Heptadecagon

We took a quick little trip yesterday--we were gone for just over 25 hours--and Melina stayed up way too late last night. She's a carefree, go-with-the-flow kind of child, who when tired, falls asleep no matter what. And she does so quietly. See for yourself.

Warning: I usually try to keep family-friendly information within this blog, but today's post goes slightly beyond what might be considered appropriate for the little ones. Consider yourself warned. I love to laugh. The feeling of warmth and relaxation that spreads through my body after a good chuckle is similar to the same one I experience after a spectacular run. And as most of you know, I could use a laugh these days. (If you've been keeping up with me, you know I've been crabby, shall we say, as of late. If you've been keeping up with me, you also know I'm refusing to focus on that fact, and I'm adjusting my attitude. Laughing helps with the self-adjustment.) What's so funny? The website for Astroglide . Now, I'm not sure the company has changed the site recently, but considering the theme looks to be all Fifty Shades, then yes, I'm going to say Astroglide is trying to capitalize on the Fifty Shades Phenomenon. Case in point: their new market

Just yesterday, I thought about taking a break from writing. And by break, I mean a break for myself where I don't actively improve any piece I've already started. My break then, would not include the writing down of any new ideas...that would be a completely ludicrous thing to do. But once the new idea jumped from my head to the page, I'd back away from doing anything with it. Part of my reasoning with respect to this break is that I'm feeling many things right now: overwhelmed by my four jobs (teaching, parenting, editing, and writing); crabby that the weather is so bad; frustrated that I'm still not back to running; tired from the long winter. Yes, in short, I'm a complete mess at times, although I think I've been holding myself together pretty well. And a few days I ago, I wallowed in those feelings of being overwhelmed. I knew I wouldn't wallow long, that I shouldn't wallow long, but I wasn't sure what would snap me out of the funk. We

On Monday, February 23, I proctored my second exam for the semester. The weather conditions around here have been dismal: we've had one official delay that affected my class and a few days of weather bad enough that some students never made it to class (although the school never posted the official delay). But with our lovely friend, the internet, the students knew an exam would happen this past Monday. Yet when I showed up to class, a good eight or so students were missing. Not a single one had emailed me to let me know why they weren't coming, and one student--get this--came into the class (late, mind you) and said, "I'm not ready. I'm really not. Can I have an extra day?" Tim thought I was crazy to cave to her demands, but this student has a very full plate, and truthfully, not much hope of passing this class. Maybe it was a moment of weakness that pushed me to say yes to her, or maybe I just felt like affording her some kindness. In any case, I expec

Anyone out there use Yahoo Groups? We use them for Literary Mama , and I like them, because I can link up my Gmail account to them. So when someone emails, I can reply directly using my Gmail account. I don't like them, because when I send a message or reply to a group message, I'm never quite sure that the message goes through. I should see the reply pop up in my inbox, and the only place I see it is in the sent mail box. So I wait to see if people reply, and many times, they don't. If you use Yahoo Groups AND you can tell me how to clear the mess up, please let me know. I'd love to fix this issue, stat.

Each week, I post an Author/Book of the Week post on Facebook via The Plot Sisters. Since I've been reading Ella Enchanted to Melina as of late, I decided to showcase Gail Carson Levine . She is quite the prolific writer, that's for sure. But as I perused her biography, one little statement stood out the most. It said, "And I collected rejection letters for nine years until an editor wanted the manuscript for Ella Enchanted ." Boom. There you have it. I guess I have years to go before I sleep.

