Heptadecagon

DISCLAIMER: IF YOU READ THIS WITH YOUR LITERATE CHILDREN BEHIND YOU, THERE MIGHT BE SOME EXPLAINING TO DO. Around this house, we seem to be overly concerned with the mammary glands. I'm not sure if it's because I nursed all the kids and we're very open with our bodies around here or what. But boobs come up in conversation often, at least as of late. Just today, the girls asked a very important question. Zoe: Mom, what are stripper boobs? Me: Well, they are breasts that are very large in size. Talia: You mean like Aunt Tara? Me: [snorting] Well yes, like those. I looked at Zoe and Talia and then down at my chest. Me: I do not have stripper boobs. Zoe: [Eyeroll, as in I just stated the obvious.] No, you do not. And we had another discussion about breasts, forged this time by Aaron of all people. Aaron: Girls have breasts but only boys have nipples. Me: What?! Melina: I have nibbles. Me: Nipples, Melina, although I like your term better. But everyone has nip

A mother: A woman who, after driving four hours with three of her children on the way home from a weekend with a best friend, manages to stop at the grocery store, buy fresh food, and proceeds to cook dinner, despite the fact that her legs and back hurt from driving, and because her period has arrived. A father: A man who eats said dinner. P.S. In all fairness, Tim kept Aaron here and they had a guys weekend. Which apparently didn't involve thinking about what they would make for dinner on Sunday night. P.P.S. I anticipated this happening, especially because Tim had a baseball game and wouldn't be home until 5:30 or later. So really, as long as I don't have to dishes, I'll be fine. P.P.P.S. I will probably have to do dishes, since Tim is old and baseball on a hot day will wipe Tim out. We'll use paper plates.

One month ago today, the kids walked out the doors of their schools for summer break. I remember thinking to myself that I wasn't ready for them to be home, that I needed more time, and I wondered how everything would get done over the course of the day. I knew how food would be prepared, laundry would be accomplished, and grocery shopping would be done. What I didn't know was how I'd ever get to my things: writing, running, reading, and generally taking care of myself and my psyche. But I'm pleased to say that, despite already having been on three trips over the last month (one that included a week-long stay), I'm finding some time for me. I still find some moments to read, a little time to write, and I've been sure to get some good summer running in. I've even managed to carve out a block of hours to clean -- thanks to Tim and his willingness to take the kids out of the house -- because I find cleaning satisfying and therapeutic, and I prefer to do it al

I broke my FB hiatus. Willingly. Because I was alerted to a message that would be sitting in my inbox. I probably should have just left it there, waiting for me to open it, but I couldn't. Curiosity got the best of me. And while that message wasn't worth the time, while I was there, lurking around FB but not commenting on anything, I was pleasantly surprised by a post. That a friend of mine, Jon (a guy I became friends with when I was twenty-two), and his wife, are expecting baby number three. They are adding a little boy to their two little girls. It's the best news I've had in a few days. On the other side of the coin, though, Jon and his family are moving. We haven't seen them in years, but knowing they were only three hours away gave us possibilities to get together. Now, they will be almost twelve hours away by car, one by plane. But who gets six people in a plane these days, simply to head south, into a region accessible easily by car? Not this family. But

I admit it: I'm a fan of Taylor Swift. But I haven't listened to that many songs of hers besides those that are on her Red album. (Can we still call it an album? Or it is only a CD? Ah, no matter.) Today, as I cleaned the first level of our house, I heard her song, Enchanted , which is several years old. In fact, it comes from her Speak Now album which was released in 2010. (So I'm a little behind. What can I say?) Anyway, back to the issue at hand. I stopped in my tracks when I actually started listening to the lyrics. I'd use it for my novel, Beyond the Trees , if I were to make it into a movie.Of course, it needs to be published as a novel, first. Details. Minor details. See for yourself: "Enchanted" There I was again tonight Forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired lonely place Walls of insincerity, Shifting eyes and vacancy Vanished when I saw your face All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you Your eyes whispered, "

thoughts spin like a whirling dervish, an analogy so overused, yet so appropriate. i sit and try to collect the thoughts into some semblance of order. lined up like soldiers, or cereal boxes, or cans of tomato soup. it's hard, though, when the story i want to write is so close to my heart. too close, really. i need more space between it and me before it can come out. so the three hundred words i started last week will need to sit and stew, brew, percolate, just wait. until i can step back and look at it with clear eyes. then, i hope, i'll find the right story.

