Writing Update

In case you have all been frustrated, not wanting to nag but really wondering how the novel is going, I'm finally ready to lay it all on the table.

I petered out on Seek Ye First shortly after starting it a few years ago because I was unhappy with the mystery and the pacing was all wrong. In short, it was a classic first attempt.

So I let it sit, and I worked on some short stories for a while, some essays, a chunk of a memoir, and another novel. By this time, I was ready to look at Seek Ye First again, this time with a bit more understanding of where I went wrong:

1. I need to have a good sense of the real structure of a novel - a rough outline with the major mileposts spaced out for me - before I begin. Perhaps I'll get better with practice and eventually not need this crutch, but perhaps not. I like the idea of a set structure, and I think it helps keep the emphasis where I want it.
2. I was writing the protagonist as a fantasy version of me - with my dream house in my dream neighborhood, for example - and that was getting in the way of her character development.
3. And I was trying to squeeze too many political (actually, religious, in this case) opinions into the novel to make a point, which was really getting in the way of the story.

It was hard to let all that go, to throw away what I'd written, to completely rework the mystery itself, to create new characters, to drop the points I was trying to make. It took a lot longer than I'd expected to do character studies for each of my new characters, to develop a mystery that I'm happy with, and to outline the plot the way I want it.

But it feels a lot better to me now, and, after an evening at Borders hammering out the details of my outline, I'm finally done being paralyzed with fear and am ready to start writing tomorrow, three weeks later than I'd intended.

Hopefully, the writing will go smoothly now, with the amount of prep work I've done. We'll see tomorrow! For inspiration and influence, I'm reading Agatha Christie and Julie Kaewert.

The Guy Not Taken

I haven't read Jennifer Weiner since Good in Bed. And, while I enjoyed the novel very much, I still haven't forgiven her for it. My lingering anger, plus the nastiness of the scene from In Her Shoes included at the back of my paperback copy of Good in Bed as a teaser for her second novel, put me off her work for a while.

Have you read Good in Bed? If you have, you probably remember that the main character is fat. I mean, really fat. Fat like she takes up more than her fair share of the seat on public transportation and people sneer at her. Fat like she goes to a physician for necessary medical weight loss assistance. Fat like people make comments, and she rarely gets dates, and when she does get a first via the internet, she never gets asked back for a second date.

The author goes on and on and on in this vein, and she does have some interesting things to say about being a fat young woman in America, taking care to show that it's not just how the character feels, but that her fatness is an objective state, noted by all. Then Weiner chickens out (because, like many of her characters, Cannie is loosely modeled on herself) and has the character tell us that that she's a size 14. 14! The size of the average American woman! So fat that everyone stares, that it's a given that she needs urgent medical help, that she oozes over onto neighboring bus seats. Whatever. I lost a lot of respect for Weiner over the weight thing, as she further reinforced harmful cultural weight attitudes.

(For the record, when I'm thin and fit enough to feel proud of my body, and a few people are quietly asking if I've been ill, or if I have an eating disorder, I am a size 10-12. That's what you get when have a 12-0-12 figure like mine; you'll never be a size 2. Currently, I am not thin and fit. I am wearing size 16 jeans, and I do not ooze anywhere, thankyouverymuch. I fit just fine in airplane seats and I am not in need of medical intervention, just a bit more exercise.)

I know that Weiner is a good writer and storyteller, but I just never got around to picking up another of her books (or seeing that movie with Cameron Diaz) until this weekend, when I gobbled up The Guy Not Taken, a collection of short stories by Weiner.

They're good, and they deal heavily with two main themes: divorce and the difficulties of being a mother to a very young child.

Weiner describes The Mother's Hour as being "as close to a horror story as I'll ever come," a good description of one of the scariest stories I've read in a long time. It's well-written and, like many of the stories, touches on some important issues, in this case ageism and, especially, classism. And motherhood and divorce.

This line, in particular, really resonated with me: She had, she realized, gotten out of the habit of loving him during the first few years of their daughter's life, when every minute of every day was a struggle, and while she'd learned to get along with him, she'd never learned to love him again.

Paul and I have spent a lot of time and money on therapy and on making sure that this doesn't happen with us, but I understand the sentiment oh so very well. It's so easy to focus on just getting through the days, just waiting for bedtime, for a little peace and quiet, for a moment to ourselves, for an end to the battles over diapers and potties and vegetables and indoor voices.

People always say, "It goes by so fast." And we hear, "Just hold on, it will pass." But what they're also really saying is, "Live in these moments. Try to enjoy them, feel them, experience them, share them, don't just endure them. Don't just look ahead to the next thing."

This is it. This is life. And there's no use waiting for it to get better: make a life of this collection of experiences you're living, no matter how difficult it seems. (Although, sometimes, I really do look forward to being able to tell the kids that I'm running out to Borders; please call me on my mobile if anything comes up and they need me.)

Even If You're a Plumber

Because I watched Season 4 of Project Runway, I now know that low-rise pants are on their way out, and I say: Thank God! It's about time!

Ellie feels the same way. She's beginning to develop definite preferences for things, which I love, and one of them is for her shirts to meet her pants. As she's a bit long-waisted, and styles being what they are, this has become an area of concern. She doesn't want an exposed midriff, and she doesn't want to feel like her pants are in danger of falling off.

Ellie will tug up on a pair of low-rise bikini underpants sent by her Nana and say, with great frustration, "It's not working!"

I think that pretty much nails it, right there.

I have a couple of very lovely friends who regularly expose their very lovely bottoms, but I don't think that seeing anyone's butt crack while they're sitting down in a pair of jeans is very lovely. (I include my own backside in this same prohibition, though I know I've been guilty of flashing my underpants upon occasion; it's simply very hard to find an entire wardrobe of shirts that are long enough paired with pants that stay high enough.)

I've long offered Ellie choices between acceptable alternatives, and it warms my heart to see her developing true preferences. She's never been a kid who cares if I put her milk in the blue cup or the yellow one, but lately, she really would prefer to be the green Hungry, Hungry Hippo. And she currently loves Calling Doctor Amelia Bedelia above all other books (courtesy of our local library).

Most fun of all, Ellie now has two dolls with names. You might recall that many of Ellie's dolls have consistent names like, "Baby," and "Dolly." A few months ago, she inherited my first Cabbage Patch Doll, who is a little black boy named Edgar. She loves Edgar and calls him by his given name. Paul recently noticed that another of Ellie's dolls has a particularly distinctive name. She's an inexpensive little doll (plastic head, hands, and feet, soft body, about 6 inches tall) found near Ellie's stuffed stocking at my parents' house on Christmas morning, and her name is Nellie. Ellie hasn't been watching Little House on the Prairie, and while Paul and I know a couple of adult women named Nell, we don't believe that Ellie has ever met either of them. Somehow, however, she has decided that "Nellie" is a wonderful name for her new little doll, and she's perfectly right. It's a lovely name.

My girl has all-around good taste. Have I mentioned that she is completely uninterested in the Disney Princess hysteria? Bless her heart.

Author: Promote Thyself

Much is made of the need for authors to do self-promotion, and it's all true.

I worked in educational publishing for 10 years, which has some significant differences from trade publishing (although the publisher for which I worked, like many educational publishers, does publish some trade products and expects trade sales on many of its titles). From my perspective in both editorial and marketing at an educational publisher, author self-promotion can be a wonderful boost for sales. And publishers just simply don't/can't do all the promotion for a book. There are places that the author is better equipped to reach, either by merit of being the author or by simply not being a large multi-national corporation (or small, over-worked publicity department, or whatever). Author self promotion is even more important for trade titles, I believe, than educational ones.

One of the most obvious vehicles for author self promotion is a website. As a reader, I often prefer sites that are created and maintained by the authors themselves (or whomever they contract to do so) rather than those created by publishers, as long as the sites are current. Publisher owned sites are often focused on the newest releases and usually only mention the titles still in print and published by their own houses. They rarely contain updated information about where the author lives and what s/he is working on currently. (I'm not some crazed stalker, I'm talking about dust jacket style information.)

Some examples:

I read Laurell K. Hamilton's novels. Check out her own website and her publisher website. In my opinion, her website does what it needs to do: it's current and contains relevant information about her books and personal appearances. That said, while I doubt that it hurts her sales any, this simply doesn't look very professional. The Random House website looks much more professional, but it contains far less information, is updated less frequently, and only lists titles published with that publisher. In this case, I'll take substance over style, but not without making a few quips (those bats!).

I also read Patricia Cornwell. Her personal site is about as professional and slick as they come, yet I don't really like it. It's too focused on her newest release, and doesn't neatly catalog the author's whole body of work, delineating the various series and non-fiction titles. (Cornwell's publisher directs people to her site from theirs.)

Good author website: Sue Monk Kidd
Site that would be good, if only it weren't missing its content: Audrey Niffenegger
Brandon Sanderson obviously has a great site, but it's a bit too busy for my taste.

