Heptadecagon

Dear Zoe and Talia, For weeks now, ladies, you've been reminding me--each day--that your 13th birthday is approaching. And as I said in my last post , I've replied--each day--"I'm not ready." At the time, I meant that I hadn't done any birthday shopping and I didn't know what sorts of cakes I'd be making. I've finished those items now. In fact, I have one big surprise for you and a few little surprises in store. I also baked and frosted the cupcakes and two pies are ready to head into the oven. Those tasks are insignificant, though. Because as time went on and your big day loomed closer and closer, I realized that my words, "I'm not ready," actually meant far more than I originally thought. I'm not ready for much, when I think about you two. I'm not ready to see you move to your last year of middle school, since high school is right around the corner. Which means I'm also not ready to see you one year closer to movin

Zoe and Talia have been counting down the days until their birthday, which is tomorrow. Each time they've told me how many days are left--"Four more days, Mom!" or "Only two more days until our birthday!"--I've given them the same response: "I'm not ready." They're not sure why I'm not ready, and neither am I. Ruminating on that feeling is the subject of a birthday post, not the T minus 1 day birthday post. So let's stop now, and think about the fact that tomorrow, the girls turn thirteen.

I found myself on the physical therapist's table when I realized that I had, indeed, gotten myself in over my head. The clock read 9:10 a.m., and it was a Tuesday morning--one of my days off, if I could stand to call it that. On the days I didn't teach, I wrote, I ran errands, I cleaned...certainly not my idea of a true day off. But I wasn't required to stand in front of a room full of tired, bored, disrespectful students. That Tuesday was no different. My agenda for the day could only be called overly full, and I wondered why I had kept the appointment. Why hadn't I moved it to Thursday? Who needed to see the physical therapist, the podiatrist, and the chiropractor in one day? To make it worse, I should have scheduled an appointment with the OB. Why not have my entire body probed, prodded, and manipulated within the span of a few short hours? Why not, indeed? Book in hand, I settled against the table, waiting for the heat of the hot pad to spread across my hip and

“Serious writers write, inspired or not. Over time they discover that routine is a better friend than inspiration.” —Ralph Keyes

Every night, if I'm the one putting Melina and Aaron to bed (at separate times, mind you, since one child is six, the other, ten), I hear two things: 1. From Melina: "Can you sleep with me for one minute, go downstairs, do your stuff, then come back up and sleep with me?" 2. From Aaron: "Can you check on Pou and Nyan Cat?" Every night the kids ask those questions. The same questions. No variation on a theme. In fact, if Melina or Aaron forget to ask the question, they will call for me, have me come back into the room, and ask me the question. I never have a good answer. For Melina, I tell her, "I'll try," and the answer to Aaron's question is always "maybe." But I will tell you a little secret here that is sure to shock you: I lie. Each and every night, I LIE TO MY CHILDREN! At that point, I just need to escape the room and "do my stuff" as Melina says. I have laundry to fold, writing to do, twins to help, dishes t

I said I would not complain. But if you do not know what the term "multicellular" means, nor do you have the capacity to look up that term, then you should not be in my class. Simple as that. My Facebook rant from a few days ago seemed simple, at least to me. Until Dann commented on the post: "Is that like a Verizon family plan?" he joked. I know Dann wrote the statement as a joke because I know Dann. We went to graduate school together, and he is, by far, one of the most intelligent engineers I know. (He didn't pay me to say those words; I don't think he even knows this blog exists.) I always did appreciate his humor, and I did the other day, too. And I really should thank Dann for the comment. Because when I read it, the classic light bulb illuminated in my head and I realized exactly what I'm up against as a teacher: technology and a different perspective. My students, who have an average age of 19, don't know what life is like without

People should judge a book, not by its cover, but by the words inside. Nor should people judge a book by what their neighbor thinks of those words. Read the words for yourself. Discover what they say to you, what they mean to you. Then, and only then, can you state what the book is like.

I'm not always the sharpest tool in the shed. Or maybe, it's that I'm simply a glutton for punishment. But rejection is part and parcel of this writing business, and you'd think, after the last few years, I'd try my very best to avoid rejection. To write, rewrite, revise, and revise again so that whatever piece I'm working on is in its best and most beautiful form when I submit it. Normally, I do that. The other day, I did not. So here I sit, waiting for a rejection that is bound to come through, knowing that--unlike other submissions, which have been my best work--I can't even hope that it will be accepted. It probably shouldn't be accepted, should it? And I have to ask myself, what was I thinking? Truthfully, I have no idea what I was thinking at the time. Maybe I submitted in a moment of despair, knowing full well the piece wasn't ready, as a way to prove to myself that I have a long way to go. But I'm normally not a defeatist like that.

