good at it because I enjoy baking and feeding people--probably because my family tends to love what I cook.

That's pretty natural, I think. I remember loving my mother's cooking and, years ago in her honor, I assembled a cookbook with our family recipes. My maternal grandmother's family hailed from Holland and she was one of four sisters: Anna, Grace, Frieda and Jane (aka: Antje Jacoba, Greitje, Fredericka and Martha Jane). So, because I'm also quite creative when it comes it naming things (We have a goldfish named Goldie, if that tells you anything.), I titled it Four Sisters Cookbook. Every woman in my extended family submitted recipes, and I bound them together so we'd have a shared recipe cache.

Over the past 12 months I've probably purchased more cookbooks than I have in my lifetime. Through recommendations from friends, I've gotten to know The Pioneer Woman and The Cake Mix Doctor.

My daughter and I have played Hello, Cupcake! and my friend Tracy introduced me to A Passion for Baking. Girlfriend Jennifer bought me the Cook's Country Cookbook, which is a treasure trove of kitchen-tested recipes. This doesn't include the few recipes I've purloined from the Internet.

Recently my friend Joan had surgery, so I opened Jan Karon's Mitford Cookbook and Kitchen Reader and whipped up a batch of Puny's Chicken and Dumplings--good for anything that ails you and sometimes when you're just plain hungry. On my Need-to-Bake-for list are: my daughter's teacher, the crossing guard who has managed to keep hundreds of children and their parents from getting run over this year, and the paramedics who came to our rescue the other night when my husband lost consciousness.

For me, baking soothes the soul and feeds the belly of those I love. I learned at the elbow of my mother, and my six-year-old daughter is already adept with a rolling pin. (Somehow the boys lost interest in the process years ago.)

With a long weekend ahead, I think I hear the kitchen calling me. I'll probably dip into my recipe box for a few favorites I've received from friends--which I think ultimately taste better since you know the person who baked it first.

Here are two cookie recipes I absolutely love that were baked first by friends. (These are both twice their original measurements; my theory is you just can't have too many cookies in the house! Plus they freeze well.)

Pam Koenig's Soft Sugar Cookies

3/4 cup unsalted butter
3/4 cup butter flavored Crisco
2 cups granulated sugar
4 eggs
1 T. vanilla
5 cups flour (unbleached, all-purpose)
2 t. baking powder
2 t. salt

Mix together the first five ingredients. Stir in the dry ingredients. Chill overnight (or most of the day). Roll out on floured counter top (to desired thickness) and cut out. Bake on parchment-lined cookie sheets (or ungreased if you don't use parchment) at 400 degrees for about seven minutes. May bake longer if thicker but watch them--at 400 degrees, they go from underdone to overdone fairly quickly.

Cynthia Hester's Oatmeal Cookies

Cream together:
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup butter-flavored Crisco
2 cups brown sugar
2 cups granulated sugar

Add in:
4 eggs
1 1/2 T. vanilla
2 T. milk

Stir together:
4 cups flour (all-purpose, unbleached)
2 t. salt
2 t. baking powder
2 t. baking soda
5 cups oatmeal (I measure mine and then run it through my food processor so it's not 'bulky.')

Add dry ingredients to the butter/sugar/egg/vanilla mixture and then fold in about one pound of chocolate chips. I use a delicious choco-combo of mini chips, chips, chunks--basically whatever I have in the pantry. Refrigerate until chilled then scoop with a cookie scooper. Press in M&Ms if you want even more flavor. Either way, these are delicious. Bake at 375 degrees for 10 min. or so on parchment-lined (or ungreased) cookie sheets.

What are you baking this weekend?

Ambiguous

2010-04-27T16:40:00.001-05:00

As a mom, I think I've done a pretty good job raising my kids to not be prejudiced or judgemental. In fact, there are times now, with two teenagers, when they'll correct me when something slips out that seems insensitive.

I'm also grateful that they've been exposed to professionals of both genders. When I was a kid, men were doctors/women were nurses. The same gender biases existed for pilots/flight attendants and other professions. My children have a female pediatrician and a female dentist and now even the dog has a female vet. (He doesn't seem to mind until she takes his temperature; then he's a little embarrassed.) Hopefully my children will approach their personal and professional lives with the attitude that people are people regardless of gender, race or orientation.

But I'll admit I was a little relieved when my daughter was born and the gender balance finally drifted a little back into my turf. At times it feels as though we're still outnumbered, but I try not to focus on boys v. girls around here.

But occasionally, I must take it to the opposite extreme and she's picked up on it. The other evening her dad was looking for something in the pantry and came up dry. She turned to me and said, "He looked like a man." I wasn't sure where she was going with this, so I asked for clarification. "He looked like a man," she repeated. "If he had looked like a woman, he would have found it." To prove her point, I crossed the room and looked for the missing item myself. Moments later I passed it off to him. Short of fist-bumping her when I returned, she said, "See? You looked like a woman."

Wonder where she got that attitude?

It's true that men and women are wired differently. Even when they're little, we girls have to be patient with boys and make sure we're understood. My daughter's two best friends and neighbors are boys (and they only have sisters, so it's a good match), so she gets plenty of practice. The other day one of her buddies was over and later his mother called him home. Before he left, I handed him a twenty dollar bill and said, "Give this to your mom. Tell her it's for the table she sold me." As I escorted him to the door, I said, "Don't forget." He turned to me and said, "Forget what?" I had to laugh. "The twenty dollars in your hand. Give it to Mommy."

He nodded and trailed down the driveway--looking like a man.

"Jantsen's Gift" author Pam Cope

2010-03-25T09:10:00.001-05:00

I recently read Jantsen's Gift and encourage you to read it and let it speak to your heart. I know it changed me

What not to be when you grow up

2010-03-10T22:49:00.003-06:00

Late this evening, while I was fixing dinner, my daughter came up to me and asked, "How do you spell 'id'?"

I said, "That's not a word."

"Yes," she whispered back. "I'm trying to spell idiot."

Apparently she was writing a note, tattling on her brother because he called his brother's friend an idiot for parking in the driveway, keeping me from getting in the garage.

Later, while watching The Biggest Loser weigh-in, her brother commented that one of the guys had lost ten pounds and that was pretty good. (The guys weigh in shirtless.)

"Yeah," little sister commented. "But he still looks like he could breastfeed."

I'm guessing her future career won't involve having to spell or being a life-coach. We'll take those options off the table.

My Ghost by Glass Pear

2010-03-02T12:44:00.001-06:00

This song never ceases to affect me--no matter how many times I hear it. So moving...

Someone should warn Willard Scott

2010-03-01T13:56:00.006-06:00

This was a fill-in-the-blank "What I'll be like when I'm 100" assignment first-grade child had to do. She made sure to point out that, by that time, likely half of her teeth would be missing.

Am I losing it?

2010-02-28T07:55:00.007-06:00

I'm blaming it on brain overload.

Lately I am mid-thought and I can't remember the name of someone--an author, a political figure, an actor. I watched an episode of Modern Family the other night and had to wait until the credits rolled to get Minnie Driver's name. I kept thinking Mimi, knowing that wasn't it but close. Then the other morning I couldn't think of John McCain's name. I did every trick I knew but couldn't pull it out of the frontal lobe. Finally I Googled: 'Republican presidential nominee John' and thankfully Mr. Google filled in the rest for me. Good thing he has a bigger memory chip.

Sadly, my mother has a few close friends who are deep in the throes of Alzheimer's. It's frightening for her to be around women who, once engaging and delightful, are now forgetting how to hold a spoon. "Promise me," Mom said. "If I get that way, you'll put me somewhere and not let anyone come to see me like that." Better yet, she proposed to come up with a cluster of pills she could take if she ever felt herself slipping away.

But when would you know? Is it when you can't find your keys? We'd all be reaching for that special stash. No, it's when you hold the keys in your hands and can't remember what they're used for.

It reminds me of the '70s public service announcement for The United Negro College Fund: A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Indeed, a mind is even more tragic when lost.

I'm trying not to make my forgetfulness a bigger deal than it is and chalking it up to a lack of sleep and mind-overload. How many telephone numbers do I know by heart? Too many. Birthdays and upcoming events on my calendar? Perhaps I need to write more things down.

It just might be contagious. My daughter stood in the foyer the other day, trying to tell me about a song and said, "You know...that girl who sings it...she's married to JayZ..."

"Beyonce?"

"Yes, that's it," she said.

And she's only six.

Tech Support? It's all relative

2010-02-18T10:56:00.007-06:00

My mom sent me an email the other day with a link to an item she was interested in on eBay. I thought she could find a better deal, so I started to email her back and then figured, calling her would be easier.

Over the phone we navigated her options: bid, wait and bid later, buy it now. I urged her to find a buy-it-now item and save the hassle of waiting to bid. It took about 10 minutes for her to find the item I was looking at since our pages were loading differently, but she finally found it and bought it. Now.

Then I walked her through the PayPal process. She has an account and even has her own store on Etsy, so she's not a computer newbie. But for some reason, helping her pay for her item caused me to do some deep breathing and to thank the Lord above that I don't work a job as tech support. That's wisely left for those who can fall back on the fact that English isn't usually their mother-tongue and therefore, even when they mutter an obscenity, we're likely to mistake it for computer-lingo.

She was about to check out and then hit a snag. "What?" she asked. "I'm not going to donate $18 to the Red Cross. I guess I just click off this, but I don't think I paid for it."

"No, don't click off!" I said. "The item you bought is $18. They just want to know if you want to give an extra dollar to Haiti relief. Just keep going through the checkout." Finally she clicked the right button and up popped a receipt for her payment. She apologized several times for wasting my time but I assured her it was fine. I'm always glad to help.

Then the ball landed in my court.

I have a bad habit of leaving multiple Word documents open. I know if a kid clicks one or more closed or if my computer restarts itself to update my system, Word will recover my last versions and I'm good to go. The other morning I discovered my computer had run an update overnight, and I recovered one document and began working, clicking on some command that, like my pile of dirty laundry, would allow me to get to it later. Then later came around and I couldn't find the file because I hadn't named it. It was still an orphan, unclaimed and floundering in cyber-city.

I called my sister.

"Help," I said. "Do you have Vista?"

"Yes," she said.

"What do you do when you can't find an unsaved document?" She told me to search my history. I'd already tried that and it wasn't there but I suck at history, so that was no surprise. Then she told me to search for it by a word that might have been in the document. That didn't work either because I couldn't figure out how to do the search. She proceeded to send me a text message with a photo attached of her computer screen, her helpful finger pointing to the window where you input the word you're searching for. Her screen was different than mine, so...not much help.

"Just close out Word and it should come back up as recovering your unsaved work when you restart Word," she said. Actually, I think she presented this option earlier. I just ignored her, thinking that was too easy. She was right; it worked.

And like my mother said to me, I apologized for her having to walk me through kindergarten keyboarding.

Then a few days later, I was uncharacteristically out shopping in a real store (not eBay or Amazon) and my phone buzzed. This time it wasn't my son asking if I'd seen any shoes for him (it's his vice) or his asking when was I coming home. It was my sister. The message read: How do you insert text over a photo and have the photo fade out? I'm trying to make an invitation.

Ah, this I knew how to do, so I called her back and walked her through it while I shopped for shoes.

We might not be the most tech-savvy family, but we know enough to help each other out of a bind once in a while. And I know how to hit 'mute' before I utter any profanities. I don't want to be mistaken for knowing more computer jargon than necessary. I'm not that supportive.

The Randomness of School Drug Testing

2010-02-07T09:28:00.006-06:00

Oldest child comes home from school on Friday and blasts into my office. “Guess what happened at school today,” he says. Oh, no. “I got drug tested.” As a senior, he’s been practically holding his breath for this moment.

Here’s his version of what transpired:

“They called me out of first period, so I go down there and sit next to this other kid who's a junior and he’s all weird about it and he’s like, ‘There are what, 300 kids in your class, right?’ and I say, more like 700, but he doesn’t say anything but to tell me that the whole senior class should walk out of school to protest drug testing, and then the school would stop doing them because the school wouldn’t want the publicity.

“And I think, whatever, but he goes on and on with his conspiracy theories until The Woman calls us up. So you know how they put blue water in the toilets so you don’t take your cup and scoop some up? I go up to the table to fill out my form, and I tell The Woman, ‘I think I should inform you that I have a rare medical condition that causes my urine to be blue.’”

I laugh at this and he says, “I know. Funny, right? And she doesn’t even crack a smile. So this other kid and I go into the bathroom, and The Woman follows us to make sure we don’t do anything weird, and she waits outside the stalls. And I just went to the bathroom and don’t even have to go, so I stand there for a minute. Then I hear the kid next to me start to fill his cup and I say, ‘Oh! You want a urine sample.’ And again, The Woman doesn’t even laugh.”

Against my better parenting judgment, I find this funny too.

He continues: “So finally I step out and there’s barely anything in my cup and I tell her that I didn’t have to go and she says it’s fine. But the guy next to me has filled his cup, and it’s like sloshing over the edge and onto his hands, spilling everywhere. You have to pour it into these separate vials and The Woman is trying to help him, and it’s getting all over her hands and it’s like totally disgusting.”

On the way home from soccer that night I’m telling his brother his story and younger brother recalls last year, as a freshman, when he got drug tested. “I’ve only had to pee in a cup twice: once at Dr. Aimee’s and once at school. I’m never sure if I should hold the cup really far away and aim for a three-pointer, hold it up to me for a slam dunk, or pee straight up in the air and go for a lay-up.”

I’m pretty sure urine testing was designed to be taken seriously. Not with my kids.

Lunchbox notes

2010-01-25T11:20:00.007-06:00

When the children were little, I used to draw on their white napkins before tucking them into their lunchboxes. Often I used the Letter of the Week for inspiration.

Ben rarely used his and so the napkins came home in his lunchbox just as neatly as they left. Sometimes I'd save them, especially those that took more than two colors to complete, as evidence of my devotion, should he ever question it. As a teenager, if not before.

This morning while I was packing his lunch, he said his friend pulled a napkin from his lunchbox last week to find his mother had written him a note on it. His friend held the napkin close so he could read it without his friends peering over his shoulder.

Then he smiled and said, "Oh, my mom loves me so much." Her message: Ride the bus home!

Was it really so bad? Yes, I remember it well.

2010-01-20T13:40:00.007-06:00

Perhaps your childhood was much different than mine.

