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...