Heptadecagon

All her life, Sarah wanted people to take her seriously. To say, Hey, that's a great idea! or Wow! You're smart. That's exactly right. Even an I hear what you're saying would have been welcomed. But people never did, or if they did, she didn't hear it. Because she was too inwardly drawn, too concentrated on what people thought of her or what people might think of her. Sarah focused on the negative what could bes instead of the positive what ifs . And sadly, she never learned that governing oneself by what ifs wasn't really the best choice anyway. At this point, well into her life and probably onto the latter half of it, she'd never learned the lesson. But it wasn't too late, was it? I grabbed onto that thought as I sat next to her in the heat of the car, my thighs stuck to the pleather seats, thoughts turning circles in my mind. I wasn't sure how to help this lady. She had no courage to face up to her fears, and because she lacked that quality

You had to know I'd show up here again, didn't you? That I couldn't possibly keep my mouth (or fingers) shut? But today, I've already cleaned most of the house and done two loads of laundry, plus taken care of some editing, so I'm treating myself to a blog post. Plus, I want to remember this time. What time is it, you ask? Time to talk about and acknowledge that the twins are, indeed, almost teenagers. Yep, they turn 13 in January, and while we've been pretty lucky to avoid the moodiness and angst that comes with being a tween, I know we'll be hit full force once their cycles start. (Don't worry, I WILL NOT post about that occurrence. If they want to tell you, I'll let them do so.) How do I know this? Because the environment is already changing. Exhibit 1 : Zoe could not find the "right" clothes to wear to a drawing class on Saturday. She stood in front of her closet, like a statue, for at least 30 minutes before selecting what had be

No one likes to fail. That's a fact of human nature. (And yes, I said I wouldn't be on here that much, but sometimes, like today, I just need put some thoughts into the atmosphere.) Much of the day, for much of the week, I think I'm pretty successful. No, I haven't published a book yet, so I guess I haven't succeeded in that realm, but I can identify that I'm making progress, and that my novel writing skills are getting better. So I'll count that among my little successes (they don't always have to be big, right?). But this post isn't about writing. It's about the fact that yesterday, we sent Toby to a new home. And I feel like I failed the poor guy. First off, let me say this: he should love this place. His new family consists of six, responsible college guys who will have so much more time to give to him than I do. Two of them visited Toby, twice, and played with him for a few hours at a time. They tugged with him, didn't mind his nippi

Millions and millions of years would still not give me half enough time to describe that tiny instant of all eternity when you put your arms around me and I put my arms around you. ~ Jacques Prévert

Hi ho, just checking in. I'm still alive. And well (for the most part). Still crazy busy, but Melina and I have accomplished more in the way of math coverage in the last few days than we had for a while. Plus, I've gotten a ton of hugs and kisses from the crew. So I guess my spending more time being present is paying off. But I thought I'd let you know that I received two new rejections yesterday for my novel entitled, After We've Fallen . Sure, rejections are hard to stomach, but these two...well...they gave me a little bit of hope. They showed me that perhaps, there really will be a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Exhibit 1: Dear Christina, Thank you for sending me After We've Fallen. While I enjoyed reading your submission, which stood out from the many we receive, I'm afraid I didn't feel strongly enough about the material to take it further. I'm sorry not to be writing with better news. I hope another agent feels differently. Than

Because it's Wednesday, I felt the need to jump on here and give you my feelings. It can't be that hard to come up with a quick post, no? I mean, I usually have so much to say, and here it is at 5:49 in the morning. So far, no one is up; that means I should be able to write. (We'll see...I probably just jinxed myself.) But I'm not sure what I'd like to say. I mean, I do have some things that probably could stand to get off my chest, but at this point, my ability to articulate them is shaky. I guess I'll try, but I apologize in advance for my lack of eloquence. So what do I feel today? Well, lately, I've been thinking a lot about friends. I think it has to do with the fact that my very good buddy, Julie, who goes way back to 1991 (!?!), will be moving much closer in a few months (a 4-hour drive away instead of a 9-hour drive). I find that idea of having Julie only a small car ride away thrilling, and if I plan things right, I should be able to see her mor

