Heptadecagon

I had the good luck of coming home early from work yesterday, so that I could witness the difficult life of two 8-week-old kittens. I thought I'd have some fun and get into the story via their point of view. Under the glider rocker is one of the best places to sit, don't you think? Will my brother be able to find me? And what are you doing, taking a photograph of me?  Rats. Benedict found me, so we we thought under the table might be a good place to play. Too many legs, though. What is this big furry thing that lays on the floor all the time? He's huge! Maybe he will be a good hiding place. The big furry thing does not hide me as well as I thought. I'm a little done with hiding. I think it's time for a nap. I'm sure the shot is blurry. I should tell her that I'm sorry. I just have so much energy, it's hard to sit still... Unless I'm sleeping...It's my turn to be there! As you can see, I'm tired, too. But hey!

Last Friday, Melina was home sick and we took a quick trip to the pet store to get cat food. As we walked in, Melina noticed that the Humane Society had placed two new kitties in the crate, hoping that some sucker would come along and adopt them. I leaned in and took a peek. The two tiger kitties, named Benedict and Arnold, were sleeping peacefully on their bed, until they sensed Melina. And then, they ran around the crate in all their fluffy cuteness. "Can we get them, Mom?" Melina asked. "They sure are cute," I replied. "But we'd have four cats. That's a lot of cats." We left the store without applying for the kitties. Melina can be stubborn, though, and once she has something in her head, she likes to think that maybe things will go her way. "Guys!" she yelled to the kids as they walked in the door after school. "You should see these kitties! Benedict and Arnold. At the pet store. They are so cute!" Of course, Mel

Did you know that one of the most difficult parts of my day does not revolve around my children? It also doesn't concern my students. No, the most strenuous task for me is writing a thoughtful and compassionate critique for someone. Don't get me wrong...I love opening up a document and getting lost in someone else's writing as easily as I can get lost in my own. But when someone shares a story with me, they've effectively put their trust in me. They've opened their heart and I don't want to be the one to make it bleed. I'm looking at several documents right now, alternating between them, so that my eyes are fresh each time I start to read. And when I read and make a comment, I tiptoe carefully amongst the many words I might choose. Because I want to stick to the positive side of things, and not the negative. But sometimes, I just want to throw the paper to the ground and stomp on it, then yell at the sky, Why can't you use apostrophes correctly? o

I should write a book entitled, Conversations with Melina. Considering she amuses me (and others) so much, I'm sure it would be a success. (Yeah...we KNOW how my other writing projects have panned out. I'm not so confident with that new idea.) Anyway, Melina does amuse me. Partly because her expressive nature makes any conversation more interesting, and partly because I'm not really sure where some of her thoughts come from. Today's conversation is a great example. Melina: When the boys are drinking beer, without the ladies, guess what they're talking about? Me: I don't know. Melina: Well. They're talking about who should get what girl. Me: Really? Melina: Those boys. They're always fighting over a girl.  Which boys? And which girls? Notice the boys are drinking without the ladies. When they are drinking with the ladies, are they paired off with an appropriate girl? And why would this come out of the mouth of a six-year-old girl?

Date: 4/23/2015 6:25:08 PM From: Student X To:         Christina Subject: for exam ________________________________________  Do we get to use an index card for the test monday. (I've left all emails as written to me, whether or not they are grammatically correct.) Date: 4/23/2015 6:40:23 PM From: Christina To:         Student X Subject: RE: for exam ________________________________________ I've decided that yes, you can. A 4X6 and nothing bigger. Front and back. I'll send out a message right now. Christina (I sent the message, thinking that I covered everything.) Date: 4/23/2015 6:43:01 PM From: Christina To:         All course students (15_SP_BIO_1141_101) (15.SP.BIO.1141.101 PRIN ANAT & PHYSIO I) Subject: Class reminders: Please read ________________________________________ Remember, no class tomorrow due to a funeral I must attend. Last exam, number 6, is on Monday. You must be there unless you've already made arrangements. A

I once said that Friday posts seem to find me . I had no plans to write today, but then, I opened up my fortune cookie--something I don't usually have around the house, but Tim brought me some take-out home yesterday. I even toyed with not eating the cookie. Maybe one of the kids would like it? Maybe I should wait and share? But I decided that trying to split a fortune cookie into five pieces (I'd like some after all) would be too much. So I opened the cookie. And found a fortune that was worthless. What did you expect? But I turned the paper over, and just like in those bad sitcoms that I feel I'm trapped in sometimes, the paper read: Learn Chinese--to cough . Ha! Such an appropriate term, don't you think? I've recuperated from my "probable" pneumonia, Tim's lingering cough is finally almost gone, Zoe and Talia and Aaron are on the mend (I think) from whatever plagued their respiratory systems, and Melina? Well she's home today, again,