I love Julie Kaewert's Booklovers Mysteries. Love them! But it's very hard to find current information about the author or anything she's written since publishing the 6th novel in the series several years ago. Is she retired? Dead? I also enjoy reading Dorothy Cannell. Thank heavens for Wikipedia and someone else gathering available information into one place! Author websites should be the authoritative place for finding out what an author has written, what she's working on next, how to contact her with requests for appearances, etc.

What Dog Breed Are You?

I found this one way too much fun. Via Rob.



Border Collie
The Achiever

You've heard about this "second-place ribbon" thing, but really don’t ever plan on getting one. Not a chance. Highly competitive, you keep one eye on the Best in Show prize and one on the rest of the pack, making sure you're always at least one paw ahead. You love your family and enjoy the company you keep, but you'd trade all of them in a heartbeat for a corner office and some meaty stock options. When you're not licking your professional coat, naked skydiving and triathlons keep you entertained. You idolize the top dog and will do so until you sniff out a way to take over the company and do a little "restructuring."

How do they know me so well? My only criticism: that shaggy collie coat! No, thank you.

In Sickness and in Health

They don't put that part in the vows just as filler. The sickness part is hard work! After 4 days of being mostly home-bound rather than being on an expected vacation, Paul and I are wiped out and a little snappish.

In addition to the expected miseries of being sick, there are additional miseries having to do with things around the house not stopping or slowing down for us. Like the fact that both girls have been healthy.

Never fear, though, Ada's got a touch of a cold now too. So maybe she'll be sick and cranky and need Mama a lot for the next few nights, just as I'm hoping to be able to start sleeping again.

Have I mentioned that this week is spring break for Ellie all week?

I wonder if maybe somebody will admit me to the hospital for the tail end of this cold? I really really could use the rest/break/vacation!

And my new book? For which I have readers waiting for a draft? Not making much progress, unless you count half-waking feverish panic dreams.

Back to the marriage for a moment, Paul and I have recently discovered HBO's new series In Treatment for free via Amazon Unbox. We are loving it. Loving it! Sometime in the middle of week 1, Paul turned to me and asked me to call our therapist (from whom we have been on hiatus since November) and set up another appointment. Apparently, we have work yet to do. That's true. But right now? Ugh, just getting showered and into clean clothes is a big day's work for me right now. Did I mention that I have a cold and I missed my vacation?

Is It Hot In Here or Is It Just Half of Me?

Now that we're officially not going to Wyoming this weekend (sigh) I'll admit that I really am sick. The fever, the runny nose, the constant coughing, the general malaise. Ugh. Didn't I just get over this? Moan.

Paul and I are sniffling and one-upping each other's misery, while the girls are happy and energetic as ever, albeit with the occasional runny nose. I'm trying to convince Paul to actually take a - gasp! - sick day from work tomorrow. He agrees to stay home, but is leaning toward calling it a "vacation day." A fever does not a vacation make, dear.

Anyway, we have a fairly nice Braun ear thermometer, purchased after Paul and I found ourselves consistently unable to get a reasonable reading for our daughters (read: anything above 96 degrees) using the classic digital armpit model.

But it doesn't seem all that consistent to me. Or, maybe it is and I'm just inconsistent. But if I really want sympathy, I'll take my temperature in my left ear, which is usually about a degree higher than my right ear.

Ellie's temps are often different enough that I take both and use the higher one when calling the doctor's office, though I never remember whether it's the same ear that's higher. (I chalk this up to her extraordinarily small ear canals, which are still - at age 4 - smaller than Ada's were as a newborn.) Ada's temps were normal today, each ear measuring within a couple of tenths of the other. Paul claims that his measurements are usually similarly consistent.

So, is it just me, or is this a common problem with ear thermometers?

Irritating Tickle

I'm a little bummed and frustrated. Our new minivan - known as the Cool-Cool-Car or the Cah-Cah-Coo depending on which child you ask - turns 1 this month. It has almost 16,000 miles already, and we'd planned to push that up to 18,000 easy by the end of the month with a trip out to Wyoming to see Paul's parents this weekend.

We've only made the drive once before, last April when Paul was between jobs, but it went well so we thought we'd make it an annual event and Paul's parents' spring break seemed like an ideal time.

I like Paul's parents, I like travel, and I like Wyoming. And while a 19-hour (one way! without significant stopping!) trip is grueling, especially all in one shot with two little kids, I'm excited by the challenge.

So I've been psyched about this vacation for a long time. But now Paul's feeling a bit off, and not that excited about going, and there's snow in the forecast along our route, and . . .

Sigh.

No vacation for me.

(I continue to deny the slight tickle in my own throat and possible tiny little low-grade fever.)

When Paul takes a shift at the wheel, I get great writing time in. If the girls aren't sleeping, they're probably happily watching videos, and Paul is likely to be tuned into an unabridged audiobook on his iPod. A cushion on my lap to prop up my laptop, writing notebook open on the console beside me, feet up on the dash, I can write for hours. Blessed, uninterrupted hours with very few distractions. (Have you ever driven across Nebraska? Trust me about the distractions.)

Oh, She's Smart

Ellie is going though a resistance phase. She's pushing limits and pushing our buttons. Masterfully.

I get that it's an assertion of control. That's obvious from her constant rejoinder, "Mommy, whateryoudoingnow? Daddy, whateryoudoingnow?" as we try to transition her from one activity to the next, even if we've previously laid out the plan. This one is easy, we just go through the order of events again, helping her feel like she knows what's coming and has some control over it.

We also give her unstructured time for free play, regular choose-between-two-acceptable-options choices, warnings in advance of transitions, and, you know, love and hugs.

She's such a great kid: so thoughtful, so polite, so funny and sweet. If Ellie met you once, months ago, chances are very good that when she sees you next, she'll remember your name and the name of your child (even if that child is not currently with you, in which case she'll ask after him).

But at home . . .

"NOOOOOO!" Sadly, there's no way for me to demonstrate her demon-child voice in writing.

She knows exactly where to push and when, to get a response. Like resisting sleep at night (especially hot-button issue for Paul) and fooling around in the bathroom (especially hot-button issue for me). The last few nights, she has discovered a new one that really gets us both. To set the scene, let me start by explaining that Ellie sleeps in a pull-up, which she hates but is not physically ready to give up.

Ellie walks out of her bedroom at some point, naked from the waist down and saying, "I go potty!" as she heads for the bathroom. Soon thereafter, a puddle of urine is found in the middle of the bed, often soaking through the sheets, blankets, extra pad, and into the waterproof mattress cover. Pajama pants and DRY pull-up are right next to the bed, carefully discarded in advance of the scene.

Let me stress that this is purely behavioral, not accidental, physical, and not a waking dream of some sort.

ARGH!!!

Spring Forward

As a teenager and young adult, I preferred "Fall Back." Who wouldn't? An hour more sleep!

As a parent of young children, I've been extolling the virtues of "Spring Forward" for the same reason. Picture this: it's Sunday night, and the clock on the DVD player says midnight. "Time for bed!" you think to yourself. But your body feels like it's only 11:00, so you're really going to bed a bit earlier than usual. Then, on Monday morning, your children awake at what feels like their usual time to them, but is 7:00 according to the clock beside the bed! Bonanza! You feel like you've won twice, and you really are probably getting about a hour more sleep than normal.

Sunday night wasn't bad, but, sadly, last night didn't work quite the way I had hoped. Ellie's been in a fighting bedtime phase for a several weeks, which is frustrating and tiring. Then, for some reason, Ada woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to nurse for a long time. Soon after that Ellie got up for the day at some ridiculous hour, like 4:30 or something like that. At that point, things are all a bit fuzzy in my head, and Paul's too. At one point, he found her curled up in bed with us . . . wearing nothing on her bottom half. That could have been bad, but she was wide awake so we were safe. Predictably, by time to leave for school this morning, Ellie was a weepy, tired mess.

Here's hoping that tonight is better! Also, Paul's head is full of pressure and he's running a fever this morning. (Of course, he's at work.) There's a chance all this could throw a major wrench into our plans to take a pleasure drive of more than 2000 miles later this week.

To-Do List

I've been meaning to mention this since, like, November or something (oops). But now that there's no doubt I've missed all the big gift-giving holidays, I'll finally plug a fun book that published late last year and included a little bit of me.

Are you familiar with the To-Do List Blog? Well, the creator, Sasha Cagen, decided to turn the blog into a book (To-Do List: From Buying Milk to Finding a Soulmate, What Our Lists Reveal About Us) and wanted submissions. I emailed Sasha with an off-the-cuff, funny (if I do say so myself) anecdote about, well, myself. And, hey, presto, she wanted more.

So I sent the 6-page table that I'd created for our 2005 trip to Disney World (not to be confused with the streamlined 2006 version or the we-took-a-year-off 2007 version).

And she asked some questions and I answered them and ta-da! See me in Chapter 8 of the book . . . which just happens to be entitled "Obsessive-Compulsive." Hmm, is it that obvious?

I have a few paragraphs of introduction, then one page of my chart. Sadly, due to Disney copyright issues, you can't see all the amazing formatting I did, which included downloading various appropriate Disney fonts and clip art images to decorate the pages. You'll just have to take my word for how awesome and useful this document was, slipped into waterproof sleeves and tied to our stroller.