"Welcome to Huntington," the bank teller said. "How are you?" "Great, thank you. And you?" I asked. The young man paused and a thoughtful look passed across his face. "Livin' the dream. We'll be right with you." The man's co-worker threw him a side glance that spoke volumes: Are you crazy? it said. Livin' the dream? Who says that to a customer? I laughed and said, "That's wonderful, and thank you." And I meant what I said. As I stood rooted to my spot and after Judy, another bank teller, called me to the front, I thought to myself about the man's words. I had the impression he meant what he said...the delivery of his line held sincerity to it. This guy considered himself a happy fellow. He really was living his dream: decent job, nice co-workers, thankful to be alive. On a dreary day like yesterday, I appreciated his words. They coaxed a smile from my lips for much of the day. So ask yourself, are yo

Despite what some of you may think, I can be a smart-ass. I'm not sure where the penchant for being one comes from, but the capacity exists within me. I've just had to shut it off since having children. But every once in a while, a snarky comment rises from the deep sea bottom, and bops up here, on the blog. What is it for today? I just read this article in the Washington Post , about the ten most boring things that moms find awesome . (Umm, actually, that's the title. I guess I should have put those words in quotes. I didn't, and I'm too lazy to do so.) In the article, Samantha Rodman lists...aw shoot, I don't need to tell you what she lists. The title of the article does so. But what does Rodman include? Things like "Seeing a friend without kids at your feet" and "Getting a latte." Other items such as "Sleeping until 8" and "Exercise" are also on the list. I agreed with most of what she had to say, but I found myself

You know what's got me stymied today? A teaching statement. Go ahead and laugh right now, because inside, I'm rolling on the floor in a puddle of giggles. The woman who calls herself a teacher and a writer cannot find the proper way to give voice to her philosophy of teaching? In a word, yes. I need to fashion a statement, and the only statement I'd like to make right about now is, "If I'm not sure, I can always make it up." Those of you who know me would understand why that sentence rose to the forefront of my mind. I write fiction, for goodness sakes. I spend much of my day in another (albeit real) universe altogether. But I don't think the powers-that-be would like for me to say that I make anything up when it comes to biology. And I don't. I never have. In fact, I'll admit I don't know an answer before I would ever contemplate spouting BS to a student. I know that having a doctorate doesn't mean I know everything (although the classic

Imagine Princess Leia, lying down on a bed, clothed in her white garment. (If I were a true fan of Star Wars, I'd know what the name of that garment is.) Can't picture it? Neither can I. So let's do the next best thing. Try to find a picture online, being careful NOT to Google "Princess Leia lying down on bed" because who knows what might pop up. This is, after all, a family blog. See how the way those two little circles of hair rest up against the floor? (What do you call those, by the way? Are they buns? A quick search describes the hairstyle as "cinnamon bun" or "doughnut" which I guess are both true.) Anyway, I woke up this morning like that. The back of my head glued to a sheet, with a cat on each side of my head, forming the buns. No gun in sight, thankfully. The look on my face, though, rivaled Princess Leia's in the above picture. I wish I had a photo, but alas, no one else was awake. And just because I thought the mighty in

Melina must be a budding writer, because she comes up with some great lines. And we all know that great lines are important for good writing. I'm not sure the line she muttered the other day would be a good first line, but depending on which way you'd like the story to go, I guess it could open a rather interesting story. Or, it could be an apt ending to a different story. You decide. "Sorry, Mom, my hand is occupied." And FRN? Keep your mind out of the gutter. (Or don't.)

I found this little gem, online , of course: Next Sunday, I'll start this practice. This Sunday is almost done, and thank goodness it is. We've been hit by the GI bug that's whirling around these parts. At this point, Melina and I are the only two casualties. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Do you know who Maroon 5 is? I'm sure you all do. Who hasn't heard of the luscious Adam Levine, right? As for the other guys in the band...well...I wasn't even sure what they looked like until the girls received Overexposed --the clean version--for Christmas. The other day, we finally opened the CD, slid it into the computer, fired up our legs, and danced in the living room. And then--then, we looked at the liner notes. "That guy, Mom, looks like Jesus," Melina said, pointing to the man (boy maybe? he's younger than I am) I later found out to be James Valentine. Don't know who he is? Like I said above, I didn't either. But here's a picture of him (below) from Zimbio . (If you go to to the link, you can actually see the source of the photo at the bottom. So, to be correct, I guess I should probably credit the real source, Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images North America.) Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Jesus didn't wear bow ties