Two weeks ago, I dropped the girls off at a local church for a singing lesson with their teacher, who had just served as cantor for a funeral. As we approached the building, people spilled from the doorways. With the exception of a few pairs of tan slacks and navy skirts, everyone was dressed in black: black cotton, black lace, black cashmere. You name it, the clothing was very dark. And there I stood, in the middle of the crowd, in my beloved rainbow fleece. A few people glanced my way, possibly because I was moving against the crowd, maybe because of the rainbow fleece. I can't be sure, but at that moment, when my eyes darted from person to person and landed on nothing but drab clothing and long faces, I decided that I would never again wear black to a funeral. I consider myself very lucky. I can probably count the number of funerals I've been to in my life on my hands. I've attended a few while I was in high school and still under my mother's thumb (black skirt,

Work today was rough. I had my last lecture on the endocrine system and then I proctored an exam and gave makeup quizzes. I went from one room to the next, hurrying to get papers put away and tests into testing centers. By the time I got in my car to come home, my skin tingled with the feeling of having too much to do, and I knew once I made it to the house, I'd have dinner to start and grades to put into the computer before the kids came home. I felt the need to speed on the road, just to get some of my energy out...to find relaxation where none had been. But I don't speed, so instead, I sat back with good smoke and rolled down the windows. Okay, I don't smoke, either. Instead, I took a swig of water and turned on the 1980s rewind. In one moment, I found relaxation in the form of laughter. Now, don't get me wrong...just like this blog will not become a recipe blog, this blog will also not become overrun with YouTube videos. But this classic one-hit-wonder pulled m

On the days I forget to get downstairs and blog, should I go ahead and retroactively post something? I mean, to me, the point of a blog is to give real-time what's happening in my life. I want people to know how I'm doing or what I'm thinking on that day . Does it make a difference if I go back and publish something? And would anyone notice?

Dear Ms. Bell, You might be wondering why an almost 42-year-old woman is writing to you. Since I'm also from Michigan (lived in Troy, Bloomfield Township, Jackson, and Ann Arbor before moving to Dayton, Ohio in 2003), perhaps you'll indulge me and keep reading. (In fact, had I not moved from Bloomfield, I might have ended up at the very same high school you attended! Small world.) I'll try to keep this letter short (I always do), but my guess is that it has the potential to run long.  First off, I'm a big fan of yours. Certainly before Frozen , before Fanboys , before Forgetting Sarah Marshall , maybe all the way back to Veronica Mars . I enjoy your humor the most, and the authenticity that seems to shine through the screen. So maybe this is a fan letter, but then again, it's not. Because the reason I'm writing is to tell you that I wrote a book. (I know. Like you needed to hear that a crazy lady from southwestern Ohio wrote a book. Who the heck care

Lest you think that life around here only revolves around viruses, math, and writing, I'm posting a video put together by Aaron's soccer league . The narrator needs a shot of enthusiasm, but his voice takes me back somehow to the days of filmstrips and terry-cloth headbands. Aaron wears number 6, in case you're interested. He shows up at 2:36 (sort of upper right corner of the screen), at 2:54 when he wipes the sweat from his eyes, and again at 3:03 when he scores his epic goal (his words, not mine).

"Mom, you have any new stories?" One of the kids asked me that question sometime last week. I had to shake my head, sadly, and admit that I didn't have anything new for her to read. My dad asked two weeks ago how my writing was coming along. And to him, too, I had to say that I've been stalled. It's not that I've got writer's block. In fact, just last week a story idea burst forth in my mind--something to do with neighborhood swingers, if you can believe that one--and I also worked on finishing up Daniel's point of view in my long-awaited (by whom?) Hunting for Lilacs . But finding the time to sit and write...as in finding even one uninterrupted hour of writing time, has been so difficult lately. I'm not trying to sound whiny. I realize that if I were a published author and writing were my job, I'd be complaining that an agent could be found breathing down my neck. But my job would be to write. I'd be doing exactly what I love to do. An

I had a post tumbling in my head for today, but then, I took a wee bit of time out of my busy day and found something shared by a friend. Of course, it resonated with me, and since it's Friday afternoon already, and you and I both have many more things to do, I'll skip the original post and share the photo. I hope the image below puts the same slow smile on your face as it did mine.

You know those feelings they call gut instincts? I know you do. And everyone says you should follow them; they will mostly steer you in the right direction. I follow them all the time with respect to my kids. But when it comes to me, I tend to push them aside at times. Like early in the week, or maybe over the weekend, when I had Tim listen to me breathe. "I think I might need to see the doctor," I said. And then I did nothing about making an appointment. Color me not-surprised when the medical professional told me this morning that she heard consolidation in my lungs and that I more likely than not had pneumonia. I told one of my students yesterday I thought I might have it. And when I told Tim that I might need to see a doctor, I kicked around the idea of pneumonia in my head. Those guts instincts. Listen to them!