We had all of our travel information, meal reservation information, times for the relevant parades and shows, park hours, must-see attractions, etc. all laid out at a glance for a relaxed, stress-free, customized vacation.

If I do say so myself.

Anyway, I got a copy of the book for being a contributor, and I ordered myself another one because I didn't know I was getting a free copy. I've decided to keep them both, because the book really is a lot of fun to read. Aren't you dying to know what's included in the "Sex" chapter?

Verdict: fun book, highly recommended. If I do say so. Myself.

Fiction writing update: research and plotting taking much longer than expected for Seek Ye First. Hopefully I'll be able to start writing on Monday or Tuesday, and go straight through. I've never done so much prep work or lined up so many ducks in advance before, so hopefully that will be a good thing once the words start flowing.

Nonfiction writing update: two personal essays accidentally published in really good books within the last year, both related to blogging: To-Do List: From Buying Milk to Finding a Soulmate, What Our Lists Reveal About Us (Sasha Cagen, Simon & Schuster) and Gifts: Mothers Reflect on How Children with Down Syndrome Enrich Their Lives (Kathryn Lynard Soper, Woodbine House).
Hmm. Perhaps I'd have some success at actually seeking out work too, instead of basically just waiting for it to fall into my lap. Nah.

Splendadly Uncomfortable

No, my spell-checker is not broken. Alternative title: If My Husband Had Gotten My Ice Cream Order Right, Ada's Birth Story Might Have Been Very Different. But that's kind of long and cumbersome.

See, I've had some experience with no-sugar-added milkshakes with Splenda. This experience led me to believe that one such dessert might be of assistance to me in kick-starting labor when Ada was nearly two weeks over-due and my doctor had scheduled me for an induction.

I fully agreed with the necessity of getting her out into the world, but would have preferred avoiding Pitocin, so I tried several DIY methods to start labor, to no avail.

One night, after a dinner of very spicy Mexican food, I sent Paul out to get me an ice cream milkshake, made with Splenda. He brought back back a different flavor of ice cream, in, if I recall correctly, concrete form. There was still Splenda, but it had no effect on me. Nor has any other serving of Splenda since. My body has become accustomed to it! I thought.

Slightly tired of sugar-free tapioca (Lent is almost over, right?) I asked Paul to bring me home a no-sugar-added milkshake after Ellie's gymnastics class tonight. He did so, and it was delicious.

It also made me cold, so I had a cup of powdered cappuccino sweetened with Splenda to warm back up.

And I've spent the last couple of hours glad that I don't have anywhere else I need to be.

It would be an interesting experiment to try to determine whether it's the milkshake form that causes the reaction, or whether it was the two different servings of Splenda tonight. (Can it be possible that I've never done that before?) But I think I'll save that experiment until next time I'm trying to kick start labor, or maybe just really need to get out of jury duty. Just kidding. I don't mind doing my civic duty.

Gotta go.

CNN Should Hire Me

I wouldn't keep saying, "McCain, Obama, and Hillary,"
and nor would I mistranslate "mano y mano" (hand-to-hand) as "mano y womano" when talking about Obama and Clinton.

Conservatives and pundits keep saying that the Republicans are in a better place than the Democrats since they have a nominee while their rivals are still duking it out.

I think there's another way to look at this.

1) The Democrats are going to be making a lot more headlines, and in this country it seems that any publicity really is good publicity.

2) Look at the endorsements McCain got today. Are these really helpful?

3) McCain has to defend himself against attacks from two opponents, while preparing attacks against two opponents. I'm sure he'd run a different campaign if he could target just one of them.

4) Neither Clinton nor Obama wants to be seen as being the bad guy beating up on the other Democrat, so they're both likely to focus a fair amount of heat on McCain to prove that they've got what it takes to go up against the Republican rival. (And as Bush's heir apparent, supporting most of his policies, there's plenty to go after.)

On a related note, McCain's big strength is with moderates, and there's some concern that he'll pull moderate Democrats, or those uncomfortable with Clinton or Obama. I think he'll lose those moderate votes in the search for stronger evangelical support if he chooses Huckabee to round out the ticket, as seems likely.

Can you tell? I'm feeling a little interested in politics again. I'm betting there will be a couple of TVs and a couple of big parties over here again this fall!

Snowed In

Our subdivision is at the top of a hill, and, in the middle of the neighborhood, our house is at one of the highest places within the subdivision. As I am not a runner, and our ranch-style house is not a big lightening magnet, the only time I take notice of of this is when St. Louis gets its periodic big floods: whew, glad we don't have to worry about that!

That is, until it took Paul nearly 2 hours to get home from work today after leaving his office shortly before noon. His commute is usually no more than 20 minutes, and today he spent the last hour of his white-knuckled drive within a mile of our house, trying to find a way up the hill. Aha! A snowplow, finally! (The snow was deeper than the Passatt, which did make driving difficult.) Alas. Cars stuck on the hill, forcing him to turn around again.

Eventually, he did make it to our subdivision, to our street, but from the bottom. He walked a couple hundred feet to change his clothes, don some gloves, and pick up a shovel. Whereupon he shoveled his way two houses up the street, then up our driveway. (His office never did officially close for the day.)

The girls and I stayed snug and warm inside all day until after nap time, when we all trooped outside to experience the deep, heavy snow with sled, angels, and a large snowman as the snow was beginning to taper off.

When the sleet first turned to snow this morning, I pulled down the crock pot and started browning stew meat, so we had a warm cozy dinner - along with Paul's homemade biscuits - after playing outside this afternoon.

Also, I managed to keep my personal goal of not losing my temper with the girls at all today, despite staying up late last night and running around the bed in a sleepy panic to answer the 5:45 am phone call alerting us that school was canceled. Tonight, I'm keeping the handset on my side of the bed, just in case.

For cuteness sake, here's a picture of the girls in their matching outfits after church on Sunday. I mention that they're matching because it's not immediately obvious given Ada's much darker shirt. Witness the bottle of water that they're sharing, and Ada's habit of purposefully spilling water all over herself while drinking, and saying, "Mess! Mess!" and there you have it.

Pink!

Whenever members of our church have babies, a woman named Sharon calls to set up a good time to visit. She arrives bearing a dinner and a baby blanket, as well as coos and praises for baby and parents. It's a lovely gesture.

The blankets are all the same: pastel fleece with knotted edges. Ellie's is pink, and unusually large. ("A special blanket for a very special baby!" Sharon said.) Ada's is yellow and about 18 inches by 12, which is the perfect size for a snuggley to be carried around the house without dragging on the floor and tripping toddler feet.

Ellie has no current interest in her blanket, so I made an emergency substitution once when Ada's yellow blanket was in the laundry basket. Ada is a child who loves to hold a lovey - or two or three - whenever possible, though she will (usually) happily accept substitutions. Dolls, toys, stuffed animals, blankets, books, small bottles of lotion, all have taken their turns.

Right. So imagine my surprise when one day last week I picked up Ada from her crib after her nap only to find her lunging back down toward her mattress, crying like she was physically attached to it and I was ripping her away.

"What's the matter, sweetie, do you want your doll?" I handed it to her and she cuddled it tightly but continued to reach for something in the bed, saying her word for blanket when pressed.

"Oh, you want your blanket. Here it is, honey." I handed her the yellow blanket, both because it is hers and because of its aforementioned perfect size for hauling around the house.

No, no, no, this would not do at all. "Pink!" she said, reaching for Ellie's blanket. And so you have it. I have a 13-month-old who can label similar items by color, and Ellie's short one baby blanket.

For her part, Ellie is doing some amazing things as well. She still doesn't usually answer general questions, like, "What did you do in school today?" But a more specific question, like, "What did you play with in the sensory table at school today?" got the appropriate answer, "Dinosaur bones!" rather than the usual reenactment of a scene from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

Generally, she's just looking and acting very grown-up lately. I can really see the little girl she's becoming, with occasional glimpses of the teenage she will be someday (so help me, God).

As always, it continues to be a constant struggle to remember not to talk down to my children, subconsciously assuming that they can only comprehend as well as they can speak. Knowing that this is not so is much harder than acting on it at all times.

Fortunately, Ellie's on the case, helping me out with daily reminders by way of perfect mimicry.

"Good job, Mommy," she says, clapping for me when I successfully complete a trip to the toilet, or, "Good singing," when I burst out with one of her favorite songs. My current favorite is, "Try again!" when I've done something she really likes and would like to repeat, like one verse of Ring-Around-The-Rosie (which, despite popular belief, is not about the plague) or an especially funny dance move/silly face/tickle attack.

They're perfectly wonderful, perfectly adorable, perfectly delightful. Why, then, do I have such a hard time going to bed at a reasonable hour, so as to better have the patience to enjoy them the next day?

StL Bloggers Carnivals #8 and #9

I Do Love To Host . . .

StL Bloggers Carnival #8

St. Louis is such an old city, and so Catholic, I was sure that there had to be lots of old ghost stories and interesting quirks about the place. I'm not necessarily talking about Cities of the Underworld, but I was thinking, maybe, those tunnels under the park.