Over the past week or so, I've put forth a concerted effort to be more present for my children. Some of you might laugh at that statement, convinced that I had already done a pretty good job of that in the past. (And I do appreciate your confidence in me, really.) But to be honest, my dedication to the kids has been spotty as of late, and I don't want to miss this time in their lives. The girls will be 13 in January; Aaron turns 10 on November 1st. Melina is already one quarter into her first grade year. If I don't pull back now, I'll be 60 and wondering why my kids don't call me. And since I've taken on more projects: teaching, editing, and writing books, I've got to give something up in order to find that time for the kids. Yes, you know where this is going. I don't watch TV, so that can't be it. I'm not even back to running. I enjoy the book writing too much, too. So since I can't give up laundry and cooking and cleaning (I've alread

"So. Monday. We meet again. We will never be friends—but maybe we can move past our mutual enmity toward a more-positive partnership." ~Julio Alexi Genao

The nasty virus I had--the one that lingered for far too long--has made it's way to Melina. She has a runny nose and a cough, and while most people would say that her eyes are watering, she has a different way of telling me about that symptom. Her words? I have water coming out of my eyes. Yes, you do. I can't argue with that description.

Here's a Twitter post I keyed in yesterday that generated some interest: I thought Darth Vader had entered our house, but then I realized it was the dog. I should loan him out to George Lucas. #StarWars #dogslife Not a lot of interest, mind you, like on the scale of something John Green or Jimmy Fallon would post, but it got a few favorites and a retweet . Which got me thinking about Twitter itself and followers and all the other intricacies of that particular piece of social media (most of which I don't understand), and my head started to spin, and I packed it in for the night. And this morning, I still don't feel like trying to tackle anything with respect to understanding it all, or complaining about it, but I did feel like sharing what my house sounded like last night. At least to me. So there.

She hadn't felt this down in a long time--years really--and for that, she was glad. For a while there, it was too often that she'd barely managed to make it out of the house with a dry set of eyes. But today, the crack in her chest ached with each breath, even though her physical self remained intact. As she reached for her cup of peppermint tea, she inhaled--once, twice--and willed the normally soothing aroma to work it's magic. With a rueful shake of her head, she realized that this time, it didn't. Simply put, she was tired. Of so many things in her life. The drama that had become her family. (How many times could her brother-in-law possibly call complaining about that dick he worked for?) The lack of acknowledgment from her friends. (She scheduled several coffee dates, only to have them fall apart at the last minute.) The chest-puffing and name calling at work. (Weren't we past all of that, say, back in elementary school?) No, she didn't need any of those

Dear Student: This letter has been a long time coming. Here we are, nine weeks into the semester, and while I probably should have written sooner, I didn't. Because I thought maybe life in the classroom would get better. But it hasn't. (Hey, what are you doing? You're supposed to be paying attention. Look here. Over here--AT THE WORDS--not over there. Okay, thank you. Continue reading.)  You still saunter into my classroom, exactly two minutes late everyday. You toss your grungy bangs out of your eyes as you drop into the chair, and then open up your tattered notebook and find that offensive clicky pen. (Click, click, clickity-click-click.) When I look at you, I see you writing something onto your paper, but what that something is, I can't be sure. I hope you are following the lecture on impulse propagation--perhaps you're making sure that you know what the difference is between a graded potential and an action potential --but judging by the scores of your last

Uninspired.

Aaron's homework last time involved identifying fractions around our house. He had fun with the assignment and sent these pictures to his teacher: This is 4/10 (or 2/5) of a pot of coffee. 1/5 of the people are not wearing helmets. 3/5 of the bikes have people on them. One whole pair (2/2) of identical twins.   1/2 of a pair of identical twins. The twins' pictures are my favorite. I think we should have dressed them in matching outfits.

