Heptadecagon

"I have to tell you something and it's about your daughters. And you can't say I told you." My heart dropped into my stomach. They are, for the most part, good kids. What had they done? Thankfully, she was quick to say, "The girls want to decorate Zoe's and Talia's lockers tomorrow and they are trying to figure out a way to do it. They want it to be a surprise." My heart lugged itself back to its rightful place (within the mediastinum, in case you were wondering) and I laughed to myself. Yes, of course their friends want to decorate the twins' lockers. They are twelve today. TWELVE. Let me say that again. TWELVE. Twelve is the number of seconds that passed between the time I noticed Tim in the parking lot and the time I moved to go and say something to him. Twelve is the number of minutes that he and I spoke before exchanging emails and saying so long, but not goodbye. Twelve is the number of days it took me to realize that eve

I have never liked a slice of lemon in my water. I'm okay with an occasional glass of homemade lemonade, but the slightly acidic taste of a slice of lemon in my cold aqua pura has never been my cup of tea. And now, I'm happy to say that it isn't. Just a few moments ago, I found this article on the Huffington Post regarding lemon wedges in water. It says enough to get me to tell Zoe, who loves those little slices of sour, to stop asking for them at a restaurant. As stated in the article (which was summarized from an original research article published in the Journal of Environmental Health ), "Researchers swabbed the rinds and flesh of 76 lemons from 21 restaurants collected during 43 visits and found that a whopping 70 percent of them produced microbial growth." Yack. Furthermore, a clinical professor of microbiology and pathology at NYU Langone Medical Center, one Philip Tierno, Ph.D., has also conducted similar experiments and found that "half o

The college called and they need my help. Since this is the same college that said OKAY to my break from teaching, I decided to help them out. So, as of next Tuesday, I'm going back in to work once a week. The first thing I need to teach? The axial skeleton. For those of you that don't know what the axial skeleton is, please, let me educate you. According to several general texts, "The axial skeleton forms the central axis of the body. It consists of the skull, the vertebral column, the ribs and the sternum or breastbone." Not so bad, you say, right? But the lab I will be teaching is most likely comprised of students that will go on to nursing school. So telling them that the axial skeleton includes a breastbone is like telling a builder that a house has a roof. Instead, the students will be required to know that the sternum (or breastbone) is composed of three parts, the body, the manubrium, and the xiphoid process. Furthermore, the students will need to kn

I don't watch The Bachelor . I don't even keep up on that show. But I stumbled across the news that Sean Lowe, a former Bachelor alum, married the woman he met on the show. (Which installment of the long-running program was this man a part of? I have no idea.) I wish them much happiness and would love to see them stay out of the limelight. I'm no professional therapist, but I think lying low would help their marriage. In the same article, I found snippets of what Sean said at the wedding. The only thing I want to say is this: if you are going to be on national television when you say your vows, go ahead and find yourself a good writer. (And if what he stated is the work of an actual writer, then there's hope for me, I'd say.) Here's what Sean had to say (and you'll know exactly where I started to lose it): "The first time I saw you, you were like a light to my bug -- I had to find you. You mesmerize me with how brightly you've shone." ZAP

Yesterday was Saturday, my day of the long run. The last few have been arduous, trekking through ice or snow and running against the wind. So Friday night, I put it into my head that I'd go to the local inside track for Saturday's long run. I knew it would be difficult to run around in circles for at least an hour, but on the other hand, I would be able to wear shorts, an item I haven't been seen in since October. The run itself wasn't difficult. I had plenty in my head to keep me from going too crazy (a new story idea jumped out at me) as I ran around and around, but the heat inside the track slammed me every step of the way, and the sheer number of runners and walkers amazed me. (Who else gets up early to run or walk on a Saturday morning? Apparently more people than I imagined. I guess I now know where all the people were the last couple of Saturday mornings.) And those people? Not so up on their track etiquette. So let me tell you how it should go. When you have

I just happened to look and see that I've written something every day of January so far. I'm surprised by that. I didn't know I had that much to say. And, I didn't know you guys would all actually read the drivel I do have to say. But I can't keep up this pace. I have a manuscript that needs to get done by March 14 and I've got a new gig as a Profiles Co-Editor for a website (more on that later). Plus, I need to be the best mom I can, and oh, yeah, there's Tim to think of as well. Maybe he and I should spend some time together. Novel idea, don't you think? (That awful pun was so much intended.) So I think I'll finish out each day of January, and then, I'll take a breather. Not a long one, but don't expect a post a day. Unless I have something so funny or earth shattering that I just have to share.