Or, at least, the story of Lemp Mansion or that time time the devil came to St. Louis.

So, as host of the February StlBloggers Carnival, I issued this challenge: I want to learn more about my adopted home town. I've lived in St. Louis since 1993, but I still don't know very many of its unique urban legends. Growing up, all the kids in the towns where I lived knew where an unlikely grisly murder had taken place, the source of paranormal events, that one railroad bridge where everything looks exactly the same to either side, and so forth. St. Louis must have *lots* of stories like these!

Perhaps, however, we all live in a land of brand-spanking-new strip malls, and no interesting bits of unique St. Louis quirk remain.

Except, of course, for the one that John at TransylvanianDutch tells us about in The Book House: Say Hello to Valerie.

So I'll try again with March!

StL Bloggers Carnival #9

The Carnival Rules:

Interested STL Bloggers should write a new post on the stated theme by the specified deadline. They should then email the host at the provided email address with the following information:

1) Name of Blogger
2) Permalink URL of blog post
3) Title of Blog Post
4) URL of Blog
5) Title of Blog
6) Would you be interested in volunteering to be the next host? Yes/No
6a) If Yes – what would your theme be?

The host will then take all the submissions that meet the simple requirements of addressing the specified theme, and having been posted between the announcement and the deadline – and link to them from one post, with some annotative comments for each. This post shall be posted at StlBloggers.com, and if the host wishes, at their own blog. Participants should expect a delay of a few days between the deadline and this post.

The host will also choose the next host from the volunteers in any fashion they desire.

STLBloggers Blog Carnival #9
Host: Sarahlynn from Yeah, but Houdini Didn't Have These Hips
Contact: ms_sarahlynn [at] yahoo [dot] com
Deadline: March 31st at midnight. Email should be dated in the month of March
Theme: Spring Break Memories

Who Wins

One blog I read through my aggregator is The Rejector ("I don't hate you. I just hate your query letter.") and she had an interesting post yesterday (read: post I find fascinating in its dissimilarity to the way I see things) about The Academy Awards.

It got me thinking about genres in general, and back to the disagreements I've had with a couple of readers about relative values of genre fiction.

Here's basically how I feel about genres in novels, movies, and food.

I believe that there's excellent writing and storytelling that transcends genre, and it's often called "literary fiction" when it does so. There are so many examples of this. Gregory Maguire springs to mind, but there are plentiful historical examples as well. Lewis Carroll?

But with writing that's similar to what's typical within a genre, I fall back on a food analogy.

Sometimes I like to eat candy and sweets. Sometimes, I want an actual meal, but I feel more like a cheeseburger than a platter of steamed asparagus. Likewise, sometimes I might read typical genre fiction.

There's nothing wrong with it! There's tremendous creativity in speculative fiction, and sometimes really ground-breaking stuff starts there and works its way into more mainstream discussion.

I haven't seen every movie nominated for a Best Picture Oscar, in any given year. But I usually make an effort to see a few of them, including the one that wins, even if they fall well outside what I would normally choose to see on a rare night out at the movies (escapism and fun is what I'm typically looking for in a movie, not an uncomfortable challenge).

But the fact remains that when I've seen a really good movie, even if I found it uncomfortable at the time or unappealing in advance, I'm never sorry afterwards.

And after I eat a good, healthy meal, my body feels enriched and well-nourished.

It is likewise with fiction for me. I hated Madame Bovary. Hated it! But I've read it several times, and it sticks with me in a healthy-meal kind of way. It took Flaubert 10 years to write that first chapter.

Is there not some objective difference between writing like that and a mass market thriller/mystery/western/romance/fantasy/chick lit novel that an author churned out in a few weeks of work?

All can be good writing, all can be valuable contributions to society. But there is, I believe, in art, a level that speaks to greater human truths rather than just moments of entertainment. (Obviously, a love/sex analogy also springs to my mind here, as well as some examples from within the art world.)

There's nothing wrong with seeking entertainment, or with seeking to provide it.

But I'm glad that there are people out there who are looking beyond a clever punchline, a contagious chemistry, a cool special effect. I'm glad that there are writers and artists and filmmakers who strive to make minds open and grow in new and exciting ways, to serve nutritious food.

(In case you were wondering, I love that mixed metaphor. It's my little inside joke, me not taking myself too seriously. That's my sense of humor, poking fun at myself, but I'm sure most of you know that by now!)

Does anyone really think that Spiderman 3 deserved to win Best Picture, just because a lot of people saw it? I guess so.

Edited to clarify: The Rejector seems to be suggesting that it's pure Academy snobbishness that the year's highest grossing film (I'll take her word for it that it's Spiderman 3) wasn't nominated for best picture.

My point isn't really about genre, or even length of time it takes to create. It's that I don't believe that commercial success is the sole indicator of what's good.

Jumping Through Hoops Sucks

"OK, fine, I'll have my baby at Big, Urban, Major University-Affiliated Hospital, rather than Closer-to-Home Extension Hospital within the same system. But only if I won't have medical students or residents poking at me."

"Oh, you won't be a teaching case. You have good insurance."

This is a representation of an actual exchange I had with my doctor while I was pregnant with Ellie. Because of her known and unknown medical conditions, the doctor wanted me to deliver in a hospital that had more support for higher-risk births. It was the right decision and I had a good experience with the hospital, although I did choose to have Ada at Closer-to-Home Extension Hospital, where I also had a good experience.

I've never had a problem getting the health care I need - with the singular exception of the short period between when I expired from my parents' insurance and the corporate coverage from my first job kicked in, during which time a UTI became a kidney infection. Nonetheless, one of the issues I've been watching this election year is health care. I think it's horrifying that so many Americans do not have sufficient health insurance, and I think it's exciting that there's a real possibility of addressing that issue in the near future.

Today, however, I had an experience that shook my faith in the prospect of the single-payer system, just a little bit. The story surrounding this experience is not mine to tell, so I will be a little vague.

A good friend of mine is a little bit pregnant. Today, she started cramping and bleeding, and she just knew that she was miscarrying. She was understandably distraught. Not knowing what else to do, but unable to sit around doing nothing but freaking out, she hurried over to her doctor's office.

Where we waited, and waited, and waited. The clinical medical assistants and nurses were wonderful, offering hugs and support but no false comfort. Eventually, an administrative medical assistant with, er, somewhat less bedside manner came in to explain that with my friend's government-sponsored health insurance - a plan she had no role in choosing as her government employer chose for her - she couldn't be seen as an obstetrical patient, let alone given an ultrasound or exam, without a referral from her primary care doctor. It's worth noting that she sees her OB/GYN at least annually for an exam and other gynecological care, but hadn't seen her primary care doctor in quite some time.

I called and pestered and cajoled, to little avail. Despite the insurance company's assurances to the contrary, and the primary care doctor's immediate action to call in a referral to the insurance company, no referral had been received by the OB's office when we left a couple of hours later.

Fortunately, they were eventually willing to proceed without the formal referral, after receiving a verbal referral from the primary care physician's office. An assistant had been on hold for hours with the insurance company by that point, trying to complete the process.

What if I hadn't been there to be the assertive bully? I have no doubt that my friend's medical office would be eventually taken care of her, but the whole process was horrible and excruciating and unnecessary.

The end result was good. The referral will come through, and my friend's insurance will pay for the medical care she needs. And she did not miscarry today. (I too had threatened miscarriages with both of my pregnancies. They're not uncommon, but that doesn't make them less scary.)

But we need to make sure that we fix a lot of the kinks in the current systems before we adopt them on a larger scale.

RSS - No Longer Greek To Me

I'm learning to love Google Reader. And now I see why blog comments here have decreased though readership is relatively flat. It turns out that, probably, readership has continued its previous trajectory and more people are subscribing via an RSS feed. This is a good illustration of a larger trend that I was very slow to catch on to.

I know that when I visit a blog, I'm more likely to comment than when I'm reading a daily digest via my iGoggle homepage, and commenting would require a click-through to the actual site. On the other hand, I can read a lot more blogs a lot more efficiently through a reader, and my blog-reading time is quite limited.

So I've compromised. I read only professionally-related blogs via my Google reader, and catch up on other blogs (personal blogs and political blogs) occasionally as time/interest permit. This is working great for me so far.

What about you? Do you subscribe to feeds? And, if so, which reader do you use?

Interpretations

I always thought that the term coitus interruptus referred to the withdrawal method, a form of birth control statistically more likely to result in the production of offspring when compared to other common forms of birth control.

Little did I know that coitus interruptus really refers to a common state of affairs after the children have been born.

On a tangentially related note, I found a nifty quote from Lactantius on Catholics.com when I was curious about the Roman Catholic Church's position on ci: Wherefore, if any one on any account of poverty shall be unable to bring up children, it is better to abstain from relations with his wife" (Divine Institutes 6:20).

Nice! If you're poor: no sex for you! Sex for the wealthy only! I am fortunate to be affluent enough to have been able to have sex two times so far! Oh, and also to be Protestant.

