Heptadecagon

I love the Little Man, but there are times when he reminds me of another guy in the house who tends to be forgetful... Me: Aaron, where is your lunchbox? [Last week, he'd left it in his math classroom overnight.] Aaron: Just a minute...here it is. Me: Thanks. Aaron: Uh, I didn't eat my sandwich because I had pizza. Me: Why did you have pizza? Aaron: It was the pizza party. Me: You didn't tell me you were having a pizza party. Aaron: Oh. Me: What was this pizza party for? Aaron: Well, it was for different things, but I had pizza because I won the spelling bee. Me: You didn't tell me you won the spelling bee, either. Aaron: Oh. Me: Yeah, Oh. Congrats on the spelling bee, honey. Let's make sure you remember to tell me when you win that Nobel Prize.

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171. Wavy potato chips. 172. Fluffy cushions on a hard dining room chair. 173. Shadow's sighs. 174. The brief respite from winter that seems to happen each year. 175. Pink sherbet skies at 7:23 a.m. 176. Friends who make soothing balm for your insanely cracked feet. 177. Harper Lee. (May she rest in peace.) 178. The color wheel. 179. Getting excited over words. 180. Littles that aren't so little anymore.

Dear Student, Hi. How are you? How is the semester progressing for you? I think it's going quite well for me, actually, not that you asked. Do you know how many more weeks we have to go? What? You don't look at the syllabus? Why am I not surprised? I could have told you that you don't look at the syllabus, that you don't listen to me, and that your attendance is spotty. I can see this with my own eyes, and I want to remind you that way back at the beginning of the semester (that's six weeks ago, since we're in our seventh week), we had a discussion. Not just you and me, but a whole-class discussion. About expectations: yours and mine. Does that word expectation ring a bell? It should, for I threw it into that discussion so many times I got sick of hearing myself say the word. One of those expectations was that you would check your email daily. I remember distinctly saying to the entire class: This course is not an online class, but so much of our informati

My kids claim that I know a lot. I've never claimed to know much of anything, but people ask me questions all the time, and I answer them (apparently with adequate information) so I must know something. And since I have an itch to write a post, I might as well share with you more of the things that I know : Many moms do not want their pictures taken. I'm not sure if that fact has to do with saggy boobs, wrinkles, and messy/gray/roots-showing hair, but I know that my single friends--those who have never been married and do not have children--never mind getting in front of the camera. In fact, their Facebook pages are littered with current photos of themselves and only themselves. My parents either do not know how to take care of themselves, or they do not want to take care of themselves. That statement could be the basis of a book--oh wait, it is the basis of a book (yet to be revised and sent out)--so I'll stop there for now. My life is so chock full of rich moments,

The first writing class I enrolled in outside of high school or college billed itself as a workshop. Which meant that each week, one person's writing would be read and critiqued by six other strangers sitting around the conference table. To this day, I'm not entirely sure what possessed me to think that I could survive a class like that, but I went ahead and not only survived--I found a family there, too: The Plot Sisters still meet every two weeks to read and critique each other's work. Since that fateful day in May 2012, my reaction to being critiqued has changed. In the beginning, I would cower at the side of the table with an explosive heart rate and sweat on my brow, while now, I find myself looking forward to everything my cohorts have to say. And by everything, I mean everything. Even on those days when the ladies look at me, eyes bright and energetic, and say, "This piece needs some work." Because that's why I'm at writing group, right? To get

She does a good job of trying to let go, but sometimes,  things happen that lasso her in and bring the drama front and center.  Waving her hands,  she does her best to push it back,  behind her,  so that when she walks,  she walks away from all of it.  She must force herself to stare ahead  and resist the urge to look backward,  much like Lot's wife.  She has no intention of becoming a pillar of salt. from VisitJordan.com

For as long as I can remember, Mom has always loved vanilla ice cream. A few moments in time creep into my mind when I see her ordering Butter Pecan at Baskin-Robbins , but if given the choice for a half-gallon of ice cream at home (when companies still routinely sold half-gallons), she'd choose vanilla. I like vanilla ice cream. But I always perceived Mom's choice as boring, bland, dare I say, vanilla? Until I thought about Mom's choice more and realized that by choosing vanilla ice cream, she chose a simple, pure flavor that probably isn't appreciated as much as it should be. Good vanilla ice cream is a pleasure to eat, really, and can form the basis of so many wonderful desserts. I looked up what desserts could be made with vanilla ice cream as their base, and since these pictures from Coastal Living were so pretty (taken by Levi Brown), I thought I'd share them here. Brownie Ice Cream Sundae Cake Nut-crusted Key Lime Ice Cream Cupcake Peanut

