serenity now

Serenity Now's New Real Estate

2009-04-13T09:53:00.003-05:00

I felt like such a grownup the day this picture was taken, and we had just bought our first house.

A while back I decided that owning my own dot-com was the cyber equivalent, and I determined to do it.

What this means for you: Today's the day. I'm hoping to take all of my wonderful readers to the new site. It doesn't even look all that different - you just get to remove the "blogspot" from the address. You can now find Serenity Now by clicking that link or by putting http://www.serenitybohon.com in your address bar.

(Poor Grandma. Mom just put the shortcuts to our blogs on her desktop at Easter. I'll be there soon to set you up again, Grandma!)

Hope to see you all there!

- Serenity

Good Friday

2009-04-10T13:59:00.004-05:00

I love this day. It was horrible and gray and cloudy when I woke up. Then while I was in a meeting at work, the sun came out. I picked up my boys, and we spent real live time together over lunch where I actually listened to what they had to say and learned new things about them and as they spoke I got distracted by their sheer good looks. Having them home and going to work instead of only working from home have made the day feel different like anything could happen.

Then I came home and read Mom's and Felicity's posts about Good Friday. What a beautiful holiday for Christians. This is the weekend that defines us. More than Christmas, more than any of the causes and protests we devote ourselves to throughout the year, more than what kind of church we go to and what it believes, more than anything. It's why I love communion, and why every single time I hold that cup, I cry.

And I will always have gum (at least I could if I wanted to)

2009-04-08T13:17:00.004-05:00

How pretty is this cake? I bought it about a week ago when frugal, responsible Michael (somewhere his high school friends are laughing at that) sent me to the grocery store with meal plans for 14 days and the grocery list to match. Fourteen Days. That's two carts once everything is bagged. I've mentioned how little I enjoy the weekly grocery trip, right? And fourteen days - well, not only did that mean longer in the grocery store, but also that many days that I wouldn't have a single excuse to say, "Oh darn, let's just order out tonight - it would be so much easier. Sigh.

So, realizing how much money we were saving over that time period and how self-sacrificing it was of me to actually do the trip, I bought a CAKE. A white cake with the whipped frosting, which puts all buttercreams to shame, and glorious life-is-actually-a-pastry red roses. Not a single birthday or holiday in sight. Jake and I poured over the choices - balloons, cupcakes with plastic animal heads on toothpicks . . . we settled on the roses, and I told him right then and there. This is the reason you should want to be a grown up.

Admittedly, it didn't quite live up to my expectations. The roses (the little tricksters!) were buttercream. A store-bought kind of flavor that bled into the entire culinary experience, decreasing the allure. But I was still so proud that I took this picture of what it means to get to make silly, inconsequential decisions all the time all on your own that could very well make life richer - at least for the evening.

The new book I'm reading (by the author we met) is set in Chicago. How much do I love Chicago now? I've had to research it for work, and I am so embarrassed that I didn't realize my pretty little midwest had such a treasure. Because, you know, I'm claiming it now. Navy Pier, Grant Park, Cloud Gate - the book talks about them all, and because I've researched them, I almost feel that I've seen and touched them - or at least that I have some sort of ownership in their greatness. I still dream of New York, but People, Chicago is a train ride from here, and it is so on my list. Someday I'll buy that train ticket just like I purchased that cake. I wrote about the Art Institute of Chicago on the Student Travel blog today, and posted pictures of its miniature rooms display, which looks dee-lightful. Linking to that blog post justifies the fact that the writing of this one bled a teensy bit into the work day. Which brings me full circle, because that's just what those buttercream roses did.

Road Trip, Baby

2009-04-06T12:51:00.003-05:00

You can read on Felicity's blog today that we took a road trip together this weekend. I got to see the college she attends online and bask in that whole academia glow (mostly coming from Felic). We heard an author read a portion of his memoir-like novel, and I'm currently devouring the copy we purchased and had him sign. (Mental note: If you're remotely interesting, people will be more likely to buy your book if they've met you). He was superbly validating to us aspiring writers, on the nonexistence of writer's block (if you don't feel like writing, then read - it's fine), and on the need to think a lot, which only looks like doing nothing if you're not the one who's thinking.

I sent a thank you card to Holly recently to forward to a person in the business who said some wonderful things about my memoir and its potential once it finds a publisher. That kind of stuff is gold at this stage of my climb, and I wanted him to know what it meant. Dropping that card in the mail, knowing it was about to travel directly from my hands in Small Town, Missouri, to hers in New York City - sort of made me do the happy dance. I missed my chance to move far away after graduation and try to take the world by storm from some perch in the Big City or other world-conquering places. I missed the chance by not really wanting it at the time. So now while I settle in to this lovely little midwest life, I cherish every opportunity that helps me also reach outside of it. It's wonderful to meet new people, thrilling to have connections outside of my own quiet yard and pretty street.

This morning when Jake and I got in the car, I wanted to keep driving forever. Monday seemed so monotonous without the open road in it, and a new destination. I started fantasizing about just how wonderful the inside of an airport can feel.

Thankfully, the thrill of our road trip still lingered. It's not that I never go anywhere. I just wasn't going anywhere today. Fortunately, those are very different things.

Missed Opportunity: George Clooney

2009-03-31T09:07:00.005-05:00

Hey, remember when I was in a movie? I just like to refer to it now and then. I found an article the other day about the film student who directed the short I was in (Brantley Ping, in the hat in this photo), and there is a photo referring to me as "actor Serenity Bohon." You know I bookmarked that baby. After all, according to my 9-year-old (a couple posts earlier), it is one of the things for which I might eventually be famous. (You can see the article HERE, because I know you care.)

All of this brings me to today's small regret. I could have been in a film with George Clooney, but I turned it down. (Keep reading for the realistic version of that statement that was SO FUN to write).

Mom has this awesome knack for passing along information for opportunities that probably sound like torture to her but which she knows one or the other of us would love. Enter a little ad she saw for extras in a George Clooney flick which would be filming at the St. Louis airport less than 4 hours from me.

I read all about it - you get paid, I don't remember, eleven dollars a day or something. And the days are hours and hours and hours beyond a normal work day (Okay, like 11 or 12). But you're in a film with George Clooney. (You see? That logic alone would have gotten me in this film. I AM their target audience.) And, listen, I had a whole other reason that was pretty good too. Research.

I'm writing a novel, and let's just say knowing what it actually feels like on the set of a major film, or at least what it feels like to be within several yards of an actor you've previously only seen up close in your movie cabinet at home, would be priceless firsthand information. Unfortunately, I could have driven all the way to the audition only to find out I didn't get to take part. OR, I could have driven all the way to the audition only to have to come back a second day. This is hotel and gas money I didn't really have, what with the economy crashing around our heads, on the off-chance that I would actually be chosen. I was practical, People. And nobody ever got into a George Clooney movie BY BEING PRACTICAL.

So, I don't know if regret is the right word. Those were some precious hours with my actual life that I don't really wish I'd given up. Still, in a couple of years, George Clooney should appear in a film called Up in the Air (with Jason Bateman too - I've loved you in everything you've done, Mr. Bateman) in which he is a "corporate downsizer obsessed with collecting frequent flyer miles at the expense of having a life". I'm thinking comedy more than dark drama. But I'm pretty sure, I'll be the girl in the second to last row, crying.

I hope you dance

2009-03-26T20:21:00.004-05:00

Another song title - I can't help it; they move me.

This is just a little lesson from my journal sometime late fall/early winter of 1999, which some of you might remember as the best months of my LIFE, because they were the first few months of my motherhood. I had started working from home that year too, and I was very happy in most things although as dramatic as ever in others. One day I wrote in my journal while John Michael lay nestled on my bent legs - our favorite way to sit together. And I wrote about how I was always penning the big emotions and giant dreams and plans but that someday, when I read my journal again, it might be interesting to me that John Michael was starting to grab at things and what movie we had watched the night before and that we'd decided to teach our kids to say "Papa" instead of "Daddy" because of cute little Emma Pihlstrom running through the Christmas tree farm calling her Swedish father that.

Last night I read the profiles for the American Idol contestants and loved the one who said that his goals in life were to be a good husband and father and to not have any regrets. Eh? You know we can see you on a reality television show designed to catapult you to vocal fame, right? Of course he does. But that's just the no regrets part. He'll be okay if he's not catapulted to fame. He just wouldn't be okay if he hadn't tried.

Then I downloaded I Hope You Dance to my iTunes today, a song I adore because of all the things it hopes you do every single day. ("I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean" - LOVE THAT). I have a lot of plans and dreams, but the goal is every day. Because when you come to die, it's the way you lived those that you're going to care about - much more than how much can be written as your accomplishments.

Today, we hung out with our friend Zoe. Jake is very into trains, and she happily played along. She lives just down the street, and her mom is one of my best friends. We probably won't always live just down the street from each other. It's very cool, and I want to remember it.

I also want to remember Michael and John right now. They're watching the Mizzou game together. I kind of care, but I just don't like to watch Michael yelling at those poor 19-year-old boys about their defense. It makes me flinch for them.

And here's another thing Jake's into: Apples. He says it with Z's instead of P's, but he eats them clear down to the core - like scary close to eating the seeds, which I hear are poisonous. It's especially cute because that dude rarely eats all of anything.

I won't normally tell you all my little details. I just wanted to inspire you to take happy note of yours.

Here Comes the Sun

2009-03-24T17:44:00.003-05:00

Do you know that song? Here Comes the Sun? In googling it, I just discovered it's a Beatles song, which reminds me of all those times as a kid when we would hear a song on the radio and say, "Hey that's from the McDonalds commercial!" - an aren't-they-cute-and-young moment that we share with our own kids now, only the songs are usually from Shrek. It reminds me of that, because until just now I would have said "Here Comes the Sun" was from Parent Trap. The remake.

I heard it today and thought of Natasha Richardson in that movie when she and Lindsey Lohan share a mother-daughter moment in London. It's very sunshiny, very happy, very alive. And suddenly I was crying. I felt so sad for Natasha's family. When the announcement was made of her death, it came with that typical publicist-worded phrase about respecting the family's privacy. I figure that mostly means photographers, but I still felt rude blogging about it or tweeting it on twitter when I am anything but family and that would hardly be privacy. Today I can't help it though.

I've recently reread a lovely book called Stepping Heavenward. It's very old, but it has one of the more relatable Christian characters I've ever read. Relatable to me at least. Her name is Katy. The book takes her from adolescence to motherhood and shows her Christian growth - as she herself would say. She's desperate for Christian growth throughout the book. She is always trying to know God better, or rather, to reflect Him more. She has fits of almost unreal faith because of this - little euphoric moments of grace where she feels basically perfected. I hate to admit those moments of hers are as relatable to me as her fits of unrest, of gloom, and of the conviction that she will never understand God's ways nor how to be a proper Christian.

Katy has several seasoned Christians in her life, so the book is full of their helpful (if pious) monologues about the Christian walk. I like them both - I like the religious statements because there are nuggets of true and attainable poetry in them, and I like the temper tantrums and the sorrow and the imperfection, because it's true. I find life somewhere in the middle most of the time. There is an odd celebration for suffering in the book that I don't quite understand. I know it's straight bible to "rejoice that we are counted worthy" to suffer as Jesus did. Still, when the seasoned woman said as much - how blessed she was by the death of every person she'd ever held dear because it drew her closer to God and shouldn't the younger woman in the same way cheerfully accept the sudden death of her fiance, I kind of wanted to crawl through the book and shush her.

That's not a kind of faith that I actually understand. For one thing, if we suffer because we are counted worthy it seems to follow that those who glide on peacefully must not be held in high esteem by Him. And don't think I'm reading too greatly into this - I can't think of any character in the book who doesn't suffer but is considered a seasoned Christian. The rich and healthy people in the book are generally grumpy and ingenuous and shallow while the ones who pursue Him are continually losing health and family members! The faith I have managed thus far is somewhere in between. I don't think I could ever actually thank God if he took something from me so precious as a fiance or a child. I don't really think I believe that God does such a thing. I think death takes our loved ones from us, and God - thankfully - receives them on the other side.

However, I've been through some things. And I've watched wonderful people go through some things. And I do believe that you can embrace the pain without losing your faith. And if you do that, eventually, the sun comes back. It eventually always does. There will be better, happier times, and you will actually feel the happy. That's the sun to me. It's so hard to believe when it's cloudy, like it was at our house today when the song came on that made me think of Natasha Richardson's family. I know they feel so dark today. And I have a hard time believing that taking a mother from two teenage sons and a husband is just the best thing for all involved. I think it's awful, and if it were me I'd have a little talk with God when I joined Him - it's great here and all, but WHY? Still, even for the Richardson family, and although it might be a while - here comes the sun. I've seen it happen, so I know it can.

in which I totally break the rules

2009-03-21T15:13:00.004-05:00

Remember chain letters? Facebook does something kind of like that, only with question and answer games. And instead of being promised thirty-six pages of stickers when it's over (or any hint of being doomed if you don't participate), it just promises that you'll learn new things about your facebook friends. They're usually pretty entertaining, although I've never done one myself. I figure blogging is enough talking about myself for one cyberworld - and twitter and all the sites I use for work. Anyway, I also get hung up on the part where you have to tag people. But there have been two I couldn't resist. I played them but never posted them, and now I'm going to use my blog to exercise all kinds of "self-indulgent drivel" as Simon would say, and post the answers I want to.

The first asked questions that you answered by the title of whichever iTunes song came up next when set on random. That was a fun one, but most of the answers I think are only fun to me - after all, these are songs I've chosen because they mean something to me. The answer to, "What is your life's purpose?", for instance, was The Way I Am and to "What is your life story?" - Made to Worship. I did NOT like the answer to "What do your parents think of you?" (When Did You Fall) nor the song that will be played at my funeral, Happy Day. :) Feel free to refute the former, Mom.

I also couldn't resist the questions that your children were supposed to answer for you. Some of these were awesome. John's answers are first in black, Drew's in blue - the same order as their picture above. (They're 9 and 7):

What was your mom like as a little girl?

A little girl. Kind, nice.

If your mom becomes famous, what will it be for?

An actor or selling books. Writing thousands and billions of books.

I couldn't believe they know exactly what I do for a job:

Works on a computer, works for this thing to persuade college students to go to these different places. Works on the computer and entertains people by making them want to go different places like New York, and writing books.

What is your mom's favorite food?

Chicken chimichanga (correct). Chicken fajita. (close)

What makes you proud of your mom?

She chases her dreams. That she loves me.

If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?

Bugs Bunny - you're funny and you're smart. Mrs. Bohon. (I will in the future consider this the identity of a super - like Mrs. Incredible.)

What do you and your mom do together?

We talk with each other a lot. Talk by writing.

How are you and your mom the same?

Our eye color is the same. We both love each other.

How are you and your mom different?

She has a job, and I don't. I'm a boy, and she's a girl - I mean, WO-man.

How do you know your mom loves you?

She tells me that every day. Because every night she kisses me and says, "I love you."

What does your mom like most about your dad?

He's funny and handsome. They've known each other for a long time.

What is your mom's favorite place to go?

They BOTH answered, "Mexican restaurants." Which reminds me that I'm hungry.

***

I am especially proud at how often I tell them I love them and John's completely awesome answer to what makes him proud of me. The itunes answer to the question, "What do you want right now?" was, Better Life. There could not be a more inaccurate answer than that.

(Although I do love that song because of how much I relate to it! Ah, the complexities of any one person.)

This might be the most fun I've had on blogger yet

2009-03-19T08:00:00.001-05:00

A few things you should know about my mom:

First, this is a picture of her with my younger sister Charity, who really doesn't get pictured enough on my blog - so there you have it. And here are some more things:

I get my love for writing from her. I started writing books in the preteen years. I always had the main character's home intricately mapped out, all of the family members named - first, middle, and poetic meaning - the back story outlined, then one quarter of the first chapter - usually with a cute teenage girl, a twerpy little brother (sorry, Joe, but that really reflects more on me than on you), and a mom in the home office clacking away on her typewriter.

She is the oldest - I mean - most mature woman I know with an actual crush on the man she's been married to longer than she was single. Actual crush. As in, "Isn't he cute?" and "I thought you should know this wonderful thing your father did today."

She is genuinely baffled that none of her children are famous yet - if not for a specific talent, than for sheer awesomeness.

She likes Diet Coke, chocolate, the Little Women soundtrack, sentimental gifts (this woman likes to cry, People), curling up with a magazine or a happy movie, her grandchildren, Christmas, and Dad (did I already mention him?).

She has a serious gift for the silver lining. If she can't find one, she will MAKE ONE UP. She believes in God's perfect timing, God's unfathomable mercy, and his perfect timing. (It's one of the silver linings - it comes in handy a lot, believing in that one).

And, finally, SHE. HAS. A. BLOG. This is her premier right here on my own blog! Consider it graced with a red carpet and flashing with camera lights, and me wearing Oscar de la Renta. She's actually quite the magazine writer aficionado, but she took a slight reprieve back in the day to rear us soon-t0-be famous people. (That's right before she taught us that, yes, children are reared, not raised. And that's because of her odd enjoyment for appropriate grammar.) But you'll soon see more of her articles as she's re-dipping her toes into the world of freelance and, of course, taking it by storm.

You can find her right here on blogger by clicking these pretty words: Kathy Nickerson.

writerly advice . . . that I should take

2009-03-18T09:04:00.004-05:00

I want to thank Lindsey Leavitt for this week's advice I've heard a million times but this time I think it actually sank in. Since I started blogging, I've discovered the bottomless pit that is the writing community online. It's seriously huge. Although, it's also seriously small. (Just like the world). I'm always finding connections between people that I previously only knew un-connected. And, anyway, while reading about writing and attending a couple of writing conferences, I've heard a few things more than once. The reason they get said more than once is because they are true, and because we don't listen. For instance, at the first conference I ever attended, a lovely children's book author said, "You have to write because you love it." Not for any other reason - like, say, getting rich. An agent the next year said, "Write what you love." Or in another agent's words (heck, a million other agents' words), "Don't follow trends."

This is all super helpful, right? I'm sitting there all stressed out about whether or not the publishing industry is ever going to notice me, and all these people are putting the stars back in my eyes by reminding me that the joy has to come from the writing itself. Or you'll always be very, very dissatisfied. It worked every time, but still somehow my husband and I end up in conversations in which I'm trying to decide how to write about vampires since it appears that they sell well. (I just hope my agent isn't reading this and thinking, Dude, I wish you would give me something with vampires. Because that would kind of step all over this highly insightful post.)

So we have the conversation about vampires or witchcraft or sad, literary endings and then, inevitably, I'm re-focused by some great author or agent or editor who knows how to chill and enjoy the ride. Now, usually their journey has sort of landed on a shelf somewhere at some point, but still - I have to assume they know, I'm convinced they're right, and it works every time. This week's benefactress, as I said: Lindsey Leavitt.

You can click on her name to visit an interview with her. She's - well - simply delightful, and she has a book coming out about a substitute princess (a girl who steps in for princesses around the world), and she had this advice for writers. "Write your heart out." She said we get so caught up in the pursuit of publication that we forget to just write, write, write. And unless you do that, there won't be anything to publish.

NOW, if people would just stop telling me that we're not supposed to quit the day job, I would find it so much easier to put Lindsey's awesome advice into practice.

life on the highway

2009-03-16T15:46:00.006-05:00

When we visit my surgeon in Kansas City, we're actually in the Kansas side of the city. And when we go, Michael likes to wear as many Mizzou clothes as possible. This time it really paid off. He got to talk sports with everyone from the waiter and waitress at Chili's to a stranger in the hospital hallway to my surgeon's residents. (Not so much with my surgeon who apparently only appreciates sporting events for the beer and the ribs. They serve ribs at KU games?) Anyway. I was really glad for all those takers, because I can't really carry on an actual conversation about basketball with Michael. However, today I am really loving Missouri, and that's due in part to the Big Twelve conference champs - the Missouri Tigers. Yes, I'm that kind of sports fan. Give me a championship, and suddenly I'm really proud that you're more my team than anyone else and that I even attended a game in seats so close to the floor I was embarrassed by the length of the cheerleader's skirts. So that's one reason I'm loving my state today. Mizzou. Rah.

Second - and this is far more in keeping with the normal tone of the blog - I am loving a good country highway, and Missouri is full of 'em. I had some things to mull over today, and the mulling was so stifled in the monotony of the house where the cycle of trying to work while trying to parent Jake can eventually drive a person insane with its sameness. Then Felic emailed with the very cool news that an old college friend would be eating with her in the town where she lives and works about an hour away. I finished up the work I was doing, clocked out, and hit the road.

There is nothing like a drive on country highway to clear the fog, except maybe time with my sister and parents, which is what I would find on the other end of the drive. And I needed to clear the fog. Technically, it didn't work. I'm still a bit unclear on the job thoughts I was trying to settle. But, oi vey, the change in perspective. A long stretch of country highway makes me feel suspended between obligations. Jake relaxed the whole way to a movie in the back seat, so I knew he wouldn't need anything the entire trip. And somehow even in the age of cell phones, I feel unreachable on a drive. At least, I feel like I let go of that feeling that I need to be available, constantly in contact with someone. It's like an escape seeing nothing but trees, pasture, and highway behind you and nothing but more of the same ahead.

I usually glamorize city life. It sounds so cool to me to walk city blocks to work, have a favorite coffee shop two doors down, a hot dog stand nearby, and Chinese delivery every night. But today I've got nothing but love for country highways, small towns, and Mizzou-Rah. That's what a good long drive can do for a girl.

I've missed you, Kansas City

2009-03-12T18:00:00.005-05:00

Tomorrow is check-up day. There's nothing like a check-up at a "Sarcoma Institute" to help you relive that terrible day when you were told you had cancer. That comes with all kinds of scary thoughts. But truthfully, I kind of like to be reminded. That year was as poignant in its revelations as it was in terror, and the revelations are something I never want to forget. I'm not terribly fond of the deep scar on my right shoulder either, but I don't notice it without reliving the good moments as well as the bad.

There's a wall of survivors at Dr. R's office with pictures of his patients - all smiley and grateful for him. I've never remembered to send him one of me, but I'm thinking something like this one - since Jake was such a part of our miracle. The first time we took Jake to one of my checkups, other patients noticed him so sadly because they were afraid he was the one with the disease. We were happy to tell them otherwise.

Other patients there make me sad too. I always say to Michael, "This is one waiting room in which you really don't want to see even one other person." Instead, it's usually crowded. I especially hate it if the patient seems new. We regulars have a certain confidence and happiness because we've been through the gauntlet and come out all brightened and re-prioritized about our lives. The new ones are so sad though, because they don't know how it will go for them. This disease is very unpredictable, so I don't know how it will go for them either. And I hate it.