Snapshots

I have cute kids. You can't see them right now, because of our faulty hard drive situation, so I'll try to relate their anecdotal cuteness as best I can in a sans serif font.

Ellie still has a few really cute toddlerisms, and it will be a bittersweet occasion when I realize that she's left them behind forever. I think it's adorable that she calls Mickey Mouse's best friend and loyal companion "Plu-dog." I am intrigued by the way she says blanket: "My pickely!" And my friend loves the way Ellie says her name. "Mommy! Mommy! E-widdi-beff is here!" Already, Mommy is sometimes Mom. Surely it was only a year ago that I was still Mama?

Ada has her own little adorablenesses. Like her lifelong obsession with underwear. It's always been a challenge to keep her away from underpants she finds in laundry baskets, both clean and dirty. This weekend, we gave up. She sees her sister wearing big girl underpants, of course. Then she brings me a pair. "Help please! Help please!" She wants to wear them. And why not, I say?

Sure, she just turned 13 months old and her tiny bottom slips one cheek at a time into the potty seat - she's not even big enough to sit on the little potty chair without falling in! And she looks completely ridiculous toddling all over the house wearing a pair of Ellie's clean underpants over her own pants and diaper. But it makes her so, so happy. Ada wins! Underpants for the baby!

Ice Storm

Every January, St. Louis gets a big ice storm. I've been worried that we'd miss it this year, but it was just late! I suppose it's a little odd that I love the ice storm, but I really do. Unless it knocks out the power.

We have a cozy house stocked with plenty of comfort foods. As long as we have electricity, we'll be fine here for a few days.

I love the way the world outside is so silent, glistening, pristine, deadly. It's like the trees and telephone wires and mailboxes have gotten all dressed up in their formal wear and bling. It's the calm after the storm. It's a celebration of life to take little children outside to experience such an event, and it will be Ada's first one.

I love the enforced quietude of being iced in. There's no real pressure to go anywhere or do anything constructive; it's a winter storm! The only pressure is to drink hot chocolate and pamper yourself a bit.

So, for dinner tonight, I made two pizzas. The first was on whole wheat dough, covered with a light Parmesan Alfredo sauce (Rob, this was originally intended for you) topped with some fresh baby spinach flash-fried in a touch of EVOO and mozzarella cheese. The second was more traditional: red sauce, pepperoni, and mozzarella on an Italian white crust. The girls ate, and loved, the white pizza. I served broccoli on the side, drizzled with more of the Parmesan Alfredo, but didn't sweat it too much, since there was spinach on the pizza.

What? A food blog, from me?! Surely not. Tomorrow, the plan is for a homemade chicken pot pie, as long as there's power and Paul's here to entertain the girls while I cook comfort food, and I'll try to spare you the details. Pictures of girls on ice will hopefully follow . . . as soon as a new-new external hard drive arrives to replace our still-under-warranty drive that holds all such precious commodities and is currently reluctant to function (we do have the photos stored elsewhere as well).

Writing Update

I've been reading a lot of (literary) agent blogs lately, as motivation and education. They do a lot of contests, and I am excited to participate. But I want to be ready with a completed novel and solid query before I start submitting anything.

This year's NaNo project, The Really Good Guy, was not my first attempt at a novel. I intend to finish that book, and I intend for it to be really good. So while I pluck away at it as the mood strikes, and I have very good notes for what I want to change and where/how I want it to grow, it's not my primary writing focus right now. I don't want to push on through a finishing/polishing/revising process when I'm not feeling passionate about the work, just to have it "done." I want it done right, which means that I need a little more practice at this whole novel-writing gig before I go back to work on The Really Good Guy full time. It's too important to me for it to be my training novel.

In the meantime, I'm back at work on an earlier attempt at a novel, Seek Ye First. Long-time blog readers might have read early chapters of an early draft of this one, before I petered out a few years ago. I had trouble finding my character's voice, and was uninspired by the mystery. (This was a real problem, in what was supposed to be a "cozy mystery" novel.)

As Paul and I were working down in our basement last week, I was moving around both my writing references and my Agatha Christie collection, when, bam! Inspiration. I've been working on parts of this book subconsciously for a while now, and have been having more success with the main character's voice. The mystery, however, is only now coming into focus and beginning to excite me. So we'll see where this goes! I'm not revising; I'm starting over from scratch. I keep telling myself that I'm not throwing all that previous hard work away; it's all there in my head somewhere, enriching this new draft. I hope.

Fighting Dirty

Voters have been clear: we don't want a negative campaign; we want to talk about issues, not in-fighting. So the candidates are trying to rise above the fray, but that doesn't mean that there's no fray. Before there's a VP candidate to sic on the opponent, there are familial surrogates to do the dirty work. JFK had RFK, which allowed him to seem so golden. Hillary has Bill. And . . . Barack has Michelle:

"Our view is that if you can't run your own house, you certainly can't run the White House."

Damn. In her defense, she was talking about how she and her husband put their children first, how even in the midst of all this campaigning, she's home every night to put them to bed, there every morning to get them off to school. She claims that she was only talking about her own family, and not taking a swipe at Clinton.

I hope that's so, because if it was a back-handed suggestion that because Clinton's husband committed adultery, she is not fit to be President, well, I think that's ugly on a number of levels.

When is the Fourth Estate going to respect what voters keep saying they want? If we want news, we have no choice but to continue consuming what they spew out, but this whole "attack" hype was generated by media clips of Michelle Obama's comment, divorced from its context, labeled as a probable swipe at Senator Clinton. Yes, it got my attention . . . but left me feeling disgusted by the cheap trick once I'd read the context.

Then again, while it's true that in context she was talking about her own family, in an election like this one, the obvious comparison is always implied.

Motivational Reading

I have always been a book addict. When I was a child and punishment proved necessary, my mother would send me to my room, but only after removing whichever books I happened to be reading at the time. Or, worse, she'd send me outside to play. Without my book. In college, I did not allow myself any non-assigned fiction during the semester, because I knew that I'd just get lost in a book and neglect my studies (which, frankly, didn't need any more neglecting).

Balance was not impossible for me, just challenging. I was, after all, successful in a career for ten years, and it wasn't the sort of career that smiled upon the reading of novels at work.

After Ellie was born, I suddenly had no time to read, and I didn't pick up a single novel for six months. I underwent a lot of major life changes during that period, including becoming a mother, having a Very Sick Child, and temporarily leaving my career, but perhaps the simple fact that I was not reading was the most damaging to me.

So when Ellie was six months old, I joined a friend's book club, and it felt like I had surfaced for air. I quickly found time to read not just the selected books, but other fiction too. Sure, I slept less, but it was worth it. Oh, so very worth it. Eventually, I started a second book club, which has a completely different feel and reads very different books. In both groups, we rotating "hosting" duties every month - though we don't always meet at our homes - and the host selects the book. Here's what my two book clubs read in 2007. Can you guess which one I joined and which one I started up from scratch?

Book Club One
A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon
Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See
Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer
Nice Girls Finish First by Alesia Holliday
Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister by Gregory Maguire
Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith
Random Family by Adrian Nicole LeBlanc

Book Club Two
Night by Elie Wiesel
Kindred by Octavia Butler
Birds of America: Stories by Lorrie Moore
The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende
A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah
The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin
The Dangerous Life of Altar Boys by Chris Fuhrman
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
Bearing Witness by Michael A. Kahn
White Teeth by Zadie Smith
Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey

I'm not giving up either book club (though I might miss a few titles here and there) but I'm thinking I might try to dial the reading back a little, in order to squeeze in more time for the sleeping and the writing, and probably the exercising, too. Alas. Perhaps Newsweek, Parents, and - gasp - television will have to feel the pruning shears.

Athletic Sex

First of all, let me just say that we are having a wonderful long weekend visit with Paul's sister, her husband, and their beautiful baby girl. And that has nothing at all to do with this post.

Except that my sister-in-law bought a Cosmo magazine for the plane ride, which we've all been perusing and discussing throughout the weekend, a pastime that has given me some very interesting dreams. What a weird, weird magazine. I hadn't looked at it in years, it seems, and either it's changed or I have.

So, anyway, I was reading one of many articles that seemed to take for granted the superiority of multi-positional sex, when I decided that I disagree with the entire premise.

Variety is the spice of life and all that, but I really don't get the point of what they seemed to be extolling.

I like many different flavors of ice cream, and sometimes I might even enjoy two different scoops in one bowl, but for the most part I don't think that my ice cream eating experience is enriched by having a small bite of each of several different flavors, every single time I eat ice cream.

I like many of the clothes in my closet, but sometimes I'm more into the jeans and some days I'm more into the dresses with tights. Sure, there might be days when I start out in sweats and change into slacks later, but I don't think I'd enjoy my clothes more if I wore every single outfit I own - or even just several of them - every day.

I think of sex as a fun activity, for a few really good reasons, but I don't see it like a yoga workout. Why is it supposed to be so much better, so much more exciting, if it's choreographed, with position changes every minute or two? In fact, sometimes, in my experience, consistency for several minutes is where it's at, baby.