A friend shared a quote today that adequately sums up my feelings on any one of my stories. If--at the end of this writing journey--I could call myself half the writer that Alice Munro is, I would consider myself lucky. “I want my stories to be something about life that causes people to say, not, oh, isn’t that the truth, but to feel some kind of reward from the writing, and th at doesn’t mean that it has to be a happy ending or anything, but just that everything the story tells moves the reader in such a way that you feel you are a different person when you finish.” – Alice Munro

These questions from a student popped into my inbox this afternoon: What is the plasma membrane? What does it do? What makes it up? Does the membrane like or hate water? I knew where she'd gotten the questions. They are from a study guide I posted for chapter 3. What subject does chapter 3 address? Cells.  So color me amazed when I read the student's response: I want to say the plasma membrane is a lipid bilayer and proteins in constantly changing fluid mosaic. But I can not figure out what it does, what it makes up, and if it hates water or likes water. Amazed might not be the proper word for my feelings. Something like gobsmacked might better describe what I felt sitting in front of my computer. Sure, the student had a portion of the answer correct. Yes, the plasma membrane is a lipid bilayer. Yes, it has proteins embedded in it. Yes, we consider the membrane to be a fluid mosaic. The student clearly had no trouble copying the words I'd given them on an outline. But

I could quit writing tomorrow and most people would be none the wiser.

Today in the land of frost and snow, we have a day off. The snow isn't the problem, but the cold temperatures are. We're sitting right now at 6.3 F, with a wind chill of -10. It could be worse, people. Much worse. (As in the -40 F recorded at the Baraga/Marquette County line this morning. Yikes.) So I can't complain, but I can say that I need some amusement--a little diversion from the fact that we'll be indoors for much of the day, AGAIN. In an effort to find something to make me laugh, I keyed in a quick statement on Facebook this morning: Since many of you are home with your kiddos today, I'd like to play a round of "It's so cold..." Just fill in the end of that sentence, however you see fit. No censorship from me. I simply crave some amusement, and yes, I'm using you. Thank you. Now, ready, set, go! The responses trickled in, many of which placed a huge smile on my face. I've removed names to protect the innocent. I don't care ab

"Goldfish," she said. "I'd never give my children goldfish." At first I thought she was talking about a pet, but within a moment, I realized she meant the little cheese crackers made by Pepperidge Farm. You know, the "Snack that smiles back!" or something like that. I didn't say anything to her as a rebuttal. Instead, I thought about the bag of goldfish crackers sitting in my cabinet. And then, I went to work. Looking up just how bad a goldfish cracker is and what's so bad about it. I knew that the snack would probably have too much sodium and very little protein. It's a salty snack, for goodness sakes. But when I saw the ingredients (photo by Kimberly Sullivan at https://kimsulli.wordpress.com/tag/goldfish-crackers/), I admit that I stepped back a little. The smiles I could live with, but I had to wonder about the rest of the ingredients. Why did the crackers need all those ingredients, and what did they mean? (Now, don't get

The moment I saw the title of the quiz--Which TV Mom Are You?--I knew I was done for. Of course, I had to spend the few moments answering stupid questions, questions so irrelevant that at the end of the quiz, I asked myself why I even bothered to spend the time taking the quiz. (We've gone over this before, many times, right?) Now those of you who know me probably remember that I don't watch much TV. Based on the picture that accompanied the quiz, I could identify only one mom by name: Clare Huxtable. And to be honest, I wouldn't have minded ending up with an answer that my parenting is in line with hers. She remained calm, even in the midst of chaos, and she was smart, too. I'll take those characteristics anyday. But alas, after answering such questions as: What time do you wake up? What is your favorite breakfast? (They didn't have a picture of what I prefer to eat in an ideal world.) How many hours do you work on a regular day? (Duh. All moms work all day

Trolling the internet this morning, I found a real gem. The kid on the right is the one I always wanted to be. I'd like to think I'm that kid now. This week's goal? To find our inner artist. Ready, set, go!