But I didn't start this post to be sad. Like I said, it doesn't make me sad to be reminded of my cancer. It makes me something else - it's kind of proud, kind of grateful - but with a painful little edge that hopes I never have to be this proud or grateful again. Mostly, I'm looking forward to tomorrow. We don't have the kind of budget that would create bi-yearly trips to Kansas City just for the heck of it. And I love that drive so much. I love the uninterrupted time with Michael and the long stretch of Missouri highway that's really only good for two things - conversation and happy thoughts. So I'm going to revel in it. On the way down we'll talk about our jobs and our plans and our kids. I'll be nervous for the last thirty minutes or so before I see Dr. R. and breathe a sigh of relief (he doesn't have to say anything - I swear his presence just emits some sort of emotional Valium), and then we'll eat somewhere cool and on the way home we'll call the moms and the grandmas and then talk about how great life's going to be from here on out. The whole thing is really much more treat than torture. It's a wonderful feeling to be followed that closely for signs of recurrence, and an even better feeling when they Don't. Find. ANY.

(P.S. Thank you, Grandma Jane, for giving the kids something much more fun to do than a drive and a waiting room. It's really hard to keep Jake out of the rippling fountain next to the sign-in desk.)

I learned to dance from a cowboy

2009-03-10T10:21:00.003-05:00

Last night's Dancing with the Stars theme was for me, "What a trouper." (Is it trouper or trooper?) Because with almost every contestant, I would make this little nurturing sound and say that phrase. With some it was just because this was their first time, and you could see their nerves begging them to stay in that stupid low-ceilinged room rather than subject themselves to that pressure. But they went out on that stage anyway, knowing the judges would criticize everything from their wayward bums to their gymnastic arms to their toe leads AND knowing that there was no possible way the majority of the American viewing audience could have any idea just how difficult it is to master the steps, the form, the choreography, and the emotion of the dance and manage to capture all of it at once. Seriously, we have no idea.

But besides simply the first time jitters, there were two contestants who had exactly two days to learn the dance, because they were replacements for those who were injured. ONE of these last minute replacements was dumped by her fiance on The Bachelor on national television only one week ago. I was just as impressed with her pretty dancing and subsequent comeback to life as ABC's marketing department intended for me to be. (Even though the poor thing tried to tell us she is fine.) And then there was the cowboy.

The cowboy is Jewel's husband, and the plan was that they would be the first married couple competing against each other. Then Jewel got hurt, and this poor shy cowboy is left all by himself on this national television program known foremost for its fake tans and sequined costumes. I really felt for this guy. He was so gentlemanly and unassuming, taking the criticism so bravely and stating without any sense of self-preservation, "I was very nervous out there. And I'll try to do better next time." Michael groaned when I suggested that we watch the show at all, but by the time the cowboy had danced Michael was watching with at least one eyeball and demanded someone get that poor man a horse so he could feel more comfortable.

So, obviously, they've sucked me in again with their colorful costumes and pretty music, and as always - though more noticeable this season - their bravery. Maybe it's not the kind of bravery you care to have in life. I definitely get that. Learning to move your hips is probably a long way from your bucket list. But I still say there's something to learn from all that dancing. And for me, last night, it was all about being brave.

(photo by Corey Ann on Flickr)

I meant to give you a happy post for Monday, but then we went to the dentist

2009-03-09T14:35:00.003-05:00

For the first day of Spring Break, I took my children to the dentist. Worst vacation plan EVER.

For Jake it was a nice change since he just got to play in the kids room the whole time. It wasn't too bad for me either; I got to catch up on People after all. And neither of the boys had cavities, which is very cool. But then she told me they need sealants - which is just another appointment really, nothing major. And she talked about the potential orthodontia in our future. About five minutes before that I had looked up from my magazine and told Jake, "I don't want to be here anymore." It must have been my subconscious warning me of what was to come. I made the appointments for the sealants and was then bombarded with questions from the boys in the car about how much braces hurt.

I was silent for a very long 20 seconds or so. I had flashbacks to seventh grade when they put my top braces on in two steps and I actually had to go to school with just the brackets glued to my teeth one day - no wire connecting them. It looked ridiculous and people told me so. Then I had flashbacks to the pain - oh the pain. I almost cried thinking of the way it feels when they first put them on you and you feel your head is being squeezed from the inside out by sharp metal. "It only hurts for a day or so after they first put them on," I told the boys reassuringly, and then the flashbacks to the monthly checkups. And I was almost crying again. Dear God the checkups. The memory of the twisting and tightening of the wires made me squirm in the driver's seat while I tried to figure out how to answer them. And then the maddening disappointment of getting out of school to ride 30 minutes to the orthodontist and then to get to eat out at a restaurant only to discover you can't eat the food because it hurts too horribly to bite down. And then the day that I actually had to return to school with rubber bands from the front top teeth to the bottom. No teenager should have to endure this. That's what I was thinking in the car while these scenes were bombarding my mind like the memory of some distant torture and my children were hanging on my every word trying to prepare themselves for the inevitable.

What was I thinking having children? We barely survive our own little traumas, and then we bring children into the world and have to go through it all over again with them. The braces, the embarrassments, the unrequited love.

Yes, this is what going to the dentist got me today. Not one single pleasant update about Brad or Jen. Not even the Disney World picture of Tom, Katie, and Suri made up for the trauma of those flashbacks to braces. If there were ANY way to keep my children from that barbaric practice, I'd do it. Since I can't, look for two crying people to emerge from the orthodontist's office in a few years - a good looking boy and his poor, sad mother literally feeling his pain.

live every day on purpose

2009-03-05T09:17:00.006-06:00

So you know I recently discovered yoga. Our family doctor recently re-

commended it to my parents, and I considered that the final confirmation I needed that it's definitely enriching my life. I love to see new faces in the class I take. I feel so happy for them that they're about to discover the magic.

And then, the other day I wrote about hot tea, which I don't do every day - but I was so not kidding about how sold I've become on its healing powers. And I can't wait to try all the flavors you recommended! (Are they flavors or brands? I think I'll figure it out . . .)

I noticed at some point around the start of this blog that writing at least one little piece of something before I go to sleep at night can make that whole day seem fully lived. A director from one of my favorite DVD commentaries (I love those things) said that his parents taught him to "do something creative every day." I love that guy's parents. And I totally agree with them.

I hope you have things like that - things that you find when you do them you're not just getting through life but actually living it. There aren't very many of these things I manage to do every single day without fail, but if I hit on one or two of them, it brings the whole day out of its forgettable state. And this post is about another good every-day activity: Dancing.

I learned about it from Kris Carr. She stars in the documentary, Crazy Sexy Cancer, about her determination to find natural ways to prolong her life despite a terminal diagnosis of untreatable cancer. One thing I remember her saying in the documentary is that she dances every day. She turns on music in her kitchen, living room - wherever she is - and she just moves to it. You can imagine, in light of this post, how much immediate sense that made to me.

Of course, I don't do it every day. But when I do - I feel way better. It's easy to find music in this house worth moving to. If it's not on my iTunes, then it's playing behind the credits of the last movie we watched. Or if I'm really lucky, it's playing IN the movie - and we can "Brazzle Dazzle Day" our way to health with Nora and Pete on Pete's Dragon. (Jake's love for this movie is easily one of my favorite things about him. That movie is like a little cup of sunshine.) And, I gotta say, although I can learn a dance without too much stress, I can't remember them later. So it's not like I have a repertoire of awesome moves in my internal soul library. So when I say "dance", I mean move happily to the beat. Or not even to the beat. Just move. It is so liberating. I like to do it in the kitchen while I'm cooking or unloading the dishwasher, in front of a movie (as mentioned) with Jake, or all alone in front of the bathroom mirror with the chaos of motherhood locked on the other side. I like swaying to a slow one, kicking it with a happy one - it all works. And convinces me every time how right that woman was.

Every day: Do something creative and just move it. What's on your list? Which part of the day makes you feel most alive?

you can't get anything by this guy

2009-03-03T11:01:00.004-06:00

This is Jake (with his cousin Jude on the left), and I chose this picture because it's pretty much the look he gave me this morning (or perhaps himself in the mirror) when plotting his behavior for the Parents as Teachers representative.

I had imagined the best and worst case scenarios of how he would behave that were well within his range of predictability, and he plopped himself squarely in the worst column. He basically refused to participate in the game she brought. And it wasn't that he wanted something else. It was more like he had us totally figured out and so was not going to let us enrich his life today. He kept looking into my eyes like he was trying to get me to CONFESS that I was worried about him and brought some other woman over to make him roll squishy dice and count blocks. "Come on, Mom. What's really going on here? I never saw you play dice and blocks on the floor with another adult before." If we had a code word for run, he was looking for me to say it. And when I wouldn't, he ran anyway.

But none of that really fazed me considering why she was sitting in my living room with blocks in the first place. It happened - last week I think? When I looked up from my computer where I work basically all day, and he was watching a movie - which he does, basically all day - and I never felt more sure of anything than that I wanted to add some stimulation into BOTH of our lives. I love working from home, and I'm probably far more passionate about it than Michael is thrilled with - because I've never really struck it rich here. But it's got its downfalls just like anything else, and currently that downfall is the feeling that perhaps I HAVE NO LIFE.

So when the Parents as Teachers girl told me today that the expectation for language is that we would understand 90% of what a child says by the time they are 4, I breathed a big fat sigh of relief. That might seriously be possible with a child who can pretty much communicate all his desires with a word (or its simpler descriptive friend) at this point and even answer the question, "What is your name?" in a semi-complete sentence. But the greater thrill for me was the spice it added to our day. Another face! New toys! Interaction from the outside world! I needed that. And I feel better for having given it to him. Even if he did keep expecting the code word. (If only we'd had a code word for Dude, I'm pretty sure we're graded on participation here. Just play with the blocks already.) Maybe I'll work on that for next time.

Thus ended my prejudice against that warm, brownish thing they call tea

2009-02-27T14:01:00.004-06:00

This yummy cup of awesome was my salvation last week when I wasn't feeling well. Chest congestion is the only thing that can ever induce me to drink hot tea. Until now. Now I will drink it for soul congestion as well. For Mondays and Wednesdays and the cold, dark days of January. Any time the bills outweigh the booty or I hear too much about the economy - bring on the tea. Now that I've discovered its powers.

You know I wasn't feeling well last week, and my mother one day recommended hot tea, as any proper mother should. I remembered a sense of cozy warmth the last time my chest had hurt like this, so I was for it. I boiled water in a plain old soup pot. I had a variety of tea bags around - a gift from Mom at Christmas I think? - and chose spicy chai. Then I dipped the water from the plain old pot using a plain old ladle, but I poured it over the tea bag into this beautiful pink-budded cup on its matching saucer. And that, I'm pretty sure, created the magic.

My Australian friend sent me this tea set, because we always said we wished we could have tea together. It came up because of our mutual love for Anne of Green Gables and the fact that in Australia, they actually have tea. (Jake and I call it snack). She sent it, I'm pretty sure, during the cancer year so it holds the added intention of, "If there was anything I could do to ease your pain, I'd do it - and here is a wonderfully sweet tea set for starters."

The combination of that wonderfully spicy-chaied warmth and the feeling that Bec was actually reaching across the ocean to pat my weary soul (plus the added aspect of having obeyed my mother, which rarely fails me) - all worked together to soothe every corner of my being. I had no idea a cup of tea could pack so much miracle power in it, but I'll never forget it again.

if you've ever had a Monday

2009-02-25T11:29:00.003-06:00

Michael's cousin posted this video on her Facebook today, and I think it should be broadcast for the entire country. THIS is a State of the Union address right here. It will make you laugh, it will make you cringe, and when you're done watching it you'll probably microwave leftovers without complaining and actually thank someone for bagging your groceries. Everything is so amazing, and nobody's happy. Preach it, Funny Guy.

(For more from this guy, his name is Louis C.K., and you can find him on his website).

I hope Dad comments, so I'll know where he's at in the room

2009-02-23T14:10:00.004-06:00

If I were in charge, I'd get Hugh Jackman to sign a contract right now for the next few years. The Oscars are better I think for a little familiarity, and I miss the days of the tried-and-true host who's both a funny man, a classy man, and a music man - and Hugh won on all counts I think. On the other hand, here's to changing things up - like the prettiest set design ever, the return of the big musical numbers, and the five previous winners honoring personally each nominee in the acting categories. One of my favorite parts of the Oscars: Watching them react to each other, and those categories were stuffed full of moving.

Here are some nominees for my favorite moments: First up, the musical numbers. I told you I think even life should "periodically burst into song, and dance about the stage," so I was all for the very cool opening number, the heart-stopping "Musical is Back" routine, and the performances of the three nominated songs. (What happened to five? For a year in which the musical is back, there was a shocking lack of big movie songs apparently). I even liked it when Hugh cracked up during the unique song about not yet having seen The Reader. And, while I'm signing contracts, I think Beyonce should be considered the official Oscar singer. Remember the year she sang three of the five songs, and they were all in such a unique style? She's just really, really good. Plain and simple.

Next I wrote down, "Heath's family." It was a very gracious acceptance speech from the people who surely knew Heath Ledger the best. But what moved me most were the tears in the audience. I wondered which of them had been his dear friends, which of them cried simply because of a young life lost too soon, and which of them - perhaps - were parents too and empathized with the painfully beautiful thought of accepting such a high honor for a child who shouldn't have, but did, go before you.

I like it when people seem to notice us out there on our couches with popcorn soaking in every minute. I like it when they say, "I used to give this speech with a shampoo bottle," (a la Kate Winslet last night), or when they remind us that, "Anything's possible". Last night my favorite moment like that was when the director for Slumdog Millionaire complimented the beautiful set design, saying, "I don't know what it looks like at home, but here it's bloody wonderful." I believe you, Mr. Boyle, yes I do. And it's so nice of you to tell me that like you're the friend of a friend who lucked out enough to know somebody who knows somebody who got you into the show and then took a picture of it on your blackberry and texted it my way. I now feel even more like I was there.

I mentioned the musical numbers, right? (Here's a You Tube video of The Musical is Back).

But then, after all this, came my favorite part of all. I know for sure it was my favorite, because I found the clip HERE, and I've watched it over and over today. It was Kate Winslet's father whistling to her across that huge room of somebodys. Her reaction was like end-of-the-movie, thank-God-they-found-each-other, dreams-come-true sublime.

Of course, the soundtrack to this year's Oscars was apparently Jai Ho from Slumdog Millionaire (some of the cast pictured here by KaushiK on Flickr) - a movie I am SO GLAD I saw before Oscar night. And what a great movie to win so many Oscars. It's about rising above, finding your destiny, fighting for love - all the good stuff. Where I watched the show, we wore bright yellow scarves in honor of the movie and that happy theme. Jai Ho means, "May the victory be yours." I am loving that.

most exciting thing that ever exited a furniture truck outside my door

2009-02-20T11:01:00.004-06:00

Important update to to the category of what I'm looking forward to most: He's going to SING AND DANCE. Hugh Jackman, I mean. (pictured here by edison0618 on Flickr). I heard it from his own mouth. (Although not technically in person of course). I stand firmly in the camp that believes almost any program - or, you know, moment in LIFE - is improved by a song and dance number. I'd rather watch a really cheesy Nick-and-Jessica type variety show than song-less, monotonous reality t.v. any day. So I have officially put this as number one - okay, maybe second to the montages - on my list. The Oscars are going to rock this year; I can feel it.

In other what-I-watched-while-recuperating-from-a-cold news, I saw The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants sequel the other day. There was a great moment where America Ferrera's character talked about the delicious language used in the play she was rehearsing for. She complained at how lazy we are now - how much prettier phrases were then and how much richer it felt to speak that way. "Why don't people talk like that anymore?" she wailed. I loved that part. I love the idea that if we would just stop and savor the little things in life a little more, our lives would be so much richer. We tend to live through life rather than in it sometimes. And I love it when a book or a movie suggests that we stop and take it in a bit. The National Treasure movies have some great lines like that too, which brings me to my little Hollywood gem for the day.

Do you ever find yourself vaguely remembering a movie line? You know it moved you, but you can't quite remember what it was. Let me introduce you to (as if you didn't already know) a little thing called IMDB - the Internet Movie Database. You know you can find out who was in what film there, but you can also find a wealth of great movie quotes. The page is called "Memorable Quotes" for each movie, so I usually get there by typing that phrase and the movie title into a search engine. You'll be spouting poetic in no time.

In honor of living life richly, allow me to cyber-celebrate a little gift I received yesterday from The Man himself: This dark wooden rectangle of wonderful, our new table.

We have never in our married life bought ourselves a table. Hand-me-downs work just as well for eating on. Only I so don't believe that now. This glorious piece of furniture has officially become the centerpiece for my lucky life. I touch it every time I walk by. We christened it last night with company and everything - company I would have the previous night seated in the living room with a t.v. tray rather than sit at our chipped wooden table with the hard, flat decades-old benches.

I'm working on the song and dance routine as we speak.

Life is richer when you organize it into categories for Academy Awards

2009-02-19T09:03:00.005-06:00

I still have Oscar fever around here. Along with the actual fever, as in, "Leave the bread by the wagon, Pa, I've got the fever and we're quarantined." But it's just that nasty cold sort of plague that doesn't keep me from pretty much carrying on as normal. Instead, it just makes me feel zero guilt when I choose the couch and a movie over yoga, or pouring over enjoyable books on my lunch hour and evening stretches instead of more productive things like laundry and novel writing. I look forward to feeling better, but in the meantime I'm sucking the marrow out of the sniffly, achy, wheezing permission to take more in from life this week than I'm giving out.

Besides the sickness, there is another reason I'm either reading a book or watching a movie in all my spare time. It's hard to do anything else when I literally have myself tied down with sheets lest I bug my agent this week with a daily "What's happening now?". There was a little movement with the manuscript last week, though nothing concrete. The last I talked to my agent she sounded very positive and hopeful and was off to see what she could make out of the positivity. So I'm sitting tight. Michael, as you may remember from previous posts, has a horror of being uncool and has told me to refrain from anxious phone calls or silly emails in which I say things like, "Hey Hol, how's the weather on Fifth Avenue?" when what I really mean is, "What's happening already?!" And for God's sake, don't actually write anything like the latter. Just BE cool. And I'm thoroughly obeying him, meanwhile devouring distracting entertainment like a tonic.

So here's some of the tonic I've been devouring, organized into completely subjective and ridiculously pretend Oscar categories.

Most inspiring DVD for pursuing the writing dream 'til I die: Miss Potter. Ooh, this is a good one. Rene Zellweger plays the slightly eccentric, very proper-yet-independent author who convinces me that I will not rest until I'm able to buy a farm in the English country with my book earnings - or some dream equally true to my own life - and it was the first time I wanted two characters to rebel against 19th century propriety and just say I love you already! Also, I've never seen animation add such a subtle charm to a film. No girl should marry a man who isn't willing to talk to her imaginary rabbit. That scene was too sweet.

Favorite song downloaded to my iTunes so I can remember how it made me feel in the movie: Currently Love You Til the End from P.S. I Love You. What do you think comes first: A great song? Or the movie that makes the song great? I'm sure it's a combo, but there is just something about those songs that evoke the emotions you felt in a great film. Also recently added to my iTunes: Thinking Over from Raising Helen and When You Say Nothing At All from Notting Hill. Songs from movies are almost always my favorites.

What I'm looking forward to the most: The nominees are: Hugh Jackman. I think he's a classy choice for host. I'm not expecting humor a la Billy Crystal or even Jon Stewart, but I'd so much rather look at him all night than Whoopie. The speeches. I like to see who can avoid all cliches - no comment on how heavy Oscar actually is, and no "I should have prepared a speech". Because, yes, you should have. I want poetry, tears and/or laughter, and the appropriate balance between humility and celebration. (Good luck with that). The people. That's really the best part I suppose - so many of our favorite entertainers in one place, all dressed up prettily. I like to watch them react to each other. I love it when they can make each other laugh and cry and cheer. But the winner is: The music montages. I want to hear dramatic soundtracks with clip after clip after clip of the movies I've loved. I really like that part. (But not without the rest).

photo by cliff1066 on Flickr

books on film

2009-02-16T13:35:00.004-06:00

It's Oscar week. Meaning, that on Sunday night you should be able to find me on a couch somewhere with popcorn, Reeses Pieces, and a Diet Coke literally glued to a television screen while Hollywood celebrates itself and produces the most glamorous commercial ever for pretentious movies we might not otherwise have seen - as well as a few nods to those we all saw.

In honor of that, my favorite night in television, I'm talking movies this week. That may mean this is the only post you get, because it's not like I have it all planned out.

You may notice this is not a picture of a movie but of the book that birthed a movie. I just read it as I loved the movie, and friends told me the book was so much better. I assumed I would agree with them but also felt a little trepidation having seen the movie first and loved it so much. Sure enough, in this case, I prefer the movie. Now, I'm pretty sure there's a club I'm being kicked out of right now. It's literary and writer-supportive and thoroughly convinced that the book is always better. And I just totally shamed them.

I love books. Love, love, love them. I write them for goodness' sake. And I read them, and I adore them. This one is truly lovely. The premise is absolutely beautiful, the characters are loveable, it's realistic and uplifting. It's just very good. Almost the only major plot difference is that the movie is set in America about an American who fell in love with an Irishman. In the book, they are all, of course, Irish. I really enjoyed that aspect of the movie - probably because I saw it that way first. The relationship between Holly and her husband in the book is kind of plain in comparison. In the movie, it is rich and poetic and unique. Also, his letters to her in the movie just have more umph. He is not just giving her a list of things to get done but a journey for finding herself again. I think this was the point of the book as well, but it wasn't as poignant. I missed the soundtrack, the gorgeous clothes, and the tighter humor that comes with the collaborative effort and condensed time frame of film.

Also, I missed the creative aspect. That was the most relatable part of the film for me - the way she used to want to create things. In the book, she simply finds a job. In the movie, she finds a beautiful creative outlet you can't help but think she was destined for.

I think the reason the book is usually better is because it is more. It develops the characters more thoroughly. It tells the story at a slower, richer pace. It requires more imagination and therefore gets inside you in a way movies sometimes can't. In this case, I felt the film gave me more. It's possible that I was just swept up by the dreamy Irish guys, the moving music, and the pretty shoes. Which are all things the film medium loves to give us. There's another club that celebrates that. I'm a member of it too, but you just can't always please them both at once.

but just that place in between

2009-02-13T10:54:00.007-06:00

Here is some love to start off your weekend. It's not a great picture because I was sitting above and behind them on a stool and tried to inconspicuously hold the camera in front of them while they listened to the story.

The story taught us about St. Valentine, the Christian physician/priest attributed with healing a little girl's blindness. I didn't even know this man existed really. I kind of thought Valentine's Day was invented by St. Hallmark.