This winter hasn't been the worst I've ever seen. In fact, the weather has been pretty mild, with the exception of the last few weeks. But here we are, halfway through February, and I find myself cold. And by cold, I mean that I cannot warm up. Sure, I'm warm when I'm running, but aside from that 30 to 45 minutes a few days a week, I shiver, wrap scarves around my neck, and sit in the house with my fleece bathrobe as tight as I can get it. Yesterday, I drove home from work with my teeth chattering, despite the down coat I sported and the blasting heat in my car. So today, I'm posting some images to help make me warmer. Since this is a family blog, I'll keep it clean. (Maybe.) This is Florida . Lots of heat here. Nothing warms me up like hot cocoa . I ate soup for lunch yesterday. It helped a little. At least my heart feels warmer when I look at these guys . And speaking of guys, we can't forget this one . Yep, I feel warmer already.

Frank's hands shook as he picked up the receiver. The caller ID showed the number of his dermatologist. He'd been in last week to have a mole removed. If the news were good, the office wouldn't be calling would it? "Hello?" Even he could hear the tremble in his voice. "Hello. Mr. Costello?" "Yes. Speaking." He sat down at the kitchen table. "Hi, this is Dawn from the Skin Center. Dr. Yarrow wanted me to tell you that the mole you had excised looks like melanoma. You need to have more taken out next week to be sure that we've gotten all of it, okay? And it looks like here we have two openings on Thursday, at either 9:30 a.m. or 1:30 p.m. Which one would work for your schedule?" Dawn's voice is pleasant, Frank thought. But that's a lot to take in. Let me think. Let me think. Frank tossed the times around in his head and then consulted his calendar. "I think the 9:30 slot would work well. Thank you." &

Back in December, I read an article about a guy who ogled his wife in line at Target, though at the time, he didn't realize she was his wife. I chuckled at the article and took no offense by the fact that that man was checking someone out. We need to remember that while we're married, we aren't dead, right? Which means that from time to time, I notice a good looking guy, and I'm sure that Tim has noticed women he has deemed attractive. Cut to yesterday. Tim and I had the kids at 2nd & Charles and were browsing in separate parts of the store. Melina and I were in the kids' section while Tim was floating in-between kids and magazines. Melina and I chatted about a few of the toys and then I turned my head to the left. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man. But my eyes are so bad these days, I couldn't make that much out about the person. As my eyes focused better, I thought, "He's cute." As my eyes focused even more, I realized the man was Ti

Today is the day... (I'm sure you're waiting to find out what about this day is so special.) Today is the day before Valentine's Day, a holiday we don't quite celebrate around this house that much; maybe give the kids some extra chocolate and a hug. As I started to think about Valentine's Day, I wondered about the day before it, and what happens on that date. This year, plenty will happen (if you get my drift) because Valentine's Day falls on a Sunday and I've already heard about people who move their plans to the 13th because they want to turn in early on Sunday night before the week begins. (Or is that just me?) But what else does the 13th of February represent? A little digging with my friend Google helped me find that February 13 is National Tortellini Day . Who knew? I thought a good Italian like me would, but I guess not. I don't know about you, but there are some days in my life that I'll take the pasta over the chocolate. Usually those

I think I've said before that I'll read just about anything (and really, I mean anything ). This year, however, I'm trying to challenge myself by reading more nonfiction and literary works, while still sprinkling in YA, women's fiction, even some juvenile books I've neglected to read ( Because of Winn-Dixie anyone?). I just finished up James Baldwin's The Fire Next Time so I thought I'd take a step back and move over to my YA shelf, to give myself a break from the literary. What had I picked up at the library the last time I went? I asked myself as I moved toward the bookshelf in the living room. My hand picked up The Detour , by S. A. Bodeen. I'd never heard of that author before, but the dust jacket led me to believe that The Detour would read much like Misery , by Stephen King. My first thought? Stephen King already wrote that story and wrote it well. My second thought? Maybe there's something different inside the book of which I'm not

I'd just finished placing a poster above my bed when my roommate, Dave, returned from the communal bathroom. "What does that say?" He opened the curtains farther to let in more light and squinted his eyes. 'Thank goodness I was never sent to school. It would have rubbed off some of the originality.' Huh." Davy furrowed his brow and turned toward me. "Did Beatrix Potter really say that? The Beatrix Potter who wrote all those kids' stories?" "Sure did. The minute I saw that quote, I knew it was for me. Homeschooled for 12 years and proud of it." I puffed out my chest like a rooster. "Twelve years? Seriously? Wow. Where I come from, we don't see that too often. Except with the families that live in the country and have 13 children or something like that." Davy ignored my chest puffing and went about throwing clothes into his dresser drawers. "Well, I'm not from the country and I only have one brother. I gu