Who was that crazy lady running outside yesterday in sub-zero weather? Yep, I did it. I pulled on many layers and wrapped up head, grabbed my insulated gloves and went out for a run. It was cold. Really, really frigid. But it only took about six minutes for me to get warmer and I realized that it wasn't too cold to run. Which means, in my mind, that it isn't too cold for school. Thankfully, the schools were on in our district (not even a delay), but a district about 30 minutes away? They were on their third calamity day of the week, and have already used up all the days for the year. They'll be making up days in May and June. Apparently the superintendent is worried about the safety of the kids, especially those who rely on buses. Well yes, that's always the case. Can the buses get through? And how long will the kids need to wait at the bus stop? I am completely on board with that superintendent. The kids do need to be properly prepared, and when it's pretty col

A battle went down yesterday at our house. Me against the bathtubs. Two of them. One fiberglass, less than five years old. But with incredibly stubborn stains (despite my best attempts to keep that tub clean). The other, an old ceramic tub with so many dings, dents, bruises, and spots on it, I couldn't tell what was old and what was dirty. (In fact, I'd tell people that the tub was clean, just old. And I really did clean it with Comet or all-purpose cleaners. A lot of good those did, I guess.) The score? Me: 2 Bathtubs: 0 I can't take all the credit. I had vinegar, baking soda, and a scrub brush on hand. But these players took away what all the other cleansers couldn't. And now, I won't be afraid to step into the tubs and shower in them. (All my future guests should thank me.) And in case you're interested, all I did was this: fill a spray bottle with equal parts vinegar and water. Spray the surfaces of the tub. Sprinkle baking soda on (I had to act

I started on a journey, and quickly, along the way, I became We . And now, when I think of My dream, it's Our dream. A dream to give birth to a set of words so dear to our hearts; words that we manipulate each day (if we're lucky) in order to get every single word right. Trying to make each description and action and image jump from the page into your head. Hoping to make you feel as though you are one with the set of words, that you cannot put them down; that after you are done, you want to pick them up again. And again, and again, and again. We have a dream, to have, in our hands, a thick book of paper, straight off the presses; for someone to say, Hey, you have a good story there, and I'd like for you to share it with the world. Right now, we share stories with each other, looking to strengthen the words. In doing so, we found that we also strengthen the friendship. So when it happens, when one of us finds the right agent, the right outlet for

He's always very careful to only answer the question asked. Me: Who ate all the Trader Joe cookies? Him: I didn't. Me: But look, they're mostly gone. Him: I ate a lot, but I didn't eat them all. Me: I guess you're right. Another example: Me: Who used up all the toilet paper? Him: What are you talking about? There's some still on the roll. Me: Yeah, one square. What's that going to wipe? Him: But it's not all gone. Me: So true. I think you get the idea, but I'll go ahead anyway. Me: Why is the salsa jar back in the fridge? Him: Because it's not empty. Me: But that's not enough to do anything with. It should get rinsed and recycled. Him: I can do something with that amount. Me: I'm starting to see a pattern here. That Tim, he's a wily one.

Today is January 20, 2014. In eleven days, the girls will turn twelve. I find that so hard to believe on so many levels. And yet, the time has also flown. I remember twelve. Due to my August birthday, I was in seventh grade that year. It was a good year, and full of changes. Both mental and physical. When I look at the girls, midway through their first year of middle school, I can see some of those changes taking place. Their faces are more mature; the books they choose to read are darker and more sophisticated; they stay up later; they question me more. They are, indeed, middle school students on the cusp of turning twelve. I'm so curious to see what twelve will bring.