You know where I learned about this Christian man and how he was killed by Roman execution for his faith? In public school. I kept waiting for someone to flinch or throw stones or rush their poor defiled child from the room because they were being inundated with Christian teaching in a public school. But it didn't happen. So I just soaked it in. It was a very nice story about how he tried and tried to heal the girl with a little salve he had made. Then he was taken to jail and from there wrote her a note that said, "From your Valentine." And apparently the girl regained her sight at some point after that.

But before we Christians get too cocky about how one of our own is the reason for this awesome celebration of love, you have to read the Afterward. It's there that we learned that although St. Valentine did send that letter and was executed on February 14th, it was on February 15th that the Romans (those crazy pagans) had a celebration each year in which the young maidens wrote notes that were drawn from a jar by the young men who would then court them. Put the two together, and wah-lah, the founders of Hallmark rake in their glowing, love-filled profits.

There are a lot of Christian holidays and traditions that come straight from those crazy pagans. We're always trying to take their stuff and make it holy and call it our own. But I don't really see it that way. Almost everything in place today is a combination of several ideas. "There is nothing new under the sun," the bible says. Personally, I believe Jesus holds the corner on the market of Love. What I believe about Him - absolutely believe - makes His love the best, the most wonderful, the only one without reproach or hidden agenda. So I like the story of St. Valentine, a man who believed that too. But I like the story of the Roman maidens as well. And I don't mind if they are really the ones who gave us the idea to slap some love on a note and hand it to someone we care about. I don't mind that at some point the two traditions came together or even that today it seems more like a celebration of capitalism than of love. None of that can undermine what real love is and that in so many places all over the globe - real Love is happening every day and spreading like wildfire.

I love this holiday.

do you suppose Great Wolf Lodge will pay me for this endorsement?

2009-02-10T19:24:00.003-06:00

I remember Dad telling me once that kids like repetition. After being at a water park with Jake for two days, I've decided that is an understatement equal only to, I'm okay with eating chocolate and we sort of have to breathe to stay alive. I sort of got a clue the first day when the older kids were rarely in the same part of the park for longer than five minutes, most of the adults varied their activity off and on, and I sat watching Jake go up the stairs and down the red slide so many times that I ceased to discern the difference between the slide and the water. The next day Michael mentioned that he was feeling kind of ashamed that most parents were

in the pool with their kids while we sat idly by as Jake made a playmate out of his hand. I am not even kidding. He talks to his hand sometimes. He calls it Jakey, asks if Jakey would like to do this or that, answers, yes okay, and then does it. He also got really tired by the second leg of the second day and wanted to keep playing but could barely hold his head up. So, I decided to join him.

He held out his hand. We walked together up the stairs. He let go, plopped on the blue slide (the second day's riveting variation) and slid down while I descended the stairs on the other side. Then he held out his hand again, I grabbed it, and we did the whole thing again until I was literally dizzy. Somehow walking around and around that little routine felt more engaging than just watching him do it. And I needed some variety by that point. Plus, he didn't talk to his hand anymore as long as I was holding it.

We were at an indoor water park in Kansas City celebrating my sister-in-law Mary's birthday. Which is interesting, because I didn't see that girl go down a single slide. She even told me she's squeamish - the heights, the plummeting from them - all of it. She has kids the ages of my older two, and one could assume that she chose the location for the uninterrupted rest and reading time that comes with the children being so happily occupied. Trust me, though, there are much quieter places to read and relax. Places where hundreds of children don't run around you screaming, shaking water on you with their oblivion and dumping it on you on purpose if you chase your toddler through the jungle gym area underneath the log in which they have been storing it up. Places where the smell of chlorine hasn't reached toxic levels. This, I believe, is the power of motherhood. To find a place thrilling simply because it is that thrilling to your children. We're going to sleep right upstairs from three giant water slides and the pools and log-climby things and tree house with the giant bucket on top that dumps 1000 gallons of water every 5 minutes? AND I CAN GO THERE?! These are not the words of a twenty-five or so (you're welcome, Mary) year-old woman. They are the words of her children, and therefore music to her ears. It is so stinking fun to thrill them.

it's February fifth - this is only the beginning

2009-02-05T08:30:00.000-06:00

"Well," John Michael said yesterday, "My career as student of the month ends today." I've never known January to fly before now, but it seems like he was accepting that bright orange cup and handful of restaurant certificates just yesterday. I guess I need to update my pictures in the side bar. You should probably expect lots of mush this month. Not mush as in nothing-much but mush as in, if you think I talk about Christmas magic a lot until the end of the December, just wait 'til I unleash my V-Day love on you.

My first date with Michael was on Valentine's Day, so February 14 makes me all giddy inside and February in general makes me pretty nostalgic, and 1996 was the best year EVER. I have all boys, so we don't make our valentines from red construction paper and white doilies like we used to with my Mom when we were little. Unfortunately, they usually have light sabers or Spongebob or something. Of course, there was the year John picked the God ones. Proud mama moments were gushing all over the place the night he filled those out with commentary about the friend whose dad doesn't like him, "So I think I'll give that friend the one about how God is love." That's very nice, John, and if you'll excuse me I have to go write in your journal how completely awesome you are.

I keep journals for all the boys. John's is full of super emotional mama trauma while I navigate not-getting-a-puppy-for-Christmas and starting him in public school and apologizing profusely when we added another sibling as if perhaps he wasn't enough all by himself. Drew's is the future script for a stand-up comedian. Jake's is one giant love letter as well as a new round of trauma as I try to figure out how to raise the baby of the family without making him one and how to celebrate the heck out of the miracle that is his existence while letting him be his own person.

I started John's journal before he was born. I bought it while out of town with my family. My brother told me it was awesome, "I mean, he won't appreciate it until he's, like, 35, but still - very cool." Now that I have three boys, I'm actually wondering if they'll ever appreciate them. Do they really want to read about the first time they said "I love you"? The way I felt about their kindergarten teacher? The little hand motion he made as a baby that looked like he was revving a motorcycle? I'm not sure. Their journals might just be for me. A way to freeze time a little. Which, if I do right by them, isn't something they're going to want to do with their childhood.

Except maybe Drew. He's so going to want to remember the time I was stressing in the grocery store about all the things I had yet to do that night, and he waved the spaghetti noodles at me and said with ultimate sensitivity, "And you gotta fix me some supper, because I'm hungry."

cupcakes in manhattan

2009-02-02T20:37:00.009-06:00

If you're one of those people who can't understand why people care when celebrities leave their homes and what they wear and which beaches they frequent, then you probably won't understand this. But I have a tiny obsession with Katie Holmes and Suri Cruise. It started because Katie was pregnant with Suri the same time I was pregnant with Jake. And I kept hearing about the expensive layettes Katie bought and the two thousand dollar bassinet she purchased twice for different parts of the house, etc., etc. Then not long after our babies were born, Tom and Katie got married, and I read of the designer gowns made just for little Suri and saw pictures of the castle they were married in. Around that time I was holding Jake in my arms and looking out our big, sunshiny window onto the pretty street outside, and I asked him, "Would you be happier if your home were more like Suri's?"

He was way too young to answer me in words. But I've never been more sure of anything than I was of his response.

Now I still enjoy the pictures of Katie and Suri taking on Manhattan with Suri's adorable little dresses and Katie's cute mom-crop. I loved the one recently where they were sharing cupcakes, because I'd read of Katie's love for them long before Suri was born. I try not to think of their lives as better than mine - but just kind of parallel, with a lot more cameras around. It's been over a year since the last paparazzi shot of Jake and I - this one above while watching the homecoming parade in our small town. And I don't think it really counts as paparazzi when the guy gets you to sign a release afterwards. It's not exactly cupcakes in Manhattan, but it was our life, and we were totally starring in it.

Have you seen The Holiday? Because this is the perfect time for yet another life-altering movie quote:

Arthur: Iris, in the movies we have leading ladies and we have the best friend. You, I can tell, are a leading lady, but for some reason you are behaving like the best friend.

Iris: You're so right. You're supposed to be the leading lady of your own life, for God's sake!

I'm thinking all those great movie lines we quoted last week - if we apply them - can help us play the leading roles in our own lives. It's taken a while, but at this point I don't watch the celebrities because I wish I were them. I don't watch them for their clothes or their bags or their shoes or their shoe closets. I watch them because bits and pieces of their lives are just exactly like ours, and it's fun to see that celebrated and photographed and put in a shiny magazine. Did you see Brad and Angelina navigating the airport with six kids? The next time you walk out the mundane - imagine a photographer cares. It could totally elevate the experience for you - and remind you who's playing the lead.

graded on participation

2009-01-27T09:59:00.005-06:00

Mom sent me an email today that gave me a great idea for today's blog post. It's a comment-getter, this one. Because, you know, it actually asks for comments. You know how I love movies and how I love to be moved by them. I'm so happy when a movie somehow elevates our own sense of purpose, our right to exist. You know those movie lines that sink in like "152 insights into my soul," and you wonder to yourself, "How did they know that? How did that big Hollywood somebody see me and write my feelings that way? It's surely happened at least once. Remember my post (I doubt you do) way back when about how movie makers are like the people in a Quaker church standing up because they just know they have something to say? Well, with all that intent, surely they've gotten to you at least once.

If you've seen my MySpace page, you know the quote that is probably the most defining for my own life - ironically from the very movie that joked about the insights into my soul. Meg Ryan's character wrote it in an email in You've Got Mail. Thus, I have Nora Ephron to thank for one of the most defining movie quotes of my life:

I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I want to? Or because I haven't been brave?

From this quote on, I looked at life differently. I have a whole theory about how important the "small life" is - because it is important. But before this quote I lived life much more passively. After it, I realized that living the life you're supposed to requires more than just patience. Sometimes it takes bravery.

Recently P.S. I Love You spoke to me. The defining moment in it is probably the scene where her husband writes in a letter that he is not trying to help her remember him but to remember herself the way she used to be when she knew what she wanted and didn't worry so much how perfectly she found her way to it. "Just create." That's what she knew she wanted to do then and what he wanted to remind her of now. That movie speaks to me because of that belief in the importance of creativity and also for probably the most perfect love any human ever gave another. The guy in this movie was so content just to love her, and he did it so well. I definitely want creating things to come second to that part of my life.

Okay. Now it's your turn. A movie, a movie scene, a movie line - Pick one. It doesn't have to have changed your life - it just has to have moved you.

more things I love about movies

2009-01-25T19:57:00.005-06:00

Question: How sad is it that most Americans are NOT smarter than a fifth grader? We have the board game at home, and I just failed half way through fourth grade. The question was something I really, really should have known. I'm embarassed to even tell you how much I should have known it. It had to do with the Alamo, and - well, I guess I just haven't seen enough movies on that one. The way Drew and I play, though, is that you get lots of chances to keep moving forward. And I totally nailed my million dollar Q. You want to know why? The question was, "In what year did the Great Depression start." So I replayed in my head something I'd read on my agent's blog recently - that their Christmas party theme at the end of the year was "Party like it's 1929." I also know the year of the Newsies strike (from the movie) and a few important tid bits on World War I (from the eighth book in the Anne of Green Gables series). And, YET, don't even think I could ace the pop culture section on Who Wants to be a Millionaire, because I only pay attention here and there even in that field that I love so much.

So, yea, I'm feeling kind of - well, not concerned - but interested - in the state of our intelligence. Because I know I'm not alone. I also know that at least I'm smarter than Kelly Pickler, who didn't know if France was a country or not, and the teen Miss America contestant who stumbled over basic geography in a question about why American kids don't know enough about geography and, seriously, most of the people interviewed by Jay Leno on the street outside of Universal Studios. I mean, that segment is just really, really sad.

Michael and I were talking about the economy today and various executive orders signed last week and the Climate Change formerly known as global warming. And of course, I eventually ran out of things I knew for sure and things of which I even had an educated opinion. That doesn't take long for me when it comes to current events. I've paid more attention to the current presidency in two days than I ever paid attention before. I think it was the fingers-in-the-ears philosophy. If I don't know it, it can't scare me, la la la. I think I got that from a movie too. And I quote:

There's always an Arquillian Battle Cruiser or a Corillian Death Ray or an intergalactic plague that is about to wipe out all life on this miserable little planet, and the only way these people can get on with their happy lives is that they. . . Do . . . Not. . . . Know about it.

Isn't that the truth.

it certainly is audacious

2009-01-21T11:05:00.005-06:00

When I first met my surgeon, I had only been living with a cancer diagnosis for a few days. I was terrified and knew nothing. I thought I would read my death sentence in his face immediately along with a sorrowful apology that he couldn't do much for me. When he walked in the room smiling, my fear literally disappeared out the door behind him. He joked with me about my name because of the Seinfeld reference. He didn't say anything about my disease at first, so it wasn't his plan that made me brave. It was his attitude. I knew that whatever the fight would be, I could do it with him.

President Obama has that effect when he speaks. When he gave his inaugural address, I felt completely swept up in all the hope so many people were putting in him and the determined way he's meeting it. I found myself wanting him to tell us what to do. I wanted him to say, "Be kind. Love each other. In these frightening times, find a way to help not just yourself but your neighbor. Because if we all do that, the climate will change, and the economy will follow." Idealistic much? Oh yea.

I told you the world just lost a wonderful man named Keith Lawson. He moved to my hometown not long before I was born in it, and soon founded the food pantry that is still going strong. I wrote about that food pantry in an article you can find on Radiant Magazine. The idea in the article is completely awesome. Unfortunately, I'm still not really practicing. It's one thing to realize you're not a giver. It's another to actually become one. Keith really was one.

I like to listen at a funeral or memorial service and take in all of the kind things said, wondering what people might say of me. I leave funerals with more resolutions than at New Year's. In this case, what I kept hearing was how much faith Keith had in people. Everyone kept saying that: "He believed in me."

One preacher said that what Keith really believed was God inside of us. That's probably true, but it reminds me of a theory I heard in a movie - that we all began as one soul that then broke into two and then four, etc., so that we are all now tiny pieces of a whole. I kind of believe that about God - that parts of him are in all of us, different aspects more pronounced in you than in me and vice versa. So that we can never truly know Him on earth unless we let in a whole lot of different kinds of people. That's kind of what it means to me to believe in people.

And it's how I feel about America's economy crisis. I know that we could really fail this test. We could all turn to greed and fear and burrow into our various holes with our various stashes of money, and everything would fall apart. But I believe in us more than that. I think we'll learn how giving is the best way to receive and that even though the unstoppable greed of some may have gotten us in this mess, it will be the hard work and sacrifice of the rest of us that gets us out. And we'll do that, because of the part of us in which good people believe. You have to admit - even if I'm wrong, I'd rather weather the storm with hope than without.

Updates on the Book and a Baby

2009-01-19T11:06:00.004-06:00

Well. I don't like to go this long without a blog post. I took on some freelance work, which takes some of my extra time. We had a teensy bit of forward motion in the book front, which took some of my week. I sang in the memorial service for a great man who passed away. And the rest of the time, I was doing this:

This isn't the best picture of her that I took, but it's the least dorky of me (since I kept making squishy, pouty baby-talk sort of faces because I was holding all this glorious baby-ness in my lap), and I'm really too vain to choose the ugly pictures of me even for my namesake. Isn't she gorgeous though? I mean, that skin! Those lips! That hair! She spent about one day and one night at our house. (Along with her sweet, cool mama of course), and simply nothing could woo me from her awesomeness.

On the book front, we're working on a proposal to give the manuscript a little extra selling power to the editors still interested. If someone had told me how difficult it was to convince someone to add your memoir to their already over-published stack of self-discovery narratives, I would have fictionalized the whole thing and made it a great novel instead. Still, we have interest. And interest is way down the road towards someday being on a shelf, so it's good. I'll try and stop by a few more times this week despite my obsession with the proposal on which all my hopes and dreams hang in the balance. I'll tell you what a wonderful man Keith Lawson was (the previously mentioned memorial service) and what I learned from his life and I'll keep you posted on Jake's antics and the life of a struggling writer. It'll be great. In the meantime, feast your eyes on these.

looks like I need to hit the cinema before Oscar night

2009-01-12T21:48:00.005-06:00

Somehow I don't really get the Jonas Brothers. But this was the best picture I could find on Flickr from the Red Carpet Sunday night, and plus, I was thinking - three brothers in a band. How fitting. (photo by SassyPanda on Flickr)

I took notes during the Golden Globes. First up, the red carpet special. I don't like this part. I mean, I don't want them to stop doing it. But it's always disappointing. ALWAYS. I remember as a little girl when Mom used to let us stay up late to see who won the Miss USA pageant, and Felic and I would sit glued to the television eating Twinkies, hoping our favorites would win. But by junior high, I realized I was never satisfied. I wanted there to be a stand-out, some perfectly beautiful, pure-hearted angel who would literally make the audience gasp with her sweet, pure, inside-and-out beautifulness. I wanted to be inspired. But no. It was pretty much just girls in bathing suits and high heels barely bumbling out an intelligible answer to philosophical questions. And then the winner was always someone I hadn't really even noticed until the top 5. That's how the red carpet event always makes me feel. Where's the inspiration? It's the same tired questions and the same tired answers every time. Also, in case you didn't catch that, Nancy O'Dell, they said they CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER ALL THE FANS SCREAMING THEIR NAME.

Let's move on to the show. I liked the lack of elevator music. If no one was talking in the microphone, you could hear the clinking of glass and the chatter of the stars as if you were really there. That was kind of cool and realistic. I especially liked when a winner was anounced and then the running to the stage like they were navigating an obstacle course. It was really long and annoying - that part. Which made it very real. And at commercial breaks I pretended I was chatting with Brad about my memoir and my future novel featuring a little nod to him.

The next thing I wrote down is, "Ricky Gervais is funny." There hadn't been a lot of that before him. Which makes now a good time to say that I really love Kate Winslet, and TWO, wow!, that's very impressive. But her speeches were so boring! I didn't mind - she'd earned that right. But I don't think her speeches will make the montages next year, that's all I'm saying.

Next up: Johnny Depp is alive! Then he spoke, and I was like - sort of. Dude, crack a smile. A joke even. (You'll have to read a couple posts down to get the Johnny Depp joke, and then you may have to click a link. It's really too much work. You don't have to get it).

Shortly after this, Heath Ledger won. And I cried.

My notes trickled off after that. Nothing too interesting. I haven't seen even one of the nominated dramas. Not one. But I saw Kung Fu Panda a LOT and feel that it was robbed in the animation category simply because Wall-E was all liberal and green and stuff. I fell asleep for about ten minutes near the end (it was a long day!), and had to look up just now that Slum Dog Millionaire won best motion picture drama, because I couldn't remember. I call myself a lover of Hollywood, but when awards season rolls around and I haven't even heard of many of the nominated films, I realize I'm just a girl who appreciates a good movie, a pretty dress, and a really moving speech.

What do you think? Golden Globes 2019?

Not just another Friday Night

2009-01-10T21:00:00.004-06:00

So, the Wii totally inspired us. There couldn't be that much difference between a small, rectangular remote and a 10-pound ball, right? Surely we'd learned to throw straighter, aim better, grab a spare like kids find trouble when you're busy (every time). The Wii is good for something right? Yes. It's good for completely disorienting you into thinking you're some sort of athlete when you're actually no better than someone surfing channels with a finicky remote that you have to point in several directions to get to work and maybe punch the buttons more than once while standing (occasionally). It doesn't really prepare you for these big, slick lanes, the aforementioned ball, and these strange blue valleys all along the sides of the lane that literally pull your ball towards them like a magnet. I'm not even kidding. I was pretty bad. Although I kind of lost my Wii bowling magic as well, so maybe the game's just against me.

Despite all that, though, I had the best night. Jake is three. THREE. It's the third anniversary of hands down the happiest relief of my life. We made it. Jake Kenneth Bohon, born eight months after the worst doctor's visit of my life, 26 weeks after undergoing general anesthesia during my surgery, about four hours after Michael promised I will never do this to you again (a promise I did not extort), and 1 tiny second before I knew I had just met one of the very coolest humans on the planet. You're so worth the gutter balls, Jake. Every single one.

but it will not be this day . . . and other great motivational speeches by men in medieval armor

2009-01-06T15:59:00.010-06:00

If you stick with me through the Hollywood talk, you know how I love a good movie montage. We're about to lose television - February 19th I think? - just as we head into awards season. And Michael may not realize it, but I will disregard all his beautiful frugality in a heartbeat to make sure I have the necessary channels for all those wonderful movie montages. The People's Choice Awards, Golden Globes, Oscars - they're all coming. And even though I know that some big shot at the cable company got together with some big shot in government and decided television shouldn't be free anymore (I'm paraphrasing Father of the Bride there and directly quoting Michael last night when I suggested we purchase cable), I'm still going to let the big shots win.

Remember last year when they didn't even have a Golden Globes, and it felt like Johnny Depp had died? See my letter to Hollywood last year for the details. Well, this year awards season is back in all its glory. And you can bet that's what they'll be saying, "Well, the dresses seem so subdued this year considering it's the Globes first year after they were cancelled because of the writer's strike." And, "This is the kind of old Hollywood glamour we love and sorely missed during last year's Entertainment Tonight Golden Globes fiasco." Trust me, we're going to hear stuff like that. The whole will-they-go-big-to-celebrate-or-just-pretend-nothing-was-ever-amiss debate. I'm sure you won't read the magazines that ask this question, but I'll fill you in. You can count on me.

I followed one of my commenter's yesterday to her blog and found this very fun video. I'm afraid You Tube will put a cease fire on it soon, because it surely breaks all kinds of copyright laws. But as long as it's working, I just had to post it here too. Thank you, Shelli, for leading me to it. This is my kind of entertainment. I would probably pay actual money to watch just these in a movie theater - just the montages.

This one is called 40 inspirational speeches in 2 minutes. Now cue the powerful music, and join me in a tribute to that really cool moment in the movies when you know the underdogs are about to find their way.

I'm not all that resolute, so I'll call them New Year's Considerations

2009-01-05T17:10:00.008-06:00

Well, it turns out that the Wii isn't quite enough to make me stop wishing that every post could be labeled "Road to Publication", that new years are scarier than they used to be, and yoga is awesome.

The first is self-explanatory. I'm a teensy bit obsessed, but I no longer care. You don't get what you want without caring about it very much. So I'm just going to keep caring. TTYR.