I thought about the best way to summarize this vacation. But because I ran long and hard today, up and down several hills, I'm too fatigued to write anything worth anything. Instead, I did a quick check on some quotes that might be appropriate. I found these three that adequately speak to our experience this trip. We hit the sunny beaches where we occupy ourselves keeping the sun off our skin, the saltwater off our bodies, and the sand out of our belongings. ~ Erma Bombeck Those that say you can't take it with you never saw a car packed for a vacation trip. ~ Unknown By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class. ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh We had a great time; we hope to be back next year.

Many of you have asked for an update on the Great Dane rescue mission we embarked upon. And thanks for asking, by the way. It's good to know that you all care. But I'm sorry to say that even though we were approved to be a home to a Great Dane rescue dog, the organization doesn't have one right now that would be a good match. Apparently, Ivy went to another good home and the rest of the dogs need to be an only dog . I have mixed feelings about not getting what I want this time. I'm glad that we are approved to be a home for a future dog, but the fact that we couldn't be placed with one right now feels like another NO in a long string of NOs in my life right now. But instead of concentrating on that NO, I'm going to hope that the tides will turn and, in a few months or even a year, I'll experience a longer string of YESes. I guess we'll have to see. In the meantime, cross your fingers for me.

We all went to the beach yesterday. As much as I enjoy the warmth, I'm not one for sitting in the sun. But I like a cold lake even less, and I was tired, so I spread out a towel and lay on my stomach for a few minutes, until Tim came up behind me. "You're legs are pretty pale," he said. As most of you know, that's the understatement of the century. Pale doesn't cover what my legs are -- cadaverous would be a better adjective to use. "Yeah, I know," I replied. "And then there's this." He picked up, between his nails, a hair on the back of my thighs. AND THEN PULLED IT OUT. "Oh," he continued. "I guess it's still attached." You guess it's still attached? Shouldn't you have thought of that before you pulled on the doggone thing?  There are a lot of things my husband has, but clearly, common sense is not one of them. Before I explained that my razor is dull and that any attempts to get rid of hair f

Back when we started the kitchen renovation (Which, may I remind you, is done...it finished up in October of last year, and we've been enjoying the result ever since.), the contractor asked me where I wanted to put everything. The room is small, only 12' x 10', so space couldn't be wasted. And we weren't actually moving any appliances other than the refrigerator, which had been tucked into a bad corner. Everything else either stayed in the same place or was taken out entirely. "What do you mean?" I asked. "Everything has it's place now, doesn't it?" "I mean things like the garbage can or the microwave," Bill said. I didn't have to think about an answer. The one that came to the forefront of my head was almost as quick as a reflex. "I want the garbage to be in the same place it is now, and I'd like for the microwave to be on a shelf, not above the stove." Bill's eyebrows furrowed and Josh squinted at

A long time ago -- so long ago now, I can barely remember when -- I fell in love. With a place called Walloon Lake. If you're a faithful reader, you've heard me mention the place before, so bear with me. If you're new here, then this might the first time you hear its name. But believe me, it won't be the last. Walloon Lake sits in the northwestern part of Michigan's lower peninsula. It spans two counties and is really just one of many freshwater lakes that Michigan has to offer. It is at least a seven hour drive from our home. But to me, Walloon Lake offers a piece of secluded heaven that I love so much. Had I any opportunity to purchase a home here, I would. I won't go on and bore you. Instead, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves (Google "Walloon Lake" and search for images. You won't be disappointed.) I hope to get some of my own very soon...