The folks over at Brain, Child have been revisiting some of their favorite contributions from 2014. One of these pieces is an essay by Sarah Kilch Gaffney , entitled For Life . It recounts the reasons why Sarah and her husband, Steve, decided to name their child Zoe. You see, Steve had been diagnosed with a brain tumor at the young age of 27, but still wanted children. And so did his wife. Two months after the diagnosis, Gaffney became pregnant with a little girl. "We named her Zoe because it means 'life' and we could think of no meaning more fitting for our child," writes Gaffney. Gaffney's poetic account of their decision reminded me of our own Zoe, a healthy little lady born almost 13 years ago. She's blossomed and grown since then into a unique soul--stubborn like her parents, but sweet as an angel. But when Zoe came into this world, it looked like she needed a little help, a little life, if you will. Let me explain. Around the time of Zoe's birth

Thursday. Thursday, no appointments. Woo hoo! Thursday, no appointments, but an early dismissal for the kids. Which means I'll still have time to write. Woo hoo, again! And then, the littlest falls ill, and my time for writing slips away. So instead, I'm thinking of writing, and how I can work my way through some of my writing goals. Who will want to read what I have to say? I think. My stories might not be that great . So I turn to the internet for inspiration and find what I'm looking for. (No, not another One Direction song--although here's another popular one for you .) I mean this: Start telling the stories that only you can tell, because there’ll always be better writers than you and there’ll always be smarter writers than you. There will always be people who are much better at doing this or doing that — but you are the only you. ~ Neil Gaiman

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know that yesterday, Aaron underwent a urethral meatoplasty. Big words to say he had his urethral opening widened. He'd had trouble for a while with the simple act of eliminating urine. It happened, no problem, but the stream was always, shall we say, pretty narrow. Well, Aaron sailed through the procedure (thankfully) and had to urinate when we arrived home. I stood outside the bathroom door and listened to how much better his hose worked. Me: Finally! That sounds so much better! Aaron: You won't be able to tell if it's me or Daddy in here! I laughed and took care of a few more items. Aaron went about his day. Then, Melina arrived home. Aaron: Melina! Stand outside the bathroom door! Melina: But I have to go potty! Aaron: Just a minute. [Inside the bathroom, I hear the rush of fluid.] Melina: Wow. Aaron: You know the hose thing out side? I'm like that now. It's no longer just the stream setting, it's the

Life can be so funny sometimes. And by funny, I mean interconnected--in a strange way. Yesterday, I talked about clarity. While I used the word in reference to writing, clarity is just as important in the spoken word. And that, my friends, bring us to today's post, where I'm going to talk about a simple act of miscommunication that, had the speakers been more clear, my day today would have started off on a slightly less-annoying foot. Let's go back to 7:30 a.m., when Aaron and I arrived at the hospital thinking that he'd undergo a simple procedure to widen his urethral opening. We arrived, thinking that he'd be sedated. We arrived, thinking that he would not have to undergo general anesthesia. We arrived with these assumptions in our head because the medical personnel at the urologist's office told us to expect as much. And by medical personnel, I mean the nurse practitioner and the urologist. "Don't worry," they had said. "We should be

 According to Merriam-Webster : clar·i·ty noun \ ˈ kler-ə-tē, ˈ kla-rə-\ : the quality of being easily understood : the quality of being expressed, remembered, understood, etc., in a very exact way : the quality of being easily seen or heard According to good writers and editors everywhere: Clarity is non-negotiable.  That means, do not forsake clarity for style, ever. Writers who do just that irritate me to no end. And yet, those same writers have taught me some valuable lessons.   

(I did not make this, although clearly I agree with it. You can buy a poster of this pre-made image here .)

Today's a good day for a little edu-ma-cation. And I mean the real kind, not the kind that FRN is thinking of as her mind wanders into the depths of the gutter. So, what's it going to be? I think something easy, like Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day, should do it. If you don't sign up for the wotd , you should. Even a little more mental stimulation at the start of some days can lead to great, great things. Anyway, the word for today is: Ne plus ultra I always laugh at that word and I'm not sure why. Perhaps because my French-trained brain wants to pronounce the word quite differently than how it should be said, nay-plus-UL-truh. No matter, do you know what it means? I think you do. Hint: acme is a synonym. If you'd like to get the entire definition, head on over to Merriam-Webster and look it up. And then, just for practice, use ne plus ultra in a sentence.   Consider yourself edu-ma-cated for the day.