I adore the New Year holiday. First of all, because I need a buffer between Christmas and reality. Christmas is like a fairy tale. January, especially in Missouri, is cold, hard reality. The New Year eases me in with an extra day off work, warm happy thoughts, and lots of snacks and stuff. I like that. Plus, I totally buy in to all that this-is-our-year! stuff. Because you never know when it just might be. But then, this year, after thinking all those rosy, dreamy thoughts, I got scared. Because I was probably all rosy back in January of 2005 too, and that's the year I had cancer. Which despite giving me the premise for a book to finally actually finish and a new lease on life and a bigger laugh and stuff, also scared the living daylights out of me. (I wanted to say crap - that it scared the crap out of me, but I don't really like to jar my mom that much, and she'd be really jarred if I said that on my blog - even though it felt more like crap than daylights - because I don't even know what those are.)

I have a friend who used to look forward on New Year's Eve and actually pray with her husband and try to find out just what the new year held. Even pre-cancer I knew I wanted none of that. I hoped I could face anything that came, but I didn't want to know it ahead of time. And this year, sure enough, I stopped short when I clinked my sparkling raspberry grape juice cup with the boys (turns out, the raspberry is not better than plain old grape), because I realized how little any of us know what the year might hold.

Fortunately we don't know the good stuff either, and there might be plenty. But all the same, I'm afraid I don't look ahead with the same naivety as before. I think this is what people mean by one day at a time.

Which brings me to yoga. I didn't make New Year's resolutions. I never really do, although I do kind of believe in them. I mean, hey, if there's something you need to change it's worth a shot. But I do really hope to be more fit this year, to put a little more effort into my well-being. And I hope to be more grateful. Every day. Yoga helps with both. I look forward to that hour, because it's energizing and relaxing all at once. But then, throughout the day, I find myself whooshed to that yoga place now and then just when I was headed to perhaps a more stressful one. It's very centering and peaceful. Very serenity now. I don't know if it's yoga specifically or just activity in general, because I took a walk with the boys today and felt awesome after that as well. I can't do the walk barefoot, which is something I love about yoga. But I can't hold Jake's hand during yoga either, which is something I loved about the walk.

So here's hoping I care enough about my writing career to help it happen but not so much that I obsess, that I can face the year with gratitude for all the good and bravery for the rest, and that I remember what it does for a body - Just. To. Move it.

extremely random movie thoughts, and by the way - Happy New Year!

2008-12-30T20:17:00.006-06:00

When I wrote about the Emmys a while back, I was sort of put out with Hollywood because I felt disdained by them - what with having voted conservative, um, ever. That post started quite the little discussion. But one friend didn't comment at all - although she wanted to write something to the effect of, "Ah, Serenity is growing up!" because I was able to see anything other than red carpets and rosiness in my beloved Hollywood. Well, it's been too long since I wrote about Hollywood now, and I don't want anyone to wonder if I've grown up any further - because I haven't - so I thought it was time. Consider this a huge catch-up version of "Movie Reviews From My Cabinet at Home." In this case: A glimpse at some of the movies, new and (80s) classic, I can't get enough of this Christmas vacation holiday. Now remember, we're kids. I mean, um, we have kids. So it's not like any of these were nominated for best picture. They just get us, okay?

First up, Kung Fu Panda. First, I love the Asian themes. Love them. When I watched The Last Samuri I suddenly wanted to clean my house. Just clean it, remove 90 percent of the stuff from it, and hang black-framed pictures of lone white lillies. Besides the Eastern inspiration that makes us want to cleanse our universe/cleanse our souls, Kung Fu Panda is freaking hilarious. We never laughed so hard in our lives - out loud in a movie theater - as we did watching Jack Black as an overweight Kung Fu trainee with a heart of gold. So. Funny. Plus, I now figure there are two kinds of people in this world: Those who believe there's a secret ingredient and those who don't.

Freaky Friday. The Oscars are so pretentious, aren't they? Because if they weren't, they never would have overlooked Jamie Lee Curtis's performance as a teenager trapped in her mother's body in this hilarious version of what was already a pretty great concept. Lindsay Lohan actually does beautifully as her mother as well, but Jamie Lee Curtis slays me. When the teenager-trapped-in-mom's-body tries to read something and has to trombone it, Curtis says "Whoa, she's blind!" in one of the funniest line deliveries ever, and that's just one of the many scenes in this movie that she completely nails. I actually believe there's a teenager in there. Believe it. And this realistic acting makes it all the more poignant when they whip out the schmaltz and actually make me cry. It's a great movie about understanding each other. Period.

The Three Musketeers. I credit this movie for some of my downfall into a total adoration for the art of movie-making. It has everything - romance, great clothes and hair, heroes, sacrifice, brotherhood, and humor. I love the gentle queen who loved the timid king to whom her marriage was arranged. I love how fiercly the musketeers believe in their duty to protect that king. And the line, "Come, Dartagnon, we're saving the king!" was as critical to our family's movie-quoting history as "Goodbye, Boys, have fun storming the castle." Major Nickerson nostalgia in this film, and I'm so glad we own it now.

Honey I Shrunk the Kids. I have no philosophical goodness to bring out from this movie. No one single thing. We own it because I got it for about 4 dollars, and I loved it as a kid. But seriously, when I subjected my children to it the other day, I still sat RIVETED by those four, poor, quarter-inch children trying to cross the massive jungle that used to be simply their back yard. I couldn't wait for the humungous oatmeal cream pie and the part where they sleep in a Lego. It's just good, clean fun.

Ratatouille. If you're sensing a Disney obsession here, that's because I'm in the DVD club. And incidentally, I adore the movie montage before Disney movies now where they play the fantastic score from Kevin Kostner's Robin Hood. It gets my Hollywood eyes all starry. And Ratatouille is just so cute and culinary. It doesn't exactly make me want to be a cook, but it makes me appreciate them very, very much. I'm so glad some people cared to turn our plain animal instict to eat things into an actual art. If there were only people like me in the world, ingredients would never have come together properly. Heck, we probably never would have peeled a banana.

Hancock. We don't own this one, and we've only seen it once - but it was fairly recently. Will Smith is in it, which is a clincher for this fam. And he plays a really arrogant super power whose publicist (Jason Bateman . . . I think I still have a poster of you around here somewhere) convinces him to just look people in the eye now and then and tell them, "Good job." Oh my goodness, do we like to deliver that line around here. Plus, I love the idea of a reluctant superhero and the way he is transformed basically by one man's belief that he can better himself, a little boy's unfettered admiration of him, and the choice to love selflessly.

Now, can anyone tell me which of these movies I should rush to see (or perhaps away from) currently in theaters? Because I think I want to see them all: Benjamin Button, Marley & Me (I already know - bring a box of Kleenex and try not to have ever actually loved any of your pets), Seven Pounds, Bedtime Stories, Valkyrie. Also, I got a couple months of free Netflix for Christmas, so prepare for another rash of brief, completely unhelpful movie reviews soon. Up first is Hairspray, and I hear Ghost Town is awesome.

photo credit: basha04 on Flickr

I'm thinking a movie on a weekday at nap time . . .

2008-12-28T18:33:00.006-06:00

Agent Holly: You will be happy to hear, in the words of Drew shortly before this picture, "We. Just got. A Wii!"

So now when I am overcome with anxiety over whether or not I am any closer to beginning an actual writing career, I'll simply pick up a remote and bowl. I'm really good at the bowling. Not so much the tennis. I end up jabbing at the air in front of me as if trying to poke my little Mii into responding to the ball rather than reacting to it myself. "What does it say about you, though," I asked Michael, "to be good at bowling on the Wii?" It doesn't seem like something you could put on a list of assets, talents, or even handy little knacks. It just is.

I drove to my parents' on Christmas Eve. The roads were covered in patches with packed snow, and Michael was home sick. I have never felt so happy and so refreshed by a home-going though. I needed it desperately that day for some reason. As I drove there alone, I panicked when I realized that I had not yet read the directions for - nor placed in my vehicle - the car escape tool Dad got me for Christmas. It cuts your seat-belt and breaks your window and punctures your air bag and all kinds of other important things if you have an accident that leaves you trapped inside the car. I thought how awful it would be to have a wreck on Christmas Eve on the way to his house and not have the safety tool he had given me.

Now it is safely placed in the pocket of my driver's side door, and I feel so much more prepared for life. It's nice to have a little bit of Dad's protection beside me in the car as I drive. Just like it was so nice on Christmas Eve, when the day kept feeling so decidedly un-Christmassy and the boys kept spilling things and I realized I still hadn't bought enough wrapping paper (Wal-Mart again?!), to know that I was going to Mom's just as soon as my work day was over and that she would rescue Christmas from the moment I walked in the door. I was wrong though. It was rescued the moment I saw the lights of the little town where she lives.

We're headed into the second week of Christmas vacation for the boys. They look so forward to it. And then sometimes it disappoints. They get bored and miss their friends and routine. Jake likes having them around but finds that they sometimes mess with his universe. They wake up every day certain something exciting will happen, and their faces droop to find me working (what is this strange part of grown-up life that you work on Christmas vacation?!) But I'm going to try and rescue it for them. I'm pretty sure I can. I just hope I have enough tools.

one more wish for magic

2008-12-24T09:22:00.003-06:00

So I guess we'll have a white Christmas this year. I should have taken a picture right across the street. Dave's house catches snow like a perfectly frosted gingerbread house. Only it's a beautiful dark gray instead of brown. I don't say "Dave's house" as if you know him, but simply because it's a pretty view from my house that I've mentioned on the blog before. If we ever move, I think I'll remember this house more for that poetic view than anything else. "Remember how Dave's house looked at Christmas time?" I'll probably say things like that. And, remember how Dave actually raked?

Tonight I'll wrap presents with the tiniest bit of anxiety, wondering if and hoping that my children still believe in the magic of Christmas once they've opened the presents tomorrow. I saw a rerun last night - a behind-the-scenes look at The Grinch cartoon. And a man said, "Everyone hates Christmas a little bit. No one would dare deny that." Now, if you've been hanging around the last few weeks, you know that I really like this time of year. I believe in the magic so much that I seriously expect complete strangers to walk up and hand me money. (They did last year! Well, it was a diaper coupon, but if diapers are on your grocery list, believe me, that is MONEY, BABY.) I think the sound of the Salvation Army bell is the loveliest of the season and the Merry Christmas said between us after I've dropped my money in, perfect in sincerity.

But still, I understood what that guy said. Because no matter how hard we try to make it about everything except the presents, it still becomes about them a little bit. And wondering if my kids will still believe the magic after Christmas morning is always a little moment of angst for me.

But on that note, you should see me the day after Christmas. Ooh, I love that day. All the gifts are unwrapped, and we're reveling in them. My kids were grateful and happy and so full of magic that it's shooting from their fingers and their toes. I'm looking forward to that.

Next time I write, Serenity Now will probably be dripping with New Yearsy thoughts - all that hope and new beginning stuff. I'm kind of big on that. So, consider this my Merry Christmas message. Here's hoping you've got magic shooting from your fingers and toes.

I have the best idea for the next season of Survivor

2008-12-21T20:53:00.008-06:00

I went to Wal-Mart on the Saturday before Christmas.

These are the words of an insane person. Except that I survived it, which makes me a conquerer. Except I came out limping and crying, which makes me ridiculous.

I went in cheerful. Just be calm, I told myself. Just a few gifts to pick up. You already know what they are. The crowds are just other people full of Christmas spirit. The carts are not attacking you. But. It. Wore. Me. Down.

It's my fault really, because I wore ridiculous shoes. I don't know why I do that. (Yes I do. It's the whole life is too short thing.) And I wasn't prepared for the check-out lanes. They were almost my undoing. After picking up my last item and rounding the corner for the check-out lanes, which may as well have been heaven itself, I saw the lines and gasped the dying breath of a mad woman. I bought Advil, a candy bar, and a Diet Coke while in line. Plus read an entire magazine, alphabetized the gifts I'd bought, had a long chat with my mother, and flossed. (Okay, only the mom one is true between Diet Coke and flossing). When I finally made it through, boosted only slightly by the fact that the check-out woman's day was going to be way worse than mine, I limped and sloshed my way through the filthy slush, threw my stuff into the car, walked the cart about a half-mile back to the cart-retriever place like the marathon runner finishing the final leg, and collapsed behind the wheel, hugging it like it was one of my children.

One crazy thing I noticed over and over, though, in every aisle, three layers deep - was that people were seriously happy. I didn't run into one single person who wasn't smiling despite the chaos, and I'm pretty sure most of us were smiling because of it. I mean, don't get me wrong. I am not casually saving ANY of my shopping until that late next year if I can help it in any way, but still. Even as we commiserated with each other and rubbed our temples and questioned our intelligence (only our own - no one challenged the intelligence of anyone else), we wished each other Merry Christmas and thoroughly, not-just-because-at-least-it-has-to-beat-this-day, meant it. This is what I love about humanity.

(Aside: I'm putting up another picture from our family photo night, because I really kind of like this one but didn't end up using it. I like Jake's crooked pose, the way he and Drew have matching gaps, and my poofy hair from having jumped into the chaos.)

But anyway, next year I plan to get all gushy towards humanity on the Saturday before Christmas by sitting in my own home in front of my gorgeous tree and just think about how great humanity can be. I'll probably even smile at the thought of all those poor suckers discovering humanity the hard way.

Happy Monday, everyone! It's a happy one because there are only three more sleeps 'til Christmas. (Which reminds me, Guy-on-the-phone-with-your-significant-other, you don't know me, but I met you in every other aisle of the toy section about twelve times - each time you were talking on the phone trying to figure what in the world to buy. Please tell me you found something from that child's list you were talking about. I was so moved by the fact that you were there, taking those toy aisle laps like a trouper, keeping your infant calm, and especially that you didn't cuss once. Merry Christmas.)

not always what you picture

2008-12-18T10:45:00.009-06:00

We had a little trouble capturing a Christmas card this year. I wouldn't expect one if I were you. Doesn't Drew (in the middle) look like he's starting a modeling career though? Check out that perfect uncaring pout. And believe me, it's a pose. He was in a perfectly good mood here. It was Jake's mood that threw things off, as evidenced in the second picture here in which Michael is holding Jake's teary face toward the camera. Merry Christmas, indeed.

I can get kind of upset about things not turning out as I'd like them to. But, I don't know, this year I just love these pictures. And not like you love those blooper pictures that you try for - you know, "Now everyone look silly!" No, these are seriously unfortunate pictures. Not a one of them turned out pretty. And I didn't care. I was really tired that night. But I find that today - when I'll probably choose the least appalling one and upload it to Walgreens - I still don't care.

What I care about is how much we laugh together, whether or not we're understanding each other and focusing on the same important things in life, whether or not the kids feel loved. You can't put that stuff in a Christmas picture.

So I gave up early on the picture-taking that night. Between each shot, I swear, they were rolling around on the floor wrestling - arms and legs flailing, Jake getting cheered up by not being forced to perform for Pete's sake! And then I would just click the timer on the camera and yell okay and they'd plop themselves into some sort of seated position while I squeezed into the mayhem. After a few shots, I just got tired of stopping the fun.

Christmas won't be perfect for any of us this year probably. We'll cut corners and hang fewer lights and buy smaller presents. With the chaotic pace of life, sometimes Christmas isn't as poetic as we want it to be. The night I put up the nativity I found that with three small boys it's not as easy to capture the solemnity of the moment as we always did with Mom. I ended up getting the box down and yelling to various rooms, "Everybody get in here! Linus is telling the Christmas story, and we're all going to sit here and watch it!" So they did. And then they snatched at the shepherd and wise men and baby Jesus and plopped them on the shelf with excitement nowhere near solemnity.

And last night I had it in mind to watch It's a Wonderful Life. I was determined it was the only way I could go to bed happy. But we all went to the Y instead. I took a yoga class, John had basketball practice, Jake found that heaven is a rec center play room. We were there way too late to watch a movie afterwards. And an evening at the Y is such a different picture than an evening in front of Jimmy Stewart with chocolate and angels getting their wings and such. I mean we ended the night playing Ms. Pacman and Galaga for goodness sake.

You just can't decide ahead of time what life is supposed to look like - even Christmas - and only be happy with that. It's like our Christmas card I guess. I'd rather live a great picture than take one.

I went to school today and stumbled into a Christmas concert

2008-12-15T10:31:00.004-06:00

If you stay around the school building in the morning, and it's the kind of weather when you have your windows rolled down, you hear the most adorable sound. Over the loud speakers come these two little voices saying, "Good morning!" Then they say their names and ask us to please join them in saying the Pledge of Allegiance and the Tiger Pledge. The Tiger Pledge is a little vow to show respect and responsibility and best effort and all those good things. I love hearing those little voices in the morning.

Well, last Friday should have been Drew's turn, but I got him to school late. Today we were a little late again. (I think Jared did it today, Sara!) So I'm not sure but what he has missed his chance for good. But anyway, I went inside to check with his teacher on something else and all the kids were streaming to the gym for a high school band concert. So I was surprisingly serenaded with O Holy Night and a comical version of Twas the Night Before Christmas while Drew sat happily beside me and Jake chewed on a giant wad of bubble gum and grinned at Aunt Eva Jean who sat beside us. It was a pretty decent start to any Monday, you gotta admit.

On the way home from a ball game last night (who knew third grade basketball could be so fun?) we stopped at a gas station where I plopped some Rolos on the counter.

"Chocolate fix?" the clerk asked me.

"Yep." And it was. A thoroughly emotional choice as I wasn't even hungry.

"Whatever it takes," he said kindly.

And I thought, whatever it takes indeed.

See, I didn't have any trouble getting into the Christmas spirit this year. I've felt thoroughly magic clear to my toes since November 1. Surprisingly, though, my budget wasn't feeling quite as Christmasy as me and hasn't been giving as generously as I would have liked. It's like the economy is going under or something, although I'm sure that's not true. So although it's been Christmas for weeks around here, December 25th has managed to plummet towards me like a giant snowball under which I feel I will soon be flattened. I have way too much shopping left to do considering it is December 15th.

And so, finally I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps Christmas is, like, too commercial or if perhaps the stores prey on our holiday spirit to get us to buy more, or if maybe - and this is a shot in the dark here - maybe there is a little something going on with the economy. And all this threatens - like the giant snowball itself - to undo all of the happiness that Charlie Brown and Michael W. Smith have thus far established.

So I say, whatever it takes. I sit in the quiet at night in front of my lighted tree. I listen to Christmas music nonstop from a variety of sources so you don't get - you know - "Jingle Bells backwards!" (Name that movie). And I eat Rolos when I don't really need them.

An old friend of mine had an awesome Facebook status recently, "I'm glad the King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger, in all our trials born to be our friend." That was all it took that moment. And I was so thankful for it. I refuse to let Christmas bowl me over. It's way too easy to pause and finally get it. You just gotta find what it takes.

if the Lord tarries

2008-12-12T10:33:00.003-06:00

Mom knows a preacher who says that phrase, "If the Lord tarries," when he makes announcements and such. You know, the meeting is tonight . . . if the Lord tarries.

It has been a long time, don't you think? Two thousand years ago - give or take - I know his disciples never would have guessed it would be this long. It leaves a lot of room for doubt. I like what Den said in the comments Wednesday, that Jesus left his legacy to people who had consistently failed him. And sometimes that feels even more true than others. Here we are, so many years later, trying to figure out just what he meant by coming at all - just what he was trying to say and to show us.

"If the Lord tarries," seems to come from someone who really wishes that he wouldn't. I heard a preacher speak on that once, that we should wish for Jesus' return more than we wished for anything. I went to lunch that Sunday distraught. I knew I didn't wish for that. I wished for marriage and children and meeting new people and discovering new things. I didn't want him to come and interrupt all that cool stuff life had to offer. That's the famous day in our family history when I opened my fortune cookie after lunch, and it was blank. (Was it blank, Mom, or completely empty? I can never remember.) Either way, it was eerie.

Now I'm on the other side of some of the coolness and find that life has hardship too that would be nice to escape. After 9/11 when my cousin was in a church in Pakistan that was bombed, I was thinking, "This might be a good time, Lord." It seemed the world was falling apart. But then, yet again, it didn't. It didn't actually fall apart, and he didn't feel the need to swoop in and rescue us. We keep stumbling about trying to figure out life and love (smile) and faith, and then we die and another generation is born to - it sometimes seems - start the learning process all over again.

It's bright and sunny here today, especially reflecting off the little patches of snow. And something like the return of Jesus on clouds of glory always seems more possible on days like this. But I find that despite everything in life - or actually, because of it - I still don't mind that he tarries (as perhaps a proper Christian should). I really like the learning process of life. It's so stressful in seasons but so rewarding when you come through them with something new discovered.

There were several good comments yesterday and Wednesday. As Tracy H. pointed out (you can find her on the blog roll at Strengthened by Words), there is a lot of mystery and balance to our faith. We struggle to find it between grace and works, love and justice, humility and understanding. I'm not even sure there is perfect balance between them, or if perhaps we make up the balance by our differences. Which is both trying - and oddly freeing, if you let it be.

This is one of my favorite movie quotes. I'm convinced there's truth in it.

"If there's any kind of God, it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me, but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something. I know it's almost impossible to succeed. But who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt."

the greatest of these

2008-12-10T11:20:00.004-06:00

I heard the best phrase earlier this year. A guest speaker at my sister's church was talking about that famous evangelical phrase, "Love the sinner, hate the sin." The speaker went on to congratulate Christians everywhere, himself included, because we are so good at that phrase. Especially the second part. We're so good at the second part, in fact, that we really don't get around to the first.

His suggestion was to give up the hate. Just try it. For like a month or something. "Love irresponsibly," he said.

How much do I love that phrase? Very. I keep trying to think of ways to apply it. It's a tough one for Christians, because - well - besides the fact that it sounds like a slogan for teen pregnancy - it also flies right in the face of our fear that we could actually love someone right into hell. Do you know this about us, Person we judge? We're afraid that if we don't condemn you now, we condemn you forever. And as for our own self-righteousness - and, Lordy, do we have some - it's not only that we think we can earn our way to heaven (although, I'm afraid that's in there), it's also that we have believed our own purity is the best way to reflect Him. First Corinthians 13, aside. ("If I speak God's word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, "Jump," and it jumps, but I don't love, I'm nothing.")

I like the phrase love irresponsibly because it made me question that fear I used to have. It made me wonder, if I believe I could love someone into hell, did I really understand what Love is?

I don't have this problem, for instance, with my children. They can lie right to my face, the little devils, and moments later I want to wrap them in my arms and hold them 'til they smell like my shampoo. I adore them. I actually have total responsibility for their health, their understanding of right and wrong, and their happiness. Actual responsibility. It's in the contract you sign right next to their birth certificate. I solemnly swear to feed them broccoli, hold their hand to cross the street, and apologize profusely if they point out obesity in the grocery store. And yet I love them first and foremost without any thought for that other stuff. It's why I give them cookies at bedtime and let them play football in the yard just five more minutes before they start their homework and strap 'em into mud boots and swimming trunks so they can treat the puddles like they were meant to be treated.