I always talk about how the little things matter, right? Be grateful for the little things. Like the rays of sunshine that peek from behind the clouds to make a dreary day a little better. The quick hugs I receive from my children before they walk out the door for school. A phone call from a friend. Sometimes, the little things that make our day can be unexpected things, too. Like finding the time to clean all three of your toilets. Or realizing that the bill you owe isn't due for another week. Or making it to the side of the road because you are coughing so hard you need to vomit. Yes, not only did I successfully pull the car over and work through my coughing fit (Melina was in the car. The last thing I needed was to endanger her.), but I managed, even with all that coughing and near vomiting, to not urinate my pants. Because that could have happened, you know. Celebrating the little things today!

Melina is home sick for the second day in a row. I probably could have sent her to school, but she hasn't been fever-free for the required 24 hours, and since I don't teach today, I thought it was best to have her stay home one more day. I told her I had a few things I needed to do and that she could read and play if she felt fine enough. That playing lasted about ten minutes. She just snuck up on me. "I want to do something over there," she said, and pointed to the family room. That room has the couch and computer and television in it. I figured that she no longer wanted to deal with books or playing. "Okay. We can go in there. What do you want to do?" I braced myself for her answer. It was too early for electronics. We needed to get through more of the day before I caved into those demands for television or computer. "Maaaaaath. I want to do math." Well okay then. We're going to go do some math. Happy Tuesday! **Update: Melina wan

You know what Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day is today? It's perfect...just perfect. Today's Word of the Day is... Ready for it? Febrile \FEB-ryle\ Definition adjective: marked or caused by fever, feverish In case you'd like some examples of how to use that word, MW provides a few: Examples The patient exhibited a rash and febrile symptoms that were consistent with a certain rare tropical infection. " Febrile seizures typically occur between the ages of 6 months and 6 years old. They happen when a fever spikes very quickly...." — Vikki Ortiz Healy, Chicago Tribune , August 4, 2014 And then, you can of course, make up your own: Melina sat on the couch, head propped with a fluffy pillow, her febrile symptoms, along with a sore throat, making her mother worry that she might have strep throat.

Another gorgeous day. In fact, the entire weekend has been full of sun and warmth. I can feel the hope that comes with sunny skies. Melina: Mom, my eyes are watering. I don't know why my eyes are watering. Me: Oh no. Melina: And my throat is sore. It hurts to swallow sometimes. Me: Not another cold, is it? Melina: Maybe...can I watch TV? Me: Yeah. [Turning to Melina.] Will we ever be rid of these germs? --- Talia: Mom, my head really hurts. Can I have some Ibuprofen? Me: Sure. It's in the bathroom. Talia: No, we need more. Me: What the heck? I just bought some. Tim: We need some adult Ibuprofen, too. Talia: And you said, "Heck." Me: No, I just bought that! And I know I said that word. Tim: We'll it's all gone. Me: Are you kidding me? That's the fastest we've gone through Ibuprofen, ever! I shake my head, walk away, and add Ibuprofen to the grocery list. Will we ever be rid of these germs? --- Dad: How is Melina'

I have never been the completely uptight mom. I think my more laid-back manner comes from being slightly overwhelmed with twins. You don't have time to think about the decision you're making when you're squeezed between two hungry or filthy babies. Every decision is simply made with one goal in mind: survival. So I never worried too much about anything except for a few things. 1. Germs: I didn't take any of the kids to church when they were too young. 2. Safety: Yes, we skinned grapes and cut them in half, at least for the twins. After that we realized just how stupid we really were. 3. Routine: Putting the kids to bed by seven o'clock every night, even when traveling? You bet. The routine saved me in more ways than one. But I like to think of myself as a good parent, one who wants the best for her kids. I breastfed the babies, I bought them fresh fruits and vegetables. I tried to steer clear from artificial preservatives, nitrates, and high-fructose corn syrup.

Looking for a good song to keep you going on a day-to-day basis? I've got one for you. I'm dedicating this piece by Rachel Platten to anyone who has had to fight for something. Check it out.

I don't get really irritated that often, but I'd say I'm a bit ruffled today. Here's why. I signed up for a webinar a month or so ago that promised to help a writer understand the ins and outs of a query letter. Now, I've already started writing and sending out query letters, but I thought that the letter for at least one of my books ( Beyond the Trees , in particular) could benefit from a major overhaul. And included in the price of the webinar was the promise of a query critique by the agent giving the seminar. Score! What a deal! I'd done some research...the agent seemed knowledgeable and well-respected. I couldn't wait to see how she deconstructed my letter. I kid you not. I was ready to take the heat, as they say. Blast the letter, and I will rebuild! (I'll warn you now that this is a very predictable post.) Her reply arrived yesterday. The short email that accompanied her attachment said this: Dear Christina, Thank you for taking my webinar!