I just finished reading The Only Boy , by Jordan Locke . Locke is a Twitter follower of mine. I'm not sure how or why Locke found me -- I'm not that popular, really, partially because I'm not that active on Twitter (a fact that I'm sure shocks you, knowing that I don't even have a cell phone with text capability) and partially because I don't spend time on it, trying to find my niche. And, I'm not funny. Or interesting. (Although I hope my characters are.) In any case, I thought, let's see who this person is. So I looked up the website, and actually sent an email to Jordan Locke. And here's the short story: Jordan wrote a book. Jordan found an agent. Jordan's agent couldn't sell the manuscript to an editor. Jordan decided to self-publish. So I know you want to know, how was the book? In case you don't feel like Googling anything or jumping to a link, here's the description of the book, taken from the back cover: Mary is stuck in

Sometimes, a recipe sounds so good to me, I then have to try it -- an action that usually leads me to post the recipe here. But I don't have time today to make these tasty morsels. And in an effort to remind myself to make these, soon, I'm posting the recipe before I try them. I mean, what difference does it really make? If I bake them and then despise them, I can update the post or (gasp!) delete it, right? And I can't take credit for these. I found the recipe at People of all places, where Angie Dudley (a.k.a. Bakerella ) is a guest each Friday. Lemon Sugar Cookies 2½ cups all purpose flour ¾ tsp. baking soda ¾ tsp. baking powder ½ tsp. salt 1½ cups sugar 1 cup butter, softened 1 egg ¼ cup lemon juice 1 tbsp. lemon zest ½ tbsp. vanilla Sugar for rolling cookie dough, optional Lemon cream frosting (optional, recipe below) 1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees Farenheit and line baking sheets with parchment paper. 2. Whisk flour, baking powder, baking soda a

My family likes having breakfast for dinner. In fact, we have it probably every week and a half or so. The menu will vary: sometimes I'll make scrambled eggs and toast, other times, pancakes, sausage and fried eggs. We've had french toast, roasted potatoes, and fruit. Nothing too creative or fancy, just good, filling, food. The one thing I haven't made is homemade waffles. Not because I don't like them, but simply because I didn't have a waffle iron. So last week, on a trip to my parent's house, I thought about the fact that my mom had a waffle iron. If I borrowed said iron, I would be able to gauge 1. if I liked the contraption and 2. if I would use it. There's no point to getting an appliance and not using it. (Those of you who know my parents will find such humor in that simple statement. Read on.) Well here's how the whole thing went down. Me: Mom. Do you know where your waffle iron is? Mom: It should be in the closet . The closet is this pl

I try not to go on about my kids. It's not that I'm not proud of them, it just that no one should brag about anything anytime, at least in my opinion. But it is okay to state a fact and that's what I'm doing here. I'm stating a fact that Aaron is good at math. Really good. So I also have to state the fact that for the last couple of years, since first grade actually, I've wanted him to be pushed ahead a year in math. The first grade teacher said, "We don't normally accelerate first graders, but I'll try to challenge him." And she did. The second grade teacher said, "The school won't bump him yet, but I'll challenge him." And she did. The third grade teacher said, "I'm not sure I can challenge him in the way you want me to, but I'll try." And he did try. But it still wasn't enough. So I went to the principal, a nice fellow who has ushered 21st century learning techniques into the school and has seeming

My wish for you, my friends, is but one thing: To find yourself. The who, what, when, where, and why of you. Not me, not her, not the people who raised you or those with whom you work. Not the you who hides beneath the blanket of family or behind a wall of friends. You. The one that sits up and shouts at the television. The one who wants to wear pinstripe jeans (even though they went out of style, decades ago). The one who prefers chocolate milk to red wine and Velveeta to aged cheddar. There is no way for me to help you cross the void and get you there. Wherever there is. I can cheer and clap and support you, hope that your feet will alight on the correct path. But only you can take the steps to scale the bridge and find the person who is ready, and waiting. You.

Did you know that olive oil can ignite inside a high temperature oven? In fact, it has a very low smoke point of 325 to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Which means, if you roast vegetables at a temperature higher than that, say 500 degrees, and you decide to put your oil in first to heat it because you might have been told by a trusted folk to do so, that you will, in fact, eventually see a flame. Right inside your oven. A very lovely, blue-yellow flame, arising from the hot pan. I might also add that baking soda does indeed put out a fire produced by the high heat and olive oil combination. I'd always heard this was the case, but I'd never had the opportunity to find out if it was true. Of course, it's always good to test the theory out on your own, you know. Because you can't trust everyone (see the folk who said to heat the olive oil to 500 degrees, above).