What I'd like to say: Dear Kid, You far surpassed my expectations yesterday. I am so overwhelmed and impressed by your behavior, that I am almost (notice I said almost ) at a loss for words. I had no idea that you could be so good, so exceptional at what you do. Where did you learn it? From whom did you learn it? I am certain that I have never taught you anything even close to what you did yesterday. Because you brought the act of not listening to a whole new level. Never in my life have I seen someone so deliberately ignore what I said. Which makes me think that you really didn't hear me, even though I repeated my statement FIVE times. Maybe I should have only repeated it 3.14 times; that might have gotten your attention. To be honest, I'm hoping that you can learn to market this outstanding behavior someday. If you can, you will go far, become successful, and make me so proud. Not that I'm not proud of you right now, but I have to say that I'm more than a bit

This was in my inbox yesterday: Writing Digest Tutorial: Christian Publishing -- Is it the Market for You? I don't want to offend anyone, and I have nothing against Christian-based writers and their books. But no, no, Christian Publishing isn't the market for me. I think FRN would agree with me on that one.

I was skeptical. Really, I was. I had no faith in hot chocolate made from a prepackaged envelope, and instant coffee? Never. (I actually used to drink it in college, but then a roommate helped me find salvation in a cup of brewed coffee and I haven't looked back.) But recently, I tried Starbucks Via Ready Brew coffee as well as their Cocoa Sampler. I promise to serve you real coffee and hot cocoa should you come to visit us, but these products? Perfect in a pinch. Now back to my home-brewed cup of java.

Just a minute ago, the phone rang. "Oh," I thought to myself. "Perhaps that's Sandra calling me back." I walked to the kitchen and checked caller ID, and then, I cringed. Not because it was Sandra. Had it been Sandra or any other of my friends, I wouldn't have made a face at the phone. Instead I would have been happy to chat while I unloaded the dishwasher or put away some groceries. But caller ID said it was the American Lung Association. AGAIN. How many times have they called over the last several months? Let me count...oh wait, I can't. I get phone calls from them in the morning, the evening, and even on Sundays. I've actually picked up the phone and told them that while I'm happy to donate to certain charities, I usually determine those charities and contact them. Calling me up and asking for money doesn't work. (Most of the time, that is. There are certain local charities that call and I will help them. Or there are other circumsta

My writing group tries to stay up on what's happening in the publishing world. We attend as many free seminars as we can, listen to podcasts, share information via the web, and notify each other of anything we think might be useful. At least three of us would love to find an agent this year. That number could be four by June. The other day, I was doing a bit of agent research. I wanted to find a person who might be the right fit for my YA novel. So far, I'd gotten nothing but rejections, but considering the agents are working off a letter, a single letter, I don't doubt myself. The novel itself is fine; it's the letter that needs work. I've been working on it, making it better, and also, making it different, trying to tailor it to each individual agent. Anyway, I found this nice little article on how a certain author, Richard Ellis Preston, found his agent. I've never read anything he's written, but he's been in the business for many years. If you wa

WARNING: Do not read in front of your children. Last night, after Melina was in bed, the three older kids said, "Hey, Mom. Can we play the Wii?" They'd already had fifteen minutes on the contraption, and while I could have let them play a bit more, they were sitting around the dining room table drawing when they asked me the question. So I'd much rather  have them interacting together that way than in front of a screen. So, I said, "No." The kids were all good and fine with that answer. They went ahead and continued sketching, and giggling, and, at one point, a round of hysterical laughter filled the room. I looked to see what they were doing, and I found this list. What were they naming? I'm not sure. I think they might have been putting together a list of names for the Wii characters. Of course, with a nine-year-old boy involved, things went South, quickly. The ones with the strikethroughs are the names that I find especially offensive. Okay, not r

A loyal reader asked me about my first true fact, as posted yesterday. She said, " May I ask why you pick your fingers? Is it a habit?" Yes, you may ask. And no, I can only wish it was a habit. Because a habit would be something that, with time, I could break, right? And so far, as often as I give the practice up, I return to it. (Right now, one thumb has a Hello Kitty band-aid on it. The other thumb is dangerously close to sporting one as well.) As much as I'd like to give time and attention to this post and discuss, in detail, where my finger-picking comes from, I don't have the time. Why not? Because I had to fiddle with the second of our cars to be in the shop. I won't belabor the point, but things didn't go as planned when my car didn't start. Sure, the plan was to take it to get checked, but I had planned on driving there. Not having to call a tow truck. And as life would have it, the tow truck plan didn't pan out as planned , either, and I di