Maybe you loved going to see the pediatrician. You couldn't wait to breathe in those noxious fumes of rubbing alcohol, iodine and fear. Perhaps his nurse didn't lurk behind a half-closed door, feebly attempting to conceal a syringe filled with this year's vaccination. He probably didn't peer over his glasses and tell you the perils of a life spent in a wheelchair--where you were destined to be if you refused your polio vaccine. Again.
I'll bet you even loved your dentist. A deceptively handsome man who enjoyed torturing you with painful shots that presumably made the ensuing procedures only slightly less excruciating. You probably didn't attempt to grip his strong forearms with your comparatively weak, child sized-hands as he drilled into the lower half of your jaw, where nerves danced with blinding intensity.

Nope, you probably don't even mind going to the doctor as an adult. Or try to convince her that you don't need the tetanus shot she wants to give you after your foot needs stitches. Even though she admits to not ONCE seeing a case of lock jaw, she's determined you need the shot. You probably didn't mind in the first place.

And so, when you've run out of excuses for not seeing the dentist (yes, you do have insurance now--have for years), and finally make the call, I doubt you'd cringe when they have an appointment available in the same week, which leaves not enough time to stall or formulate an upcoming hair emergency that would take precedence.

Before you leave home, you wouldn't search the cabinet for something to self-medicate with--take the edge off but then decide to forgo the potential risk of increased blood flow or heightened sensations. It wouldn't matter that the kind woman you first met took your X-rays with gentle patience, seated you in a comfy chair and even gave you a blanket to cover your shaking legs. (She wouldn't mistake your nerves for low body temperature.) Nor would your blood pressure reading betray you and fall into the "not too bad" category while your heart raced to keep you conscious.

And when the dentist approached, not with dark glasses or menacing furry brows, you might not even have noticed her calm demeanor or care that she said your teeth look great, given the amount of time that has lapsed since you've seen a dental professional. Finally, after a friendly hygienist scraped away your daily tea habit, polished your pearlies and sent you on your way, you might not have even taken the shiny white bag they offered with a new toothbrush and sample sized toothpaste tucked inside.

But I'm not you. Someone not afraid of the dentist. Or the doctor. I took the white bag.

Every day for a year? Really?

2010-01-05T09:18:00.014-06:00

Lately it seems en vogue to do something every day for a year and then share your findings with the world. I think it started with a group of people who decided to not buy anything new for a year. In an effort to cut down on expenses, save the planet, and determine where to draw the line (as in wearing someone else's underwear), these people set off to show us that you can scrounge around in a dump and find refrigerator parts instead of shelling out $9 for the same part NEW at Home Depot. Nevermind that said dumpisode had them at the emergency room getting a tetnus shot after stepping on a free used rusty nail.

I'm sure part of the rage is the lure of fame and fortune. When Julie Powell decided to cook from Julia Child's cookbook at the rate of one recipe a day for a year, I'm not sure if she knew that a book/movie deal was in her future. Perhaps she was just trying to prove to herself she could cook French food. But, alas, she proved to us all that blogs can make you famous. Or, perhaps she proved that her blog made her famous, but we can all dream.

Then I read the other day about a woman who went an entire year wearing the same dress every day. After watching about three minutes of the video, I lost interest. Maybe her armpit hair kept distracting me, but I kept thinking about the women in third world countries who do this year after year because they have no choice. They own one dress and therefore they wear it. It's not for self-awareness or an attempt to show others that less is more. It's a fact of life.

Yesterday a woman on the Today show explained how she spent an entire year following Oprah Winfrey's advice--from fashion tips to relationships, this woman was Oprahized. Honestly, I thought this had been done before by a woman named Gail.

So, this got me to thinking...all this slaving away trying to write the next bestseller when really, all I have to do is come up with something I can do for an entire year. I jotted down a list of possibilities.

1) Not shave my legs. Actually, I did this for a month during No Shave November a year ago and it didn't really bother me. But I can't see how this will prompt fame and fortune unless I get a product endorsement from NAIR.

2) Wear the same pajamas. I manage to wear them nearly every day until finally shedding them to take a shower and collect my daughter from school. But I'm pretty sure I can't get by with wearing them out shopping. Teenagers can, but not moi.

3) Read a book every day. I already do this. Not an entire book, but I read from a book every day. Still...not seeing the novelty here.

4) Talk to my mother and heed her advice. Nope. I talk to her several times a week, but if I talked to her every day and did what she wanted me to do, I'd have short hair and a perm, a clean house, a tidy laundry room, organized closets and all my clothes would be ironed. And my family would put me away because they'd realize: I'd finally lost it.

5) Eat at McDona--nope, been done, well, for 30 days, but that's almost a year in fast-food time. Eat at Subwa--nope, someone named Jared already beat me to it. Eat at Taco Be--nope, there's some woman on TV now, showing off her fast-food-waistline. Eat at Chick-fil-A? Can't. Closed on Sundays.

6) Knit a scarf/hat/pair of mittens. First, I'd have to learn to knit and then what would I do with all that cold weather gear in Texas?

Since I can't seem to come up with anything plausable/original that will make me rich/famous, I'm going to continue to brainstorm the possibilities. One problem: I'm not a big fan of making myself uncomfortable, working too hard, sweating, following other people's advice, cleaning or making a fool out of myself. I'll let you know a year from now if I latched on to something...

Out with the Old

2010-01-02T10:08:00.003-06:00

If Daylight Saving Time provides a good reminder for changing batteries in smoke detectors, I'm going to suggest using the New Year as a catalyst for getting rid of expired stuff in the house.

Last night, after Middle Child decided he'd need something to help him sleep through his cough, I combed through the medicine cabinet in search for some Delsym. I found some and gave him enough to help him sleep plus plugged in the humidifier from his sister's room. (With explicit orders from her to return it.)

But while hunting for cough syrup, I realized the medicine cabinet could use a culling-through. I pulled out tubes of ointment way past their prime, expired prescriptions (that were supposed to be taken until gone) and nearly empty bottles of cough suppressants.

Now, when someone needs a little help getting through a period of congestion or some creme for a bug bite, I know everything in the cabinet is current--and what I need to buy next time I'm out shopping.

Next stop: The Pantry. Just how old is this can of Manwich?

Christmas=Weapons

2009-12-23T09:16:00.002-06:00

My daughter found this coloring sheet in her desk from last year's Christmas visit to Bass Pro. After complimenting herself on her mad coloring skills, she asked, "How come for a Christmas picture they show a kid with a gun?"

I told her, "Because this is Texas, darlin.'"

Lunch Lessons

2009-12-11T10:58:00.014-06:00

I lunched yesterday with the What Women Write group plus Kim's mom, Deb (who is closer to my age than Kim--humbling...). As always, we talked more than we ate, although the chicken crepes were one giant leap into awesomeness as compared to my usual lunch, which typically begins with What doesn't have fuzz on it? and ends with Didn't I just eat this yesterday?

Over lunch I learned:

procrastination must be a common trait among creative types and this applies, not only to writing deadlines, but holiday decorating too. Five of us (including me) do not have our trees up yet.

that we all have our own ideas about how to conduct a gift exchange, but ultimately the loudest (*Elizabeth*) set the rules. I ended up with a much-needed lotion set. Thank you, Kim.

that the best gift to take into a restaurant known for their desserts is probably not a holiday plate with a homemade cake on it. Fortunately Julie did some fast talking and kept me from getting kicked out of the place. And, coincidentally, she wound up with my cake.

the value in sharing about your children's life experiences with others. Not only can you compare your child (who is so similar in personality with a friend's), you can gather wisdom of what she learned parenting him through similar obstacles.

that time flies when you're having lunch and that no matter how many times we meet, we never run out of things to share--although we've reached the point where pretty much nothing is too personal. And it's just fun to see Joan squirm.

about the shots you have to take to travel to South Africa (Susan leaves in January with the Touch a Life Foundation.), and that one side effect is the feeling of loose teeth. Hmmm.

the legalities of taxes and working abroad as an expatriate. (Kim's dad designs golf courses for Robert Trent Jones and lives overseas most of the year.)

that I am abundantly blessed to have such amazing friends and cohorts who share my fondness of writing, reading and experiencing this crazy journey we've embarked upon. And although you might work at home alone, you can still reach out and form a community that makes you feel connected. Even enough to have an "office" Christmas party.

(and that I have an extremely high forehead and should not wear my hair this way.)

I'm Yours

2009-12-11T10:55:00.001-06:00

If you ever wondered what Jason Mraz would look and sound like if he were four and Asian, here goes.

A found treasure

2009-12-02T12:29:00.003-06:00

About eleven years ago, I found a list that had fallen behind a drawer in the bathroom vanity of a house we had purchased. It was handwritten in at least seven different colors of marker on two pieces of paper. The author would be about 24 years old now, and I'd love to return this to her. I should have hunted down the previous owners and given it to her mom. I'm reproducing it here, with her words and emphasis as she wrote them. I'm betting Katie is a gorgeous, well-groomed confident woman today. Let's hope her boyfriend appreciates all her early efforts.

KATIE'S
Rules and exercises for getting a decent boyfriend, to do every day.

1. Brush teeth after breakfast, after lunch, after dinner, and after snacks.
2. Gargle with your Listerine at all times specified above.
3. Wash and condition your hair every day in the shower, occasionally bath.
4. Wash your skin, top to bottom, every day in the shower, occasionally bath.
5. Brush your hair before, during and after going out or doing anything, but don’t look obsessed with it, so use hair spray, gel and mousse.
6. Wash your face often.
7. Astringent your face morning and night, following directions.
8. Use the Water Pik three times daily.
9. Lotion your face very often with Mama Toto lotion.
10. Powder your face often, but not at night (before you go to bed).
11. Use good eye shadow, mascara, blush, etc.
12. Lotion your entire body, including your neck, morning, afternoon, etc.
13. Wear sensible clothing and always wear a bra, except for in bed.
14. Do not pick any scabs, etc.
15. Keep room very clean all of the time.
16. Eat from all five food groups, and take your vitamins, medicine, etc.
17. Show a positive attitude for everything, even work and waking up.
18. Get plenty of exercise and play, but don’t get dirty.
19. Keep your voice nice and practice.
20. Keep all of your shoes clean.
21. Do not act snobbish.
22. Throw yourself into your schoolwork.
23. Wear your glasses at the appropriate times.
24. Listen to your Classic 99, and keep Titanic music to a minimum.
25. Paint and do your art with fashion, expression, and don’t get mad at it.
26. Lotion your hands like heck every day.
27. Don’t fight with sisters.
28. Go to sleep at 9:30 and wake promptly at 6:00.
29. Keep your head elevated while sleeping and keep cool while sleeping.
30. Always blow your nose and stuff like that. (manners)
31. Practice that darn clarinet a whole ton.
32. Lipstuff your lips often.
33. Get good smelling and clean with perfume, deodorant, etc.
34. Floss, floss, floss your teeth to make your mouth feel clean........
35. Do not break your brackets.
36. Drink tons of water and milk.
37. Save lots of your money.
38. When seeing boys, be not too energetic, but a little laid back and very beautiful.
39. Be only bits flirty, like puffing your hair and look radiant.
40. Give them incessant glances and do help them with things.
41. Practice kissing some.
42. Don’t go too fast.
43. Grow your nails out and don’t bite them.
44. Be kind to everyone and everything.
45. Affectiondize for things.
46. Learn ahead for seventh grade.
47. Do what is needed for your period.
48. Do all of your chores.
49. Work well with your breasts and stuff.
50. Have fun.

And this is how it started

2009-11-22T09:21:00.009-06:00

It starts on a walk through the neighborhood. You bring along a bag of carrots to feed the horses that occupy a nearby lot and notice a connection. Daughter and horse. She should be a little afraid given their big feet and huge teeth, the aggressive way they bite and stomp when a new horse comes close, threatening to take the carrot she offers. But she isn’t.

One day she inquired about ballet and tap and tae kwon do and you figured, maybe someday. And then she asks about riding a horse, and you think, I can see that. Together you read Black Beauty and talk about what it means to care for a horse. You buy more books that explain tack and hands-high, and she spends hours in a virtual world playing Let’s Ride Dreamer, but it’s not the same.

Then she spends a Saturday with her daddy, visiting some stables and asking about riding lessons. They form a connection with a trainer named Kate and want you to check out some of the stables too. Like Goldilocks choosing her lot, you find one stable too fancy, one too stinky and a third that feels just right. Kate’s place.

And so you sign her up.

But first you need the accessories. Like a dancer with the right shoes or a martial artist with the right gear, she needs stuff—helmet and boots and gloves. You take her to a tack store and a teenage equestrian, with years of riding experience, shows your daughter her choices. Two helmets. One that’s good. Another that’s better. Because this is your daughter’s head and not just anyone else’s head, you figure this is not the time to save twenty dollars. The boots with zippers make the cut and choosing the gloves is easy. Only one pair in the store is small enough.

On the first day of lessons, you take her to the stable and meet Kate. You knew about Kate’s condition, that she’s a paraplegic who was patching a barn roof in the middle of a storm and fell through. You immediately admire this woman who has not let adversity keep her from her passion and can’t think of a better role model for your young girl.

Then you see the massive beast your daughter is to ride. Where’s the pony? The gentle little guy who has to be bribed with food in order to trot? And then you see the way your daughter walks up and pets this huge animal, talks to Crissy and laughs as the horse nibbles at her helmet. You relax just a little and try not to think about the caveat someone offered you yesterday: She’s not a true horsewoman until she’s been stepped on, bitten, kicked and thrown. Please, not today, you think.

As she mounts the horse in the center of a sawdusty ring, you take your cue to step aside. Kate’s got this. You watch this orchestration: trainer and child and beast while they form a bond. You watch the little girl you sometimes consider obstinate and argumentative and hear Kate compliment her assertiveness and confidence and think, Well, yes. That’s another way to look at it.

Thoughts of dance recitals and martial arts competitions fade away to images of future riding shows. Of one day, your daughter spending time in a barn, mucking stalls and offering apples to her best friend instead of riding in cars with boys of questionable character. You watch a beautiful teenage girl at the barn one day, long legs tucked into tall boots, her hair in a sloppy ponytail as she washes down her horse. Her boyfriend stands nearby, holding a piece of tack, clearly taking a backseat to her true love.

You can see that. You can totally see that.

Fail to compete but find inspiration

2009-10-27T15:47:00.001-05:00

My son is starting to write his own music. He's worked out the melodies of quite a few songs, but the lyrics seem to stump him. At seventeen, he's admitted that his pocketful of angst to draw from is pretty empty. (Thankfully, I suppose!)