I'm a little worried. Last February, and the February before, I found myself in the midst of a tornado of sorts: a story showed up in my head, and made it to the paper in short amount of time. I worked in a frenzy--a good one--and my efforts paid off in the form of two novels. This February, the well is dry, and I wonder if my creativity has come to an end. If I really think about the circumstances surrounding my creative bursts, I know that I had fewer obligations: I wasn't teaching as much and the kids didn't go as many places. In short, I simply had more time to write than I have these days. I'm not complaining about the lack of writing time. I'm making an observation. And, I wonder if my circumstances change, if I find more writing time, will the words flow? Or is this it?

There's an ecard out there that says,"It's Valentine's Day. Hooray! That means chocolate is on sale tomorrow." My thoughts exactly.

1. I am so glad people choose to come visit us, or our house would never actually get cleaned. And 2. Why, oh why, can't boys keep a toilet seat clean?

I see an increase in activity on this blog when FRN (faithful reader from the north, aka Tara, aka my younger sister) shares one of my posts. The concept makes sense: if I share a post, I am asking people to read it, so my readership (for that post anyway) goes up. So the question then is this: should I always share my posts? And by share, I mean, broadcast the post's presence via our lovely friends Facebook and Twitter. (Any other form of social media, well, I don't use them.) I hesitate to do so...who wants to read about urethral meatoplasty or bad oven repair besides my actual family and friends? I'm guessing all the blog writers out there, those who are actually trying to maintain a blog for professional purposes, are shaking their heads at my measly attempts here. And we all know the reason for my blog...I've said it many times. I'm writing all the details of this life down for posterity's sake, really. I want to let my kids know why I'm insane, inste

I currently have two posts tumbling around in my brain for this Tell Me How You Really Feel segment. Both of the topics have been addressed before, somewhat, but both of them also have come up again recently. Based on my available time today, I'm choosing the easier one. I received an email yesterday from a teacher who passed on a link regarding gifted children. (Yeah, those of you who read this blog faithfully probably know where this is headed. You know I'm not a fan of the term, gifted , because in essence, I've been taught, and have come to realize, that all of us are gifted in some way. Some of our gifts are simply less well-pronounced than others and may not manifest in traditional ways. For example, and I'm not one to pat myself on the back, I really do have the gift of common sense. But I can tell you with certainty that no school would have placed me into a gifted program for it. However, the characteristic serves me, and the many others who call me The Voice

Having read--and truly enjoyed-- One Day , by David Nicholls , I found myself excited to begin his latest novel, Us . The first chapter drew me in, and I found myself leaning into the page, interested, a feeling of happiness surrounding me. I even said to Tim, "You might want to read this book. The protagonist is a male scientist." You know, like Tim should read every book that features a male scientist because that, of course, also describes my husband. As my reading progressed, though, I realized that whatever I felt when reading One Day would not be replicated in this new book. Sure, I liked the characters: Connie and Douglas are memorable in their own right, with quirks and mannerisms that seem to jump from the page. I could get lost in the characters. But the plot wasn't doing anything for me. While Nicholls possesses the ability to weave together the past and present almost seamlessly, the plot strewn within that past and present didn't hold my attention. I

She doesn't call me anymore. Nor does she answer when I call her. I'm not sure why. Perhaps she thinks if she stays away from me, she won't have to answer my nagging questions. Questions that only brush the surface as to what the hell is going on at her house. That's what I'd like to ask her, but I have too much respect for her, for what she should mean to me at this point. So, I let her behavior slide and sweep my questions under the carpet. For now. Some day, I plan on pulling out those long-buried questions, shake the dust and crumbs off of them, and present them to her, all tied up in a box with a butterfly on it. I'll expect answers, but I know that even then, the answers won't come. Because they can't come. And I'll be left in the dark, wondering about all the reasons that lurk beneath her behavior. The only action I can make now, is to march on with my own life, and let everything else go. It's her life, not mine. She's taught me t

Once again, I open the book, ready to be wowed. And once again, the so-called bestseller disappoints me. Do I expect too much? Am I reading the words all wrong? Why can't I find books that sing to me anymore? Can anyone help? That's all, folks. I have grading to do.