Yesterday afternoon, when I reached up to put a roll of garbage bags into the cabinet, I noticed the digital camera sitting next to the China plates. You might wonder why garbage bags are housed in the same cupboard as China, but you have to remember that, even though we renovated our kitchen, we didn't change the size of said kitchen. And we have small closets. Anyway, I looked at the camera and said to myself, "Huh, Tim must have put that there. Maybe so the dog won't eat it?" (By that time, Toby had returned to us . And with as much as he chews, it is conceivable that he would attack the digital camera.) Well last night, I finally found out why the digital camera wasn't in its proper place. Earlier in the day, I had gotten frustrated with the twins because once again, they hadn't cleaned up their room. In fact, instead of putting their clothes away, they had merely shoved them into one of their large closets. So instead of going with me to the party sup

Toby ran out the front door this afternoon when Melina pulled it open. "He ran across the street, Mom! I can't see him anymore," Melina shouted. Too bad he has that license on, I thought to myself. They can trace him back to us. (I never said you had to like me.)

I'd already been in the office for a few minutes when she rushed through the wooden doors with a flourish. "I'm sorry," she said as she placed her purse on the chair and her youngster on her feet. "I got a ride from my mom. I don't have a car." "No worries," I replied. "We're good here. Not much to do, yet." I looked at the sweet face of her daughter, who munched on a doughnut hole. "She's so precious...just a cutie." "Thank you." She set about to take off her coat and then began straightening items on the desk. Her name tag read Lillian. We'd both signed up to help clean out the office of the nearby school library as it got ready for renovation, and we had a three-hour shift ahead of us. Most of what we had to do was placing books into boxes and packing up files. Nothing that couldn't be done with a child in tow. Hence, the presence of her daughter, Gemma. She looked around the small space

You know how, once you have a child, you can't really take him or her back? You might threaten to do so, but truthfully, unless Child Protective Services gets involved, you're stuck with your progeny. (For most of us, that's a good thing, of course, and we don't look at it as being stuck.) Well, with a dog, that isn't the case. I can find a new home for Toby if I am so inclined. I can decide not to feel guilty about it. Can you tell I'm trying to convince myself of the above statement? What the trainer taught me has worked to some degree to curb Toby's impulse control problems. But , I'm not home enough (nor to I have the energy or inclination) to spend the loads of time this dog requires. He's a needy dog. I don't have needy children (at least in my opinion) so why do I want to saddle myself with a needy dog? I don't. But I can't find a home for him. We've had no hits on our Craigslist and Facebook postings, and one perso

We don't have any details about what happened yesterday, so I can only tell you this: that a sixth grade student from one of the middle schools nearby hanged herself. At school. While it was in session. I have so many things I'd like to say about this occurrence, but with no evidence to tell the true story, I can't. So what can I say? This could have happened anywhere, even the girls' school. That the hanging of a student is tragic and awful and I feel for her family, friends, and school community. That I wonder about the story behind it all--what made this child (child!!) decide to end her life in such a gruesome form in a public way? And that no matter what, her parents will never get over this. Because when I think about what happened, as a parent, I know that if I were in their shoes, I'd always blame myself. I've seen many people say, "Go hug your children," and "Take the time to tell them you love them today," as if the simple ges

I clicked on the mouse, which activated the next PowerPoint slide to open into view. It stated at the top: OHM'S LAW. "This is not a physics course," I said to the 33 young minds in front of me, "but we do need to understand a few physics concepts in order to understand what happens at the plasma membrane." I felt my cheeks flush with heat and a smile turn the corners of my mouth upward. This was it: the chapter on neurons and how they work, one of my favorite chapters of the entire semester. A few groans filled the classroom. "Don't worry," I continued. "It's not that bad." And it isn't. But try telling those 33 young minds not to worry at 11 a.m. when they'd rather be doing anything besides sitting in a classroom, hearing a lecture on voltage, current, and resistance. But try, I did. I drew the plasma membrane of a cell, with positive charges on one side and negative charges on the other. I explained that we had a sepa