You'll have to imagine Ze Frank's voice here, and to be honest, I can't write up a script as well as he can. Mostly because I don't have the time. Well, I do, but if I took the time to write a cool script, then I wouldn't get any other writing done, or anything else for that matter (like my preparation for Religious Ed, which I am supposed to be doing right now). Here are some true facts about me; things you may, or may not have, known. I gave up picking my fingers back in college. I had to, considering I would sport bleeding gashes on all of my digits for most of the year. Unfortunately, my skin is so dry in the winter that I've latched back onto that horrible habit for several months of the year. If you see my thumbs covered in band aids, at least you now know why. I knew a certain person who loved Harlequin romances and kept them in a box. A box that I knew about. So somewhere between 7th and 8th grade, I exposed myself (ha, ha) to the tales written by Pe

I usually give my writing group my manuscript first, in pieces. But I didn't want to wait to give it to them in chunks, so I went ahead and gave a first draft to three people: my two sisters and my friend, Sandra. I knew these guys would be blunt. They'd tell me if they liked it, but also give actual feedback, so that I can make the draft I give my writing group even better. I have plans to give the book to two more people (yes Barbara, that means you) but I want to clean it up a bit and fill in some holes before I give it to anyone else (if anyone else out there wants it and is willing to read it within two weeks or so, please say so. I'll send it to you! Your feedback doesn't need to be extensive.). Plus, the word count needs to increase. I bet that's something you've never worried about. Up until now, I didn't either. I usually sit down, write the story, go back and fill things in, and the word count takes care of itself. But the stories I've writte

Yesterday afternoon, Melina came up to me in the kitchen. It was apparent from the look on her face that she had something serious to say. Melina: Mom. In The Princess and the Popstar , the royal family got killed in a car crash. But I don't understand because royal people usually ride in a carriage. Me: No they don't, Melina. Melina: Yes, they do. Zoe: No, Melina, they don't. Well, considering it was her sister telling her something, Melina vacated the kitchen and went into the study area. Melina: They don't? Zoe: No. Royal people usually drive in a limo. I found this so funny. So funny. And maybe it's just me. But there are so many times that we tell Melina that princesses and the Royal people (as they call them) are just like you and me (sometimes). There were so many things that I thought Zoe might say to her. And limo wasn't one of them.

Tim's car needed help. (Actually, it still does. Keep reading to find out why.) So, we took it in on Monday because the kids didn't have school and we (the kids and I) had no where to go. Therefore, Tim could take my car to work. "We're a little backed up," the car man said. "We'll try to look at it today, but I can't promise you." Monday night came and went. Tim secured a ride into work and back from work for Tuesday because I needed the car. Tuesday night came and went. Wednesday arrived. Tim rode into work with our neighbor. I sat at home and emailed Tim, reminding him to call the car place. At 7 pm, Tim walked in the front door. That meant, still no car. "Did you call the car place today?" I asked. "Yeah, I spoke to the guy. He said that they couldn't get the car to start," he said. "So, now it's just sitting there," I said. "Yup." They couldn't get the car to start. They didn&#

I love it when people get creative with their words. Okay, that's a duh . I love to read and I love to write. So I guess that first sentence might be one of the most obvious statements I've ever written. Not so creative, eh? Anyway, what I meant to say was that I love it when people say things in a way that is somewhat unexpected. Case in point? A friend said this today: Son of a business mouse! I fell over laughing. His statement was a whole lot more effective to me than the usual son of a [insert expletive here] to which I am accustomed. I like this one, too: Holy contributing to the delinquency of minors! Now, we've had a conversation similar to this before, when Melina was in her Batman phase. She stuck Holy onto everything and we had a grand time making some funny phrases up. A couple of other ones I particularly like would be: Sweet Moses on a milk truck! Cheese and rice! Hold onto your pants! What the math!? If you have any exclamations you tend to

Once, I met a boy. A boy with laughing eyes the color of green sea glass, and sun-streaked hair that he pulled on when his head hurt. His roar was so fierce it shook the rafters when it came out, surprising and delighting me, making me laugh once again. The boy intrigued me, with his passion for sports, math, music, and me. Within a short time, he leaned in close, pulled me tight and whispered,   I love you. My heartbeat sped up, sweat pooled on my palms, my brow furrowed. Because I had not those words to return to him. It's too soon , I replied. And instead of walking away, the boy waited. For me to do what was probably inevitable but against which I fought. He waited for me to figure out what I wanted, for me to get past my walls, for me to see him in the light of the day, as he truly was. To realize what I had and want to make it special. He was confident that, with time, I would crumble, much like the other team's defense. He was right. Within