Someone kindly reminded me yesterday that everyone needs goals. And we do. I do. But I've previously said that my only goal for this blog is to post at least 319 posts this year, and that I have some minor goals (trivial ones, really, mostly said in jest) in mind for 2015. The question is, what are my writing goals? Do I have any of those? Yes, I think I do. And this is what they are: 1. Write and publish one profile for Literary Mama . 2. Write a review for Literary Mama with my sister, Gina. (The piece may or may not get published this year, considering we need to find a book, query Literary Mama , and then write the review.) 3. Query a total of 100 agents each for After We've Fallen and Beyond the Trees . (I'm a glutton for punishment... you all knew this, and I've already started querying, so it's not really as many as it seems. The only caveat is this: if I keep getting rejections, I need to look at my letter, my first pages, my writing. So this go

It's taken me long enough to figure this out, but I truly believe part of what makes a healthy life are the people you choose to surround yourself with. Hopefully, you have a good smattering of people in your microcosm. Or maybe I should say a good smattering of good people. But I've found that, at least in my life, there exists a subset of people who I think will support me no matter what, based on what they tell me. Now, when push comes to shove, as they say, those people cave like a wet piece of cardboard, and instead of supporting and helping me, it's the other way around. I'm okay with that scenario, now that I'm aware that it happens. After all, I'm a big supporter of supporters and supporting, and I hope that I'm actually a big supporter of yours. I've also found (I know, no one likes an "and then" story, which is sort of where this is going, but remember--this isn't a story, thank you very much), I'm lucky enough to have the

I learned a long time ago not to laugh at what inspires me, but to simply take hold of the inspiration and not let go until I'm done with it. But today, when inspiration hit, I couldn't help but chortle. And now, I'm doing it again--laughing that is. For this, THIS , served as my inspiration for today: One 41-year-old woman + One Direction. I never would have thought it could be true.

I'm heading into another round of querying, and because I'm somewhat sadistic (I guess that's what I should say, or maybe I'm just completely messed up...who really knows?), I'm starting to get really wonky when I think of queries and agent response times. I know, I know. I've lost you at this point. What I actually mean probably needs some explanation. So, here we go. When a person queries an agent by email, several outcomes are possible. 1. You get a positive reply back. 2. You get a negative reply back. 3. You don't get any reply back (termed closed no response, or CNR). I'm actually familiar with all three of those scenarios, but a positive response only counts when it leads to representation. Minor point, right? Anyway, my least favorite of the three outcomes is the third, and you probably already know this. I'm sure I've mentioned it before...that I think the agents should at least give some sort of definitive yes or no to the auth

My mom used to put notes in our lunchbox from time to time. I don't place notes into my own kids' lunches every day, but I do write out a silly or funny or heartwarming one on days they go on field trips. I'd like to think that the notes make them take a part of me with them, even if I can't be a chaperone for that day. Thinking of notes in the lunchbox is a great way to introduce Lunchbox Love . If you haven't heard of this site, go ahead and check it out. Lots going on over there, that's for sure, namely, some great lunchbox notes. And because I like to think of myself as a mostly sunny, half-full kind of person, the type who enjoys positivity and a clean new slate (much like a new year can bring), I'm sending you that way to sign up for their Family Kindness Challenge. What's it all about? If you're lazy like I am sometimes, I'll bring the news to you, as taken from the website : By signing up for the Kindness Challenge, beginning Monday

Every year since we started this blog, I think to myself, what can we do differently? (I say we, when really, I mean me . Tim hasn't written a post in a very long time, and truthfully, I think he's okay with his lack of writing. He keeps his demons at bay in a far different manner than I do.) Can we add more pictures? Can we write in a more profound and literary style? Can I link to bigger and better things and possibly become bigger and better? And then, I realize that the reason we write this blog is mostly because of two things: 1. We want to remember this time in our lives. 2. We want the kids to remember this time in our lives. So, once again, we have no plans to overhaul the blog. Maybe we could add a few more pictures. I certainly could add a few more posts, but doggone it, I hit 318 last year. (See what I did there, by switching to I? Taking the credit for all those words?) How much more can I say?!? Which means that my only goal for this year and this blog is

On a rainy day, it's difficult to find good Saturday inspiration. Unless I Google something easy, like "Saturday morning inspiration." What a concept, right? What comes up? This little, lovely gem from Sarah Green : Amen to that, I say.

Sometimes, it's nice to have someone else pour your coffee. Or take the clothes up and down the stairs to the laundry. Or vacuum the carpet, take the garbage to the curb, cook and serve dinner. Sometimes, it's nice to be the last one up in the morning. Or the last one to go to bed. Sometimes, it's nice to see your name in print. Just a list of minor goals for 2015.

Last year, I found myself on New Year's Day, looking for inspiration. I found it, in the form of a quote that had been bouncing around Facebook. Here I am, one year later, sitting at the computer, and stumbling across another quote, one that holds meaning for me (and maybe you as well). I'm too tired to wax poetic on this quote...I only intend to share it: In life, you will realize there is a role for everyone you meet. Some will test you, some will use you, some will love you, and some will teach you. But the ones who are truly important are the ones who bring out the best in you. They are the rare and amazing people who remind you why it’s worth it. ~ Author unknown The quote has made many rounds already, but I think it's a good one to reflect upon. Here's to a wonderful 2015...I'm looking forward to more rare and amazing people to add to the collection I already have (you know who you are).