But that doesn't make for as exciting a movie, where we expect the scene to develop and change rapidly. I suspect that this is yet another way porn has changed what's seen as "good," or even, "normal" sex.

I think I deserve some sort of weird blogging award for getting from visiting family to porn in one post.

Valentines

On Christmas Day, 1929, my grandparents were married. Shortly before Thanksgiving 1987, my grandmother died. For the next 18-1/2 years, my grandfather kissed her picture before bed every night, and periodically shared his thoughts with her throughout each day, as he'd done for all the 58 years of their marriage.

In some ways, theirs was a very modern marriage. In others, it was completely timeless, and seems far removed from the stresses and tensions of modern life. (That is illusion, I'm sure. It's not like the 1930's were stress-free.)

Before our wedding, Paul and I wrote a statement about what marriage meant to us, which my mother read aloud during the ceremony. I remember the writing process so clearly: my early drafts sounding so academic, precise, and dry, all very big picture, while Paul's thoughts were all anecdotal. The final result was, of course, an amalgamation, as we are as a couple.

In all our youthful exuberance, these are snippets of what we felt about marriage on the eve of our own wedding: "Marriage is a partnership between two people who, as a couple, are greater than they would be individually," and, "A married couple shows affectionate caring for the times when one simply needs the other to listen and say that everything will work out alright in the end."

With examples like all four sets of our grandparents, how could we have expected any less of ourselves?

Happy Valentine's Day!

Connections

So often, we make decisions based on what "feels" right. And, if we've been taught by good examples and have a good moral underpinning, this method of deciding can often serve us well. But, if there are kinks in the system, they can be next to invisible to us, since they don't "feel" wrong.

I think that I conflate people with possessions. No, not in that way! The other way. It's more like treating things as people than treating people as things.

I come from a grand tradition of people who keep things. My grandfather once had to move his study to the opposite side of the house because their enormous old home was settling unevenly due to the weight of all of his books.

As they grew older and moved into smaller places, my grandparents did have to downsize, but in the end they were all left with so many treasures, things that they'd collected throughout their long lives or inherited from their own parents. Many of those things are now with my parents, or with my sisters and me.

My parents' basement is currently unnavigable, despite their also having at least one storage unit packed full of stuff somewhere. And most of it is really great stuff!

I also come from a long tradition of people who are extremely loyal, who stay married forever, who measure friendships in decades. And, in my mind, I think that these two traits have become entwined, indistinguishable, merged.

I have a friend who laughs in disbelief whenever I start a sentence with, "I stumbled across an old journal from junior high, and . . . "

I know lots of people who aren't overwhelmed by clutter. But those who have perfectly neat homes, with no overflowing files, shelves of old textbooks, labeled plastic storage bins containing elementary school perfect attendance awards, high school homecoming court sashes, and pre-marriage/kids Halloween costumes - well, I can't help but feel like they're missing something critical, like they've ripped off little pieces of themselves and discarded them along the way.

Clearly, I'm in real trouble if we're ever hit by fire or natural disaster. Without these tangible bits of my history, who on earth would I be?

Fizzle: this is where the should-be-unrelated synapse fires, the faulty logic is born. A part of my brain thinks, "He just lets things go when they get messy; this is why he's been married so many times." "This is why they go through friendships like I go through underwear." (That's just a figure of speech. Of course I still have underwear from college! You don't?)

That illogic stopped me cold when I noticed it recently, which made me work through the whole chain of thoughts until I found the break. Clearly, I attach way too much importance to stuff, but not in an I-must-have-that-Birkin-bag kind of way.

My husband would like me to add, here, that I tend to keep little bits of information in my head the same way I keep old greeting cards and address books.

In other connection news, since the ban on bubble baths has been strictly enforced, Ellie's symptoms have have cleared up. No more accidents!

The girls have my cold, though. (And I still have it too.)

Getting Things Done

Did you know that Kozy Shack makes sugar free tapioca? They do, and it's pretty good. (I gave up sugar for Lent. And I have decided that Sundays don't count. After all, they're not counted in the 40 days.) Resuming exercise will have to wait until this blasted fever is finally gone gone gone. Is bronchitis supposed to be a chronic condition? I feel like a walking plague, especially since my girls seem to be getting colds.

Despite all being a bit off, we had a very productive weekend here. On Saturday morning, Paul and I took the girls to a Parents as Teachers event that they both loved, and Sunday we all went to church. Other than that, we spent most of our time working around the house.

We cleaned the bathrooms, dusted and cleaned the front rooms, did lots of laundry (and folded it, and put it away) and organized throughout the rest of the house, especially in the girls' rooms. We also spent hours downstairs in the basement, slowly putting it back together after its big painting experience a couple of weeks ago.

(There was also writing, good stuff, but that story can wait for another day.)

We're supposed to have company next weekend, though I'll almost be surprised if they still want to come. (Sickness, violence, bad weather, who could blame them for wanting to stay home?!) Hey, Monroes, Kirkwood is still a lovely, safe place, if an imperfect one.

But if they decided to surprise us by showing up a few days early, we'd be ready for them. Our house is in decent shape! And no last-minute rushing-around necessary; we were just keeping up with things like responsible adult people. Imagine that.

Out of Chaos, Hope.
Build for Life.

Two Sermons

There has to be a first next post, after that last one. It could be a cute picture of my children, it could be an update on Sarahlynn: Operation Get Your Shit Together, or it could be something serious. But there has to be a first one, and it's going to be now, so I'll recap the sermons from church this morning.

Our minister is a very emotional guy, and he has mastered the art of being able to talk coherently while crying, a trick I'll never learn. He didn't cry this morning during his sermon, until his voice broke a little on the last word. Throughout the sermon, his voice was rough, his tone angry.

"I am not ready to stand up here and give a message of hope, of reassurance; that message will have to wait for another day."

He spoke passionately against the use of the word "war" as a few in the Meacham Park community have used it, "a seeming defense of an indefensible act." He spoke of misunderstanding and reconciliation, of thoroughly cleaning our wounds before allowing them to heal over.

It was a good message, if not the one I expected to hear today. It made me feel uncomfortable at times, and left me feeling ruffled.

Then came Communion, a wonderful experience on a traumatic weekend with a packed church, sitting quietly in the beautiful sanctuary, listening to the organ, watching hundreds of my fellow Presbyterians proceeding up the aisle to receive their grape-juice-dipped wafers, waiting my turn in peace.

Our associate pastor is a friend of mine, and she has one of the most soothing voices I've ever heard. Her communion prayer was quite long, almost a second homily, and I savored every moment of it. I no longer remember what she said, though I remember nodding along at the time. Afterwards, I was immediately left with a feeling of safety, of home. This prayer felt a little like a mother patting her fearful child on the back, murmuring words whose tone is more important than their substance, though the substance is there, for those ready to absorb it. For the rest of us, we could sit quietly, listen, and feel like there was someone taking care of us.

Amen.

Local Tragedy

We chose our little community very carefully. It's not without its problems, but it's a charming little place. Kirkwood is an old, beautiful community, established in 1853. There's a mixture of large houses and small in mixed neighborhoods, lots of homes with great character, tall shade trees, a thriving downtown area with shops and restaurants, and a distinct small town community feel in this quaint enclave in the St. Louis metro area.

But no place is perfect. There's one particular area of Kirkwood, Meacham Park, which is a traditionally African American community, and there have been tensions between residents of that area and city officials, for various reasons, some (in my opinion) quite valid.

One neighborhood resident grew particularly enraged about what he perceived as his ill treatment by the city council. (A federal judge disagreed with his claims.) After acting out at several meetings, he attended a council meeting tonight (perhaps in response to that judge's ruling) and made a final stand.

As the mayor began his opening remarks after the pledge of allegiance, this man shot and killed a police officer outside city hall. He went inside to where the meeting was taking place, and shot and killed another police officer, then opened fire on council members and city officials. 30 people were in attendance at the meeting, including a reporter for the St. Louis Post Dispatch, so news of what happened got out quickly.

He shot seven people, killing five, before being killed by police. The two survivors are a local reporter, possibly hit in the hand by a ricochet, and the mayor, who is in critical condition at a local hospital.

Kirkwood authorities have decided not to release the names of the deceased tonight, to give them time to notify families, though our local Fox affiliate television station has irresponsibly shown pictures of those killed, not saying so explicitly, but drawing the obvious inference. (As we know, only two who were shot survived, X and Y, and we also know that these three people were also shot, so . . . )

It's horrifying that this happened so close to home, in our safe community. It's almost unbearably tragic to think of the families touched directly by this tragedy. It is also more personal than is comfortable. (And what distance would ever be comfortable, I wonder?) I read unofficial minutes from council meetings and subcommittee meetings, which helps me feel like I know some of these people more personally than I do. And all reports of what happened tonight mentioned the name of the Kirkwood Public Works Director Ken Yost as one of the shot. Ken is far more than just a name to me.