This week, he sidled up to me in the kitchen while I was cooking dinner and said, "I thought I had a pretty cool song written, and then I listened to 'Ain't No Sunshine' by Bill Withers and decided mine sucked."

I told him I could relate. I just finished reading The Help by Kathryn Stockett and felt the same way. I read her wonderful story and decided I needed to take up meter-reading or burger-flipping—some line of work where my woefully inadequate story-telling skills wouldn't be as apparent. Then, after some mutual ego-stroking, my son and I both decided that we don't have to try and compete with greatness--only aspire to it.

If you haven't read The Help, do yourself a favor and pick up a copy today. Just make sure you have nothing else planned for the next few days. You won't want to put it down. And if it’s been a while since you’ve listened to Mr. Withers, enjoy!

"The Way You Do (the Things You Do)"

2009-10-19T20:16:00.001-05:00

Recent choir concert.

Jacob is the first soloist.

Visions of Halloweens Past

2009-10-13T11:28:00.004-05:00

The year was 1997. The child: Benjamin. My sister bought him this suit and then I bought a back-up so one was always clean. He called me Meg and his dad, Zeus. He truly believed he was Hercules and demanded to be addressed as such. Even when I went to the grocery, Herc came along.

When Halloween rolled around, it was clear that he would wear the suit--whichever one happened to be clean. And in case you couldn't tell, he is showing off his "mus-kles."

Girls go fishing

2009-10-05T22:11:00.013-05:00

When I was a kid, I spent many happy summers at my grandparents' house in northern Indiana. They lived on a small lake--big enough for fishing, too small for water skiing. Perfect for a kid to spend a week with her cousins.

You learned to be careful when you opened up a container of cottage cheese from the refrigerator at the lakes. Chances are it held red worms or nightcrawlers. Since those summers, I've never been good at fishing with anything more sophisticated. Artificial bait just doesn't seem quite authentic to me. Real girls use worms!

I logged so many hours fishing with my grandfather that, lying in the bunk at night, a red and white bobber floated behind my eyelids. The image was burned into my brain. By about the age of eight, I was filleting my own catches and Grandma would fry up fish for supper after dredging them through milk-and-egg then cornmeal. We always kept a slice of Wonder bread nearby in case stray bones became lodged in our throats.

This summer my six-year-old daughter caught the fishing bug and proved to be a capable fisherwoman. She caught this bass from the neighborhood pond and hauled it in herself.

The photo of me was taken the summer after I turned six but, given the size of her catch, my daughter is proving to be a better fisherwoman than I. (At least I was better at losing my teeth!) She still makes me take her fish off the hook, and I'm no where near letting her fillet her own catch, but I'm sure one day she will.

I know her Great Grandpa Wilson would have been so proud of her. I can hear him say, "Mia, that's a dandy!"

Why I exercise early in the morning before anyone else is up

2009-09-24T00:05:00.004-05:00

I’m working out to Tae Bo on Saturday while my six-year-old daughter watches from the comfortable chair behind me, breakfast of milk and banana in hand.

She: She doesn’t look like his daughter.
Me: I’ve told you before, he adopted her. That’s why their skin colors are different.
She: No, she doesn’t look like she used to. Her hair’s curly in this video.
Me: It’s always curly, just sometimes she pulls it back.
She: So is this a new video or an old one?
Me: It’s one of the newer ones, I think.
She: Why is everyone wearing the same kind of outfit?
Me: It’s a boot camp video where they do military-type exercises so everyone has on camo.
She: What’s camo?
Me: (Saw this one coming) It’s short for camouflage. Like animals. Like lizards are green so they blend in with the grass.
She: I know what camouflage is.
Me: I thought so.
She: Why doesn’t that one girl have those stretchy things?
Me: She’s showing people who don’t use bands how they can still follow this video. Like me.
She: But you have weights.
Me: Yes, since I don’t have bands, I’m using weights.
She: Then why isn’t she using weights?
Me: I guess some people might not have bands or weights.
She: Why don’t you have on camo?
Me: Because I’m not in the video.
She: He’s saying ‘right arm up’ and that’s your left.
Me: I ignore him because it’s like looking in the mirror and everything’s reversed. Why don’t you get down here and work out with me?
She: I just like yoga.
Me: But this is good exercise.
She: Not without a mat.
Me: You can use your mat.
She: They’re not using them. Why do she and her dad have on belts?
Me: Those are for their battery packs.
She: Why do they have those?
Me: For their wireless microphones. He’s talking and she’s counting.
She: Why doesn’t everyone get a microphone?
Me: Because we don’t need to hear everyone as they’re counting.
She: I’d want to wear a microphone.
Me: (thinking: God help us all…)

My story has been wordled

2009-09-23T20:09:00.003-05:00

I found a cool Web site: http://wordle.net/. You can enter your blog address, Web site or a selection of words. Then you press enter and this cool collage of word appears. I did this with a short story I recently completed. The result is pretty cool.

If you click on the image, you can see it larger and get directed to their site.

The Blind Side

2009-09-21T14:51:00.001-05:00

The other day I went to see All About Steve. I almost lost faith in Sandra Bullock. (It was painfully reminiscent of Miss Congeniality.) But this weekend I saw a trailer for her new film, coming in November. I think I’m going to love it.

What we know of Columbine

2009-09-17T16:38:00.000-05:00

It became one of those moments. One of the “I remember where I was when I heard the news” times.

I remember where I was when: the Challenger exploded (at my first real job in Indianapolis); Oklahoma City was bombed (in my office in Alabama); the Twin Towers fell (getting kids off to school in Illinois); and Columbine High School came under fire (in my car in St. Louis).

Columbine quickly became a household name. It was no longer an affluent community in Colorado or a high school of roughly 2000 kids. It became synonymous with every parent’s worst nightmare: that you might one day send your child to school and later be asked to identify his or her body.

I first learned about Dave Cullen’s book, Columbine, through a literary agent’s Web site. Later I bought the book and couldn’t put it down.

What we learned from the media turned out to be so far removed from the truth. The boys, Eric and Dylan, didn’t target jocks or Christians. They weren’t bullied or outcasts. Dylan attended prom just days before he would place bombs beside his classmates. Dylan was a depressed, suicidal kid easily influenced by others. Eric was a homicidal psychopath. Their friendship proved lethal.

They spent more than a year plotting their assault. On April 20, 1999, they didn’t plan to shoot kids in their school library; they planned to blow the place up. The body count would have been staggering. Fortunately, they were lousy at building bombs. Regrettably, they had a backup plan. Before they would shoot themselves, they would murder 12 students and one teacher, injure 24 and stun a nation.

I won’t attempt to summarize Cullen’s story here. You can watch this short video below and then I urge you to visit his Web site. Then read his book. If you do read it, I suggest you flip back to the Notes portion (beginning on page 363) to help you understand the research behind the findings.

Cullen was one of the first reporters on the scene and spent the next ten years reviewing evidence and interviewing survivors and the community.

What I learned was this: As parents we have every right to know what our kids are doing—who they socialize with, what they stash in their closets, what they write in their journals. The amount of evidence both boys left behind is staggering.

We also must persevere to right any injustice we see. A classmate’s mother repeatedly complained to police about Eric Harris—kids knew the boys were making bombs and amassing artillery. A search warrant for Eric’s house was written up and then never executed. So many police blunders and cover-ups would ensue. The boys’ antics slipped through the cracks and people died.

Columbine is a riveting story you’ll never forget. And one I hope to never read again.

Columbine: Dave Cullen

2009-09-17T16:37:00.001-05:00

Gavin DeGraw - Change is Gonna Come

2009-09-10T12:57:00.001-05:00

This made my morning.

Top Ten Reasons I will de-friend you on Facebook

2009-09-05T16:29:00.008-05:00

10. You play Mafia Wars, FarmVille, Heart-giving or some other mindless past-time that leads me to believe you have no life. (If you see me on FarmVille, it's my daughter--she's sabotaged my password. Again.)

9. You brag about your sex life. Really. I don't want to know. If you got a great haircut or found a fabulous pair of shoes, then I'd love to hear about it. What you and your significant other did last night? Not so much.

8. You expound about your religious views. I know we have a right to believe whatever we choose and good for you for having a strong faith. I just don't care to see posts about it each day.

7. You expound about your political views. Again, as in 8, but worse, in my opinion. Varying religious views tend to make me introspective, and I appreciate learning about different beliefs. But political rants can quickly get ugly. Just like armpits--I know you have them, I just don't want to be exposed to them.

6. Your profile picture isn't you. Okay, I might not de-friend you for this, but it is annoying. If I wanted to check in with a monkey, I'd call the zoo. Or my sister. And your two-year-old is adorable, but again, it's not you. Think of your profile pic as a chance to show your friends how well you've aged. If you haven't aged well, then get someone to PhotoShop your picture.

5. You somehow sent me a friend request based on our mutual interests or other friends. I might have accepted you because I was distracted at the time or you looked harmless. If you post something a little weird, bye-bye.

4. You take endless quizzes. If every day I learn what TV mom you are, which Sex and the City character you are, what medieval warrior you are, what era you're from, which '80s hair band you are...what annoying Facebook quiz you are most likely to take...

3. You collect friends like a hooker collects STFs (sexually transmitted funk). If you have 785 friends, honestly, do you really need me? I'm a writer with a fragile ego--I need to be needed.

2. You tell me what you eat. Incessant, trivial updates make me want to introduce you to a life coach. "Just had three donuts and a soda for breakfast!" Well, you shouldn't have! Do you really want me to comment on that? I can't click on a "dislike" button to give you a thumbs down, but I can remove you if it gets really scary to witness.

1. You keep reminding me of things I'd rather forget. "Remember when we were in high school and you wore that yellow shirt that made you look like a goober and then everyone called you Bananarama and made you cry?" Well, no, but thanks for dredging up that horrible memory. Who are you, Satan?

Special thanks to my sister, Amy, and her friends pictured here (Amy, Rosie, Jennifer and Caitlin) who weighed in on this post. I usually try not to post negative stuff on my blog. I just felt a little bit snarky today. Sorry, Mom.

How to come back from vacation exhausted

2009-08-21T08:36:00.003-05:00

I knew it wasn't going to be easy.

Last year's family vacation involved six days lolling about on a white sandy beach on Florida's panhandle. This year...not so much.

After much putting off, we finally committed to going home. At least for me. With the exception of my sister who crossed the state line and ventured into Ohio, my entire family remains firmly planted in Indiana. I, on the other hand, have spent my adult life living out of state. Alabama, LA, Illinois, Texas (once before and now)...it's a bit of an effort to get back to visit.

This year we spent nine days getting from North Texas to Indiana and back. Over two thousand miles. I think. I printed the maps out; my husband did 99 percent of the driving.

We ran the legs off our three kids and no one really complained much. This is what we saw:

Silver Dollar City in Branson
First time for me to witness a grown man with both tattoos and a hickey, pushing a stroller. Another first: The motel we stayed in had a fly-swatter in the room. Hmmm...

The City Museum in St. Louis
Hands-down my favorite place to spend a day. We had a membership when we lived in the area. Check out their Web site and I think you'll see why.

The Magic House in St. Louis
Big expansion made this place twice and much fun as the last time we were there. Loved the Poet Tree!

The Gateway Arch
Fun to see it again through the eyes of my daughter who said "I've never seen it in color before!" (A black-and-white photo of it hangs in our house.)

Busch Stadium
Under construction when we moved, we promised our kids we'd come back one day for a game. And, not only did the Cards win, but Pujols hit a home run!

Pizza King
My high school hang-out and always a fav. Thin crust pizza and I had to have the pepperoni and baked ham with BBQ sauce. Yum!

The Children's Museum of Indianapolis
Loved the carousel and took a much-needed nap in the planetarium. Had to drag dino-loving daughter out of the dinosaur area, where she got to dig for a dinosaur while asking tons of questions to patient paleontologists. The stumper: How did God make dinosaurs?

Ball State University
My alma mater has grown a lot since I graduated. Lots of new buildings (all red-brick which is a tradition there) including the David Letterman Communication and Media Building and the Sursa Performance Hall. It would be neat to see my son attend there next year.

Family & Friends
For all the sites we took in, nothing compared to catching up with friends and family. From dinners at the homes of friends (where we compared how kids seem to grow overnight) to those who let us or our kids bunk under their roofs, we most enjoyed getting to hug close those we love but rarely get the chance to see. E-mail is great and texting, Facebook and phone calls keep me up-to-date with what's going on in everyone's lives, but they're no substitute for holding close a child whom you've never met but share DNA with. Or listening to a familiar laugh behind you, then turning to see that it's not your brother, but your nephew who sounds eerily the same.

I hope you were able to visit those you love this summer. If not, plan a trip really soon. Some things are too important to put off until later.

What can you do with perler beads?

2009-07-30T18:38:00.004-05:00

My son Jacob's creation: Obama done in perler beads.

Either it's time for school to start or someone deserves an art scholarship.

Win a great book

2009-07-28T08:41:00.003-05:00

I had the wonderful privilege of interviewing best-selling author Jacquelyn Mitchard about her upcoming book No Time to Wave Goodbye. A mother of seven (who is adopting two more from Ethiopia), she is an inspiration to us all, especially those of us who say we don't have time to write. Stop by my other blog and leave a comment. You might win a copy of her new book. If not, you can still read about this great woman. Just click HERE.

Falling in Love

2009-07-26T09:11:00.005-05:00

Recently my friend, Elizabeth, wrote about falling in love with reading. I could certainly relate. Along with remembering my own long-term relationships with school librarians, I also recalled the first books that converted my children.

My three have always been read to and were intent listeners, carrying around their favorite picture books so much they literally loved the covers off. But each of them has had one book that transformed them into passionate bibliophiles. For my oldest, I would say it was discovering Harry Potter in second grade. (He said his earliest memory is my “yelling at him to put down The Boxcar Children books and go to sleep.”) For my middle child, his love came a little later, when his fifth grade teacher introduced him to The Poppy Stories by Avi.

This week, my daughter, just a few days shy of her sixth birthday, fell in love and fell hard.

We read each night at bedtime and had picked up a library book by an author my friend, Jennifer, had recommended. A chapter book without pictures, it was a little out of the ordinary for us, but Mia had listened to others before, and I just encouraged her to use her imagination to fill in the blanks where the illustrations might have been, sometimes closing her eyes to do so, and pretty soon she’s asleep.