Yesterday, Melina was in the tub and I was washing her hair. She held a rubber ducky in her hand, one that we'd gotten from the Westin in Chicago as a part of a kid's package. The duck held one thing under each arm. They turned out to be a map and a canteen. Melina didn't see it that way: Melina: What is this? The other thing is a map, but what is this ? Me: I'm not sure. Let me finish rinsing your hair and I'll look at it. Melina: Maybe it's a first date kit. Me: Do you mean first aid kit? Melina: Yeah, whatever.

I don't often think about socks. I need socks, very much. My feet are always cold. And I like patterned socks, but the socks I have the most of are black. I guess I'm practical that way. What I don't like are socks lying around my house. But with four kids and a husband who doesn't treasure cleanliness the way I do, I tend to pick up a fair amount of socks, most of which are dirty. Last night, as I was making my rounds about the house, I noticed a pair of inside out socks on top of the piano. Okay, let me say this. I've been known to ignore socks near chairs, at the back hallway, or on top of the bed. Perhaps someone needs to go back to those. But on top of the piano? And they were the heart socks that I swear Zoe had had on for three days. (It's vacation here. We get a little lax about things like making sure the kids get dressed, shower, you know, all the personal hygiene stuff. But don't fear. We had some friends over late last week. so we cleaned the h

Second week in a row I'm sitting at the library, working on my writing. I'm still positioned by the men's restroom, but I am happy to report that more men this week are washing hands than last week. I am sad to report that the library is the place to be. There are a ton of people here! Old, young, and in-between and they are all talking, all making my life a little bit more difficult because it is tough to get this writing going with so much noise in the background. On the other hand, who knew that the library would be such a good place to observe. Perhaps my next manuscript will be centered around this place.

I can only blame myself. Last week, I sat the kids down in front of the TV and exposed them to the lovely world of Bob and Doug McKenzie. Yes, we watched Strange Brew . And now, our conversations go like this: Kid 1: "Hey, I need that!" Kid 2:  "Take off, eh?" Kid 3:  "Don't say that, you hoser!" Kid 4:  "You hoser. Take off, you hoser!" I told the kids that they can only use such bombastic Canadian slang (appropriately) in our house. I wonder if they'll listen. (And by the way, I did some research on Bob and Doug and their propensity for funny words, and many of them aren't actually spoken by true Canadians.) I probably should have expected as much. Update: Conversation between Aaron and me this morning: Aaron: Can I have some breakfast, hoser? Me: Not an appropriate use of the word.

Sadly for me, my brain would not turn off last night. So, instead of finding the rest I needed, I spent a night with my eyes fluttering open and my brain spinning. I find myself in the midst of another creative burst, and when those happen, making sure my brain shuts down is difficult, if not impossible. In the end, I wake up cranky and have to add more caffeine to the cup. I don't have any proof of this, but I wonder if these occurrences might not be tied to some sort of bipolar behavior. That is the sort of diagnosis I would never just throw around, but based on some good genetics we have here, I could probably make a case for it. But do you think I'll do anything about it? Nope. The plan is to keep moving my fingers and use up the creative energy. Possibly bring forth a few more chapters in one book, make my latest book even better, and move forward on my goal for 2014. Progress is progress. I'm not going to balk at how that progress is made.

I stumbled across this quote when a friend posted it to her Facebook page. She had taken it from Bob Proctor, a life coach who has, for years, talked about mind potential . While I don't know anything about mind potential or Bob Proctor, really, I do know that I liked what he said. And that it applies to my goal of becoming a published writer. Set a goal to achieve something that is so big, so exhilarating that it excites you and scares you at the same time. It must be a goal that is so appealing, so much in line with your spiritual core, that you can't get it out of your mind. If you do not get chills when you set a goal, your [sic] not setting big enough goals. The writer in me corrected Mr. Proctor's grammar, but in this instance, I can forgive him. Happy New Year!