Ken was the webmaster for our church, Kirkwood First Presbyterian. He ran the amazing local recycling center and was an environmental activist. His wife is a church staff member, in charge of new members and mission work. She was one of the first people we got to know in our congregation when we joined more than 8 years ago, and they were both at our wedding. They are incredible people who walk the walk, and my heart is so full of pain for Ken's wife and son.

I feel a tendency to ramble on and on, a lack of perspective, and an inability to edit my thoughts properly into a cohesive message.

Someone I knew and respected a great deal was killed tonight. It's horrible. My prayers are with the families of all those killed and injured tonight. I feel powerless, and my prayers feel insufficient. I want to be actively doing something, anything to help. Unfortunately, there's little to be done now.

Bronchitis

Viral upper respiratory infection with fever, bad cough, etc. No antibiotics necessary, which is good. Wait it out, which is hard.

What shall we do this afternoon, kiddos? Videos? Or, perhaps, videos? And what do you mean that you can't take yourselves to the potty yet? Alas.

Maybe Another Day

I should have quit smoking years ago. I don't actually smoke, but this week I sure sound like I do. Cough-cough-hack-hack-moan! Have I mentioned that being sick is a lot less fun when you're the mama? Also, I'm pretty bad at knowing when it's time to go to the doctor. I feel like I often err on the side of not going soon enough (especially with myself) and then over-correcting (especially with the kids).

I took 5 trips to the pediatrician's office in January, after having only a couple of sick-child visits all last year. On the other hand, when she was 2-1/2 Ellie had pneumonia for weeks before I took her in. Her only obvious symptoms then were a cough and an occasional low-grade fever.

Today, I sound like a wounded seal who happens to have a slight fever. Bark. Bark. Whimper. Sort of like our electoral process, actually.

Anyway, Ellie's been having accidents for the last few days, and she occasionally grabs herself and fusses a few minutes after going. I was planning to call her pediatrician about a UTI, when I learned that Paul has recently started giving Ellie bubble baths again. Apparently, the warnings that regular bubble baths aren't that great for little girls wear off after time, and do need to be repeated. If only there were indicators, like on my toothbrush bristles. So here's hoping that once the bubble baths have stopped, and end-of-bath rinsing in clear water commences, symptoms will clear up. Poor kid. I've really been frustrated with her about the accidents (which often come shortly after assuring me that she doesn't need to go) because I'm a jerk mom like that.

All things considered, I think I'll wait on calls to the doctor for both of us. Just like we'll probably be waiting a while to find out who the Democrats are going to nominate for president.


When Ellie was 12 months old, they actually let me take her to the polling place dressed like this.

Super Tuesday Is Now!

As it turns out, a confused - or malicious - squirrel was chewing through "the line" as it ran from the telephone pole to the house. New line, no more phone static and vastly improved internet access. Voila! Now my Blogger spellchecker isn't working, though, so please try to politely ignore my typos.

By this time tomorrow night, the Democrat and Republican nominees for president will probably be decided. (If you live in one of the 24 states holding primary elections tomorrow/today: go vote! Vote! Seriously, vote! Isn't this almost as important as the SuperBowl, which 97.5 million people watched? Yes, it is. Trust me. It's still a silly game, but with far more meaningful consequences.)

The last six couples I talked to about the primary are split the same way Paul and I are. I'm planning to vote for Clinton; he's planning to vote for Obama. There's no political rankor in our home; both of us believe that both candidates are qualified and would do a good job. We each dithered back and forth between the two before landing where we have. It's still interesting that so many people we know are splitting this same way: women for Hillary, men for Barack. These are, for the most part, all liberal, progressive, pro-feminist, racism-is-baaaaad folk.

I too am excited by Obama's positive, energizing message. I'm very excited by the possibility of an African American president. I think it would be overwhelmingly wonderful to have a president named Barack Hussein Obama who spent several of his formative years in an Islamic nation.

Given all that, there are three main reasons why I've decided to vote for HRC tomorrow.

1. I took that quiz I told you about, and it told me that I (surprisingly!) agree with Hillary on most of the big issues.
   
2. I think that she has the experience to know how to work the system in the way that it needs to be worked in order to get things accomplished. I don't like that this system is there, but I think most new presidents have a learning curve as they realize how they must bargain with congress.
   
3. While I was watching the pre-South Carolina debate, I had a visceral response to seeing Clinton on that stage, with Obama and Edwards, running the show for large chunks of the evening. I didn't think it would make such a big difference, but I felt something, watching someone who looks a little like me in that position. What would this say to girls - and boys - who grow up seeing this as normal, as a possibility?

Of course, I have some reservations, too.

Another interesting piece of this decision is Edwards/Kucinich/Dodd/Biden/Etc. My youngest sister and I find ourselves at odds with our parents over this issue. My parents like Edwards, and feel that he's electable. That might had made them decide to vote for him in their primary (had he not dropped out already) despite their being excited by the possibility of a female or African American president. To them, the big question is: who can win against the Republican candidate?

That's not the major issue for me. I'm more jaded. I've seen Democrats who aren't so different from Republicans. I am skeptical about how much good a president can really do. There wasn't a perfect (for me) white male candidate in the field. (In fact, HRC and Obama come as close to representing me as any other candidate.) Given that, I can't bring myself to vote for a white man who looks just like every single other president we've ever had. Sorry, Edwards.

At Least I'll Go To Bed Before Midnight

. . . well, almost.

Our broadband internet connection is still leaving something to be desired. Like, you know, reliability. And the ability to download as well as upload. That sort of thing. I have no idea what's going on, but the problems have spread to our suddenly strangely crackly home phone, too. Time for a call to the phone company. Right, from the mobile phone. Let me just hop online and look up their phone number. Wait . . .

On a related note, I finally read A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. Doing so right after seeing Charlie Wilson's War made me think this: There's probably some sort of introductory/initiatory stuff that newly elected congressional representatives and senators must read/watch/sit through before beginning their first legislative sessions. I think that all members of the 111th United States Congress need to read these books before they start having any discussions involving budget and foreign policy.

We simply must learn from our mistakes. We simply must stop playing deadly games in others' yards, then going home, leaving nothing but our weaponry and a huge vacuum behind us.

Now let's see if I can post this . . .

Trying to Feel Good

My internet connection is annoyingly up and down this week, which keeps me from doing the "research" I’d planned to do for the blog post that I’d planned to write. Instead, I’ll try this modified little meme-thing I picked up while stumbling around the internet. That makes it sound like an STD.

With no qualifications or justifications, here are 5 things I'm proud of about me:

1. I’ve never had casual sex. (I've never had an STD, either.)
   
2. I know a little bit about a lot of stuff. On a related note, I read a lot: fiction, nonfiction, genre fiction, memoir, Newsweek, etc.
   
3. My body does a good job with pregnancy, labor, and baby feeding. I did natural childbirth once! And might do it again someday when I don't have to play with Mr. Pitocin.
   
4. I think about things, really think about them. For the past 10 years or more, I've been trying to train my brain to look behind the emotion at the facts, the logic, the different sides of a situation.
   
5. Sometimes I can make pretty pictures with words.

Hmm, that was harder than I thought it would be.

Sorkin

First of all, thanks very much to Jessica for staying with the girls tonight so that Paul and I could go out for a movie and dinner. I originally wanted to see Juno, but we ended up seeing Charlie Wilson's War, and enjoying it very much.

I didn't think that I was interested in seeing a movie about US 1980s cold war politics in the middle east. But I like Aaron Sorkin's writing and there was a good cast, so we went.

I'd love to talk about it with any of you who've seen the movie, especially other feminists. Obviously, Wilson is a flawed character (and I liked the way that's obvious from the opening scene). But his politics were pretty sound, and he was good at working the system to accomplish things. How did you feel about the sexy female aides? How about the way he treated them in the film (flirtatiously, but with respect)? He relied upon them and trusted them to do the jobs that needed doing; they certainly weren't just eye candy. Except for the belly dancer and the Playmate.

A Few Good Men. The American President. Sports Night. The West Wing. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. If you write it, baby, I'll watch it. But (note that this is the tongue-in-cheek part) I wish he'd do an interview confession which projects he wrote while straight and which ones he wrote while high, so I can decide how I prefer his work. For example, Matthew Perry is often better looking while on pills (the emaciated look makes for a strong jawline) and he's got a haunted quality that is more serious actor and less class clown when he's fighting his monkey. And Stephen King admitted that he can't even remember writing Cujo. I'm as square as they come, but I do find it interesting to compare people's work while loaded versus sober.

Hooah

How do you go from being a high school drop-out to being a soldier? How do you go from drinking on the job at a factory to leading a platoon? How do you go from gang-banger to hero?

My best friend is a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army. As I'm a liberal raised by pacifists, married to another liberal raised by pacifists, this friendship has been an interesting and educational experience for me. Her husband, also a good friend, just returned from 14 months in Iraq.

I spent 11 years of my childhood living near Fort Riley, Kansas, "Home of the Big Red One," First Infantry Division. Instead of, "Yo mama so fat" jokes, kids in my schools said, "Yo mama wear combat boots." Often, this was true.