I noticed something unusual with this book: The Magic Half by Annie Barrows. Typically Mia asks for another book or chapter, mainly as a stall tactic to keep me in the room. But this time, her hand clutched my arm and a desperate look passed over her face as I started to close the book. “No, Mom,” she begged. “Don’t stop. Please read another chapter.” I offered to let her read it on her own or told her that we’d read in the morning over breakfast, but she wouldn’t be consoled. I would offer to read one more page, which nearly always led us to finish another chapter because how do you stop, really, in the middle of one?

When the two girls in the story, Miri and Molly, were in danger of being caught by Molly’s evil cousin, Horst, my daughter would bury her head against my shoulder and squeal. She’d interrupt me periodically to ask the definition of words such as outhouse and exquisite, impatience and pathetically. And just when I worried that the time-travel plot was too complicated for her to follow, she pricked up her head with discovery and shouted, “Three sets of twins!” She got it, all right!

With about ten pages to go, Mia panicked. This was a library book that would have to be returned. She held it tightly to her lap and conspired. “What if we said we lost it?” I told her, no. “Maybe they won’t miss it if we don’t return it.” I told her other children will want to read it, too. But she wasn’t convinced. I even told her that I had checked Amazon.com and could buy one for her to keep. “But what if it’s not the exact same book?” she feared.

After we read the last line, with Molly and Miri safely back in their room, she took the book from me, clutched it to her chest and sighed. “There should be more.” I knew the feeling, when the author so completely sucks you in that you can’t bear to read the last page, knowing the gig is up and reality awaits you. So, for her birthday, I bought her a copy of The Magic Half. She unwrapped it and held it up to me and said, “Let’s read it again!”

JK Wedding Entrance Dance

2009-07-24T08:39:00.001-05:00

What a way to begin!

(Thanks, Jennifer, for sharing this!)

Putting the Va back in Vacations

2009-07-22T00:59:00.004-05:00

Last summer, when gas prices skyrocketed, we were all encouraged to conserve fuel and money and enjoy ‘stay-cations’—kinda like a vacation except you never really went anywhere. And consequently, didn’t really have much fun. Because honestly, who wants to be a tourist in your own town? Isn’t the whole idea behind ‘getting away from it all’ actually getting away? Far away?

On the ride to soccer practice the other evening, my son and I started musing about other vacations-that-aren’t-really-vacations. This is what we came up with.

Hay-cations
Destination: any place that has a barn, some chickens and maybe pigs or a cow or two. Possibly some goats.
Pack: overalls, work boots, chewin’ tobaccy and a trucker hat.
Car-tunes: Toby Keith, Rascal Flatts and Kellie Pickler

Day-cations
Destination: anywhere you can escape to within a day’s drive.
Pack: a cooler of food for lunch. No need for a suitcase; you’ll be home before bedtime.
Car-tunes: a book on CD, abridged.

Gay-cations
Destination: pricey antique stores, quaint independent booksellers, trendy bars and coffee shops in either Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa, Vermont, Maine or New Hampshire.
Pack: anything designer and expensive, but not a lot because you’ll be shopping extensively.
Car-tunes: Cher: The Farewell Concert, Girl in a Coma and Coldplay

Prey-cations
Destination: Game Preserve
Pack: pith helmet, khakis, OFF! and a 12-gauge.
Car-tunes: The Lion Sleeps Tonight

Pray-cations
Destination: Tent Revivals in the Deep South
Pack: Bible—King James version, a fan courtesy of a local funeral home and snake-proof gloves.
Car-tunes: Pat Boone (before he went Metal) and The Winans

Gray-cations
Destination: BINGO halls, casinos, cemeteries and Miami, Florida
Pack: muumuus, high-waist trousers, support hose, Depends, orthopedic shoes, Aqua Net and Fixodent.
Car-tunes: Bing Crosby, Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey

Play-cations
Destination: Six Flags, Disney World and Silver Dollar City
Pack: sunscreen, tennis shoes, running shorts and matching brightly colored T-shirts (in case y’all get separated)
Car-tunes: Hannah Montana and The Jonas Brothers

So, what did you do to escape this summer?

Career planning

2009-07-10T17:14:00.007-05:00

I often read the classics to my daughter. You know, by authors such as Dr. Seuss, P.D. Eastman, Theo. LeSieg. It's a blast to see her love the same books I did as a child: Put Me in the Zoo, Are You My Mother?, The Cat in the Hat, Yertle the Turtle.

The other day we were reading Maybe you should fly a jet! Maybe you should be a vet! It's basically an early career planner, giving you options for determining the perfect job for your future.

We were reading the page where it lists the writer. My daughter pointed to the page and said, "She doesn't look like a writer."

I said, "Well, people used to write at typewriters. Now we have computers. This is kind of an old book."

She agreed. "Yeah, but I meant that if she were a writer like you, she'd be wearing her pajamas."

Everyone's a comedienne....

Prey or predator?

2009-07-09T11:32:00.006-05:00

The box the bird feeder came in advised adding bird seed and attracting birds. Somebody (a squirrel, I suppose) emptied out the feeder the other day, and this morning this little guy decided to hang out for a while. Not sure if he's scoping out something below to pounce on, or if he should look skyward and watch for something poised to carry him off.

What a great idea

2009-07-06T15:42:00.004-05:00

So, today I picked up a magazine and began reading a parenting article. Get your kids to help with chores, the writer encouraged. Even little kids can help. Before long, you won't have to do anything but sit around and watch reality TV while the kids clean, cook and wait on you hand-and-foot.

Brilliant! Who comes up with this stuff? Ummm...me. I wrote the article but I've yet to figure out how to adopt my own great advice. I'm working on it. Right now, number one son has number two son and only daughter at the dollar theater. And I'm writing like a woman possessed, trying to meet deadlines before they return. Oh, and I've saved a load of laundry for them to fold when they get home. See, it's working!

Here's a link to the amazing article. Maybe you will be more receptive to my suggestions than I am!

I spy something new

2009-06-29T07:51:00.003-05:00

Nearly four years ago I moved with my family to north Texas from the St. Louis area. We'd lived there for seven years, and I had accumulated friends whom I treasured as lifelong companions.

So, when we arrived here, I was in no hurry to make new friends. My old ones would do just fine and, with emails and phone calls and annual girls' weekends planned, I felt connected still.

But then I started attending writing groups and, at my third attempt at finding one that best suited me, I sat inconspicuously in the back row. Right behind two women. I overheard their mentioning how they sent chapters of their manuscripts to each other for comments via email and hesitantly asked if I could also weigh-in. They (reluctantly, I later learned) agreed to take me on. Those two women still speak to me today--Kim writing her great grandfather's colorful life story and Joan becoming my writing partner in a novel, with another one in the works.

From Joan I met Elizabeth (we carpooled to a conference), and Julie found me via this blog. I picked up Susan in the restroom at a conference just this past May. We find time to meet for lunch or coffee and send countless emails back and forth, sharing comments on each other's works and musings about the writing industry.

One day about a month ago, it occurred to me that we all have learned so much about the business of writing, that it might be fun to have an account of our shared experiences. At this point in our lives, we are all either finishing up manuscripts and/or seeking agents to help us find publishers. So today we kick off a new blog (or glog--for group blog) with the six of us alternately posting, three days a week.

And just as a mother's heart grows with each child she has, my life has benefited exponentially with each new friend I meet. I hope you'll stop by and see what we have to say at What Women Write. (click here for the link)

As Seen on TV

2009-06-21T08:47:00.008-05:00

My daughter has become a constant source of information. Or rather, info-mation.

Unlike her brothers who zip past commercials while watching television (how did we manage before the DVR?), she sits mesmerized by every ad that comes her way.

Her favorite show du jour is The Magic School Bus. For some reason, Discovery Kids seems to be widely sponsored by those annoying mini-infomercials. Every time she watches an episode, I’m hit with, “Mom, can I have some Bendaroos? They come in magical colors and you can make Bendaroos do almost anything.”

My response: “Put it on your birthday list.” Since her birthday is in July, half the year I tell her to put useless crap on her Christmas list, the other half it goes on the birthday list. The Lists are mostly kept mentally, since, until recently, she couldn’t write them herself, and she’s usually too lazy to get up and find a pencil and paper.

For Mother’s Day, I was gifted with AquaGlobes and a knock-off Slap Chop. Now my plants have a constant source of hydration (when we remember to keep the Globes filled), and anything that was once too big to be chewed safely, can now be chopped into a powdery consistency prior to consumption.

This week she tried to convince me that we needed to book a vacation to a Beaches resort “Before the end of June to take advantage of their special offer,” she said. I told her we’d already been to a Beaches resort. “Yeah, but I was too young to remember it,” she retorted. Not my fault you were born a few years before the economy tanked.

I did break down and buy her a pair of Fun Slides Carpet Skates. I looked them up online, checked the reviews and only one person reported her child’s sliding out of control across the den and crashing through a window. I figure we have some old skateboard padding in the garage we can strap on her. Plus her bike helmet. She should be good for a few rounds through the house.

My only hope is maybe the Fun Slides will keep her too busy to watch TV.

Inspiration in the dark

2009-06-11T11:18:00.005-05:00

Last night as I was putting my daughter to bed, she said, "Please, Momma, leave the lamp on so my imagination won't run wild."

Her comment makes me wonder if there's something mysteriously creative about the dark.

I've had friends tell me they've turned their dreams into stories or scenes for their books. And the opening scene of my first manuscript came to me one night just as I was falling asleep. I closed my eyes and, for some reason, pictured the lobby area of a building at my college. I saw this girl, studying her schedule and then a young man rolled up to her in his wheelchair and asked if she needed help. I spent the next month writing their story.

This week I had a dream about a woman who dies and meets God. During my dream, I pictured myself getting out of bed and writing down their conversation. When I awoke the next morning, I was surprised to learn that I hadn't written anything down. Luckily I remembered much of it and now have the first half of a short story titled: "Margaret's Last Day."

Another dream I had this week involved a family dinner. Present were my grandparents (both deceased) and assorted family members. When I went to a closet to get something for the table, there sat my great-grandparents (both deceased for a really long time) in ladder-back chairs, just waiting to be discovered as surprise dinner guests. Unfortunately I don't remember anything more, but I'll bet that was some family gathering.

So, perhaps there's something eerily inspirational that happens once the light goes out, and the brain enters its shut-down mode. Maybe neurons fire and the imagination runs wild. But unlike my daughter, I'm not about to leave the lamp on.

I'm your biggest little fan

2009-06-04T15:57:00.006-05:00

My daughter is a huge Beyonce fan. Or at least as huge as you can get when you're only 45 inches tall. Upon hearing she was coming to our area for a concert, Mia asked if I would take her. So, with her on my lap, we looked up tickets.

As the page loaded, I asked, "So, you want to see Beyonce?" (The price: $118 a ticket. The security word to enter was, no joke, "sybil." I'm sure you'd have to be crazy to take a five-year-old to see Beyonce.)

"No, I don't want to just see her, I want to meet her," she said. (And, yes, for only $1000 we could fulfil that dream and purchase a meet and greet.)

Secretly, I think she wants to show BK her take on "Single Ladies." She calls it "Naked Men." And the lyrics are: "All the naked men, all the naked men, all the naked men, all the naked men, put your hands down! Uh oh oh, Uh oh oh oh oh oh, Uh oh oh."

If you have to ask why she says for them to put their hands down, you get an eye roll and a, "Because...they're naked?"

So, I closed the Ticketmaster site and instead switched the screen to Webkinz. After a few minutes of Smoothie Moves, she forgot all about B-Town and started shooting ice cream onto a conveyor belt.

I'll just have to keep listening to the radio and see if someone gives away tickets. I'm sure Beyonce is looking for a follow-up hit.

"All the naked men, all the naked men..."

Word Play

2009-05-29T14:09:00.005-05:00

I had an assignment to write an article about survival skills--teaching kids basics so they can one day live on their own.

Eventually I went with a nautical/sailing/ship theme and reached out to a few writing friends for ideas. Susan led me to Wikipedia's Glossary of Nautical Terms, and I spent at least 30 minutes sorting through the jargon. Who knew so many of our figures of speech had nautical origins?

For instance, my new favorite is "There's not enough room in here to swing a cat." (Very useful for spouting off when you enter my son's room that is overflowing with musical equipment, books and dirty clothes.) Apparently unruly sailors were often flogged with a "cat-o'-nine-tails," a short nine-tailed whip. Everyone on board was brought on deck to witness the beatings and often there was not much room to "swing the cat" without hitting a bystander. Also, getting the "cat out of the bag" came from taking the whip from its baize bag, where it was kept when not in use. And here I thought someone had routinely taken an actual cat by its tail and circled it overhead, people ducking to get out of the way.

Other terms such as chock-a-block, cut and run, pitch in, nipper (a small boy), and footloose had nautical origins. Or so says Wikipedia.

French Homework...

2009-05-27T10:38:00.005-05:00

...was never like this when I was in high school, c'est la vie.

The assignment: write a commercial in French.

The product: this video by my son and his two classmates.

The gist: girl can't get guy until she is transformed via Jean Jean Sexy Wear.

Jean Jean (aka Jacob) also wrote the music for the jingle and played all the instruments. Très bien!

Wake me when it's over

2009-05-26T12:30:00.004-05:00

Wiping sleep from his eyes in the kitchen...

Ben: Did I dream this or did you tell me that Aunt Jemima died?

Me: Uh, pretty sure you dreamed it. Aunt Jemima isn't even a real person.

Ben: Oh. Okay. Just seemed real.

(Did I mention the kid fell off the kitchen cabinet when he was little?

...those head injuries can be sneaky--13 years later.)

Perfect timing

2009-05-20T10:31:00.005-05:00

Once there was a boy who loved music. He started guitar lessons when he was 11 and taught himself drums, keyboard and other instruments including a half-hearted attempt at the harmonica.

One day his friend Brianna asked him to accompany her at the Black History Month celebration/competition at an area high school. His guitar playing got noticed by a gentleman in attendance, and the boy gave this man his name and phone number. Later the boy got a call and was asked to play at an upcoming Gospel Brunch at The House of Blues in Dallas. Oh, and by the way, BB King will be there later that day.

So, the boy is excited, his parents are proud and just purchased four tickets for The Gospel Brunch on May 31.

They don't even care if BB King is there or not.

I can imagine...

2009-05-19T10:50:00.007-05:00

This scenario:

Officer: We have a report of a missing person?

17-year-old son: Yeah. Our mom. Have you seen my keys? And when you find her, tell her we have like nothing to eat in this house.

Officer: Son, I have no idea where your keys are. Have you checked your jeans pocket?