You know, Mom and Dad always used to teach people that disciplining your children is a greater love than spoiling them because it requires a greater denial of self (not to mention the fact that it shows a much greater love for the whole of society upon whom you'll eventually inflict your children). That is certainly true. But it's not the willing-to-discipline love that will motivate me when they make decisions I would not have made for them. It's the cookies-at-bedtime love.

I don't know, I just think this is the kind of love that would be worth considering with other humans on the planet as well. I don't know for sure what it looks like. But I'm pretty sure I've decided it's the way to be.

And now I've put it out there. I've taken another guy's words, packed it with my own emotions and agendas and put it out there for the world. So go ahead, lay it on me. What do you think about it?

traditions are like the rules of Calvin-ball, you add new ones any time you want

2008-12-09T09:14:00.004-06:00

My mom is really good at new traditions. When I moved out, she debated over whether or not to send me with the long, narrow stocking that matched my siblings', which she'd hung every year for Christmas. She ended up getting me a new one instead to take with me. She's had to change a lot of traditions over the years. And I never knew her to do it with very much sadness. She's the one, you know, who keeps foolishly promising me that every stage of life is as wonderful as the next despite my determination to be blue at the thought that my poor children are growing so quickly.

This is a picture of a tradition she started several years ago. One white gift bag for every family of my siblings and I for each day of December. Our kids all have various methods for deciding who gets to open the package every day. Mine have an elaborate process - one picks out the proper date and unties the ribbon, the other takes out the tissue paper for the big reveal. The next day they switch. Jake is - you know - also there.

So today's ornament is from one of the packages. It's the Grinch. We also have an older Grinch ornament, so I gave them both some billing.

New and old. I like life to be plenty stuffed with both.

if you think it's too early for Christmas, you better turn your head

2008-12-08T09:34:00.006-06:00

We slayed a tree this weekend, shook its loose needles with a rumbling tractor, pulled it through some netting, and strapped it to the back of our truck.

As we drove there, I was thinking about traditions and the fact that I've never really thought we had many. There are lots of things we usually do but not many that we always do. I think I was over-defining the term. Because even though we will probably move to artificial at some point in the future, and even though last year we waited too long and had to retrieve an already-slain tree from the ditch (i.e., the grocery store), Fouch's Christmas Tree Farm is definitely a family tradition.

In my later high school years, Mom always had a beautiful department-store kind of tree, everything matching. She put all our old homemade ornaments elsewhere and made the house look like Better Homes and Gardens. Felic and I loved those trees. We didn't have much love lost over the popsicle sticks from our elementary days.

Of course I intended to have a tree like that when I had my own home too. So, what was I to do with all the Hallmark cartoon-like figurines that Michael brought to the party from his childhood? I'm ashamed to say I put those ornaments on kind of reluctantly the first year. Then I tied wraphia bows around the edges and red balls to tie it all together, and it was absolutely gorgeous. I remember feeling a little smug towards all those Caution Signs that marriage demands compromise. If this is compromise, I thought, I'm going to be happy for EVER.

Now I love the unveiling of our Hallmark ornaments every year. The kids get a new one each year from Grandma Bohon, and it's my favorite part of the tree. I took some pictures and plan to put a new one up every day or so on the blog. I know you won't really care, but I'm loving my tree - this year with a blue and silver theme - so much that I felt the blog needed some holiday spirit as well.

The first one up today? Two little chipmunks in an acorn swing. It says "Our First Christmas Together". Can't you just see the happy compromise?

why I blog at all

2008-12-04T10:00:00.000-06:00

I've been wanting to do a post like this for a while, ever since a friend raised the question of my intent here, wondering if I expect input or perhaps don't enjoy it, whether I'm entertaining you or just perhaps myself. Another friend thinking of starting a blog herself also asked me why I do it, and thinking about all the reasons why was just too fun. So I thought I'd write them out here and see what other bloggers would add.

Earlier this week, Drew turned around at the table where he was doing homework and said, "Hey, Mo-om. Guess what one of my spelling words is this week? WRITER!" You can't imagine how it thrilled me to know that he had any comprehension at all that I would care about that. He must actually consider me one of those, despite the fact that he's 7, so he doesn't exactly browse the blogging community, and there isn't a single book in Barnes and Noble with my name on it.

And that is the first reason I blog. Because I wanted to write. A good friend said of me when I was in high school that I wrote well but hadn't yet found my voice. "How the heck do you find that?" I asked my mom. And she said, "You find it in your grocery list. And all kinds of other common things you can write every day. Keep doing them, and eventually you find your voice." I thought a blog would be even better than a grocery list.

Also, I wanted to write for people. When I was just writing for myself, it was too easy to skip it. I heard on the radio the other day, "We judge ourselves by what we are capable of, but others judge us by what we have already done." Another thing my mom always said was to "discipline your art". Too many people out there "should" or "would" or "probably could", and not enough do. You have to put some work into it if you want to produce anything of worth. I thought having readers would be a good way to make myself keep writing, even when it seemed easier to quit.

Blogging is hugely, hugely, ginormously self-indulgent. I'm well aware of that. The other day Drew was telling John about a girl he likes. The only thing I know of her is that she has freckles. And this is what he said, "I hope I recognize her my whole life." Having a blog gives me permission to write down things like that. And you kind people read it. Me? Self-indulged.

But my hope, and another reason I keep doing it, is that it will also entertain or move you. That at some point at least someone will say, "I totally get that." A part of me has this crazy need to find the common denominators in humanity. I want to discover and record the way I feel about things with the delusion that at least some of them will make all of humanity nod its head, "Ah, yes. We totally get it too." There have to be some things like that. The thrill and the ache of being a parent, the need for love, dreaming big. I keep writing and writing and writing - just hoping something I say will get that big universal nod. Indulge much? Yes, I already told you that. But if I get a nod here and there, then I figure I have given as well as received.

So that's why I blog. I started it for me. I keep it up for you . . . and me.

How about the rest of you bloggers? Or maybe those of you considering it. What are your thoughts?

the gap ad you've been waiting for

2008-12-02T19:22:00.006-06:00

So I've had a little trouble capturing the gap. Here's Jake getting a hair cut last night. He sat perfectly still, but do you really think I feel like grinning now, Mom?

Then I tried again tonight. Say cheese, Jake! Mom, are you kidding me with this?

But anyway, we got it eventually.

So we're watching the ol' claymation Santa movie as I write this. I get a little edgy about Santa every year. I love it, and we do it, but I struggle with the fear that my kids will eventually think of it simply as a big lie we told them throughout their childhood. I'm well aware that most kids just sort of grow up out of it, play along for several years, and never get all that traumatized by it. But we're talking about my children here. I've told you about Drew, right? The dramatic one with all the sensitivity and crazy clever questions and, again, drama. There's no way that dude's easing out of the Santa phase without some sort of a scene.

But here's my hope - that at some point in their youth, even if they realize the absurdity of some of the details they may have been believing, they will also realize that if Christmas promises anything, it promises magic. I'm not being all ethereal and poetic here. I just mean the whispering of secrets, the fact that at least someone during this season will surprise you. They'll have a gift more perfect than you had imagined or be someone you didn't even know was thinking of you. You're sure to feel a rush of joy every time you drop a coin in the salvation army bucket or give a coat to the coat drive. There might be carolers outside your door. Seriously, a crowd of people standing in your lawn serenading you. Any season that encourages that is seriously magic.

There was a group of them at HyVee tonight. That's what put me in this magic frame of mind. If you read the blog very much, you may know that I have a completely irrational abhorrance for grocery shopping. Bumping into the sound of carolers at the West end of every aisle really brightened the entire experience though. That and having all three rambunctious boys with me. You just can't take yourself too seriously with three boys bouncing around you wheeling their kid size carts like they're in a go-kart race.

So that's what I hope. That the belief in Santa will turn into a belief in the magic and the thrill of giving it as much as receiving. My favorite part of the Christmas story is how common it is - a poor man, a plain girl, a manger, regular old shepherds, animals. But then there were angels. Actual angels, visible and audible and filling the sky and telling the shepherds to go join the tableau that now sits on our mantles every year. You know what that was? It was magic. And I look for it every year.

on church going and communion

2008-12-01T14:28:00.000-06:00

It's hard to find a church. The church we've been to the last several Sundays has a few things I really love, and it has things we're unsure about. Michael and I don't even agree on some things. It's easier not to go at all.

But still, yesterday I got up compelled to go again. I want to go somewhere so much. At this church it's the music and communion that keep me coming back. The music is contemporary like I'm used to. I love hymns. Love them. But there's something about the kick of the bass drum and hum of the electric guitar. My previous pastor said you will tend to always find God best in the way that you first met him. Maybe that's why I like the style of music we had in my church as a girl.

But the other thing that keeps me going back - is the communion. I first really learned to appreciate communion at a big church in another town. I knew almost no one there, and it moved me immeasurably to watch so many faces stream towards the cup, dip their bread in it, and be told it was the body and blood of Christ broken and shed for them. At the church we've visited lately, they do communion every single Sunday. So no matter what you think of the sermon or the electric guitar or the announcements in the bulletin, you get that moment where you center on what it is we all believe. They don't even do the beautiful communal cup with actual wine. It's regular old grape juice in a plastic cup, and you drink it with a cracker the size of a Tic Tac. You do it in your own seat at your own pace, reflecting on the sacrifice you believe was made for you for as long or as little as you need before you partake. I miss the streaming of people to the front. But yesterday, after I had taken it, I looked up and watched as people throughout the room took their bread and ate it and then raised the cup to their lips. One here, one there, two or three at a time.

It's my favorite part. I think somehow despite all our differences about church, all our various reasons for why people should go to church at all and what a church should do and preach and be, in that moment I get why we go. I get why we want to be somewhere together celebrating what we believe. I used to have much fancier reasons to give. And I think for some churches that moment of clarity comes through other means than communion. But for me, for now, that's when it comes. I like how the taste lingers afterwards. Sometimes I think it's a crazy tale on which we're hanging all our hopes. It's a little bit Hollywood to think one man paid a price for us all that secured our place with God in some sort of paradise for all eternity. But I believe it. And I like being surrounded by other people believing it too and drinking that juice and eating that tiny cracker with the reverence only that belief could produce.

sometimes you get what you wish

2008-11-26T18:22:00.004-06:00

To add creativity to my thankful list today, I thought I would include actual quotes from my journals.

October 12, 1995

I really want to love and be loved.

There are all kinds of quotes with Michael's actual name in them - clear back from fifth grade when I wrote about the two cute boys in my class and one of them was him. Oh the drama as I pined for that boy from that moment on. We went on our first date Valentine's Day 1996, and we were married August of 1997, the hottest day this side of a sauna, I'm told. To me, it was perfect.

October 5, 1998

I want to have a baby.

It took me a while to come to this one. Growing up all I really cared about was getting married and being a mom. But once I got married, I found that I wasn't in a very big hurry for motherhood after all. I finally started hoping for it about one year before it happened. John Michael was born October 17, 1999, the happiest day of my life to that point, and Andrew joined us June 13, 2001. Being the mother of two very young boys was crazy and trying and some days lonely. Being the mother of them? Awesome.

April 3, 1999

Our new dream is for me to work at home.

Check. I've never made much, but I make a little, and I do it without paying childcare. I really love that moment after dropping John and Drew off at school when I get to pull right back into my own driveway. Third to being married and being a mom, I wanted a home that I love. The house has flaws, but the home is wonderful.

Things went a little dark in June of 2005, as most of you know. I was pregnant but diagnosed with a rare, aggressive tumor. And then I wished for this.

July 21, 2005

I don't want this. I want to live. And I want this baby. I want to live to see all my babies grow up. Please let that be my story. I promise to be grateful.

My cancer was removed before it spread. And the baby I was so scared for that day is strolling around my writing space with Captain Jack Sparrow's spy glass in one hand and a chocolate chip cookie in the other. He also just stole a sip of my Diet Coke.

I'm pretty grateful.

once upon a dentist's chair

2008-11-25T14:22:00.004-06:00

I will post a picture when the gap heals a little - I gotta give the kid a fighting chance for the Gap commercial after all. But for now, I thought you'd enjoy the story of its removal, William Goldman style.

The surgeon's assistant was an older lady with bleached hair and a white mask "because of her cold". We'll call her the Albino. Count Rugen will be played by the nicest female dentist I've ever met in my life except for the really crappy morning she just walked us through. The nice receptionist nurse named Julie will play a nice receptionist nurse named Julie.

As we lay Jake in the dentist's chair, which certainly may as well have been a torture machine, they said "Welcome to the pit of despair." And then they cleared their throats, wiggled his tooth and added, "Don't even think about trying to escape," i.e., the tooth definitely has to go. Then they stuck him with a needle that I swear on my pretty Apple laptop was one inch square, and he screamed and cried while Count Rugen, the albino, and I held him down and tried to tell him this wasn't as torturous as it appeared.

Then Julie, who I could not in this moment cheerfully call nice anymore, ripped me out of the room as Jake's eyes rolled around in their sockets and he lost his grip on reality while I lost grip of his hand. I managed not to cry in the waiting room because of the really nice lady who told us stories and complained about how overbooked the office was that morning as we sheepishly nodded along, a teensy bit aware that our little emergency surgery probably added to the back-up.

Two minutes later (give or take) - and believe me, these were the most expensive two minutes of our lives, the tooth was out. Soon we were ushered into his recovery room. The torture here was seriously acute. "We removed his tooth," Count Rugen said. And with it we sucked one year of his life away. So tell us how you feel, Jake. And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest.

To which Jake cried. If you can call it crying. It was more like his vocal cords were outside of his body. They were triggered by the slightest word coming from the mouths of any of the three previously mentioned players. Any time any of them walked in the room and started speaking, the vocal cords sounded an alarm that was a low, crying moan I will never forget. His arms also seemed detached from his body and periodically rose from it in slow motion. When the arm pointed towards the door and the vocal cords said, "Truck", we knew the three were starting to reattach, and we'd be able to go home soon.

I'll get used to the gap. But let's just say the next time the three boys are alone in the bedroom, and any of the voices seem to be coming from the bunk bed, and there is anything even resembling the giggle of a friendly jumping contest, I'm tearing into that bedroom like a maniac and ripping the children apart like I'm sucking away a year of their lives.

The End.

Teeth and honesty

2008-11-24T21:40:00.004-06:00

Tomorrow this gorgeous smile (seen here above the green shirt beneath the blond curls) will lose a tooth. It happened in a tragic accident involving a bunk bed and an older brother which resulted in a really loose - apparently broken - tooth. It's okay, he looks almost 5, right?

NO. He does not look 5, and I'm completely heartbroken about this in a way you cannot even imagine from someone who has had cancer, survived it, and emerged with all these weighty revelations about the real meaning of life. Who knew vanity extended to your children's dentition? It's shameful. Lance Armstrong would be ashamed of me and probably take away my Livestrong apparel.

In other news, I've had an attitude breakthrough. I'm reading Anne Lamott who is all about being funny and honest when it comes to life. Really, really honest in that way that eventually makes me go, "Okay, seriously, the truth isn't always this true." So in that spirit, I submit to you this really heartwarming, live-like-you're-dying king of thought I had today when I was feeling blue that no editors have as yet brought me a publishing contract followed by a parade. I thought about my really cool agent and the fact that she's a real live honest-to-goodness Fifth Avenue New York City literary agent and thinks I'm good enough. And then I thought about this rejection I got from an editor a couple weeks ago that was so complimentary I plan to frame it and hang it above my desk (not really, it is a rejection after all). And I thought, between those two things, I'm extremely grateful. In a very real sense, I've made it. I mean, those are really thrilling accomplishments (seriously, the rejection said my writing was powerful and would definitely find a home - it was kind), and I can totally live with that even if it's the farthest I ever get.

Just not if I have to live very long. (And that's the honest part of which I think Anne Lamott would be proud.)

Wish us luck on the tooth removal and the end of a certain Baby Gap modeling career I'd been banking on.

- Serenity

there she goes - blog hopping again

2008-11-24T08:38:00.003-06:00

I borrowed this picture from Anne & May because I'm over on their site today as a guest blogger while May is on honeymoon, and this is the picture they used for my post on church hopping.

I've never known (or used really) that phrase as anything but a negative. On my post there, though, you'll see what I've learned to love about it.

I'd like to buy the world a book

2008-11-21T08:47:00.004-06:00

I recently joined a Facebook cause. I don't usually join Facebook causes because I can't see that they actually accomplish anything at all. The last one I was tempted to join was my friend Den's. It was the Put An End To Facebook Causes cause. But before I could join that one, I found a cause I said 'yes' to before I even had time to think about it. The cause is "Buy a Book Save the World."

The premise is that you promise to buy at least one book this - huh, holiday season, year? I can't remember when you're supposed to fulfill it. But I'm thinking those of us who join it have every intention of buying more than just one. The publishing industry is just one of the many out there hurting from the economy trouble, and this cause is our way of helping to keep it alive.

Above is a picture of how much I love books. When I joined the Literary Guild a few years ago, this is the stack of books that I ordered first and which came in the mail in one big, very happy box. That was the best day ever - having all those brand new books delivered to my house in one box. I spread them out and took a picture of them like they were my children's artwork.

And you know how your kids come home from school about every week with bookmarks from the library, with safety instructions, or even homemade? There are two kinds of paper I always save when it comes home from school. Anything with sentences the children made up all by themselves, like "My brither and I like football because we just have a thing about football", and those bookmarks. They get tucked into a pretty, round vase I got for my wedding, because you just never know when you'll need a bookmark. Especially since I'm usually reading more than one book at once.

The boys have two book shelves in their room - the one for paperbacks and early readers and cartoon characters like Spongebob, and the one they can't reach by themsevles with fairytales and hardbacks and Winnie the Pooh collector's edition and any others that I can't bear to find orange marker throughout or ripped-off corners or gum. I really like books.

So I was really happy to join the save-the-world cause by buying a book. I really want this industry to stay in business what with hoping to be a part of it and all. And this morning I was thinking we should all feel free to purchase things deliberately from now on from any of the industries we don't want to live without. Books of course, cars I guess - if you can afford it (just think of the single mom secretaries and dad-of-five-kids mechanics out there instead of the CEO's who flew to the meeting in their private jets, and you'll feel more motivated I think) - but there are so many more as well: Shoes (can I get an amen, ladies?), being able to watch television on the internet on our own time with less commercials (last season of LOST, I'm talking to you - I have to watch you again anyway because your producers spread your seasons so far apart), children's pajamas (I can do Christmas without Nintendo, but I can't do it without new pajamas), chocolate (hello, that goes without saying). You get the idea? Buy what you love, save the world. And let it start with a book.

a really cool family resemblance

2008-11-19T09:02:00.004-06:00

If you haven't read Anne & May before, you really must today. Felicity is their guest blogger, and it's the most beautiful post about how important it is to celebrate. This is why I love that girl. You simply can't stay down when she starts talking. She just knows happy. As well as gratitude and love and giving people the hugest benefit of the doubt ever.

Now you'll notice a certain family picture in her post that frankly my sisters have both spent hours laughing hysterically over in the past, because - well - I'm kind of a dork. I'm a really delightful, celebratory dork - as Felic's post will tell you - but a dork nonetheless. Felic's post is so beautiful though and, as I said about her ability to give the benefit of the doubt, she makes me look all sweet and wise in her description of the pic.

So after you read that post, then this picture will make more sense. It's just one of those delightfully ironic things about family pictures. No one coerced him in the least, but here is a grandkid-photo taken on my oldest son's birthday (or possibly that of his cousin Jude in front - they were sharing the party). And look who is posing identically to me in the photo Felic shared today. That proud six-year-old is Jesse White, Felicity's son, who evidently takes after me in the celebration department. Seriously, go look at Anne & May. This will all make sense then. And I guarantee you'll get a smile.

Suffice it to say, I'm not a perfectionist

2008-11-17T12:40:00.003-06:00

I've been dreading this school project ever since John told me about it. We had to dress up a doll in clothing appropriate to a country our child chose out of his ancestry. Clothing for a doll. I couldn't figure out how I could possibly make John do all the work. And I couldn't figure out how I was going to do it without sewing.

You may have guessed from my snack debacle that I'm not so much with the sewing either. I made a couple of dresses in high school. They fit and everything, but I didn't exactly take to it like the easier things in life. I was actually feeling put out with John's wonderful teacher. I couldn't believe she was asking me to sew.

But check it out. I didn't do too badly I think. I realize it looks more like a giant mushroom top than a beret and more of a wool poncho than a soft white top, but seriously, this doll is really small. He's a french painter guy, and this is exactly the image you'll find all over the internet if you google "frenchman's costume". If you simply google french costume, you get french maid lingerie. When you google french painting you get equally astonishing (though beautiful) images sure to make a 9-year-old boy squirm. We actually added the paint pallet to further identify the character. The whole thing looked more complete that way even though I didn't really know if that was appropriate. I told John to just explain that the French contribute a lot to the arts. Then say, "Like their famous museum, the Louvre." I think he's already forgotten that, but it does look better with the pallet.

John put the stripes on the shirt, but I sewed that baby with my own two hands and even got it turned right side out and onto the stiff, uncooperative arms of that doll. But the hat! Oh, the hat is my pride and joy. I knew we needed a French beret. It was the signature piece holding the whole thing together. But how do you make a French beret for a doll's head smaller than your index finger? Yikes. I made it with two cut-out circles from an old blue sock, put a piece of Diet-Coke-box cardboard between them to stiffen it and then topped it off with the sticky up thing - also pieces of sock. Then, the most creative part, I had to sew the thread through the hat and then under his (almost nonexistant) neck a few times to get the thing to stay on.

I'm very proud. I forgave John's teacher and showed it to Michael with glee. He gave his approval and then asked which poor soldier had been sadly reduced to this.

"It's not a soldier," I said. "It's Han Solo."

poetry and prose

2008-11-14T09:15:00.005-06:00

Nobody really talks about the baby blues. No one really even mentioned it to me until the few moments after John Michael was born. Then Dad in all his wisdom gently suggested that I not be surprised if my euphoria faded a bit into what was often called the baby blues. I said, "Huh, okay." but inside scoffed that the happiest happy I had ever felt could possibly fade.

It happened gradually but suddenly and lasted only a couple of weeks that felt like a lifetime. I would reach to nurse him and suddenly feel too tired. "I've lost interest in him," I cried, and my mother took him from me and told me not to worry. I felt everything closing in on me. I felt sick and exhausted and told Michael very sincerely that I thought I might be dying. I felt certain I was the only person in the world who could care for that baby but I was far too weak and tired to actually do it. I loved him so much that I sat on Michael's lap and cried that he would grow up even one single day. But one night when I went out for Halloween candy, I felt that although I wanted to return home to Michael, I didn't want to return home to the baby.