"Hey, Mom, can I read some of your blog?" Talia asked. I tossed the recent titles around in my mind and scrambled to come up with an appropriate one. "Sure, you can read Computer Time ," I said. "What about Breakfast with the Billionaire ?" "Uh, I'm not sure. Just a sec." I stepped around the corner of the living room and asked Tim if he thought it was okay for the girls to read that recent post ( because whatever Talia does, Zoe is sure to follow and vice versa ) . He thought for a moment and then nodded his head in the affirmative. So off they went, zipping through a few blog posts with smiles on their faces. As they came to the end of the Billionaire post, Talia says to me, "Did you write that? The story, I mean?" "Yes," I said. Talia's eyes widened and she shook her head. "You write weird stuff sometimes," she replied. Yes, yes, I do. I'm betting she wasn't quite sure what to say

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there. ~Rumi

Saturday morning, 7:38 a.m. Melina: Mommy, I just put my foot up to my nostril, and it felt like pasta. Me: . . . Melina: I don't even know why it felt like pasta. Me: . . .  And I don't know why she was putting her foot to her nose. She walked away then, to see what Toby was chewing. I sat there, shaking my head, still speechless and unsure what to say, besides the obvious. So I'm writing it down for a good laugh later on.

He sits at his computer desk, clothed only in green plaid underwear and the scruffy beard of two days growth. His right hand hovers over the mouse while the other one plays with the hair at the back of his head, hair that is in desperate need of a scrub. It has been four days since the game arrived (Diablo III!), and because his wife and kids are visiting her parents, he finds no need to do anything but tackle the game. It's intense, he thinks. INTENSE. This sort of thing has happened before, in his mid-twenties, when his best friend (who is now a hot-shot Wall Street tycoon) lent him the first Diablo. He remembers pushing the button on the old PC and watching the game come alive for hours on end. He ate his breakfast, lunch, and dinner in front of that game and had the computer been a laptop, he'd have even taken a shit, too, with that new friend, Diablo. Those days are missed--when the world was his and his hours of free time outweighed his hours of responsibility. He shake

WARNING: THIS POST IS NOT INTENDED FOR LITTLE EARS. I love to tackle challenges. Okay, wait a minute, let me back up. I love to tackle some challenges. When I was running (I hate to use the past tense there, but no, I'm still not back at it. Slow to heal I am, I guess), I'd often charge up hills or I'd try to run just a little farther with each successive long run. With writing, I wasn't sure I'd be able to complete a story in the present tense, so I decided to write one, and I did it. Now, it just needs a home. (Anyone want to read about a fairy tale/science fiction mash-up? Sort of a Doctor Who meets Cinderella? Let me know. Or let your nearest literary agent know. What a poor attempt at self-promotion, no?) So I've been thinking about what I can do next to challenge myself as I revise my other works-in-progress. Well last night, I figured it out. You see, our tablet has the Kindle app on it, so I can download books if I'd like to do. I

Holy crap, it's October 1. I can't believe that, can you? With these weekly sessions of telling you how I feel every Wednesday, the time is flying by. I'd swear it was just yesterday I started writing the first post. By next week, I'll be old and gray and won't remember who I am. Today's post is easy: I need to tell you how I feel about a particular recipe. A recipe so easy, you'd think that no one could mess it up. But I did, and it still turned out pretty yummy. So I'm sharing this short list of ingredients and how to make Salted Caramel Pretzel Bark . You can find this recipe in many different forms out there in cyberspace, but if you want some decent pictures, head to the above link (I'm no photographer, as you know). So here we go. This is what you need: 2 sticks of butter 1 cup of brown sugar 12 ounce bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips 1/2 bag (8 ounces or so) mini-pretzels 9 X 13 pan Aluminum foil Course sea salt This is what you