14-year-old son: Hey, I need a ride to soccer practice.

Officer: Maybe if you help me locate your mom, she can take you?

14-year-old: Maybe, or I could just ride with you.

Officer (taking out a pad of paper): How about you tell me where you last saw her.

14-year-old: I dunno. Probably when she dropped me off at school.

Officer: Isn't it close enough for you to walk?

14-year-old: I guess. She doesn't mind driving me though.

Officer (noticing young girl tugging on his gun holster): Hey, don't touch that.

5-year-old daughter: Is that real? Can you shoot people like they do on Bones?

Officer: Yes, it's real and I only shoot people when I have to. Can you help me find your mom?

5-year-old: Sure.

Officer (with pen poised above his tablet): What does she look like?

5-year-old: She's 66 inches tall and weighs 118 pounds. She has hazel eyes and brown hair.

Officer: Her eyes are hazel?

5-year-old: Yes, I look in them every day. I know what color they are.

Officer: Any idea where she might be?

5-year-old: She's always home, but you might find her eating lasagna and wearing purple. Please find her. She's very lovable.

Officer: I'll do my best.

Old friends

2009-05-14T12:39:00.013-05:00

I started a new book the other day, and yesterday I finished it. Well, I quit after the second chapter. It just didn't pull me in and time is a precious commodity to me. Instead I'm now reading one I read years ago, and I'm enjoying it all over again. It's The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing by Melissa Bank. It has nothing to do with wearing hip-waders or shooting a rifle. But it's funny and still feels fresh years later.

I also got a much-needed pick-me-up yesterday when I noticed on FaceBook that another author I love, Celia Rivenbark, just renewed her wedding vows. In Vegas. By an Elvis impersonator. I wasn't a bit surprised since her latest book was titled: Belle Weather--mostly sunny with a scattered chance of hissy fits. On her Web site you can read her latest newspaper column or watch a funny video of her explaining the title of another book she wrote: Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank. Her definition of a skank? It's like a slut with both shoes.

So, like old friends, favorite books and favorite authors can make you feel better, cheer you up when you've had a bad day, or sometimes they'll just sit quietly and let you be.

In honor of my mother, a tribute for Mother's Day

2009-05-08T14:11:00.008-05:00

My mom taught me many things while growing up. At her knee I learned to sew. It’s not a skill people pay me for like they do her, but it has served me well. I’ve been able to make curtains and drapes, recover furniture and make Halloween costumes. I still haven’t mastered her hand-sewing talent of smocking, but I’m sure if I wanted to, she would teach me.

She taught me how to bake and even let me eat raw cookie dough and lick cake batter straight from the beaters. When I wanted to learn to decorate cakes, she stood by my side and encouraged me as I mastered new techniques.

I don’t remember her ever telling me that something was too hard or too messy or too much trouble for me to learn. Whatever I wanted—within reason—she made available to me. And it wasn’t the material things that come easier for me with my kids. She wasn’t able to buy me everything I wanted, but she provided everything I needed. And that was plenty.

Several pearls of wisdom she also imparted:
Don’t open someone else’s mail.
Just because someone asks you a question, doesn’t mean you have to answer it.
It’s not good to be boy-crazy.
Even though you can’t see the back of your hair, other people can.
It’s much better to give than to receive.
Knock before opening a closed door.
A good deed feels even better if you keep it to yourself.
Something broken can almost always be fixed.
If you can find a way to make it or do it yourself and spend less money, then do.
Never put in writing what you don’t want everyone to read.
You’re always prettier when you smile.
Never correct an adult in front of other people.
Less is better—in terms of makeup, accessories, etc.
It’s better to miss curfew than to drive recklessly to get home.
You’ll never know how much you are loved until you have kids of your own.

And now that I am a mother of three, I know what she means. The other day my daughter, who is nearly six, asked me what Grandma’s name is. I told her it is Marianne.

“Marianne?” she asked. “That’s such a pretty name! I think I’ll name my daughter that.”
I hope one day she does.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

Bad timing

2009-05-05T10:44:00.007-05:00

Since I have documented proof that the dog likes to lie on the stairs, you'd think I'd remember to step over him--just out of habit. But Thursday night after putting my daughter to bed, I stepped on him. It was dark, he was sleeping and I forgot. He let out a yelp and flipped to get out from under me, slicing the bottom of my foot with his dew claw in the process.

The next morning, I endured three stitches and a tetanus shot plus the doctor gave me a supply of antibiotics and some handy dandy Vicodin. The cut is not a big deal, but it makes it difficult to walk and drive. Plus I planned to attend a writers' conference the next two days.

So, Joan had to drive me to the conference, and I spent the weekend hobbling around from room to room, propping my foot up whenever possible. Other than breaking out in hives from a reaction to the antibiotic, things went pretty smoothly. I pitched our book and got permission from the agent to submit a sample, so we'll see what happens. Plus I met some really nice people (including Susan, a writer in the area) and gathered some helpful information.

And the dog no longer runs from me when he sees me coming. Did I mention he's not very smart?

Somebody...

2009-04-29T13:23:00.005-05:00

...needs me to take them shopping. Honestly, John. Call me. What you lack in discretion, I'm sure you make up for with your charming personality. But really. We can do better.

Don't open that

2009-04-21T10:36:00.008-05:00

I've developed a type of mail-phobia. It came about fairly innocently. And it doesn't involve packages. I love getting boxes in the mail, especially those with Amazon on them.

My fear is of large envelopes. Large envelopes that contain flat people in them. Flat Stanley. Flat Will. It doesn't matter how you spin it. Don't send me Flat Child in the mail and ask me to tote him around town and take pictures of him. I've done my time.

Actually, if you don't care what he's wearing, I can do a Flat Stanley or even your child, if he resembles my nephew Will. You don't even have to mail me anything. Just send me an email or call and I'll send you off a packet of Flat Stan or Flat Will or Flat Joe (if he looks like Will). I've got the Publisher file saved in my computer. It just might take me a day or two to get it put together and in the mail.

All I ask is that the next time you see me, you take me out for a drink--tea, wine, doesn't matter. And you consider yourself fair game for when my daughter reads Flat Stanley at school and she needs you to reciprocate. I promise to give you advance notice.

But if you decide to send me--unannounced--a Flat Child in the mail, I don't accept responsibility for possibly feeding your Flat Child to the horses. I'm currently out of carrots.

School Pics

2009-04-20T10:44:00.007-05:00

This is what happens when:

a) your mom forgets that it's picture day,

b) and the photographer figures it's best to cover your plain white polo by buttoning up your pretty pink cardigan to your neck, librarian-lady-style,

c) only after you've had recess and your once kinda cute ponytail is now coming down in clumps,

d) then the photographer person (who also works parttime at Taco Bell) makes you hold your arms in an awkward position best reserved for tantrums or rappers,

e) then asks you to say some word such as Walrus! in order to elicit the most unnatural smile you've ever expressed,

f) then prints off $44 worth of pictures, sending them home via your classroom folder, knowing your mom will buy some because, who can stand to think of her baby's pictures going through a shredder?

A scam? I'd say so.

4 Kids + 1 video camera + 7 hours = THIS

2009-04-11T14:12:00.005-05:00

The Sound of Music--subway style

2009-04-09T19:41:00.002-05:00

This is just pretty darn cool.

New Look

2009-04-06T16:14:00.012-05:00

Every year I get together with my girlfriends. Lucky for us, Leanna happens to be a professional photographer. This year she asked us to bring along jeans and a black turtleneck. (You can see by the picture, some of us don't follow directions as well as others. She didn't mind.) Sure beats trying to cram us all into one of those booths at the mall!

We've been friends for years and range in profession from attorney to accountant, photographer to teacher and everything in between. Of those pictured, we have a total of 23 children, which made traveling in the same vehicle a little scary. The bonds that unite us are many, the memories are vast, and we stay connected via emails and phone calls throughout the year. We all eagerly anticipate the annual weekend when we can get together, bridging the distance between us that now spans both coasts. (Traci, we sure missed you!)

I wish every woman could be as fortunate as I am to have such great friends.

Pictured, l to r: (front row) Trisha, Jennifer, Sonya, Terri, Leanna (back row) Lori and me.

PS: Leanna also graciously took a photo of me so I could update my blog mugshot. So I decided to update my blog look as well. Thanks, Leanna!

Walk the line

2009-04-02T09:09:00.005-05:00

After you have kids, you become a line walker.

You want them to do well in school but not obsess over grades so much that they develop ulcers and become social outcasts who can’t carry on a conversation without throwing in words such as congruent or onomatopoeia.

You hope they eat healthful foods, exercise and drink water without one day developing an eating disorder that has them spitting out half-chewed M&Ms in between marathon jumping jack sessions.

You also hope they develop their own sense of style—wearing clothes and hair styles that not necessarily define them but suit their personalities and interests.

But you walk the line that represents a normal, well-adjusted human being and on either side lies a child who obsesses over every test answer or just doesn’t give a flip.

On our walk home from school yesterday, my kindergartener fell abnormally quiet. I could tell she was distracted.

Me: What’s up?

She: (with a pained expression, leans into me and whispers) What is she wearing?

Me: (looking at the girl ahead of us—probably a fourth grader) Looks like a white shirt and white shorts.

She: Well, it looks weird.

Me: It’s just a shirt and a pair of shorts. What’s so weird?

She: (still frowning) It just is.

Me: Well, maybe her mom hasn’t done laundry lately and that’s all she had to wear. Or maybe it’s her favorite outfit. (her brothers have been casualties of both)

She: Well, she shouldn’t wear it. Doesn’t it look like she has on boy’s underwear?

Me: (wondering why she cares so much about this girl’s choice of clothes) I don’t think so. Besides, you shouldn’t worry about what she’s wearing. I’m sure she’s not.

She: I think she should worry if people think she’s going to school in boy’s underwear.

Me: (deciding this conversation needs diverting) Wow, look, Mia. A butterfly. I’ll bet that’s one you raised last year and released in the back yard.

She: It is. I recognize her. That’s Giselle.

Some time in the night, the child got out of bed and went through her closet and picked out clothing options for today. When I got her up and presented her with a dress to wear, she said, “That’s not what I’m wearing today. I already picked out my clothes.” She had two outfits beside the bed. A yellow skirt and top combo with horses on it and a pair of khakis and a shirt. We went with the horse ensemble.

Now I just hope if someone tells her she looks nice today, she says ‘thank you’ and then goes about getting her school work done. And if she happens to spot the fourth grade girl we saw yesterday, she realizes that the clothes don’t define the girl any more than the grades or the weight or the hair. And if she starts in again on the walk home from school, I can create a diversion. “Look, Mia. A lizard. Isn’t that the one that we see every night on the bathroom window…”

Who is more delusional?

2009-04-01T08:22:00.003-05:00

Michael Vick who estimates his annual income next year to be a cool $10 million?

or

My son who told me this morning he could so be an underwear model?

I'd say it's an even toss up.

Thanks for voting

2009-03-26T10:35:00.003-05:00

We appreciate all who took the time to weigh in on our choosing the best line for Center Court Seats and a Pair of Jimmy Choos--a story about two sisters, one bet and a mix of heartache and laughter along the way, causing them to ask, "If you can't trust your sister, can you trust anyone?"

The results proved the clear winner as: She loved a man who could appreciate a new pair of shoes, even if she thought he might like to try them on himself.

Hopefully it won't be too long before someone picks up the story, publishes it and you can read all 90,000 words of the book!

Thanks again for voting!

Which line do you like best?

2009-03-23T16:34:00.003-05:00

Joan and I are trying to choose our favorite line from our story, Center Court Seats and a Pair of Jimmy Choos. Some of our favorite parts of the book involve dialog between two characters, but an agent we are querying asks for us to list our one, favorite line. It's a little like choosing your favorite child. Or your favorite dessert. So, how about helping us out. To the left is a poll. We've narrowed it down to five lines. Please take the time to vote for your favorite. And while you're at it, forward the post to your friends and ask them to vote too. Thanks!

Friday Night Lights

2009-03-23T11:50:00.002-05:00

I watch very little television, and if it weren’t for DVR, I’d watch practically none. But one show I never miss is Friday Night Lights. Now nearing the end of its third season, this amazingly well-written show almost didn’t make it on this year but loyal fans—including someone at DirectTV—managed to revive it for another season. I couldn’t be happier.

Loosely based on the movie (which was based on the novel) and set in fictional small town Dillon, Texas, the show sports an ensemble cast of actors you’ve probably never seen before but who work so well together. Along with being perfectly cast, it’s also the best written show by far. With characters you care about and relevant subject matter, it’s become a great show for me to watch with my teenage sons. Last week’s episode included teenage sex and every episode shows teens drinking. They don’t preach about it or condone it, but the shows open up great dialog between me and my boys. And there’s just enough high school football in it to tie in to the movie/book.

If you don’t watch it, you can see full episodes on Hulu.com or rent the videos. I think you’ll agree that it’s great television.

Monday musing

2009-03-16T18:21:00.005-05:00

I just returned home from my annual girls' weekend extraordinaire. While bragging to my daughter about how much fun St. Louis was, she asked, "Can we go to St. Louis on vacation?" I told her sure, forgetting that today was the first day of Spring Break. "Well, we're on vacation now," she said. "Why can't we go today?" I thought for a second and said, "Not today. Maybe some time this summer." After a short pause, she said, "Dammit." I'm guessing someone watched a little too much (inappropriate) television while I was gone.

Teaser Tuesday

2009-03-10T10:54:00.004-05:00

Two weeks ago Jamie Ford came to the Crow in Dallas to share his new book. Not long ago Jamie was a writer of short stories, trying to find an agent for his first manuscript. Today his debut novel Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet is a NY Times bestseller. Julie and Joan were able to hear Jamie talk about his novel at the Crow, and Joan picked up a copy of his book for me, which he autographed.

Here's a Tuesday Teaser of Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet:

As she slowly turned toward Henry, he noticed her slender cheekbones, her perfect skin, smooth and lacking in the freckles that mottled the faces of the other girls at the school. But most of all he noticed her chestnut-brown eyes. For a brief moment Henry swore he smelled something, like jasmine, sweet and mysterious, lost in the greasy odors of the kitchen. (page 19)

Monday musing

2009-03-09T15:29:00.004-05:00

This weekend as we were traveling on a really high overpass, my daughter looked out her car window and said, "I love these highways. I feel like I'm God--God on a roller coaster."