I'm a lucky girl. A very lucky girl. Besides having a husband who planted two bushes while I was away for a few days (and hopefully got around to washing all the bedsheets in the house), I have a friend who misses me. Enough that she emailed me to tell me so. Unprompted by me. Thanks for missing me. It's always good to be loved.

Older sisters can be so, so wise sometimes. "I wouldn't want to live with someone like myself," Gina said today. She had no idea when she said it, how powerful a statement she had made. And of course, the statement got me thinking. Would I want to live with someone like myself? Would you? It's too late to answer that now. Perhaps I'll keep it for another day.

Aaron has been taking part in a summer program through the school that, truthfully, has been quite a bit of work. Had I known this when I signed him up for it, I might not have done so. But, you live and learn, right? Anyway, part of the program is to send an answer in, each day, to three prompts: one that is creative, one that is geared toward English/Language Arts, and one that deals with math. Yes, Aaron has loved the math prompts, mostly because they are logic problems. Funny thing is, as logical as I am, I cannot always solve these little things myself. However, Aaron can.  So just for fun, I'm posting a few of these questions. If you want to give yourself a headache -- or prove that you are smarter than a soon-to-be fourth grader (which apparently, I am not ) -- go ahead and take a gander at these. They're good. Math Prompt #1:   Jim tells lies on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays.  He tells the truth on all other days.  Freda tells lies on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, an

A whisper, a conversation, and eight white shirts -- all hanging in a small closet -- lead me to another story question, a premise, a world to unfold and discover.

I didn't want to be that woman. The one who always follows the rules; the one that always takes on the law herself and reports a neighborhood incident to the police. Especially because it wasn't even my neighborhood -- I was cruising down the street one town over from mine. But as you know, I'm the neighborhood vigilante . The one that keeps an eye out for those lawless sorts that seem to permeate society these days. Except this time, the rule being broken was a useless and horribly insane law. And was it really a law, or was it simply an urban myth that I had heard? As I watched the man run down the street, shirtless, I thought to myself, I could call the police and report him, but why? Would that serve a purpose? Maybe it would be better to simply call out the window that I'd heard it was unlawful to run through the streets without a shirt and that he better be careful. Of course, I did neither. Instead, I sat back and watched the fine specimen of a man make his

Things speak to me, often. And by things , I can mean anything: commercials, quotes, stories, people, signs, nature, just about anything. Want a great example? Go find a Pure Michigan commercial, blast it in my ears, and watch me weep. The voice of Tim Allen and his (albeit scripted) description of days gone past and summer in Michigan gets me -- every time. What is it today? Doctor Who quotes. Yep, the good old Doctor, a person my family loves and sometimes impersonates, is speaking to me. His words, at times, bring tears to my eyes. I found these quotes here , but I have Googled a number of other ones that might come up in future posts. Somehow, my family members have a soft spot in their hearts for Matt Smith, so these come from his stint as The Doctor. "The universe is big. It’s vast and complicated and ridiculous. And sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles.” ~ The Doctor, Season 5, Episode 12 “I am and always will be the optim

Around these parts, we're lucky enough to be close to the Antioch Writers' Workshop. Because that workshop takes place in July --  when the kids are home and during the time when we celebrate Melina's birthday -- I've never been able to take part in it. But the AWW branches out and as of last fall, they've held what they call a LitSalon. According to their website a LitSalon is "a fun way to enjoy an afternoon with fellow literature lovers, hob-nob with a celebrated author, and support Antioch Writers' Workshop." I've gone to all three LitSalons and have had the opportunity to meet authors Martha Moody , Donna MacMeans , and tonight, Erin Flanagan . Each LitSalon has been fun and informative, and I've come away from them with a better appreciation of the writing process and how it is completely different for different writers. But something about Erin -- her persona, her humor, her I don't know what -- really resonated with me. I sat the