Aaron walked out of the bathroom holding the tweezers between his fingers. "Mom, these tweezers need to be washed." He wouldn't meet my gaze, but he pushed the tweezers farther into my line of vision. What had he been doing with the tweezers? "Uh, okay. Did you use them to take a piece of mucus out of your nose?" I asked him. I know it sounds odd, but sometimes, the mucus can be so dried and stuck that I have used tweezers to extract a piece of it from my kids' noses. Thankfully, they all know that the tweezers should be washed before they put it near their noses and again afterward. Aaron's cheeks flamed red. "No." "What did you use it for then?" My curiosity was piqued. I turned toward my little guy, keeping my ears wide open. "Well...I had a splinter. In my...penis." My mental self laughed so hard, but having a splinter in a penis doesn't sound fun. At all. "How in the heck do you suppose that happene

My mom is a quote lover. I guess I could say the same thing about myself, but I collect quotes differently than she does. Mom posts quotes on her office walls, sticks them into notebooks, and keeps them in her kitchen. I, on the other hand, put them here, on the blog. I have no plans to become a quote blog (just like I have no plans to become a recipe blog), but I will keep posting them as I see fit. Why? Quotes inspire me. They direct me. They help me get where I want to be in life. Today's quote? It's a good one: If you don't like where you are, then change it. You are not a tree. ~Jim Rohn

Today is Thursday. The school week started on Monday. (I know I'm telling you facts that might seem obvious, but you'll see why I do so in a minute.) Since Monday, Aaron has: Forgotten his math homework at school. (She told me to put it in my math folder. So I did. Did I look at it to see what it was? Uh, no.) Forgotten his planner and homework folder at school. (Can we go get them, Mom? I have homework to do.) Forgotten his folder here at home, in the morning. (Should we take it to him? Yes, yes. He has assignments to turn in and a project to work on.) If I had forgotten three major items in my day job, my students would be all over me. If had done the same here at home, my kids wouldn't let me live it down, plus, they'd be disappointed in me. If I did the same over at Literary Mama, I'm sure the senior editors would have something to say. The kid needs to learn to keep his crap together, not get sidetracked by a shoelace (really, this happened), and most imp

I woke up this morning feeling slightly dejected. Bumps and potholes dot the writing road, and I wonder--daily--why I'm doing what I'm doing. I'm not complaining...I'm taking on this quest willingly and I have a supportive team. But I often think about all the other ways I could be spending my time... And then, as I am wont to do, I check on a few of my friends...see what they have been up to while I've been sleeping. Low and behold (my old bio professor used to say that, in every class), a friend posts a little reminder.  When I write, I feel the most full. In many ways.

Every once in a while, I like to look and see what we were doing a few years ago. The blog is a great way to do that, so I'm glad we started it. (By we, I mean Tim and I. But really, Tim started it. I perpetuated it. I'll still say we, though.) So just for kicks, I looked back at February 2009. We didn't write much then. I didn't have time, as Melina was not even a year old yet. And that meant that we had two kids in second grade, a kid in preschool, and a baby. Nope, not much time to do anything really. But I found this post by Tim, where he talks about our bookworms . A warm feeling engulfs my chest when I realize that all four of our kids have blossomed into bookworms. Gone are the days where we need to read to them. We still do read to them, especially Melina, but it's not necessary. In fact, now, I have to threaten to take away the books because instead of doing math, the kids are curled on the couch, book in hand. It doesn't matter if they've read

Cold dark winter days remind me of many things. One of the most important is this:

Everyone has the potential for a messy life. It's how we react to that messy life that speaks to what sort of person we are. I'm not here to speak of my messiness or point fingers at your messiness. What I want to ask is, when did our messy lives become everyone's business? Is my messy life in competition against your messy life? I don't think so. But I'll help you through your messy life if you want me to. All you need to do is ask. And if I need your help, I'll ask for your assistance.