Things not to do when you're operating on four hours' sleep

2009-03-06T15:36:00.003-06:00

1. Work the book fair at the elementary school. The children were precious. The other moms...not so much. I guess since I don't belong to the laminated-ID volunteer crowd and wear the stick-on Visitor's badge, it's clear I'm not up there as often as the paid staff. Sorry. I have a job and a life.

2. Blog about volunteering at the elementary school.

3. Pluck my eyebrows. They look a bit uneven.

4. ~~Drive long distances.~~ Oops. Have to. My son has a soccer game after school.

5. Interview a client for a story. It's so hard to act interested when all you really want to do is take a nap.

6. Let my child feed the dog unsupervised. I had to clean up a trail of Kibble she laid out for him beginning at the stair landing and ending up at his bowl in the kitchen.

Car Talk

2009-03-03T08:53:00.002-06:00

Of course it’s well-known and at times well-documented that the best conversations with my kids take place in the car.

Last week we had a discussion (prompted by the morning drive-time radio show) about what we should give up for Lent. I mused about previous years:

Me: So far I’ve given up chocolate, tea and soda. Not sure what I should give up this year…
Jacob: I’m not giving up anything. Jesus already died so I don’t have to give up stuff.
Ben: I’m giving up soda. And candy.
Me: (thinking of my future lower dental bills) Good idea, Ben.
Jacob: (to me) Why don’t you give up reading?
Danny: (apparently half-listening) Then she’ll turn blue and pass out.
Me: He said reading, not breathing. (But really, for me, pretty much the same thing.) Maybe I’ll give up fast food. Or Coke. Or just Coke at Sonic.

As a side note: I’ve given up fast food. And don’t miss it one bit. Except for Saturday when I bought Ben Chick-fil-A for breakfast after his soccer game. The chicken minis were calling for me…

Last night on the way to Jacob’s guitar lesson, then to Ben’s baseball practice. Someone brought up The Vagina Monologues.

Me: Oh, one of Joan’s relatives invited her to a performance in Dallas this week.
Jacob: Have you been to one?
Me: No and the funny thing is, Joan’s son Austin responded Yes to the RSVP.
Jacob: Austin wanted to go? Does he even know what a vagina is?
Me: He’s your age. I’m pretty sure he does.
Jacob: What are The Vagina Monologues?
Me: It’s just some woman sitting on a stage talking about woman stuff, I guess.
Ben: (finally commenting from the back seat—in his best ‘vagina voice’) Hello. It’s me. I’m itchy.

Remind me to check my insurance policy. I’m not sure I should be driving with my children in the car anymore.

List making

2009-02-26T08:57:00.004-06:00

The other day I was complaining to my friend Jennifer about how little I seem to accomplish during the day. She said, “I’ve started making a to-do list. You know, like professional people do at their jobs.” Ouch. She said she’s amazed at how much she accomplishes when she writes it down and then marks it off. That was a week or two ago and I’ve yet to heed her advice.

Today’s list would read:
aEmpty dishwasher
aWash sheets
~~aClean bathroom~~
aCall Angie and get name of cleaning lady
aBake cookies
aMarinate brisket for dinner tonight
aOrganize financials for taxes
aSubmit receipts for flex-plan reimbursement
aEdit photos and print off those of Flat Stanley for Jennifer’s daughter Abby Grace
aWrite up a witty account about how Flat Stanley spent his time in our area
aMail Flat Stanley back to Abby Grace
aClean off my desk
aWatch American Idol that I TiVo’d last night
aSit outside and enjoy 80 degree weather before cold front hits
aHem a pair of pants
aFinish up chapter three of my latest novel
aStart writing my chapter on other novel co-writing with Joan
aFind writing prompt for Writing Women meeting tomorrow

OK, so I’ve made a list. Worse yet, I’ve made it public. Now I’ll see how much of it I accomplish.

Teaser Tuesday

2009-02-24T08:53:00.002-06:00

Over on the shouldbereading blog, I've joined her campaign to introduce you to two random lines in a book that I'm reading or have recently read. The idea is to tempt you to read it too, or you may comment with two lines of your current read. Just don't spoil the plot.

Here's mine: (one of three books I'm currently reading/not reading--depending on the day...this one rides around in the car with me)

Shopaholic Takes Manhattan by Sophie Kinsella

about her mad collection of shoes....(page 19)

And once I lined them all up on my bed and took a photograph of them. Which might seem a bit weird--but I thought, I've got loads of photos of people I don't really like, so why not take one of something I really love?

It doesn't even have to rhyme

2009-02-20T10:34:00.004-06:00

When I was young, my mother instilled in me an early love of reading. She included poetry at times, and the ones I remember most were by James Whitcomb Riley. Probably a favorite in our house because he was a fellow Hoosier. His are the first poems I could recite from memory—two in particular: “The Raggedy Man” and “Little Orphant Annie.”

It occurred to me the other day that I had yet to introduce poetry to my daughter, so I bought her James Prelutsky’s collection My Dog May Be a Genius. Since she loves anything that has to do with dogs, she seemed to enjoy them. Then the other night I read to her some excerpts from Robert Frost’s Poetry for Young People. First I read “A Girl’s Garden” and she didn’t comment on it. So then I read “Ghost House” and before I could turn the page, she said, “Okay, I have no idea what that meant.” Me either, Sweetie. I could have read the notation at the bottom of the page, but I doubt either one of us would have understood it any better.

I remember in college, reading poetry and then writing essays about what I’d read. The professor I had continually praised my writing and then would give me a B. I finally asked him after class one day what it would take to get an A in his class. His response: Most of the A students are in my honor’s English class.

So, I challenged him. I told him unless he could tell me how to improve my writing so I could get an A in his class, then I thought I deserved to be getting them—even though it was not an honor’s class. My final essay analyzed “To His Coy Mistress” by Andrew Marvell. In typical fashion, I wrote it during the wee hours of the morning before it was due. But this time I got an A.

Now my interest in poetry has been revitalized since I began attending critique group. Two writers, Philip and Ramona, regularly read their poetry, and I used to apologize when offering feedback, saying I didn’t really read poetry and therefore they should take that into consideration when weighing my comments. Now I feel more qualified to respond. And besides, they are usually a lot of fun to read. And not nearly as difficult to understand as Frost’s.

Anyone have a favorite poet? Or poem to share?

Money laundering

2009-02-16T12:29:00.005-06:00

I’m pretty diligent about checking the pockets of jeans as I do laundry. If you wash a cell phone, a Sharpie or a crayon (and bonus dunce points if you also dry the crayon), you pretty much figure out it’s easier to check pockets than to try and remove the resulting stains or replace an expensive cell phone.

And some times it pays. Literally. If I find money—it’s mine—unless it’s a lot and then I’m likely to feel too guilty to keep it. Although I may keep half as a finder’s fee. (Jacob: That five dollar bill I gave you last week--there were two. I kept one and you didn't even notice.)

Last night as I was checking pockets, I stuck my hands into the tiny pockets of my daughter’s jeans. Her first pair. I finally bought her a pair since, at the age of five, she can probably wear them without looking like a boy. I didn’t realize she knew to stuff her pockets with things and was surprised to find money in her back pocket. Play money, but money still the same. I guess I won’t be surprised to find a Barbie cell phone in the pocket the next time I wash her jeans. And, if for some reason, I forget to check, I doubt those pink plastic phones are too expensive to replace.

Friday the 13th can be really frightening

2009-02-14T14:41:00.012-06:00

Yesterday morning (Friday the 13th—I shoulda known) I woke up with a plan. Get the kids off to school, shower, phone-interview a doctor for an article I’m writing, then put together the makings for my daughter’s Valentine’s Day Tea Party. For her and eight of her classmates. No problem. I had all day to bake cupcakes, ice them, make sandwiches, drinks, wash and cut up strawberries and pineapple, clean the house up, place the table with linens and party dishes, make up a love-themed Bingo game, wrap the prizes for the games, shred the tissue for the craft, decorate the house a bit. Plenty of time.

Then I checked my email and my boss needed me to edit some articles for her. Last minute. Today. Please? Oh. My. Gosh. I mixed up the cupcakes and interviewed the doctor while the cupcakes were baking. I could hear the timer going off and he was still talking. “Um, may I please put you on hold?” Dashed to the kitchen and yanked the cupcakes out of the oven. Back to the interview.

Finished with him and went into overdrive. Managed to edit seven out of 16 articles, hoping that would be a good enough ratio to help me keep my job. Vacuumed the den and mopped the kitchen floor. Kinda. Did a lame job putting up decorations but decided by the time nine little girls are in the house, would it really matter? Iced the PupCakes, which turned out looking more like Muppets gone horribly wrong, but decided they’d taste good and that’s half of it.

At 1:15 I got a phone call from my son’s friend Rachel. She wanted to know if I was serious when, last night at Hobby Lobby, I suggested she could come to Mia’s tea party if she didn’t have anything better to do. Was I serious? Heck, yeah! “I’ll be there about 2:30,” she said. Cool. Rachel can do the craft prep. She works at Hobby Lobby. She’s more than qualified.

And then at 2:30, 15 minutes to go, my friend Tracy came over to help. Actually, she was an angel—not just a friend. She took over the kitchen, wrapped the prizes, decorated the table and chairs, washed the strawberries and everything else while I dashed off to pick up five of the girls from school. I passed Rachel in the driveway and she ran in to help Tracy.

Well, after two hours of fun, food and games, Tracy finished washing all the dishes and Rachel picked up the craft mess while the girls’ parents collected them and went home.

Later that evening I asked Mia what was her favorite thing about her party. She said, “None of it.” I nearly dropped her off my lap and went in search of a more grateful child to parent. Instead, I asked for a clarification. She said, “I loved all of it, so I don’t have a favorite thing.” Good answer. I just might keep her around another year.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

A birthday poem

2009-02-09T13:58:00.002-06:00

to me, from my son.

I love you, Mom, for all that you've done
You are just as important as the rising sun.

You are as cool as a cucumber, you are the bomb
And that's why I'm glad that u are my mom!

Happy B-day

Love,
Ben

If you hold the power...

2009-02-08T09:32:00.005-06:00

It should go without saying that if you seek to hold a public office in this country--whether you are elected to one or nominated--there are certain things you should do.

A) Vote with enough regularity to show you care, Caroline.
B) Pay your income tax, Tom.
C) Pay your unemployment tax, Nancy.
D) Not view your position as a way to personally profit, Rod.

It's not about holding politicians to a higher standard than the rest of us. Really. It's what we should expect from every citizen. Just sayin'...

eTrade baby

2009-01-30T18:09:00.004-06:00

And because we just can't get enough of the eTrade baby around here...Click the title above for a link.

Fly on the Wall

2009-01-30T11:06:00.005-06:00

(posting so my mom will quit nagging that it’s been awhile since I’ve updated my blog…)

I finish reading to my daughter the other night and she starts her prayer…

She: Dear God: Please help Mom, Ben, Dad, Jacob, Me, Jett (the dog), the fish and Small Pie (the hamster) have a good night’s sleep. Wait. Not Small Pie. Amen.
Me: Why didn’t you want Small Pie to have a good night’s sleep? (I figure it’s because he just bit me and she’s enacting some revenge on my behalf.)
She: Because. He’s nocturnal?
And if she were a little older she would have added a “Duh” followed by an eye roll.

At dinner the other night…

Ben: What’s up with this applesauce? It’s disgusting.
Me: What’s wrong with it?
Ben: It’s all weird and chunky.
Me: It’s homemade.
Ben: Oh. I love it! It’s amazing. So good and chunky. It’s delicious.
Me: Just pour it out. Good grief.

Good Sports

2009-01-23T12:09:00.004-06:00

There are some things in life you 'regret' such as a sarcastic comment uttered that you originally thought was funny. In hindsight, you realized it was probably hurtful and hopefully made amends.

Here in our back yard, we've experienced a different kind of slip-up, to the tune of 100-0. It is embarrassing and also astonishing that no one stepped up during the duration of the game and said, "Hey, look. Let's ease up a bit. Maybe put in a bench warmer or two. Or play a man down." But, no. Somewhere along the way, the team got caught up in the possibility of breaking 100 and let loose. How regretful. And now apologies are being made.

Last night I attended my son's high school soccer game. We won, 4-0. After we were ahead 2-0, the third goal slipped in on an obvious error by the opposing keeper. What followed was admirable. Our boys didn't high-five. The parents didn't cheer or clap. Silence. Good sportsmanship by all, and I was proud. It was as though the goal didn't count, and everyone quietly lined up again at the middle of the field.

Maybe the memory of this recent romp by some high school girls was playing in our heads. Let's hope we never forget it.

PS: Tonight I was alerted about another story of school spirit. This one the good kind and again, it was in our back yard. Click here to read about what happened when Faith Christian in Grapevine hosted the Gainesville Tornadoes. It's very touching.

It's my hair, don't touch it.

2009-01-19T13:44:00.020-06:00

I don't think anyone can accuse me of having the same hairstyle my entire life.

This preschool photo of me begs the question, Can your bangs ever be too short? Answer: Yes, oh, absolutely. I think my mom started to see hairline and finally quit trying to get them straight.

Then pretty much every other school picture I had taken showcased my latest home perm. My mother apparently couldn't accept the fact that I had naturally straight hair and tried to prove curly hair could be achieved. I was never happy about it.

Here as a high school junior. Still getting perms but apparently resigned to it and smiling.

Then as an adult, I finally became in charge. At times my hair is long and dark, short and blonde or medium and red. Or any combination of those. But always, always straight.

This past week, I fell victim to another family member's idea of what hairstyle would look good on me. Before I left for my son's soccer game, I let my daughter style my hair. Thankfully I was able to use the excuse of needing to wear a hat, so she let me lose two of the three pony tails. And all the hairbows. I'm old enough now not to lose my dignity at the hands of another. For now. When I'm in a nursing home and unable to defend myself, hopefully no one will take pictures.

Why I'm glad I'm not famous

2009-01-14T13:37:00.004-06:00

Not long ago a literary agent posted on his blog the question: Would you rather achieve acclaim or great wealth? Now, I'm wondering why people would have to think twice about it. For me it would be like asking, Would you rather live your life in a bubble or be able to have financial security? Kind of a no-brainer.

I'm admittedly easily distracted by celebrity news. It's mostly a work-avoidance tactic, but if I see an interesting lead-in on an article about a famous person, chances are I'll read it. At times I've had to tell myself, Why are you reading about a show firing an actor when you've never even watched the show and have no idea who they are? That's when I reel it in and refocus.