We always talk about how the little things can really make a difference. Well I'm here to tell you that these past few weeks, a very little thing has made all the difference in my life. We're not talking vacuums (although I do like our new one), nor am I speaking about friends who do little favors (I love you guys!). I'm talking about a ten inch piece of plastic: From the insert in the box. This fabulous fella sits at the bottom of our washtub in the basement and has been very effective (much more so than the previous contraption--pantyhose!) in trapping our lint. Our drains are probably clapping and thanking us right now. And our plumber? He'll be bummed that we don't hit him up for a drain clean more often, but I'm certain he's gotten enough cash from us to fund at least one large yacht.

I woke up this morning and dabbled around on the internet, only to find out that a freakout (if you can call it that) happened over on Twitter last night. Apparently the minor uproar had to do with the Lifetime broadcast of If There Be Thorns . Not sure what that title refers to? I'll tell you. If There Be Thorns is the third installment of the Dollanganger series, by now deceased V. C. Andrews. That's the series that begins with the classic horror, Flowers in the Attic . I wouldn't say the book can be classified as what we now know to be horror, but according to some, the whole premise is creepy (if you don't know why, keep reading, or look it up ). It's the sort of book my mother always rolled her eyes at: "You're going to read that ?" Then she'd purse her lips and sigh but not take the book away from me. "So yes, Mom, yes I am going to read that ." Because at 14 years old, you read what everyone says you can't read, right? Here

Many moons ago, when my knees stood closer to the ground, Easter Sunday meant sitting through long homilies, shivering in the cold "spring" air, and eating Easter dinner with just ourselves. I remember thinking that when I was older, I'd like to have family live close so that we could have cars lined up in the driveway and half-way down the street like the neighbors did. I remember thinking about all the ways I'd make Easter special for my kids: lots of candy, Easter egg hunts, family laughter, and hugs. And then, life happened. Two kids turned into three and then four. We didn't live near family, and with school schedules--theirs and mine--traveling in the spring wasn't always feasible. I, especially, got tired of driving like a maniac on Good Friday only to drive like a maniac back home on Easter Sunday. And in recent years, with four kids and two parents who spend time with students, I find that viruses breed by the dozen (or more) right around Easter tim

I love lists. Top 10 lists. Top 20 lists. Lists that tell you the best restaurant to go to (I never agree with them) and lists that inform you of what the best movies of the year are (I can't agree with them because I rarely go to the movies). So when I saw this article on The 11 Greatest Children's Books , I of course had to stop everything and read it. The BBC complied the list: "In search of a collective critical assessment, BBC Culture’s Jane Ciabattari polled dozens of critics around the world, including NPR’s Maureen Corrigan; Nicolette Jones, children’s books editor of the Sunday Times; Nicole Lamy of the Boston Globe; Time magazine's books editor Lev Grossman; Daniel Hahn, author of the new Oxford Companion to Children's Literature; and Beirut-based critic Rayyan Al-Shawaf. We asked each to name the best children’s books (for ages 10 and under) ever published in English." The poll collected 151 books, and the titles that came up again and ag

"Mom I need to tell you something." Melina looks up at me, her eyes wide and bright. I think, maybe, what she has to say is important. So I stop in my tracks. "Okay, Melina. Go ahead." I kneel down in front of her, an action which allows me to look directly into her eyes. "I used to not be able to wear lip gloss," she says, and flicks her gaze toward the mirror in the dining area. "I could wear lipstick, but not lip gloss." She ends the sentence with a huge nod of her head and looks at me out of the sides of her eyes. "I could wear lipstick but not lip gloss. Because when I was young, I used to lick my lips and the lip gloss would come off." She tosses her hands in the air. "Lipstick wouldn't come off, but lip gloss would. But now that I'm older, I can wear lip gloss." The grin of the Cheshire Cat spreads across her face. I have so many thoughts tumbling around in my head. That she is too young to be wearing eith

A gorgeous day. The kids are all inside. Mom is inside with them. All faces pressed at the windows, looking out--longingly. Kid 1: Mom, my eyes are watering. Kid 1 pushes her fingers across her eyelids, hoping to catch the offending drops before they land on the floor. She rolls her eyes. Mom: I know. You have a cold. Kid 1: Yeah, but I don't want this cold. Mom: Yeah, well neither do I, but here we are now, aren't we? Mom tries to hold in the sarcasm and the expletives that perch on her lips. She holds another tissue to her nose and coughs, twice. Kid 1: I knoooooooow, Mom, but how can I get rid of it? Mom: Sleep. You need more sleep. We all need more sleep. So go to bed early. Kid 1: But it's spring break. I want to stay up late! Mom: And you'd be able to, if you didn't have a cold. But you've got to get rid of this cold before school next week. Maybe by the end of the week you'll be better. Maybe then you can stay up a little later...