People talk about flashbulb memory in conjunction with events like the assassination of JFK or MLK, Jr. My first and clearest experience with the phenomenon was while washing dishes one evening as a teenager. It was cold, winter, and my parents were out running. I had the small, black-and-white TV on for company and I heard President George H.W. Bush declare war on Iraq. "Damn," my father said later when he returned from his run, half-frozen, and I repeated the news.

War has always effected me politically, of course, but somehow it never touched me personally. I wore slogan support bracelets - Desert Shield, Desert Storm - but I didn't stay up at night, worrying about loved ones and imagining what their lives were like over in that desert. I recommend that everyone get close to someone who experiences war on a personal level.

In the meantime, here's a snippet of what Basic Training is like. Note the recruit who didn't realize that we are at war, the spelling and grammar in the letters home, the complaints about maturity and discipline. Note how different they look at their graduation ceremony. Think of going from child to warrior in 9 weeks.

Ada's One

In the white space between songs on one of her beloved Ralph CDs, Ada says, "The End." I took a list of more than 50 words Ada says along with me to her 12-month check-up, and she's added quite a few more words in the days since. "I've never seen a 12-month-old who's quite this verbal," the pediatrician said. Of course, Ada was showing off quite a bit, enunciating, "Doctor" clearly, when she normally says, "cah" for cat and car.

Last weekend, we drove up to my parents' house to celebrate Ada's first birthday, along with that of her cousin, Arria, who was born one day later. Arria prefers walking to crawling, a leap in preference Ada hasn't yet been willing to make consistently. Until peer pressure kicked in. Today, for her Parents as Teachers Parent Educator, Ada happily walked all over the room, talked up a storm, stacked cups, played high five, sang songs, and generally acted like a very happy, compliant, much older baby.

Not that I'm complaining.

One Year Old Pictures

Who's a cute little baby? Ada's a cute little baby!





And she's got a cute (but sick) big sister, too.

Excellent!

A big Thank You to Beverly at Homeschool Image for awarding me one of Project Mommy's Excellent Blog Awards.

In turn, I pass the award on to:

1. Peripatetic Polar Bear from The Ice Floe because of her beautiful prose and often resonant descriptions
   
2. Kay Olson at The Gimp Parade because she challenges to me to see what I should be noticing and am very good at ignoring
   
3. Flea from One Good Thing because she writes honestly about things that "we" just don't talk about
   
4. Andrea McDowell at Beanie Baby for a combination of factors, including: subject matter, writing, and challenges to my comfort zones
   
5. The PCUSA Blog, which merits the award for its amazing blogroll alone!

And these bloggers because I find myself checking in with them regularly just to see what's going on in their lives. These blogs are sometimes here's what happened today sort of blogs, but they're written in such a way that I feel like I know the author, and am usually friends with her. That's a pretty cool effect to achieve with a blog.

6. Moreena from The Wait and the Wonder - poignant!
   
7. Psycho Kitty at SBFH - I actually called her, on the phone based solely on bloggy communication. Amazing.
   
8. Angela at Fluid Pudding - witty, local
   
9. The Crazy Cat Woman - love the quick-to-read, daily posts that paint such a clear picture
   
10. Portia at The Winding Sheet - because we shared some similar painful experiences around the same time, which helped me tremendously.

Sidenote: wow, does my whole template - most especially my blogroll - need an update! So sorry, everyone.

And on Beverly's blog, I found this most excellent quiz, for all you Tudor fans out there:






Which of Henry VIII's wives are you?
this quiz was made by Lori Fury

Congratulations! You are Katherine Parr.
Katherine Parr spent nearly her whole life married to crotchety old men: Henry was the THIRD old fart she was forced to marry. Is it any wonder she turned to books and religion to occupy her time?

Katherine wasn't just smart, she was a tiny bit uppity, too: she almost got herself thrown in jail for arguing with His Royal Fatness about some theological issues. After Henry croaked, Katherine dropped the prim and proper act and married Thomas Seymour, a handsome, dashing pirate kind of guy who was also as dumb as a post.

Which goes to show you that even bookworms know how to get it on.

First Down

Happy first Birthday, Adelaide! The year has gone so fast.

2007

2008


Yesterday, Ellie and Ada and I went to Cici’s for lunch. The girls were munching on pasta and breadsticks while I got drinks and pizza to share. When I sat back down, I distributed drinks (lemonade for Ellie, water for Ada) and handed Ellie her plate of pizza, Ada her homemade quesadilla with chicken, cheddar, and pureed broccoli.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma” she said, “I want pizza.”

I’d rather expected that she would, so I had a piece of sauceless cheese on my plate for her. But seriously. It was the day before her first birthday. "I want pizza?!!" Don't get me wrong, she still sounds like a baby much of the time. Most of her words are very hard to understand out of context. Cat and car both sound a lot like, "cah," for example. Still, Ada's amazing, beautiful, wonderful; it's been a great year.

Yes, a Jewish Carpenter

Ellie's in Sunday School for the first time this year, rather than just childcare while Paul and I are in Sunday School and church. I've been pleased with how smoothly she's made the transition from: church is a place to play to and learn, too. Just like preschool.

I know and trust the teachers, so I'm comfortable that she's unlikely to be learning a lot of theology I'm uncomfortable with. But I admit that I didn't expect her to absorb a lot of it.

Imagine my surprise, then, when Christmas rolled around and she seemed to get it without any prompting from me. First, let me admit that I haven't spent much time at home educating Ellie about the wonders of Santa Claus and his North Pole dwelling, gift giving ways. Nor have I spent much time explaining about Jesus. I know, I know.

"Later," I thought. I'm not sure where to start, and where to stop. Sure, Christmas is the birthday celebration of the baby Jesus, a reasonable concept, but Ellie's very literal. Won't she expect an actual baby? And what do I do in a few months when it's Easter? "Hey, Ellie, remember the baby Jesus? Well, some people really didn't like him when he grew up, and . . ."

"Maybe next year," I thought.

Imagine my surprise, then, when Ellie was very engaged from our first reading of Who Is Coming To Our House? in early December and, on the last page, she answered the question before I could read it:

"Baby Jesus!" she said with great excitement. Except that, with her adorable little Ellie voice, it sounds like, "Baby Jew-zus."

I nearly fell right over. So we have talked quite a bit about him lately. I'm still not sure what I'll say at Easter, though.

Not Quite Freestyle

I love HGTV. I get that it's supposed to be "reality" TV, or at least more so than fictional medical dramas and that sort of thing. For me, however, they're not so different. I watch TV to enjoy a world I wouldn't otherwise inhabit, and, for me, dramas with incredibly good looking vampires are about as realistic as professionally designed spaces.

I have no gift for interior design. Actually, I like a couple of rooms in my house: the front room doesn't look professional, but it's pretty cool with "wet sand" colored walls, black furniture, and bits of art from around the world. Ada's room is straight out of Dr. Seuss. Ellie's garden room is lovely, too. I can do a theme upon occasion, but none of my rooms looks professionally designed.

Currently, I'm confronted with an intimidatingly blank slate. We have a large, finished basement. There are three unfinished parts (laundry room, utility room, shelved storage room) and the rest is finished. There's a good-sized home office, a bedroom, a new bathroom, and the big, open room below the upstairs living room and family room. We just had this whole area painted, all very light, and hope to design and decorate the space so that it becomes, eventually, our main family room.

It's a big, rectangular space, and we have it divided into two parts: playroom and family room. The 30' southern wall has a chair-rail with wooden wainscoting below, all painted to match the upper wall. The shorter western wall has the same design. The long northern wall is partially open to the office and stairs; the rest is lined with built-in shelves for book and toy storage. The short eastern wall has doors to the bathroom, utility room, and storage room.

As you walk down the stairs, at the eastern end of the northern wall, I'd like the space to open out into the playroom, since that's where the taller, deeper shelves for toy storage are located. We have a wonderful wooden indoor slide, and the great wooden kitchen set that Ellie doesn't even know that she got for Christmas yet, since we're waiting until it's all set up to show her . . . and the room just finished being painted a week or two ago; we haven't moved the furniture back yet, let alone set anything up or decorated. It makes sense, then, for the family room area to be at the western end of the room.

What I'd like to see, I think, are big murals above the chair rail of the long southern wall, probably different ones to define the two spaces, with a tall cabinet or something to divide them. We need a new TV, or we will soon be watching the radio instead. I think a wall-mounted, ventless fireplace would be lovely on the short western wall, drawing attention away from the TV. (Did you know that you can get these, in cool-looking copper, for only $200?!) I'd also like to carpet the stairs, replace all the lighting, and get a new ceiling. Oh, and put down a new floor in the laundry room.

All this stuff is reasonably priced individually, but way out of reach when we add it up - especially as we try to crawl out from under Christmas - so we'll be doing it very, very slowly. It's a playroom/family room, but we don't want it to be too cartoony. I've considered "maps" and "libraries" as themes for the two rooms, as well as "sky" and "trees."

But if any of you have some passion for decorating and would like to draw up a design plan for me, I'd love to see it! I'm so stuck. Of course, if you'd like to pay for it, too . . .