That night was pretty much the last of it. It faded more quickly after that without so many excruciating episodes that we simply had to pray our way through. The euphoria eventually returned but was more grounded in reality now.

Two things I wondered then, "I was supposed to be a better person than this," and "Why don't women talk about it?" The first probably answers the second. I was an extremely emotional person all my life and had learned, I thought, to steady them and not ride the roller coaster quite so high or low with passing feelings. So I felt ashamed that I hadn't been stronger when he was born. I got over that eventually, truly believing that hormones do their own thing sometimes, and surviving it really is almost the best that we can do. And I talked with many women in those weeks who had been through the exact same thing. I think the main reason we don't talk about it is because it doesn't happen to everyone. I think we feel that if we suggest it, we will scare them. And if we don't suggest it, maybe it won't happen.

Charity was euphoric in the hospital with Nola Serenity. Giddy, achingly happy. She felt so glad to not be pregnant anymore, so happy the baby is finally here, and surprised - as I think we all are - by how perfect life feels with a new baby. In the first couple days at home she has hit some of those painfully exhausting moments when she wasn't sure she had the energy to do this. I told Mom to tell her it passes. I told her about going to bed early and trying to believe that the baby really will get taken care of even if you simply can't rise from the bed (which I know that she will). And I told her about the long drives that Don and Cheri suggested to us, and which really helped.

But I think Mom knew this is a wave you sort of just have to ride. Mom probably will tell Charity all those things, but she'll weave them in gently as it seems fitting to the moment. Too many solutions offered at once could be as overwhelming as the problem.

Today Charity sent an email that literally glowed with happiness. Nola is sleeping beautifully, and I know that with every hour of sleep, Charity's nerves will improve. I don't think she would like my sharing anything but the happy thoughts right now. But since she doesn't read blogs, I thought I'd risk it. I know from experience that when you write about your low points to good, kind people like those who read my blog - the next day is very often better. I couldn't help but take that chance for her.

It's funny. Almost all of us know exactly what it's like to cry half the night because the baby is. We know that exhaustion is so dramatic those first few days that it hurts. We know these things. But still we feel giddy when someone joins the ranks. I guess it's because we know the beautiful parts far outweigh the ache.

speaking of nieces

2008-11-12T09:28:00.006-06:00

This is my favorite
picture of my niece,
Claire. I'm sure it's
because her blue eyes
match my husband's.

It's an old picture, though. (Click on Rare Rocks for recent ones!) Claire is six today.
Six years ago she and her twin were born premature. Claire's sister Ellery went to heaven after only nine hours on earth. But Claire kept fighting. We all hung around her bassinet in the NICU for days and days and days.
There was always beautiful music playing in her room, and it was peaceful and warm. I know it was the hardest time in Felicity's life, but I look back on Claire's little NICU room almost like a chapel where we escaped the crazy, misplaced priorities and silly stresses of regular life and could center instead on the big, important things like love and God and healing.

During this time I discovered this book, "Bear Snores On" by Karma Wilson. I love this book and the sequels that have followed it. The poetry is rhythmic and fun to read. It's the first time I realized that good children's poetry will often have a chorus - not just verse after verse.

In the book, the bear is hibernating and smaller animals enter his lair, start a fire, pop popcorn, make tea - they even dance. Eventually he wakes up and feels so sad that they had a party without him. The party continues after that until the friends can't stay awake any longer. After that, "the bear can't sleep, but his friends snore on."

I knew that would be Claire one day. While she slept, every bit of her energy used up in simply trying to finish the growth and development she should have been able to complete in the womb, we stood around her bed in daily, nightly vigils of prayer, tears, and sometimes laughter. We streamed in and out of the giant doors that led to the NICU, taking turns by her side, in the rocking chair near her, replaying the soft, powerful music in her CD player, tucking stuffed animals into her space, touching her tiny fingers and toes, reading the blinking numbers on her monitors as though we'd all gone to nursing school ourselves. And I knew that one day, she'd wake up. Just like the bear. And all that will power we'd been praying for would turn into a vivacious, happy little girl with lots to do. And I felt that at least for a while, the rest of us would probably need to sleep.

So happy birthday, Claire. I'm glad things have evened out. We've recuperated from our vigil. You continue to move forward from it with every single milestone. And we're all finally at the same party.

I love you Claire-Bear.

how I got the greatest honor

2008-11-11T10:27:00.002-06:00

New life is a beautiful thing. On Oprah the other day Will Smith said that in life, death is never the end. There is always a rebirth. "So if you have suffered a loss," he said - a parent has died, you've lost your job, been divorced - faced cancer, I would add - "You've got to stay focused, because there will be a rebirth." He explained this is always God's way.

On Sunday night, my little sister went into labor. Felicity and I jumped in the car and drove the five hours to be with her - and then missed the baby's birth by about an hour. When we arrived, they gave the baby to me, and Charity said, "Everyone, meet Nola Serenity Long." I cried.

Charity explained that she decided at her wedding that she would name her first baby after me, because at the time I had been diagnosed with a rare, aggressive cancer. Then of course, I lived. ("Yay", Charity added as she told the story). But then, you may remember, in April of this year, they found a spot on my bone and I went into surgery again. As we waited for the news about whether or not it was cancer again, Charity and Ryan waited for the appointment that would tell them whether or not they had made it to the twelve-week mark with her pregnancy. She had previously miscarried and at this point not yet told us she was pregnant again.

Some time in the morning, we got my news - no cancer. And not long after, Charity heard her baby's healthy heartbeat. Now Nola Serenity Long and I share a name and a very happy day in which our families learned that we would live.

I'm the happiest Aunt in the world, and life is a beautiful thing.

dreams come true (but this isn't about the book)

2008-11-09T16:40:00.014-06:00

If you read this post here, you will see that my love for Hollywood at some point went from maybe it's my calling - like Denzel Washington says, to it's probably not my calling, but it sure would be fun, to I don't see how that could ever fit into my already-established and very happy life, to "I just want to be in one movie - just once."

Well. Say hello to Once. The head of our video department at work has a friend in film school in Chicago, and I got to play the female role in his short film. You've heard of Off Off Broadway? Think that. Only for Hollywood.

This is what I saw when I first drove onto what I officially and unabashadly call the set.

These gorgeous horses were the Extras in one of the scenes.

Then I saw this. The guy in the red shirt, Nick, is also in film school - for cinematography. The director (blue coat and hat) called Nick the DP (director of photography). Next to Nick is the assistant DP. The head of the video department at work is in the gray coat and hat helping the DPs. I was feeling a little giddy here. My movie career was ON.

Then, as I went to park the car, I drove by this. The dock that would be my seat for the entire film. (I told you it's a short.)

This is my favorite photo from the shoot. The director is giving me some instructions before my first take. Could I look more "on set"?

And this is my first shot of the film. Well, my second. The first was the day before, from the same dock but with the camera across the pond. In these shots, though, when they say "action", you can actually hear the film begin to roll. Hear it. I hope I never forget that sound.

Here's the director watching the take. (How fun is this?)

Now, after auditioning and getting the part (I don't think there was too much competition but maybe some), I began to feel silly and concerned. I would have to be away from my kids and family for almost three full days. (We shot the film only minutes from my house, but it's not like I was available to them in that time). It wasn't for my job. I wasn't trying to advance my acting career (If I really wanted to get to Hollywood, this would be a place to start - but, let's face it, I'm not really trying to get there). So, besides being fun, it felt pretty pointless.

Then Michael came through for me. He said it wasn't pointless. It was an experience that would add to my life, and that was enough.

I really believe in film. I think it's a beautiful story-telling medium, and I think that stories have purpose. I'm just not too sure about my place in it.

But anyway - I got my Once. And I loved it. So, if you like DVD commentaries as much as I do, insert this behind my film if you ever happen to see it - say, at an Off Off Sundance Festival: "We were freezing." On the first day I sat on that dock in 37-degree weather while it was raining. If viewers can't tell that when they watch this film - well - I'll take my Oscar now.

dear mr. president

2008-11-05T08:56:00.003-06:00

I don't know about my strongest McCain-supporting friends, but I feel very peaceful today. McCain's speech made me sad for him. Charlie Gibson set it up by saying that McCain was a wonderful human being, "And I know his speech will be extremely gracious." And it was. I thought it was beautiful, and I felt for him and for his avid supporters. Then I couldn't wait to hear President-Elect Obama speak, because I knew it would be hopeful and uplifting. I have to say I was surprised at his reserve. I felt he was deliberate about not setting himself up as "our savior" as so many critics have accused him. His speech was also gracious, and it was honest about the work ahead.

It was other people's words that actually moved me more. It is impossible not to feel proud of my country when I hear someone like Donna Brazile say that Barack Obama will be inaugurated on steps that were built by slaves, men who probably never could have imagined that a black man would ever be taking the oath of office on the structure they built. I feel very moved by that just as I feel moved by the hope our president-elect has inspired in people across our nation and the world.

But there was one person I was worried about today. This is my sweet John Michael. You may know him as my oldest, the boy whose birthday I call the anniversary of my motherhood. The one who thinks donuts are too sticky and who once ironed a pair of shorts. And he believed in McCain. He got this passion all on his own. As you know, I wrestled with my voting decision almost up until the moment I walked into the booth, so I certainly wasn't feeding him any propaganda. Michael decided a bit earlier than me, but was hardly campaigning for any candidate either. John heard about the candidates at school and made his choice. Some of my readers won't understand this, but we're talking about a 9-year-old boy who just received his first hunting rifle for his birthday, so gun control issues were important to him. The second issue, I'm not sure where it came from - but put them together and he believed that Obama meant to take our guns away and make boys and girls go to separate schools. I can't think for the life of me where that second idea came from, and I've assured him it's untrue - as is the first.

Still, though, like my 7-year-old, they just had a fixed idea that as Drew put it, "John McCain just seems wiser." So when John came to me this morning and asked excitedly, "Who won?", all that hope talk and look-how-far-we've come stuff went right out of my head as my heart ached for a little boy who can't even vote but had learned to care. I was so proud of him for forming his own opinion and for standing by it despite plenty of voices around him suggesting otherwise. And I was sad for him.

So, Mr. Obama, you move me. You've raised a lot of hopes in this country and abroad. But I'm afraid there's a very big task ahead of you for my heart. I'm so proud of my little guy for embracing so thoroughly the beauty of the country in which he was so very lucky to be born. Please don't let him down. In four years, I hope he's more proud of it still.

I went to get my nails done - and forgot to vote (Just kidding)

2008-11-04T09:50:00.009-06:00

Remember that line from You've Got Mail? And then he "forgives her". I wouldn't want to be the person to say something like that this year.

Each morning I drop off my third-grader at Ray Miller Elementary then turn right on Jamison to take my second-grader to the primary school. Today I was so excited to vote that I turned left on Jamison instead, which was the direction for my voting place. He was wrapped up in a toy and didn't notice either.

Pretty soon, though, he asked me a question, and the sound
of his voice scared me half to death. So I whipped the car around in someone else's voting location and got him to school on time.

I took my camera, because I was hoping there would be a big, dramatic line at the polls with "America the Beautiful" playing in the background in sort of a movie motage that is the greatness of democracy. Not so much. Although there were a lot of people there. I used to vote at the health department but this year
was moved to the Moose Lodge. I bet you big city folks
didn't get to vote with a giant moose head over your booth.

I usually take all of my children too, but this year I just took Jake. I like to have at least one of them tagging along, witnessing the wonder of America. Jake was thoroughly impressed, but I think it was mostly with his red Gatorade and the fact that the older ladies kept telling him he was pretty. My boys get that descriptive a lot in the toddler years. I don't mind, and they don't notice - so it works out.

And my sticker, although you can't see it here very well, is a
lovely "We the People" version with I Voted Today
at the bottom. I love our country.

thoughts on the ballot

2008-11-03T11:44:00.009-06:00

I can't wait to drop my kids off tomorrow and drive to my voting location to exercise my American right to have a say. It's a beautiful thing, and I look forward to it. But I dread the fact that there will almost certainly be a few areas that I simply do not know how to vote. So I thought I would create a list of things I wish would be on the ballot tomorrow.

Proposition to extend the fall and spring seasons. We could call it the Goldilocks Bill - neither too hot nor to cold. Year round. I know some people prefer the extremes. Not me.

Longer lunch hours. Don't Europeans take at least 2 hours there?

A permanent addition to school curriculum, "Letters to Home". Mrs. Pasa of the Kirksville Primary School can lead the committee to put it into practice. Believe me, Parents, you want this one. It does your heart good.

Tax breaks for using recyclable bags at the grocery store and buying fresh fruit and whole grains.

Tastier whole grains.

A paid maternity leave for potty training.

A mandatory percentage for positive stories on news programs. Happy thoughts, People. It does the body good.

Some sort of entertainment bonus for sitting through all the campaign commercials lately. I think we've all earned at least a free trip to the movie theater. With popcorn.

Along those lines, I'd like a gift certificate to an American retailer along with my "I voted" sticker.

And, finally, an extension on the McDonalds Monopoly. I was so close.

Our Halloween

2008-11-01T11:40:00.004-05:00

What we have here is a soldier, a boxer, and a cowboy. The boxer has ROCKY stitched in gold on the back of his robe. And in keeping with our love for movies, the soldier calls himself Sergeant York (with a machine gun? Okay . . . ), and the cowboy is Woody with a beautiful stick horse named Bulls-Eye whom we forgot to include in the picture.

Also, I've had a couple people ask: I was really boring with the Halloween treats and just did chocolate chip cookies. The parents in Drew's class provided plastic gloves with candy corn in the tips (for fingernails) and popcorn in the rest to look like a creepy sort of hand. They also had fruit shishkabobs on little ghost toothpicks and sugar cookies shaped and iced like jack-o-lanterns. I told you I wasn't the right person for that task.

BUT, I made up for it with my presence. I was the only parent at John's party, and I was so happy to be wanted there. (He's not too old!) So I got to hear with my own ears that his classmates think I am a wonderful cook, and they loved the cookies. I told them I did it with the help of Pilsbury. Of course, only the teacher knew what that really meant.

I went to Drew's as well. (Me and my cups. I got that sign-up sheet right at least.) And his letter home this week said, "Dear Mom, Did you see Jake do the limbo? Also, where did you go after I went to specials? And I had fun . . . because you were there." (Ellipses his - that kid is a writer, I tell ya).

Would it help if I Call it Grandma Bohon Day?

2008-10-31T11:28:00.003-05:00

I failed to take a costumed picture of the boys before now, but I'd been wanting to show this picture for a while. I'll call it peek-a-BOO, and then it fits the theme. I don't know what it is about a Bohon boy in a sweatshirt, but it gets me every time.

I love Halloween. Pretty much any holiday really. Even the really obscure ones are kind of cool, because Michael works for the State and always gets them off. Seriously, he's off for holidays you probably don't really know exist. But it's these big ones that really make me happy.

I know some Christians feel we shouldn't participate in this one, but - well - we do. Pretty whole-heartedly actually. Autumn is just perfect to me, and it deserves a holiday. And it works for me that it's one in which we get to dress up. I've taken my children to the grocery store wearing their blankets as capes on a Tuesday - just a regular ol' weekday in the spring or summer. They loved costumes way before they knew that Halloween existed. No matter what movie they watch, you can pretty much count on a blur to race from the living room at some point so that one of them can return dressed as the subject of the movie. We really like our costumes. They have an entire box in their room of capes and gear and possibilities for their imagination.

The real hero of this holiday is of course Grandma Bohon. I knew they had discovered her powers when Drew came to me one day and said, "I know what I want to be for Halloween this year. Call Grandma." I think it was July at the time. She can make them anything they want to be. They aren't properly grateful of course, because they don't see her actually working the sewing machine. But they are grateful. They know she will always deliver, and it's one of those happy I-always-knew-I-could-count-on-it things that I'm so glad their childhood includes.

And that's what Halloween is to me. Michael and I were just talking about it last night, and we can't be absolutely positive that Jesus won't look at us on judgement day and say, "I can't believe you dressed them up on Halloween." But I'm pretty sure He'll agree with us on the wonder that is Grandma Bohon and how beautiful it is to make memories, to love each other, and at least every now and then to put on a cape.

it just seems frivolous when we have two other gaming systems

2008-10-29T11:23:00.005-05:00

I thought this would be a good time for another post on my road to publication. And what I have to report is a whole lot of nothing. And I'm so glad. I mean, I would rather be posting about an awesome book deal. But there has been a nice space here without any rejections, and that has become a thrill in and of itself. You know why? Well, not just because rejections h-u-r-t, nor because I just wasn't in the market for the toilet paper that some companies will make from your rejection letters - because, you know, ew. But also because from now on I can at least assume that my manuscript was carefully considered - that it took more than one quick read to come to the conclusion that they just couldn't take it on at this time.

It's very possible that the rejections I haven't gotten yet are simply because the manuscript is still sitting untouched on a busy editor's desk. But I don't have to know that. Getting published will be such a thrill and an honor. It doesn't stress me out to get a few no's along the way. But when the no comes too quickly, I'm left to wonder if they sat amazed that I even had the audacity to present my work to them as it was clearly not ready for the big time. (That, of course, is a terrible, terrible discredit to my agent, who obviously did think it was ready and has proven herself as a very good judge). But when the rejection comes after a length of time, I can fantasize away about the financial meetings in which the editors sat around and cried that they loved my book so very much but simply couldn't take a risk on a new author at this time, etc., etc., etc. It will be much easier to press on after that.

Speaking of my agent, her name is Holly Root at the Waxman Literary Agency, and they recently started a blog! An agent blog is indispensable for those who want to be published. I've learned a lot for instance from Nathan Bransford, a literary agent in San Francisco. His posts have more than once directly answered a question I had been wondering.

So this chapter in my road to publication is a lot of waiting, but I've been thrilled and surprised to discover that I get ideas as well. I'm working on a different book as so many people have advised, and I'm slightly obsessed with the idea for another one. Of course, I'm not fooling myself, or you, or my husband who has to hear Holly's name way too many times in a day as I talk about writing and TTYR and my hopes and my new ideas and how much I want to see NYC's area code on my phone one day with good news. But after all, I wasn't trying to fool myself - I was just trying to avoid the expense of a Wii.

Let's Talk About Music

2008-10-28T08:54:00.002-05:00

I have a scene in my memoir - well, in my life I guess - where Felicity was trying to teach me the power of music. It's a funny remembrance tucked into a terrible moment when I was terrified and trying to fall asleep the night I was diagnosed with cancer.

I could never make it long in a vehicle before I was absolutely certain that I would die if I could not get out of the car and pee. Immediately. I was known for this. I'm still not great at it actually. One day we were only minutes away from home and I had to go so badly I was crying. Felicity was just sure that if we sang together I would forget about needing to pee. I told her that was ridiculous. But she wore me down, and she was right. As I harmonized with her, I stopped crying and forgot the pain. So, the night that I couldn't sleep because I was so scared of my cancer, I sang. And fifty miles away, Felic was singing herself to sleep as well.

You may have heard the tragic news about Jennifer Hudson and her family. It terrifies and angers me that crime like this exists in our world. A world in which I raise three sons. I've gotten better at facing this terror, and I have a certain kind of peace anyway when I think of such things. But still, it troubles me. And this morning, I went to Andrea C.'s blog. And I was so settled by her music there. I have the tab open still so that I can hear it as I work.

Many, many days after work when I have to move from the paycheck job to the rewarding-in-and-of-itself (wink, wink) job, i.e., cleaning the kitchen and fixing supper - I open my lap top and turn on my little iTunes library of songs that mean something to me. And after only a few notes, well, it's like the "Name that Tune" of soul settling. I love music, and I'm so glad Felic taught me to love it.

I had a theme song for each of my sons when they were babies. They got more sophisticated with age. John's was to the tune of John-Jacob-Jingleheimer . . whatever, only I sang his own name and changed the words to suit us. Drew's was "Hey Jude", only - again - the name change and other lyric adjustments. Jake's was Faith Hill's "Lucky One". You're mine / That's all I need to know / The sun shines / everywhere we go / It's all right / Cuz' I got you to hold every night / I'm the lucky one."

But now I've settled on a theme song for having sons in general. It captures the feeling so perfectly. It's from the animated film Spirit. And when the young stallion is born, Bryan Adams sings, Here I am / This is me / I come into the world so wild and free. The music, Adams' voice, and the lyrics all work together in such a way that it could not more perfectly capture the thrill of birthing a son.

I have more of course - like the love songs that seem to have been written just for Michael and I. The songs about faith that center me every single time no matter how uncentered I was feeling. The songs about heaven that make dying less sad. The songs about "someday" that thrill me. Music fixes me. If you need settled today, try Andrea's blog for a few minutes. Or go to You Tube or iTunes and look for the songs that matter to you. For me, it works every time.

You won't believe what I'm recommending this time

2008-10-24T22:01:00.004-05:00

So, it was kind of the off season on our little family vacation the last few days. Michael had a work conference at Lake of the Ozarks, and we all joined him. So he sat in meetings all day while the boys and I wandered around looking for vacation-y things to do. Miner Mike's is only open on weekends. No putt-putt or race tracks. We really felt worried when we noticed that even the Burger King play place had been taken down.

So we went to Blockbuster. As the boys looked for movies to play on the hotel television with our car DVD player, I talked to the lady behind the counter. Tell me there is something fun to do with three boys in this town in October. She told me about a park just past "the bowling alley." That was when I really knew I was desperate. "A bowling alley? Do you think it's open?"

But we didn't end up bowling after all. We found a McDonalds play place and shopped at Osh Kosh and watched our movies and got ice cream. It worked out. Then on Friday I took them to a movie. High School Musical 3. (I know. I mean, I really do know. But I'm telling you - even the Burger King play place was closed, and I'm just not that into movies about little dogs who talk.) And I loved it. A movie that glorifies all the good stuff about high school and none of the reality? And breaks into song and dance numbers every few minutes? I'm there. And it was not cruel and unusual punishment to take my sons there. They have basketball scenes and - you know - an old truck and stuff. And anyway, this one's big people. One show-stopping number after another, and I actually did love it.

Don't take that as an official review or recommendation. Not unless you're at Lake of the Ozarks during the off season and you're so thrilled to be anywhere that even driving one place to another feels like an event and your two-year-old sleeps on your lap in his brand new Osh Kosh clothes while you breathe in the scent of his hotel-shampooed hair. And you also need an excessive love for song and dance and pink, glittery sorts of things. Plus, you should probably know that I have an achy, feverish cold and couldn't wait to sit down in a cushy theater chair for two straight hours rather than do anything that actually required energy. If you go into it similarly easy to please, then by all means, take it as an official recommendation. And then when you like it too, you'll understand why my new slogan is from the movie's finale:

I hope the rest of my life/

feels just like/

a high school musical.