I know that yesterday I took the easy way out and just posted a picture. I had no intention of doing the same today, except that yesterday, I saw this quote posted, and found myself really thinking about what it said. You see, lately, I've been ruminating on the people in my life and whether or not the circle of friends I thought were friends actually are friends. I know, I know I've done this before , possibly many times. But as you can probably infer from the quote, I do give people more chances than they deserve. I go back and ask and ask and ask if they want to get together for dinner, if I can help them in any way, or if they want to come over and play. They say yes and then don't get back to me. And I give them another chance. (Ok. I know you're wondering about me. Am I the problem? I could be, for some. But for others, when they see me and exclaim how happy they are to see me, over and over? I have to wonder if they aren't the problem.) So when I finally f

Found here .

I made the mistake of asking her to write a letter to Melina. "Every Friday," I said, "Melina brings home a letter to us telling us about her week. We sign the letter, which lets the teacher know we saw it. And then we write one back to her. Can you write one?" I didn't give her the chance to say yes or no, but she nodded her head and picked up her pencil. She'd been trying to make her way through The Count of Monte Cristo. She'd read it before, but had decided to read it again. When she told me that, I wanted to tell her there was little chance she'd make it through that novel at all, but I didn't feel like playing the part of the killjoy messenger. I watched as she flipped the notebook pages backward and read my letter from the previous weekend. Then she read the letter that Tim had written two weeks ago. She reached for her pencil again. I'm not sure how long she stared at the paper, but without a word, she went to find my Dad. &qu

It's been a very long time since I've spoken about my love for John Green. I guess maybe it's because he hasn't published anything lately. I know last year he was busy with the movie version of The Fault in our Stars (a good book-movie translation by the way) but I do wonder if he has anything in the works. Yesterday morning, when I checked my FB feed and such, Wordables had shared some quotes by John Green. You can see the entire list here , if you want. They have a good number of quotes directly from some of his books. But the quote that resonated most with me in the moment was a quote taken from Will Grayson, Will Grayson (which Green authored along with David Levithan):

Her hands shook as she looked at the package. The last time she'd gone through this same ritual had been eight years ago. Young, wild and free, a mother to two small children. She'd gleefully ripped the cardboard sides of the box and plunged the tip into the stream. Now, the thudding of her heart beneath her sternum overwhelmed her and she felt as though the organ might rip through her chest before she had the chance to actually take the test. He came up behind her and wrapped his long arms around her waist. "You don't know what it's going to say, baby." "Yes, I do." She stiffened against his back. "But how can you? Even you said you had no symptoms." She looked at their reflections in the mirror and watched as her eyebrows rose on their own. A quirk to her lips and a challenge in her eyes. "I can't explain how, I just know." She moved toward the toilet and sank on its seat before placing the test on the bathroom count

Yesterday was a very full day. By 11:46 a.m. I had: Edited half of a profile. Written a (very short) blog post. Run 3.5 miles. Shopped for soft foods for the twins, whose teeth have been aching after their orthodontist appointments. Laundered and dried two loads of clothes and towels. Cleaned the master bedroom and bathroom, the kids' bath, and vacuumed most of the house. Called Gina and actually spoke to her. Baked a pan of M&M cookies. Eaten lunch. Found a place for our writing group to meet in the evening (our original place had to be scrapped due to unforeseen and unfortunate circumstances). With the sun shining and warmer temps in the air, I felt invincible. I knew by the time the end of the day came, the temperatures had fallen, and the sun went away, I would be tired, possibly even crabby. But I love full days that actually make you feel full. I could use a few more of those types of days.

I woke up this morning with a little need for inspiration, so I Googled some images. It wasn't until I pasted in the third picture that I realized all of them had something in common. Something that probably irritates FRN to the utmost degree... http://newflowerwallpaper.com/?titile=indian-flowers-images-and-wallpapers http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/yorkshire_rose/images/15990936/title/butterflies-wallpaper http://drakensang-free-online-mmorpg.blogspot.com/2013/03/039-easter-eggs-terrifying-shadows-event.html https://www.pinterest.com/pin/492299802989822451/ https://www.pinterest.com/pin/441071357225969969/ I think maybe I'll go put that fleece of mine on, take a selfie, and send it to FRN, right now.Or, it might be too early. Perhaps I'll wait a few hours.

An acquaintance of mind posted this picture the other day: As usual, it's a set of words that resonated with me. After the past several weeks--full of subbing, teaching, running the kids around, volunteering, and germs (we can't forget those)--I'm tired much of the day. But after a few days of sleep and an hour or two of alone time, I'm recharged. The same would not be said if I didn't have peace in my life. I've worked hard to be where I am, but I'm also lucky, I know. I wish you and yours that same peace if it's something you're looking for.