Serenity Now's New Real Estate

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

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

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.

I've missed you, Kansas City

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.)

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

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

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

Updates on the Book and a Baby

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.

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

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.

  

the gap ad you've been waiting for

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.

once upon a dentist's chair

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

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

I'd like to buy the world a book

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.

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

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.

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

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.

Road to Publication: Slow Going

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).

Journey Stuff

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.

just talking about my beautiful street again

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

the next thing

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.

in praise of children and grandparents

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.

I am SO Blogging That

I joined Facebook a while back, and I would personally like to apologize to college students everywhere for invading your space. On the other hand, to the Facebook shareholders, you're welcome.

(If you're on Facebook and haven't seen me in the "people you may know tool" then be sure to look me up.) I added this application to it called Flair, and I'm kind of addicted. It's the image of a cork board basically on which you can put button-looking things that contain all your favorite things. I have "Mrs. Bohon" on one and "I Heart Boys" (if you're just joining me, that's a nod to all the Y chromosomes in my offspring - not a flashback to junior high), and a black one with the phrase from today's title. I also added this sisters one just today. (You can make your own too! I'm unstoppable!) I've told you before I'm not cool, so it doesn't really bother me that I'm addicted to decorating an imaginary cork board in an imaginary dorm room. It also doesn't bother me that I can't seem to stop adding scenes and quotes from friends. I'll be labeling this post just for fun of course, because my Flair obsession has no meaning whatsoever. It's just that I can't stop doing it and therefore told myself today, "I am SO blogging that."

In video news: Yep, the first Serenity Live video is up and running on several channels online. (See it to the right - they're both the same). Please feel free to comment, but you should know I don't accept criticism very well, or mocking, or random observations of annoying details I perhaps haven't noticed myself. So stick to glowing praise and subscriptions to my fan club - I'm quite accepting of either of those.

In other video news, and with no disrespect to either my company or my awesome camera guy, Tom, or my sound guy, Nathan - you should really check out this video by a guy named Matt -- It has "hell" in the name, but don't let that scare you away even the tiniest bit. It's a beautiful video that might very well make you laugh and cry and repeat the cycle more than once. As soon as I saw it - well, you know what I thought. (Re-insert title here - you got that, right?)