I truly do.

Wishful Thinking

2008-10-20T22:03:00.008-05:00

It's parent-teacher conference time again. And besides all the wonderful things I heard about my son (she'd like to clone him - our parent-teacher conferences for that kid are really fun), I also learned a crazy thing about myself. Apparently at the beginning of the year when we were checking out John's classroom and tucking his brand new pencils into his desk - apparently that day I also signed up to bring treats to the Halloween party. I italicize treats because the fact that I signed up for that task is critically absurd.

I look back on that girl - and just shake my head. I know what she was thinking, the silly thing. This is the year I'll change. I'll be super involved. I'll find a way to volunteer at the school despite the fact that I can barely get my work-at-home hours in just taking my kids to and from. I'll read every paper carefully and never throw away anything important (aside: I cannot find my password to check their grades online), and apparently I'll learn my way around the kitchen and grow a new personality in which I don't save crazy tasks like classroom treats until midnight the night before. (Aside again: Cookies for John's birthday treat? Bedtime. Night before. Pillsbury Ready-to-bake.)

She showed me that reminder somewhere between "I want to clone him" and "Here's his reading score". I did keep listening, but I kept one eye strategically scanning that sign up sheet searching it for my name. Surely she was wrong. I wouldn't have signed up for treats. I'm the cups and napkins girl. I'm really good at cups and napkins. But there was the proof right in front of me. Maybe I read it wrong or skipped a line or something. But no, I think it was that first idea. I signed up for treats like the person who buys the smaller size and vows to diet their way into it. I think I was telling myself to step it up. So now I'm furious with myself as any normal person will be at their motivator now and then.

It's not that I never enjoy making special things in the kitchen for my family. It's just that I know my limitations, and Halloween treats for twenty 8-year-olds is way over my stress threshold. Darn that first-day-of-school feeling! Stick a new box of crayons in my face and suddenly I think I can take on the world. Or, you know, popcorn balls. Is that a Halloween treat? I don't even know.

Road to Publication: Slow Going

2008-10-15T21:20:00.002-05:00

I added a new label for the blog called "Road to Publication" and tacked it onto a few of my previous posts. As an aspiring author I love to read about how other writers made it to the big time, i.e., a book on the shelves, as we say. Now, frankly, it's not been a very successful week for me. A couple of editors have already passed on the book, and I'm having serious doubts about its place in the publishing world. But as Felicity pointed out today, rejections are part of the journey. Every author has them somewhere in their past. And as much, much, more fun as it would be for me to wait until I'm an actual author and then look back and tell you the story, I figure it will mean even more if I document it along the way. So that's what that label is all about.

Now, the moment in my day that made up for this very slow and tear-filled road:

From Drew: Mom, I hope my daughter grows up to be like you someday. Because I can't imagine any person who would be more helpful to the world.

(I am not even kidding, People. Get yourself a 7-year-old immediately).

Through the Storm: By Lynne Spears

2008-10-14T08:58:00.005-05:00

Where are the parents?

How many times have you heard (or said) that one while Britney was shaving her head, driving irresponsibly with her children, or beating paparazzi with an umbrella? I'll tell you where the mother was for that last one: Wishing it were her. Wishing there were less paparazzi out there and way more umbrellas.

And that's the beauty of this book. In all but maybe one chapter, it is not Britney's tell-all. It is the story of a mother. It's the story of a wife who had to navigate the troubling, not-so-easy-when-it's-you, waters of a spouse with alcoholism. It's the story of a very young bride who like many of us found complete and total fulfillment in her role as a mother.

Fulfillment, but not obsession. One thing I feel I learned about Lynne Spears is that her children matter more to her than anything else in the world, but they are not her identity. Her identity is completely her own, supported and encouraged by dear friends, and almost inseparable from her faith.

Lynne Spears's faith is one I can truly, deeply admire. It is vulnerable. It has answers, but not all of them for everything. It is un-shakeable but imperfect. And it grows but has always been.

All of these things are very clear in the book. The writing is simple and poignant. I was surprised to see it was actually a partnership, because Lynne Spears's strong, Southern voice comes through loud and clear in every paragraph.

I will probably still ask where the parents are with many of the troubled celebrities today. But not with her. I'll know exactly where she is, because she told me - and I believe her - that she is on her knees. She is praying, which is the only way to begin and the only thing with which you are left when the child grows up and gives you barely more than that as your role.

The most haunting paragraph in the book, for me, was when Britney was dating Justin Timberlake. They were having serious talks about life, and Britney came to her mother one day and said, "Mama, I just don't know if there really is a right and a wrong anymore. I mean, is there really a wrong?"

Lynne Spears says that she wrote this book for her children, and I believe that too. She gets a few digs in there, tells a few stories for our benefit so that we will know what she has to endure and what was really happening when we were making our own judgments about her - or believing the ones that were fed to us. But the strongest message in the book is definitely her love for her children, what she hopes and believes for them, how proud she is of their successes, and how hopeful she is that they will rise above their failures.

In the end, almost as if she has forgotten we are there, she prays for them that they will return to the faith she wishes she had practiced with them more. And I didn't wonder what her children will think of that or if they will feel attacked. I simply felt glad for them that they will at least know they are loved.

I appreciated this book, and I feel it accomplished its goal. Despite the unbelievable world Britney finds herself in, I think you'll believe Lynne Spears that at the level of the heart, we're basically all the same.

Waiting For You

2008-10-13T11:15:00.004-05:00

An empty bassinet waiting in the corner of the living room, the tiny sweaters we saw at Baby Gap, the crib I slept beside each night - this weekend was packed with new baby goodness and anticipation.

I never knew for sure if I had a very strong bent toward mothering a baby. I knew I wanted to be a mother, but I think it was more of an expected part of my life than a passionate dream. And babies in general had never really done that much to stir my heart.

But after having done it three times and found my greatest happiness ever in its many ups and downs, I feel beside-myself giddy for Charity and the achy-wonderful that's awaiting her.

This is the very time of year that I was nesting for my first baby. He was due nine years ago today. All those sweet empty things waiting for his arms and legs - like the crib and cradle and bunting - crowded all throughout our tiny apartment.

This time of year is the anniversary for that happiness. It's not that I've forgotten the midnight feedings and baby blues and (regrettable) stress over whether or not I was doing nap-time correctly and feeding him at the proper intervals. It's just that the happiness so far exceeds these. I know Charity will have her moments, her tears, her own regrettable stress. But she will also have those moments where she will know she never truly lived before them.

I would never tell someone who cannot conceive that they cannot truly live. And I would never tell someone who has made the choice not to have children that they are wrong. I'm just saying that I really agree with the person who wrote a thought like this, which Charity recently read: Babies are such a cool way to start people.

Journey Stuff

2008-10-09T19:44:00.004-05:00

In book news, my agent is submitting my manuscript under the title, The Thank You Room. Don't get attached, as editors sometimes change these things as well. But that's the best news - some more editors will be looking at it soon.

She sent me a note today about some of the editors who will be considering it, and she referred to it by its initials. TTYR. This is my new mantra. I figure I'll say it over now and then like a prayer, willing this book into publication existence. TTYR. While performing the sign of the cross. I know this is wrong. And I know it actually crosses the border of sacrilege. And I know that I should be praying for His will and not my own. But I just have one thing to say to that. T-T-Y-R.

Thankfully I'm off to Omaha this weekend for my younger sister's baby shower. That will be the perfect distraction. After that, my agent says I should invest in a Wii.

Did I mention the list? She sent me an actual list of the editors who will be looking it over. Rejections have to be, like, what - ten times as tragic at this level? I'm sure I'll be able to get back to you on that.

In the meantime, I'm going to revel in the journey, right? And also read the memoir by Lynne Spears, mother of Britney and Jamie Lynn. Awesome Thomas Nelson sent me a copy to review. The offer was open to anyone. I figured since three of my top labels are motherhood, Hollywood, and faith - it was kind of in my genre. If I like it I'll put it next to the ones by Tammy Trent and Brooke Shields - a celebrity memoir I really loved - and I'll tell you all about how refreshing and thoughtful it is. If I don't like it, I'll put it next to Sydney Poitier's, which disappointed me.

So that's my Friday post. Kind of a hodge podge. Sort of like Jake's new bedtime routine. He suddenly graduated from getting out of bed and lying on the floor. Now he stays in the bed but he wants the door open and he calls me into the room at least three times for various things - the dog, the blanket - get the cat off my dresser - stuff like that. Then the last time he calls me in, he asks me to close the door. I do. And then I don't hear from him again until morning. Since he finally eased out of that last routine, I think I'll just enjoy this new one. It's kind of fun really. And that's my new thing - enjoying the ride.

TTYR.

I'm Afraid I'll Be Glad When It's Over

2008-10-07T21:17:00.003-05:00

This is Sarah Dunn, previously mentioned in the comments section on another post and also the friend who gave me her seat ticket from Regis and Kelly one very big year in my life. This time, it's not a ploy to get you to comment, Sarah. It's just that I'm watching the debate and planning to bring up politics again, so I thought a picture of you, the girl who went to a political rally for her tenth wedding anniversary, would be appropriate.

Most of you dear people who read my blog would say that the only way to vote responsibly is to study the candidates. Some of you would add, "and to pray." I admit when it comes to studying, I'm failing this course. I study writing and parenthood and books I need to read and educational attractions in Washington D.C. and museums in Chicago. But I just haven't made the time to compare voting records, figure out what the heck they were actually voting on, and research the financial data that would tell me once and for all what's wrong with our economy and which guy has the right idea for fixing it. Truthfully, I have begun to wonder if that is even possible.

Is it possible to truly understand what's wrong with our economy and who has the right idea for fixing it? Is it truly possible for me - a girl in small town Missouri who is much more obsessed with her 2-year-old than with foreign policy - to understand today whether or not we should have gone to Iraq? Whether or not withdrawing now would be a defeat? If the leaders of our nation can't agree on that, can I even begin to understand it?

I feel that because I have failed to study, and because I have lost a bit of faith in my ability to hear God speak on something like that - I've lost that faith because I know too many Christians absolutely convinced in opposing directions - I feel that because of those factors, what I'm left with is trying to figure out which candidate I believe. They fundamentally disagree on all of those big things - and fundamentally disagree is their phrase for it - the economy, Iraq - even each other. They disagree on each other. They tell me the other guy isn't telling me the whole story about his health care plan. They tell me the other guy is lying about what he supports, because he voted for this or that thing that proves it.

They each think they know what to do. And I feel that all I've left myself to vote with, is my heart. And whether or not I believe them.

Perhaps, without slinging anything too ugly or hateful, you could just give me some suggestions on how you came to your decision and what else you'll be carrying into the booth besides your heart. And if you even carry that - as I know of course, it can be misleading.

Pajama Day

2008-10-07T08:55:00.003-05:00

Yesterday my 8-year-old went to school wearing pajama bottoms. He meant for me to double-check the note and back him up on it. But I didn't. I figured it's homecoming week, so it probably makes sense. Plus, this is John Michael we're talking about. He doesn't really get that kind of thing wrong.