Part of the attraction celebrity news has for me is it gives me an opportunity to give thanks that I currently live in relative obscurity. Not only am I not famous, I've also moved around enough that when I venture out, chances are I won't run into anyone I know. And I like that.

So I decided to list reasons why I'm glad I'm a nobody. And yes, it became another reason to avoid my workload today. (At least I can admit to being a slacker.)

Reasons I’m glad I’m not famous:

1) I can wear my pajamas while I drive my kids to school without fear of rumors being spread that I have a terminal illness.
2) I can shop at Target (or Goodwill) for my clothes without fear of being portrayed as cheap.
3) I can wear my pajamas as I walk to the mailbox without fear of being labeled lazy.
4) I can drive a battered minivan without fear of being laughed at.
5) I can go out in public without wearing makeup without fear of being photographed.
6) I can send text messages to my friends without fear of having them made public.
7) I can wear clothes that make me look fat without fear of rumors that I’m pregnant.
8) I can wear clothes that make me look skinny without fear of rumors that I have an eating disorder.
9) I can scold my children at the grocery without fear of someone calling me a bad mother.
10) I can read a book at the park while my daughter plays without fear of someone saying she’d be better off with her nanny.
11) I can be seen leaving a doctor’s office without fear of people speculating what might be wrong with me.
12) I can have lunch in public with my friends without fear of someone judging me for eating meat. Or carbs. Or both.
13) I don’t feel compelled to name my children after a fruit, a Disney character or a flower.
14) I can age gracefully and not worry about whether the latest facial injection will turn my lips into beanbags.
15) I can write stupid stuff on my blog without fear of having it read by millions.

Thankful for the little things

2009-01-13T23:11:00.003-06:00

This past Friday after school, my son (a freshman) alerted me to the fact that on Monday he would have a project due for World Geo and might need my help. “Don’t freak out,” he prefaced it. “But I have to make something that people in Bulgaria eat and then make a poster board about it. And since I have a soccer tournament this weekend, I might need you to help me.” Translation: I need you to find a recipe, buy the ingredients and make it.

I must have sighed a little too loudly because my other son (a junior) put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Aren’t you glad I’m not an overachiever. Just think about how much work I save you.”

Good point. He spent his weekend recovering from having his four wisdom teeth extracted. Between trying to keep his cheeks from overtaking his entire face, he popped pain pills, watched movies and was a model patient. He was also supposed to be studying for his mid-terms—which he did. A little.

Monday morning Ben headed to school with platters of Tutmanik (bread made with Feta cheese) and Medeni Kurabii (honey cookies) and a poster board. His brother still looked as though he were packing some marbles in his mouth, so he stayed home one more day to recuperate. When I mentioned that he needed to be studying for his French exam, he put Mean Girls into the DVD player and set the language to French. Not really what I meant, but I’ll give him points for creativity: Je m'appelle Caty. Enchanté!

Of course he learned some handy-dandy swear words too. I’m sure his teacher would be impressed. Hopefully he doesn’t remember those, but who am I kidding. He may not profess to be an overachiever, but he has a pretty good memory. I just hope the pain meds cause some amnesia.

Dutch ice skaters

2009-01-10T17:31:00.006-06:00

When I was a kid I remember watching my family skate on the frozen lake at my grandparents' home in North Webster, Indiana. My grandmother's family was Dutch and several wore the traditional skates with the wood bases and leather straps with long, dangerous-looking metal blades. We children wore double-bladed skates that kept us from falling as easily.

This morning I found this news story from Holland. Apparently all the canals are frozen over and people are now skating on them. Looks like fun! And it brings back memories of skating with my family at the lake. If you browse through the pictures, you'll find one with a man near his boat, wearing wooden shoes. We have two pairs here at our house. One bright red and new-looking. Another pair that's more natural with hand-painted embellishments. If you've never tried walking in wooden shoes, you're missing out. They're quite painful unless you have on really heavy socks.

Stolen--with you in mind

2009-01-07T15:38:00.002-06:00

I’m not in the habit of stealing things and I certainly don’t have an arrest record. In fact, the only thing I’ve lifted is a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom at Pizza King. It was a cold night in high school, and we were on a mission to decorate someone’s lawn. None of us would spring for a four-pack of Northern from the Village Pantry. I made off with a roll of off-brand stuff that tore too easily when we tried to fling it into some trees. Lesson learned.

I am guilty of taking pens and pads of paper from hotel rooms. I’ve checked and it’s acceptable. I leave the towels, the pillows, the tempting mass-produced artwork that requires a screwdriver to the frame. The writing stuff I’m just naturally drawn to.

Over the holiday break we spent a night at Great Wolf Lodge—a hotel near us that sports an indoor waterpark. (My version of hell on earth, but that’s for another blog entry. Who knew people had that many deformities hidden beneath their clothes?)

We managed to make it home without having to spring for any souvenirs. The kid's package included a magic wand-thingy, a Build-A-Bear wolf, a pair of Crocs, and tokens for the game room at a bargain price of nearly $90. No, thank you.

So yesterday while running errands, I fished into my purse and found a Great Wolf Lodge pen. My daughter was seated behind me in the van, and I decided to be generous and gift her with it—even though it was the only one I took. “Here, Mia,” I said. “Look what I got you from Great Wolf Lodge.”

She took it from me and said, “You stole a pen from the hotel room?”

Busted. “No, I didn’t steal it. They let you take a pen and even paper if it’s there. In fact, they expect you to take it.”

She wasn’t buying it. “No, you stole it. This was in our room.”

Oh, for cryin’ out loud. How does she expect to have any fun in high school if she’s going to play by a higher standard than the rest of us? I popped my hand back over the seat. “Give me back my pen.”

I can relate

2009-01-07T09:59:00.002-06:00

Charles Schulz has always been my favorite cartoonist, and long ago I clipped this one out of the newspaper, tucking it away for safekeeping. I found it the other day while cleaning my office. I wonder, if Mr. Schulz were alive today, if he might revise this one and have Snoopy taking it out on his computer when a "not right for us" came in his email inbox. I'm guessing even Mr. Schulz experienced a rejection letter or two in his day. Somehow that makes me feel better.

Making calendars

2009-01-05T10:20:00.003-06:00

Every year for the past dozen or so, I’ve made personalized calendars for grandparents and us. About seven years ago, my friend Jennifer gave me some calendar-making software that made including everyone's birthday a breeze. I just entered the names once and then each year they were automatically there. This year Jennifer converted to Shutterfly’s calendar program and, being a good, obedient friend, I did the same, even though this meant re-inputting everyone’s birthdays. (And for my mother's calendar, I had to input the dates when people close to us have died.)

Since this was a pretty big task, naturally I put it off for as long as possible. Shutterfly’s set-up was easy to follow, and this weekend I began inputting dates for our calendars. Keep in mind that I make four and no two have the exact same birthdates posted, therefore this involves some coordination on my part to make sure someone doesn’t get a calendar and think, Who the heck is Joe Blow and why is he having a birthday on my calendar?

My mother likely keeps up with everyone she’s ever met and when they were born. I’ve convinced her to whittle down her card-giving list and now she only keeps up with 205 birthdates/anniversaries/deathdates. It’s really 205. I just counted. I called her last night after I ordered her calendar to let her know it was on its way.

Me: I just ordered your calendar and it will come directly to you from Shutterfly.
She: Oh, good. Thanks.
Me: One problem. Shutterfly will only allow you to list three events on each date. On two occasions you had four. On February 14 you had three birthdays, so I had to leave off Valentine’s Day.
She: That’s fine.
Me: And then also in February, you had four people with birthdays on the same day, so I dropped one of them.
She: That’s okay. Who did you drop?
Me: Someone named Madge Waters.*
She: Oh, that’s fine. She died this year.
Me: (laughing and trying not to) I guess I picked the right one!

Lesson: Be careful what you offer to do for people. Sometimes there is no end in sight.

*not her real name

A New Year*

2009-01-01T13:07:00.005-06:00

I’m a middle-aged woman who lives in a house
With three kids and a dog, some fish and my spouse
And a hamster named Small Pie, a cute little fellow
Who came here last Christmas, and is really quite mellow
This holiday season is officially through
And now here today is a year that’s brand new
As I stare at the tree that today will come down
And clear out some closets and move stuff around

I wonder how time seems to pass in a flash
And how it all happens in a furious dash
To kick off the season, my daughter and me**
Saw Madeline’s Christmas at the DCT
Then Grandma arrived on a plane from the Midwest
With a Pizza King pizza in her bag (it’s the best)
We took her to fabulous Gaylord on ICE
Which everyone agreed was freezing but nice

Up at the high school we saw Benjamin play
Soccer against varsity girls one cold day
Then back at the school we enjoyed Madrigal
Where Jacob and friends performed for us all
And Grammy and PawPaw came up for a night
To see Scrooge, the musical, what a wonderful sight
As Grandma packed up to head home with a jingle
What did appear on her skin but the Shingles!
She flew back to Muncie one brisk afternoon
With some meds in the hope that she’d get better soon

We baked and made candy, some yummy, some icky
Including some taffy that came out too sticky
We also had carolers who showed up one night
The freshman girls’ soccer team—to Ben’s pure delight
Some movies this season we managed to see
Chihuahua and Bolt then Marley & Me
And others we rented or watched on TV
Mamma Mia, The Holiday, and Love Actually

Our cards were mailed out, not a moment too soon
And the presents got wrapped in one afternoon
I met Joan for lunch at a local café
(It was great to enjoy a few hours away)
Then Mia and Daniel helped me complete
The 500-piece puzzle we started last week
I also kept working and managed to write
For Living five articles and edited at night

As the New Year arrives I plan to complete
Another new novel, then read and critique
With others who share in this crazy, sick game
Of writing for pleasure (and potential great fame)
As characters beckon and beg to be heard
I’ll sit at the keyboard and type out each word
Then one day I’ll look up and see that it’s done
And hope that this manuscript’s really the one
That opens the door to a brand new career
Wouldn’t that be a cool goal for this year?

* My apologies to Philip for writing a poem that rhymes--awkwardly at times--but it's all I know how to do.
** Pardon the poor grammar. There again, it rhymed better so I took artistic liberties.

How not to take a Christmas photo

2008-12-22T11:19:00.004-06:00

Thanks to everyone who was on the ball this year and already got their cards to us. We've enjoyed seeing how much your kids have grown, and I've tried to keep up with new addresses. Hopefully our card will eventually find you.

I finally took a picture of the kids on Saturday. Usually I'm a little more together, but this year I just said, Fine. Wear whatever you want (to some degree). Let's just get this over with.

This is not the pose I used in the card but thought it reflected my kids' true personalities. Maybe next year I'll be a little more laid back and use one like this.

I guess it's time to finish up the cards and get them mailed. Mia just handed me a Family Nice List and my name had an X beside it because she said, "You're not playing with me at all today." Jacob's had a check beside it because, "He's been messing with me which is kind of like playing with me and that's okay." Here's to hoping she doesn't pass it along to Santa.

Sounds like love...

2008-12-17T09:30:00.003-06:00

Excerpt from a conversation I had last night with my son, a high school junior, regarding his recent crush on a senior.

He: She actually talked to me today.

Me: Really? Cool. What did she say?

He: She said, "Move your big head. I can't see."

Me: Well, that's a start.

(The photo was taken of us after his school's production of Scrooge on Saturday. He doesn't usually wear his hair like that.)

A Christmas Short Story

2008-12-15T22:22:00.002-06:00

Tonight I had plans to attend the monthly gathering of the Writers' Guild of Texas. I'm a member but often wrenches get thrown into my plans and I have to miss. Tonight it was inclement weather. I had prepared a short story to share, and since I didn't get to read it, here it is for everyone to ~~enjoy~~ endure.

Christmas Carol

Every year I meet my friend Carol for spiced cider the week before Christmas. I’m never on time; she’s always early. I tell her that way, she gets to choose the table--preferably one with a cute waiter.

I enter the cafe and scan the seating area. There she is, waving me over. I stomp the snow off my shoes before crossing the sunny room, nod my head and mumble Merry Christmas to some folks I recognize.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was horrible.” I take my seat across from her and she reaches for my hand.

“The weather outside is frightful,” she says.

I smile with relief. She’s not mad I’ve kept her waiting. “I’m almost done with my shopping,” I tell Carol. “I just need something for my little niece.”

She pulls a sales flier from her purse and points to a picture. “Give her a dolly that laughs and cries, one that will open and shut her eyes.”

I fold the ad and place it in my purse. “I knew you’d have an idea.” I sip the drink she thoughtfully ordered for me. “Thanks for the cider. I can’t believe we have snow.”

She smiles and says, “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”

“I know!” I agree. “Joe’s parents are due in tomorrow. I’m not sure what we’ll do for fun.”

Carol, of course, has the perfect suggestion. “It’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you.”

I say, “That’s perfect. Joe’s parents love sleigh rides.”

Then our waiter appears with suggestions for dessert. “Ladies, can I get you some applesauce cake? Or perhaps our pumpkin torte?”

Carol says, “Oh, bring us some figgy pudding.”

I nod my head but he frowns at us. “I’m afraid we don’t have figgy pudding.”

Carol is not easily dissuaded. “We won’t go until we get some, so bring some out here.”

He takes a step back. “Um, well, I’ll see what I can do.”

After he walks away, I say to her, “Do you and Chris have plans tonight?”

“Later on we’ll conspire, as we dream by the fire,” she says.

“Well, that sounds cozy,” I say. “I know you’ve been worried ever since he lost his job. Things any better?”

She smiles slightly. “From now on our troubles will be miles away.”

Suddenly I’m intrigued. “What do you mean? Are you moving? Planning an escape?”

She shakes her head. “There’ll be no more sorrow, no grief or pain. Because it’s Christmas, Christmas once again.”

Now I’m confused. “I’m so sorry. It must be really hard this time of year especially,” I say sympathetically.

“Faithful friends who are dear to us, gather near to us once more,” she says.

I can’t help but wield the feeling that there’s something she’s not telling me. “You’re moving, aren’t you? We won’t be able to meet again like this--like we’ve always done all these years.”

She pulls a pack of tissues from her purse, hands me one and takes one herself. “You’d better watch out,” she sniffs. “You’d better not cry.”

But I do. The tears just come. “I’ll miss you. Christmas won’t be the same without your friendship.”

She wipes the tears from her cheeks and stands to hug me. “Don’t you cry, I’ll be back again someday.”

I hug her tightly, sad to see her go, and when she gets to the door she tosses her plaid scarf over her shoulder and turns to wave. “Have yourself a merry little Christmas now,” she calls and then she’s gone.

I sit back down and the waiter reappears at my elbow. “Did your friend leave? I found some bread pudding. Is she coming back?”

I look at him, incredulous to his insensitivity. “If only in my dreams.”

Moonrat weighs in

2008-12-12T12:23:00.002-06:00

Several months ago I ran across a contest sponsored by Moonrat on her blog. (Moonrat is an editorial assistant at a publishing house—you can read her profile if you’re curious.) She has a friend who is receiving treatment for cancer and has no health insurance. Not only is Moonrat an insider who generously offers advice to those of us trying to get published, she’s wonderful to her friends as well. She created a raffle, offering her feedback to those interested. I purchased one chance at her reviewing a partial manuscript. And out of 252 entries, I was lucky and got selected.

I waited a while before submitting and then asked her to review the first 50 pages of Center Court Seats and a Pair of Jimmy Choos, a romantic comedy that I wrote along with my friend Joan. Joan and I met for lunch one day at Mimi’s Café in Lewisville and hammered out the story idea. A year later, we were done. Joan took on the writing of the character Mimi (named in honor of the place where she was conceptualized), a romance author. And I decided to write her sister Jac, an investigative reporter for a fictionalized Dallas newspaper. (Later we’d muse about how the story might have unfolded had we written the other’s character.)

Here’s an excerpt from our query letter to help you understand the storyline:

Dallas reporter JACLYN LIVINGSTON considers romance writing the fallback for wannabe journalists. Her sister, romance author MIMI, becomes exasperated by Jac's attitude and presents an improbable challenge: Jac must write a novel and get a publishing contract within six months. Since Jac doesn't read romance, and her non-existent love life can't possibly inspire her, Mimi assumes the bet is hers to win. As Jac dives headfirst into the contest, Mimi discovers her boyfriend cheating on her—with her agent. Unaware that her sister is using her misfortune as a storyline, Mimi struggles to put her life back together while Jac finds love in a most unexpected place.

Through mishap and betrayal, sexy trysts and serendipitous twists, the sisters discover that in life, as in fiction, you can't always stick to the outline. And pursuing the subplots can lead to a better ending than the one you planned to write.

So we sent off the entry to Moonrat along with our query letter since she offered to critique that as well (Did I mention she’s generous?), and this is an excerpt from her response:

"This is a very clean--almost impeccable!--manuscript, and an engrossing read. You guys are in really good shape. I only tended to mark things up when I wanted to suggest a change, so if you're basing a judgment on what you see marked up in the document you're bound to think I didn't like it, which is NOT TRUE even vaguely.

Congratulations on all your hard work! Please remember that anything--ANYTHING!!--I've marked up is just a suggestion. Obviously my feelings will not even be vaguely hurt (I won't even know!) if you just override what I've put in. But I hope that some of it at least is helpful to you!

This, ladies, was a very enjoyable read. I sincerely hope that someone snaps it up in a heartbeat!"

Joan and I then spent some time reviewing and accepting her suggestions and now I have to make those changes to our manuscript so we can begin querying more agents. I’ll be sure to let everyone know what response we get.

Giving a book for Christmas

2008-12-08T10:35:00.005-06:00

I planned to write up some favorite books for gift suggestions and will here, but have been amazed at the lists that two people in the publishing industry have amassed. Here is Jim McCarthy's, an agent at Dystel & Goderich, and Moonrat's, an editorial assistant at a publishing house. (More on Moonrat tomorrow.)

My list of favorite books is here on the left of my blog. Unfortunately I didn't read the volumes of fiction this year that I normally do, for various reasons--mostly writing got in the way. But some suggestions follow:

For that seldom-reader sister-in-law who likes to laugh: We're Just Like You Only Prettier by Celia Rivenbark or anything else by Celia. Also Laurie Nataro's Idiot Girls books are funny (but for some reason, I always feel like I need to take a bath after reading her), and Amy Sedaris (David's sister) is a hoot.

For that brother/uncle/friend who likes a quick, light adventure: You can't miss with Harlan Coben. His Myron Bolitar series is the best. You can go to his website to find them in the order they were written although you can read them out of order and not suffer any irreparable damage.

For little kids: The Ant and the Elephant by Bill Peet, Frances books by Russell Hoban, Peach and Blue by Sarah Kilborne, Stellaluna by Janell Cannon, Green Wilma by Tedd Arnold, Ain't Gonna Paint No More by Karen Beaumont, and if you can find it--Tommy at the Grocery Store by Bill Grossman (it's out of print but worth the hunt).

For artistic kids: Doodles: A Really Giant Coloring and Doodling Book by Taro Gomi. Jennifer bought this for my kids one year and they all enjoyed it.

For grade school kids: Junie B. Jones by Barbara Park is my fav, especially the books on CD. (My daughter listens to them almost every night before falling asleep.) The Magic Treehouse books are good as are Mrs. Piggle Wiggle.

For preteen girls: I'm passing along recommendations from Julie since I asked her professional opinion--as a mom of two daughters. Here's what she wrote: Catherine Ryan Hyde (she wrote Pay It Forward, which I didn’t read but saw the movie) and she has several YA books, and it seems I’ve heard girls raving about Sarah Dessen. Emilie (her daughter recommends) the Ally Carter books, too.

Kristen said something about a series with books called “Among the Hidden,” “Among the Betrayed,” and so on. I’ve never heard of them, she hasn’t read them because she said they’re always checked out at the library. On Amazon that they are the Shadow Children series.

I just remembered a book I’ve wanted to find by an author/editor I met at La Jolla. They sound quite funny but also with good messages—Deborah Halverson's Honk if You Hate Me and Big Mouth. I just got the giggles again reading the summary for Honk if You Hate Me.

I'm also curious about the Uglies trilogy by Scott Westerfeld. The premise sounds fascinating and I'm going to read these myself in the new year.

So, what are you buying or what would you recommend for someone on your list this year? I'm sure we could all use some suggestions.

Update on writing

2008-12-04T11:03:00.002-06:00

Unfortunately I was much more successful at participating in No-Shave November than I was at NaNoWriMo. My legs stayed warm but my manuscript failed to make the 50,000 word mark. Not even close. At least I have December. And January. And maybe February to finish it. Who picked the holidays as the best time of the year to write a book anyway?

Sleeping through the Blackness of Friday

2008-12-01T09:49:00.004-06:00

I’d like to express my apologies to the retail industry for not leaving my mark on Black Friday. Thursday evening I returned home from Thanksgiving dinner at Joan’s and promptly fell into a tryptophan-induced coma by 10 o’clock. I had no intention of setting my alarm to go shop at an hour when only vampires are awake. The only expenditure I made on Friday was at the drive-thru at Chick-fil-a when Jacob decided that sounded good for lunch. At 2 p.m.

I have shopped the day after Thanksgiving before and sure, I lived to tell about it, but I couldn’t think of anything I needed to buy that would make me go fight the crowds at the mall or local discount department store. No one even asked for a Wii at our house. In fact, I hadn’t made a shopping list, so I didn’t even know what to look for. Therefore the ads remained untouched in the newspaper on the table and are now in the recycling bin.

Maybe it’s all those years working retail that has scarred me. In high school and college, I dreaded the holidays, particularly Christmas Eve, when all the men would realize they couldn’t put off shopping any longer and finally braved the department stores in search of the perfect gift for their girlfriend or wife. I worked in lingerie for several years and, trust me, playing 20 questions about what a woman you’ve never met might wear/like/not return because she’s too humiliated to is not fun. Me: Is she about my size? He: No, bigger. Me: Yeah, I got it.

Tomorrow I will try to make amends with the economy and buy some gifts. In an effort to save the publishing industry with aspirations that I’ll have a book or two on the shelves one day ~~soon~~ before I die, I am joining a grassroots campaign to buy books as gifts this year. I’m meeting The Writing Women (Julie, Joan and blog-less Elizabeth) at the new Legacy Books in Plano and then we’ll lunch. We want to check out the new, independent bookstore that recently (and quite optimistically) opened its doors in a market replete with going-out-of-business signs.

So, if you are looking for a gift that sure to fit someone of any size, shape, or reading level, buy books this holiday season and log your purchases here. A book might not exercise your body like a Wii, but it sure does wonders for your brain.

History through the eyes of a five-year-old

2008-11-27T11:43:00.008-06:00

How did the pilgrims come to America? On the Mayflower, of course! (For some reason, they looked like Indians...)

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

A Trailer to Love

2008-11-25T11:32:00.002-06:00

One of my favorite parts of going to the movies is watching the trailers for the movies I’m not seeing. Even renting a video is fun because you can see what other shows are out there that you somehow missed. Unless you’re watching a kids’ movie. My daughter watched a movie while she was sick (okay, she watched it more than once) and learned the intro to Beverly Hills Chihuahua. (She cracks herself up saying it.) Now she’s convinced she needs to see the movie. I thought we missed it at the theater and she could wait until the video came out and I would conveniently not be in the room when it was on. But no. It’s still showing here—she saw a poster of it the other day.

I can’t think of a fate worse than having to sit through it. I remember taking my boys to see Pokemon: The Movie with my friend Wila and her kids. Wila sat on the aisle and I warned her before the lights dimmed, “If you slip out and go see another movie without me, our friendship is officially over!” She just laughed. And didn’t leave. Did I mention she’s a stronger woman than I? The only thing that kept me from bolting was having to stumble over five kids and an extra large bucket of popcorn.

Some kids’ movies are not so bad. Enchanted I loved but probably because of James Marsden. (Did you think I was going to say Patrick Dempsey? No.) And some animated shows are awesome. But now I enjoy taking my oldest to see movies he likes. He and I have a lot in common and appreciate British comedies and satire. Over the Thanksgiving holiday—since his dad and brother are going to be AWOL at an out-of-town soccer tournament—I asked him to put together a list of movies he wants to see and I’m planning a run to Blockbuster later today. (We both secretly want to work there.)

I might have to add to his list Milo and Otis or The Incredible Journey. Something with a dog in it for his sister to watch. But after she goes to bed, the DVD player is ours.

Sweater-talk

2008-11-21T17:02:00.004-06:00

I escaped to my local Star$s today for a cup of tea and some time to write in a different location. I went up to the counter to place my order and the guy working there said, "Hey. Cool sweater."

"Thanks," I said.

The other guy looked at him and frowned. "Hey, I'm into sweaters," came my guy's response.

And even though I promised myself I wouldn't, I confessed to him, "Wanna know where I got it? Goodwill!"

He, being a fellow frugal fashion finder, said, "Guess where I got mine? Thrift World! It's my favorite sweater, too."

I nodded. I could appreciate a guy who believed that it's not where you shop, but how you wear it. And then I picked up my cup of tea (that cost nearly as much as my lovely new-to-me sweater), found a sunny spot and a comfortable chair, and spent the next two hours with some other colorful characters...those in my new story.

Bad Week?

2008-11-21T16:52:00.002-06:00

In case you've had a rough week and need to end it on a cheerful note...try this: Will you take a spider?

Can I get a witness?

2008-11-18T08:31:00.001-06:00

Words of advice from nasty virus sufferer and five-year-old daughter Mia.

"Diarrhea should not be called diarrhea because it has the word die in it and that's not good for kids to say."

NaNoooooooo!

2008-11-17T11:10:00.006-06:00

Joan emailed me the other day and asked if I wanted to NaNo with her. Those of you who don’t write fiction may not know what she meant. I’m not versed on the origin of NaNoWriMo, but someone decided to challenge others to take the month of November and write a novel. Apparently quality isn’t the goal here, just quantity to the tune of 50,000 words in 30-odd days. I’m assuming you spend at least December revising and fine tuning it to be something readable. For some literary agents, the nightmare begins in early December when they receive all the NaNo first drafts in their inboxes as writers seek representation.

NaNoWriMo has grown to a support community where you get emails encouraging you to keep up with the word count. I have been saving mine to read later. (Those truly curious can click on the button on my blog here to the left, under my mug.)

So, since I’d already started a new manuscript, I signed up. Now it’s become a source of guilt because I’m so far behind on the word count, I probably couldn’t even finish a novella in time. Last time I wrote, I had 5,124 words. That was five days ago before my daughter came down with a virus. Then gave it to her brother. They are both still home from school today.

No, instead of writing my next novel (or on my blog), I’ve been playing board games and card games, reading story books and holding up flash cards. At times I’m the vet for an assortment of stuffed animals who somehow end up getting mauled by a large dog or stepping on nails. Don’t ask where she gets this stuff. The scanner on my daughter’s cash register doubles as a hand-held x-ray, and the stuffed puppies end up spending the night on the sofa recovering. The bill is getting expensive.

Now I’m trying to find food for two children who can’t seem to keep anything in them. Icee-pops anyone? I have been cautiously eating only a little and only things I don’t really like in case I’m the next victim. (I still can’t eat Burger King or Panda Express from my last vomit episodes.)

Sometimes I’ll sneak away to the computer, and I’ve been following the tragedy behind Nebraska’s safe haven law loophole that has sparked parents there to abandon their children in droves. The law was supposed to provide a no-fault escape for parents of newborns to leave their babies at hospitals or police and fire stations. Nebraska legislators couldn’t agree on a maximum age and therefore left it to read “child” as opposed to “newborns” as all the other states did. Now parents are dropping off hard-to-handle teenagers. Sadly two children escaped from their mother en route and are now missing. What horror this has been for these kids!

Parenting is not easy and even though I’m ready for a break from the demands of sick kids, I can’t imagine being so distraught that I would think my child better off with strangers than with me.

Okay, just like in my novels, sometimes my writing takes off in a direction I didn’t plan. As this blog post just did. The image of these abandoned children has weighed on my heart this week and here it is on the page now. Hopefully somewhere down the road, these kids will recover from their plights and make better lives for themselves. I hope Nebraska finds a way to make amends for their oversight. Maybe offer free parenting classes or a safe house for teens?

AnimaLogic

2008-11-09T21:34:00.001-06:00

Nighttime conversation with my daughter...

She: Why do people say, You have ears like a hawk?
Me: Not ears, eyes. You can’t see a hawk’s ears.
She: Oh. What has really good ears?
Me: I guess a rabbit. They’re pretty big.
She: And what can smell really well?
Me: A dog, I suppose. Some dogs better than others.
She: So, you have eyes like a hawk, ears like a rabbit and you smell like a dog?
Me: (Laughing) I don’t think telling someone they smell like a dog would be considered a compliment.
She: (Laughing now too) Oh, yeah. I guess that would be bad.