But on the way to school, the fact that I couldn't absolutely confirm that it was pj day kind of started to get to him. He grabbed his flannel leg with his fingers and said, "Man, I hope I'm right about this." Welcome to Monday, Buddy. And apparently to upper elementary. And to life.

~~~

He was right about it of course. But you know I would have whipped that car around in a heartbeat if we hadn't seen at least two kids walking into the building with their own versions of flannel. He may be old enough for "Man, I hope I'm right," but he is definitely too young to have to be wrong all day long about something as flamboyant as pajama bottoms.

John's little moment with the pj's evoked such empathy in me. I could literally feel his pain. I think it's the feeling a lot of us will have in the voting booth this November. The way we feel when we make a job change or move.

I feel it with an intensity that can only be described as wonderful but excruciating pain as we make decisions about our children. School, church, sports, television, video games, bed times, dessert. Every little thing I decide for them. I don't know which is worse - the fact that the feeling never goes away, or the fact that the reason it doesn't is because every now and then we actually will be wrong. We'll be shouting at them through a bull horn some well-studied decision, and all the while we're standing there in our pajamas.

Poor kids. They have no idea how hard it is for us to figure this out. How hard it is to protect them and guide them and shower them with affection they know they can count on no matter what else happens - all while actually trying to get out of the way so that God - as I believe it, and even life itself, can do its work. And every time we step in, and every time we get out of the way, we'll be thinking one thing. Man, I hope I'm right about this.

A Book Review, A Friend Review: The Miracle Girls

2008-10-04T20:10:00.007-05:00

I recently won this book on one of my favorite blogs, Anne & May. I couldn't wait to devour it so that I could give them a glowing review. I'm not exactly objective, because I love Anne & May. By the end of this post, hopefully you'll know why. And hopefully you'll know enough about their latest book to buy it for your nieces, little sisters, your daughters, and your friends.

I learned of Anne and May back in 2005 when I saw a book listed in a magazine called Emily Ever After. The title alone made me know I would love the book. The premise had me hooked as well since it was about a small town girl trying to make it in New York City - with her faith intact. Unfortunately, I got cancer and pregnancy shortly after, which really hampered my joy-reading. Plus, my wish list for books to buy always exceeds my book-buying budget, and I let this one slip through the cracks.

Felicity found the Anne & May blog a couple years later (how did that happen, Lic?), and I was hooked forever.

Their writing is a partnership, which fascinates me, and they say they wouldn't want to do it any other way. You have to admire people who have learned to give and take so brilliantly. Their writing is also deliciously witty. Their blog makes me smile, relate, and feel I've made true friends. The first few pages of their second book, Consider Lily, made me laugh to tears.

Anne & May's first three books were chic lit while The Miracle Girls is Young Adult. In The Miracle Girls and the three sequels to follow, they intend to explore the crazy difficulties of growing up. The heroines are four teens trying to maintain important friendships while navigating high school and the sometimes tricky bridge between childhood and independence. Through it all, each character searches out the relevance of their faith in an unbelieving world.

The Miracle Girls made me love Ana, Riley, Zoe, and Christine. I was embarrassed when they were, traumatized by their Mondays, in love with their crushes, and so glad they had each other. There were a few sanctuary moments in the book in which I felt I was there with them, remembering what it is I believe and how deeply it affects me. The relationship between Ana and her parents grew beautifully throughout the book. It was both realistic and miraculous.

I love that Anne & May have taken on the dilemma of those terrible but wonderful years of high school. I love that they have made it their mission to inspire girls and women, to relate to them, make them laugh, believe in their dreams, and help them apply their faith to this hazy, unpredictable life. I love their Miracle Girls. And I cannot wait for sophomore year.

Finding the Happy Place

2008-10-02T21:27:00.004-05:00

I discovered a book the other day that I haven't read - so this is probably poor blogging etiquette - but its premise just fascinates me. The title is Happiness is a Serious Problem. And the author suggests that despite the fact that we're all always shouting from the rooftops that everyone has the right to be happy, very few of us actually are. People are unhappy all the time because they are satisfied with nothing. The author then says that we all have "an obligation" to our children, to our spouses, "and to society" to be happy.

I haven't read the book, so I can't thoroughly argue with or back up his reasoning. All I know is, it feels true.

I do feel that I owe Michael a certain amount of contentedness. I fail a LOT. But I like to think that I jump back from the failures more quickly than I used to. I feel that I need to love what I have - and in those things I'm still seeking, somehow find joy in the journey. It doesn't seem far-fetched, right?

I laugh a lot more since the whole cancer scare. That out loud, good medicine, uninhibited laugh that I used to give Michael all the time before we were dating and I thought every word out of his mouth was the most clever thing I'd ever heard. When I laugh like that, there's no room for anything but happy. And I like that feeling. And I like the effect it has on the people around me.

I hate it when I wake up one day and realize I've been in a bad mood for so long that I can't remember why it started. I hate it when I complain to Michael about the same thing all the time - some circumstance of my life that I simply cannot change. I hate it when someone says "how you doing" as their greeting and I don't know what to say because I can't imagine that they have an hour. I know all those moments will still happen sometimes, but that's why I want to read that book. So I can quote it to myself and remind myself what I owe.

I think it's possible. Two-day vacations at the Holiday Inn? Awesome. Half-hour less on the time card because Jake has a cold and needs extra attention? Irreplaceable. And our small, really old house is a lovely place to build memories. And potty training doesn't last forever. And if we can't buy every single thing we want, we can sure buy more than we used to. And who needs that other stuff anyway?

It's really not that awful of an obligation. The author of the book says happy people are more generous. On the society level I think it looks like feeding the widows and the orphans. At home I think it means a laugh. That no matter what reaction Michael gets at work, no matter what the boys experience at school, they can always count on me to get it.

This and That

2008-09-29T18:55:00.005-05:00

Whew! That last post was quite a ride. I'm going to be so sad now when my comments section doesn't top 40. I was thinking today we could talk about the financial bail-out. Um . . . as they say in cyber world, j/k. I.e., I'm totally kidding. I don't want to talk about the financial bail-out, because I have very little understanding about it and even less of an opinion. You should, however, feel free to discuss it amongst yourselves.

Also, I'd like to address another very important topic from the comments section on the last post. Yes, I am using a rotary phone at this time. Our cordless is on the brink. It doesn't charge even on the receiver, so it often dies mid-conversation. And for quite some time now, I haven't been able to dial any phone number with a 4 in it. (Lori, not that you would notice, but this is why I always call you from my cell phone). About the rotary, which came out from under the bed until we finally remember to add "phone" to the shopping list, it sits right beside me at the desk and is extremely loud. So if I sound a little testy when I answer the phone, it's not you. It's that my eardrum has just been punctured by the loudest annoying sound in the world.

Now, how sweet is this? (The object of the picture above). My name, believe me, has ended up on several things way less flattering than this little blue-green bit of wonderful. So when I see it on things like this, I'm so happy.

Now, technically I only actually drink tea when I get a painful chest cold. And even then, it's more that it seems like the perfect thing to do than that I have actually developed a taste for it. Nikki knows this about me, but she knew I would love this anyway. And she was so right. It's adorable. It's the most calming color, and it's a symbol of how very cool it is to have friends who like you enough to think about you when they're in a store and find beautiful things.

Although it's supposed to hold a dripping tea bag (maybe I will start drinking tea, just so I can use this!), I use it more like a stress reliever. I just look at it, tap that lovely color and familiar word with my fingers, and wah-lah, sereni-tea now.

It Hurt My Feelings, but I'll Take You Back

2008-09-25T08:32:00.004-05:00

Michael did wonders for my Sunday night blues, which had actually hit around noon that day, when he discovered it was Emmy night. I don't know why that one always sneaks up on me. The Oscars I obsess over starting about - well, now actually. (They don't happen until February or so.)

If you've read my blog before, you know I have a love-hate relationship with Hollywood. Except without the hate. I expect good things from them. Expect them to impress and thrill me. I'm very generous with the way they dress on the red carpet and usually very willing to approve all kinds of flamboyant colors, big fat bows by their necks, strange messy hair-do's, geometric patterns - all of it. Bring it on. I love their funny speeches, love it when they make fun of themselves, love it when they cry.

But this Emmy night I found myself being a little . . . flinchy. I think it's because I had seen this video with Matt Damon shortly before. Now, like I said, I love Hollywood. Matt Damon to me is the nerdy, adorable thief in the Ocean's movies who beat out Brad Pitt and George Clooney one year for People's Sexiest Man Alive and wrote the endearing note that "this dad from the suburbs" was extremely grateful for having been noticed in that way. I like him very much both for that and for being practically in junior high when he won his Oscar for Good Will Hunting, because I like seeing really big dreams come true. And, as I said, I love Hollywood in general. Along with the messy up-do's and gaudy bows, I also allow quite a bit of political bent in them. I think they have every right to spout a political opinion now and then. They're Americans. Just because I prefer it when they play pretend doesn't mean they're uneducated.

But Sunday, like I said, I was flinchy. It seemed that every one of them when they walked onto the stage was actually snarling. As a group they seemed so angry about the past eight years. So very angry. And they seemed to be angry with me - the little conservative girl in the midwest whose been a little too slow to acknowledge global warming and a little too narrow-minded in her social views. I mean, I pay these people's salaries. Not like an employer pays an employee but like tax payers pay the king, or perhaps like tribes-people sacrifice to the gods. I adore them. And I adore what they do. And I just wish they would keep influencing me through their art instead of their hatred. That's all I'm saying.

So I chose this picture by watchwithkristin on Flickr becuase it has Josh Groban in it (and in the background, Claire from Lost) because he was probably the only part of that night that was sheer happy entertainment. It's hard to snarl when you're singing the theme song to Friends.

These are the only clothes good enough for this face

2008-09-22T11:21:00.013-05:00

Traditionally, you give the bride and groom a gift at their wedding. I know this - thus the "Live, laugh, love" picture frame I gave at the shower and which, fortunately, the bride told me she loved. But at the actual wedding, I'm afraid those two busy souls gave me the gift.

Lest this "Do I look alright?" straightening of the tie pose doesn't convince you that I got the better end of this ring-bearer deal . . . then the last picture will. That's where he spent the entire ceremony, rather than up front as he should have. Thankfully, his older cousin held the pillow with the rings. Jake probably would have eaten them along with the chicken nuggets I used to bribe him earlier in the evening.

I get these pictures forever. Burned into my memory the delicious imagery that makes people say, "I didn't even know they made them this small." I mean, those are real live cuff links in that toddler-sized cuff, people.

The bride was beautiful too, and I did take pictures of her. Maybe when I pass them on to her, I'll at least be returning her gift a little bit. Until then, I'm just going to keep enjoying mine. Thank you, Riki - and especially Justin for putting in the initial request for this little guy to participate. Thanks for giving me the chance to finally wrap this little gift the way my adoration for him deserves. I'll love you forever for it!

I want to be Taylor Swift

2008-09-18T21:44:00.005-05:00

Okay, she's no Carrie Under-
wood as far as powerful voices go, but this girl just keeps growing on me. I don't know the first single very well, When You Think Tim McGraw, but I love those songs that play on how intricately our favorite entertainment tends to weave into our lives. When Our Song came out, I knew I loved her. And now she's done it again with Love Story.

This isn't the Love Story that I've only heard about that made one entire generation of women weep every time they heard the song on the radio. This is the happy kind, the stuff of Disney movies. And I love it. You can watch the video on CMT online. Although, I think it's probably one of those that will resonate with me differently than most normal people.

People like to say this kind of love doesn't really happen. That stories and songs like this give girls the wrong expectations for life and marriage. But there are people who stay married forever. So no matter what the statistics against it, no matter what trouble may come - I still believe. I no longer think that Ever After is simply something you decide on faith and that as long as you work for it perfectly, it will happen. Now I think it's partly luck as well. You are fortunate enough to keep fitting well together despite life's ups and downs. Technically, you can't possibly know if all those things will always work for you when you're first in love. But because they sometimes do, I still think there's a permanent place for songs like this. And I love Taylor for writing it.

My favorite thing about Taylor Swift, though, is the way she ended her awards speech when she won for best new artist. She was living a dream, and she knew it. And she was appropriately grateful. But her response made her so relatable to the rest of the world.

"This is definitely the highlight of my senior year."

(Photo by whittlz on Flickr)

just talking about my beautiful street again

2008-09-17T08:56:00.004-05:00

I live across the street from a beautiful, historic bed & breakfast. Right across the street. Have I mentioned the view from my front windows? It's kind of breathtaking with its tree-covered street, the big, gray bed & breakfast, and Dave's blue-gray house with the perfectly trimmed yard and shrubberies.

We saw the bed and breakfast on the news this week though. Apparently her small business permit has been removed because she hasn't paved her parking lot. I can't even imagine why this is so important. It's really more of a driveway anyway. But now I keep picturing the Hollywood scenario where all her neighbors help to throw a big festival and earn the money for her to pave it.

The problem with that plan is that I don't have the Hollywood enthusiasm required for pulling off a task like that.

Besides, it didn't work in You've Got Mail.

I know that one reason I love the house is because it reminds me of the home I grew up in. Gray siding like that, huge wrap-around porch. The similarity makes me feel more certain that I belong here at least for now.

I wonder what else I could do? Some brilliant balance between Hollywood and reality. A door-to-door campaign? Actually, I think I've got it. . .

I think I'll go talk to her. I'll tell her I'm here and that I love her beautiful home and want to help in any way I can.

The balance between Hollywood and reality - I live for this.

look what I got

2008-09-15T09:34:00.001-05:00

update on the book (and its ominous subject)

2008-09-10T20:44:00.005-05:00

After my pink umbrella post, I am no longer satisfied with any picture that is not predominantly pink and splattered with rain. Have you heard of Rosie O'Donnell's yellow? She calls all things good and lovely, pure, full of light - she calls this "yellow". I think pink might be my yellow.

The book received its first rejection. I won't be posting every little update about that, because what if a publisher who loved my manuscript stopped by my blog before accepting it and saw a post titled "Rejection Number 15 - and counting"? Said editor would probably decide not only to reject it after all but quite possibly to get out of the business. The book will head out on another round of possible publishers before too long, and I will hold my breath and hope against hope and not email my agent at all and try to pretend getting published is barely even on my to-do list. I was wondering tonight if I should stop blogging so that I can focus on the next book instead. Some people don't get published at all until they have written more than one book. That makes me feel anxious to get the next one done. But I can't give up the blog. It's the writing that people are actually reading. A few of you anyway.

I go for a check-up on Friday. One of those checkups. The cancer ones. It's been about six months I think. I barely think about cancer at all between checkups. Then when I hit that familiar waiting room it all comes rushing back like breakfast when I'm pregnant. I fidget and think about old people and how I'll probably never be one. I start counting the million rays of radiation that will have been shot into my body by the time I'm forty and how many other cancers are so much more common than the one I had and are therefore probably just waiting their turn to surprise me.

Usually after seeing my surgeon, I'm all better. He's very "yellow". He always makes me feel that I really am cancer-free and that even if I wasn't he could totally handle anything cancer can dish out. So I'm looking forward to Friday after 1 p.m. When it comes, I'm going to feel very, very pink.

girl with the pink umbrella

2008-09-08T21:19:00.002-05:00

I don't know about where you live, but where I am today it was nasty, ugly, gloomy rain all day long. Those descriptives are probably only because we're working on the roof right now. If it were finished, I probably would have said cozy.

I've been sick-ish - as you know - and felt much better today, so despite my descriptives I was actually in a shockingly cheerful mood. Sort of. Not a typical Monday anyway. And on my way to pick up the kids from school, I saw this young woman walking in the rain with a pink umbrella and the pink fitted rain coat to match and white rain boots with some cute pattern on them. I watched her walk toward me, then past me, and then away from me (the pick-up line is loooong) with that adorable splash of color like a ray of light in the whole world. That's what I thought of her. And I also thought, I am so blogging that. And I wondered if she knew how thrilled I felt by her shiny pink self in this ugly, cloudy day.

I had a great evening then. Went to a PTC meeting, which is kind of over my head sometimes, and I always want to giggle when people "make a motion" for things even though I know we were all just boiling macaroni and wiping cheese from our children's faces just moments before we threw ourselves out the door for the meeting. But I always feel so proud to be there. And then I talked for almost an hour to one of those people you wish you'd known all your life, which was cool too. But THEN -

I came home and got the life squeezed out of me from three little boys who you'd think hadn't seen me for a week. And I was so moved and happy and reminded yet again what matters most in my little life. And I was thinking - it wasn't all that cloudy today after all. It was like one HUGE pink umbrella.

(photo by plain.ethos on Flickr)

some of my friends

2008-09-04T21:52:00.005-05:00

Do you ever have those days where you get up deter-
mined to have a good day - you push past the stubbing of your toe on the end of the bed and the fact that no one from McDonalds is standing in your kitchen to whip up your favorite biscuits and gravy and even the tiny little sniffle you cheerfully chalk up to an unexpectedly high pollen count? But then the day just keeps piling those things on? And you think, are you just trying to wear me down?

I've had a couple of those in a row. Today, for instance, that tiny sniffle became the kind of allergy and sinus issue that made me wish someone sold Benadryl from a tap. And that was just the lovely foundation for all the other toe-stubbing kind of fun. Yesterday was similar. I try to just steal myself on those days, you know - center down, focus, pull up by the boot straps, pray. But sometimes I need a little material help.

Yesterday after work I put on my iTunes play list while I cooked supper. And it worked so well I made two new recipes without stressing out once. I have enough songs from iTunes finally that they sometimes take me by surprise. And, you know, they just fix me. They unclutter my soul. (Cleaning the kitchen kind of does that too, but I don't like to say that when Michael is sitting so near).

It makes me think of a Friends episode - Friends also makes me happy almost every time. In it Monica and Chandler are jealous of the couple in front of them at the airport (and the hotel) who keep getting cool upgrades because they are on their honeymoon. When Monica complains, the other couple goes on and on about how they don't care about the stuff - they're just happy to have each other, blah, blah, blah. Chandler and Monica pause. You kind of think they have learned their lesson. But then Chandler admits, "Yea, we need the stuff."

I think I'm a pretty good attitude adjuster these days. (Hush, Michael. Remember I was much worse eleven years ago). There is way more happiness in my life than not, and I just remember that. But it sure helps to turn on great music, or a sitcom that feels like going home, or maybe look at great pictures of my life since marriage and motherhood.

I'm trying to teach my kids about self control. Counting your blessings instead of your woes. It's working great. If you remember, John has even thrown that easier-said-than-done cliche right back in my face. But once they get that self control lesson down. Once they know the rule - how to comfort themselves like a baby learning to fall asleep without the pacifier - once they get it, I'm flippin' on the iTunes. I'm putting it on random play, turning it up, and letting them in on lesson number two: Sometimes you need the stuff.

Wonders for Wednesday

2008-09-03T11:37:00.013-05:00

Rebecca is hosting a blog party today in honor of her birthday in which we all post about one of our favorite Wonders. Now that you mention it, that is one of my favorite wonders. Birthdays, that is. I love them. But my favorite wonder of all, beyond these of course,

is this:

I call it fall. Bec (my Australian friend) calls it autumn, which is of course the much lovelier name. Why do I love it so much? Because I like to wrap up in these,

and go to a certain homecoming parade dressed like this:

and when else can you make your little boy look like this and get away with it?

Plus, fall is the first time I did this:

which is the happiest thing of all.

The other thing I love about fall is because it's the season that I think best represents Change - something all the seasons represent - and sometimes in life it's really good to remember that things change.

And so often, they get better.

The End.

Snack break

2008-09-02T07:36:00.003-05:00

Happy day after Labor Day. I like it when Mondays are on a Tuesday, because then Friday gets here quick. I'm also extremely happy it's September. I get all these nostalgic feelings this time of year for basically everything wonderful in my life, but especially for the year that I was becoming a mother for the first time.

I just went to Drew's school. When I realized he had forgotten his September lunch money, I shrugged it off. We could always pay that tomorrow as he probably has a credit anyway from snow days last year and such. Then when I saw a progress report I was supposed to have initialed, I felt a little more concerned. But when I remembered he had taken off without his snack, I snatched Jake from his movie, piled all those things in the car and drove to the school. If I can keep Drew's pseudo Monday from actually feeling like one by heading off not one - or two - but three - "I forgots", then my own pseudo Monday will definitely go better.

So I'm writing a blog too. Because I was thinking, what if everyone is having a Mondayish sort of Tuesday? And then they click onto my blog, thinking, Well, at least there will be something fresh there, and then there isn't? It might feel as though life has stopped altogether, and that could really bring a person down.

So this is my way of hopping in the car and taking you your kid-size bag of Cheez-Its. Don't you feel better now?

It happened in a book I read

2008-08-25T20:19:00.003-05:00

I'm reading Chocolat. I was sort of trying to cut back on sweets before I started that book. But now I feel that any day that goes by without a petit four is a complete waste of existence. I haven't finished the book, so I can't decide if I will love it until the end. But for now, it's a pretty little literary treat I get to open in all my free time. I love the way it feels like a fairy tale even though she uses words like television. And I love the different points of view. And the imaginary rabbit. I don't remember the movie, so I can't possibly have seen it.

One of my favorite Anne books talks about a Dickens novel. A character in the Anne book says when she reads the Dickens one she always gets ravenously hungry because the people in it always seem to be eating good things. Kind of like the fact that every time I think of Heidi I get a craving for cheese and milk.

Do you know what I mean by Anne book? That's what I call the eight-part series by L.M. Montgomery that begins with the children's classic Anne of Green Gables. It could really be bad for my literary future that I love those books so much. I'll never think I've written a lovable character unless she has red hair. And a book will never be good enough unless I think my reader will want seven more in the series.

But I'll push past those feelings. Just like I pushed past the feeling that life wasn't worth living unless it was the late 1800s again. Just like I pushed past the craving for the petit four. I'll just write about regular old dishwater blonds and dull brunettes. And then I'll go eat those chocolate donuts in the refrigerator. Pre-processed, factory-packaged donuts. It won't look or smell like it came from a chocolaterie, but my taste buds aren't nearly as picky as my soul.

the next thing

2008-08-21T19:54:00.007-05:00

Not long ago I wrote about how children sometimes grow and change in such a way that you notice it suddenly as if you're a distant relative just seeing them at the annual reunion. "Look how you've grown!" you think. Even though you've seen them every moment for the last twelve months and hadn't noticed anything different. Well, it turns out that can also happen when you suddenly find yourself with just one of your three children.

I take the older boys to school. See last year's back to school post for how I do with that emotional milestone. It's just Jake and I during the day now, and it's kind of like seeing him after a long absence. I keep thinking things like, "You tickle people's feet now?" and "When did you start singing every few minutes?" and, "You get jokes?"

Everything seems new for me in the fall. It's totally my New Year, autumn. (Although, I love the New Year too). I get the urge to clean out closets and things this time of year more than spring. This year I'm going to put Jake in a certain school of his own. There's only one lesson: The Toilet.

I have a project too. I need to get busy on the next book. My agent has started sending my first manuscript to editors. That means all of my angst has shifted from her to them. But she told me from the beginning that once that happened I needed to pour all my energy into the next thing. So that's what I'm going to do.

The thing is, it's really hard to find time to write for myself when I write all day for others. And did I mention the new little person running around who shares jokes? Keith Urban's greatest hits CD is called 19 Kids. I've heard artists say that - that their movies, sculptures, books, paintings, or songs are their children. They are that proud of them. It took as much work as raising a child. It matters that much if someone criticizes them. I get that. But when I watch Jake making up completely inarticulate songs and laughing almost nonstop all day long at literally everything, and I weigh that against writing books, I can't help but think, Dude, he's so my greatest hit.

the I Love You list

2008-08-19T22:40:00.004-05:00

I have been following the CaringBridge site for a young woman diagnosed with cancer when she was pregnant. The baby was delivered early so the woman could receive treatment. The baby struggles in an NICU now, trying to overcome her too-early start in life. But the young woman lost the fight and passed away last week.

Her husband writes beautifully of the entire sadness. (You will need to enter your email address to view the journal). He puts his emotions into words that are very moving. In the post immediately after the news of her death, he published 101 things he had loved about his wife. But here's the amazing thing - he wrote them long before she was even diagnosed. He sent them to her in an email several years ago and was just reprinting it now for those of us following their story. The list was just beautiful. It said things like, "I loved when you taught me how to ice-skate", "I love it when you laugh at my jokes", "I love that you love your family so much", and "I love your bumper" - the last of which I'm pretty sure is code for something a little cheekier than an automobile - but I can't know for sure. The list is very personal, including situations they had experienced together and a couple of inside jokes.

It moved me. One hundred and ONE - that's quite a few. And what moved me the most, of course, is that she got to see it herself. She knew all those things that he loved about her long before she left.

Um, do I actually have to tie up the moral here? Because I don't think I have time. Perhaps you could just listen to the scratching of my pen: "Dear Michael, I love the way you sign your cards to me . . . I love your chiseled jaw . . . I love that when we were in Silver Dollar City on our anniversary, you missed the kids . . ."

"Dear John, I love that you iron your shorts."

"Dear Drew, I love your sense of humor."

"Dear Jake, I love when you get thirsty and tell me so by bringing me the jug of milk."

Mr. Grubbs and the lady at Lambert's

2008-08-17T18:19:00.006-05:00

This is Mr. Grubbs. He's Grandpa to me, Pap to many, and Clifford officially. He's loved by everyone who knows him. And apparently if you go with him to Lambert's at 8:30 p.m. on a Friday night, complete strangers will pay for the meal.

She was a friendly stranger though with long, pretty reddish hair. She walked right up to Grandpa while we waited with the masses on Lambert's porch. She told us she was a songwriter and a preacher's daughter. Our table was ready before hers. We ordered just what we wanted, including all the extras and even the 2 dollar drinks (or is it 3 or 4? They really get you on the drinks). But when Grandma asked for the bill, our waitress said, "Actually, you've been blessed today. Someone already paid your ticket (and my tip, she added later). The lady who paid it said she just loves that Mr. Grubbs."

We were there because Michael and I drove Grandpa and Grandma to Silver Dollar City this weekend to watch my brother-in-law's band perform. Grandma called me Friday morning: "I have a crazy idea," she said. And by the evening, the four of us were off on our whirlwind visit complete with the plan to eat supper at 8:30 at night at the famous restaurant where they throw the rolls. I called Mom at that point to tell her I was out with a bunch of crazy night-lifers.

We had the best time. It was so fun to surprise Felicity and her husband. And Grandpa and Grandma know all kinds of things about the park we didn't know - like the awesome breakfast buffet before the rides open. And the veterans parade they do each day to raise the flag. You can see Grandpa marching with his fellow veterans. Grandma has seen him do it several times, but it still makes her eyes water. I happen to be reading a very horrific story that took place in a very oppressive Islamic Republic of Iran, so I was feeling even more grateful for my country than usual. The ceremony moved me as well.

I googled our benefactress ("It was our whole table actually - we pitched in together") later that night. Her name is Chelsea Perry, and you can see her music video at that link. Someday I'm going to find my own "Mr. Grubbs" at a restaurant and do that very generous thing, because I so want to make someone feel some day the way she made us feel that night. But for now, I kind of like the Mr. Grubbs I already have.

being present

2008-08-14T21:47:00.005-05:00

This weekend it's my mom who has the kids. She picked them up this morning. The first thing I noticed when I walked into the house without them here - is that when they're gone, I'm much nicer to the cat.

It's almost school time again, and I'm kind of obsessed with the thought. This is a picture of Drew his first year of school. See how his hands are behind his back, and his lips puckered as if he's blowing bubbles? That's his Tiger tail and bubbles position they use to help the kids be orderly in the hallways.

My friend Lori drug me to a PTC meeting this week. I say "drug" because I know she reads this. I was actually thrilled that I went, and I plan to go the rest of the year as well. (PTC - Parent Teacher Club). I read a terrible story yesterday about one of the worst cases of neglect ever uncovered in this country. Millions of emotional, logical miles from any of our own lives. And yet, I can't help thinking about some of the tiny ways I neglect my kids sometimes. When I think about school this year, my obsession is in how little a parent actually has to do and still at the end of the year find that their child has learned. I graduated from an intimate, private school. My children go to public. And with both systems, I have seen that you can be barely present in your child's school world, and they still get educated. The school system I send my children to is especially diligent with reading. I can't believe the way my kids have taken off with it. And they're boys. I've always heard it's harder to get them to enjoy reading. But my middle son read two chapters of Joshua in the bible the other night without breaking a sweat. It's exciting to me. And as school starts this year, I keep thinking, I want to be more present this year. I don't want to get to the end of the year and realize they grew by leaps and bounds despite me. I think it started at the beginning of the summer actually. At the library the other day, my sons had videos picked out, and I told them they had to get two books each. A young friend asked my son why they had to do that, and (in front of his principal who happened to be standing there), John said, "Because my mom wants us to read this summer." That was awesome. It made me feel very present. (And, yea, I totally owe him for making me look good).

So I keep thinking about these things. How I want a better system for the five thousand papers they each come home with every week. How I want to be at more of their parties, stay late on the morning they get to say the pledge in the intercom system - stuff like that. It's my current obsession.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go tuck in the cat.

Hold the Mustard

2008-08-11T22:14:00.005-05:00

Last night I fixed Drew a hot dog with ketchup. When I put the plate in front of him, he said, "How did you know I didn't want mustard?" as if I had just performed a mind-reading miracle. Um, because you never want mustard ever and because you don't change your mind about these things. After three or four baseball games this summer when I asked what flavor Gatorade they each wanted, he said, "Red. You don't actually have to ask me. I'm always going to want red." Thus, the hot dog without mustard, without having to ask. I swear I had the same conversation with Michael about toothpaste the first year we were married.

I always think I'm the opposite of that. I kind of pride myself on changing it up. Which wouldn't explain the cinnamon Crest whitening toothpaste I've been buying for years now or the same old bread and butter brands every time I go to the store. It does explain the big fat yellow shampoo and conditioner in my shower at the moment. That one I really do change all the time. This one smells like coconut.

So the mustard thing made me think of Drew as a little Michael clone. But, you know, Drew used to only get hamburgers when we went to fast food places. And now sometimes he gets chicken. And Michael's not the adult in this family who orders a chicken chimichanga every single time we go to a Mexican restaurant. You can't really generalize people about this I don't think. We all like change in some ways but not in others.

It's actually a fault of mine that I tend to over-generalize people. Kids are good for that fault. Just when you think you get them, they totally change it up on you.

And also, he named the boy Knox . . . that's my county!

2008-08-07T22:24:00.004-05:00

When I was in the store Tuesday night, I realized a tremendous oversight. I had not yet bought the People magazine with the new Jolie-Pitt twins on the cover and the 16-page Jolie-Pitt album on the inside even though it had been in stores since the day before.

I remedied that immediately. Michael thinks I have a problem. I told him he won't think that when I make money someday on that novel about a girl obsessed with fame and that this is "just research."

But despite the fact that I don't think I have a problem, I do refuse to comment about how beautiful the babies are or on the fact that I was moved by how normal and tired the parents seemed and how normal and un-polished the other children's clothes were. It's one thing to buy the magazine; it's an entirely different thing to bring it up in discussion (or on a blog) as if the birth of two little babies really deserved all that attention.

Actually, you know what I really believe? They did deserve it. Every baby does. But there aren't nearly enough magazine issues for that.

in praise of children and grandparents

2008-08-04T21:15:00.005-05:00

So, I'm not sure it was the smartest thing to start a new job right at the beginning of summer vacation. Have I already mentioned that? I was used to sticking headphones in my ears while the boys played around me. It was easy to tune out their cartoon commentaries and frequent hunger pangs (very frequent hunger pangs) when I was listening to a physician in my head set. It's a little more difficult when I'm writing about educational attractions around the country. Plus, although it is technically an at-home job, I have to be at the office to record video, so there's childcare to think about. My employer has been really helpful with that, but it's still an added stress when it's not something I had to think of before. It's gone totally fine of course. Just like when you're a mother for the first time - there's a lot to worry and stress about, you're completely exhausted and terrified half the time, but - you know, so happy you don't care. So I haven't actually been too thrown by the difficulty of throwing a new job into the summer vacation mix.

But then, the kids are staying with Michael's mom for a couple of days, and well - suddenly, having a job and still cooking supper and keeping the house straightened AND driving out of town to renew my driver's license today - it was all so much easier. If you're a grandmother, (or an aunt or friend without children of your own), consider this. The occasional over-nighter. Seriously - once a year even. It will SAVE YOUR CHILDREN'S LIVES.

Now, please, don't misunderstand. If the fact that I completely, unnervingly, without exception totally adore my children is not superbly clear on this blog, then I'm shutting it down this very moment and starting over from the beginning WITH MORE PICTURES. (Have I shown you Jake's hair cut? SO CUTE.) But, just a little break. A few moments where you only have to straighten the living room once and you don't have to change any diapers and you miss them so much that it hurts - it's really helpful.

So thank you to Jane for the breather. Apologize to Kent for me for the fact that he's probably not getting meals any more, and please tell them that by the time they see me again it will be like a whole new mommy - or rather, the old mommy, but BETTER.

what to do while I'm waiting

2008-08-01T21:56:00.004-05:00

So, I told you I have the end-of-
a-book blues. I haven't been able to shake them yet and move on to the next one. I glanced at Sense and Sensibility in its display corner today, though, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Ah yes, I thought, the old favorites. That will get me through this.

"This" of course is not just the end-of-a-book blues but the pre-publication impatience. As I said in an earlier post, for all I know Jesus will return before my memoir is ever actually published. But knowing this and resolving to be patient have not actually made me so. I wish I could be in that Sesame Street documentary about how crayons are made. I loved watching that wax roll around in the big old vats and eventually get wrapped into paper and put into that wonderful smell-good box. I wish I could watch every step of my book that way. Starting now and without any other responsibilities until its finished.

Mom says the thing to do once one book is out of your hands is move on to the next. That's what she is doing while her first is being edited. I know she's right. But I haven't done it yet. I feel too uncertain of who I want to be as a writer. It's not like I've found my niche with memoir - there's only so many of those in one person.

I think there is only one thing I know for sure. I'd like to write books that give people the feeling I had when I glanced at Sense and Sensibility today. The feeling that they can trust me to make them feel better. That would be a lovely accomplishment.