Melissa Blanco

A Balancing Act

2012-01-09T11:35:00.000-08:00

Saturday marked my daughter's first gymnastic meet of the Spring Season. Although completely proud of her accomplishments, I was once again reminded how subjective the scoring can be. What looked perfect to me and felt perfect to her, wasn't necessarily reflected on the scoreboard. When she questioned how a teammate, who fell off the beam, scored higher than she did, after not falling off the beam, all I could do was remind her that she should be proud of herself, despite the score she received. After all, we have no idea what the judge is looking for in a routine.

Subjectivity-- a subject's personal perspective, feelings, beliefs, desires or discovery, as opposed to those made from an independent, objective, point of view.

Today I received two rejection letters in my inbox. My head understands that these weren't the agents for me, that what they are looking for isn't what I have to offer. Unfortunately, my heart is wounded. I know this isn't the end for me as a writer. How could it be? I do have a story to tell and I know, in time, the right agent will have faith in me.

The problem...every rejection letter, or no response rejection, allows just a little bit of doubt to creep in. The doubt that maybe I'm just not good enough.

Then I have to remind myself of what I should always tell my daughter. The final scores are not a reflection of who you are, of the abilities you possess. Don't be sidetracked by the opinion of one...be inspired by the promise of another.

Happy New Year!

2012-01-03T10:17:00.000-08:00

Welcome 2012!

I stepped away from this blog for awhile to set up a more professional website as I pursue publication of my novel, www.melissablanco.com. In doing so, I learned that I really missed posting over here. Thanks to those who've stuck around.

And here they are, my 2012 New Year's Resolutions...

Finish the baby books. My oldest is eleven now, my youngest turns five next month. I've attempted this venture many, many times before. I always thought I'd have time. I really did. When I left my full-time job, when all three kids started school, while my husband was deployed. The truth is, things just continue to get more hectic as the kids get older. If you are entering the most fabulous world of parenting, learn from me. There will never be time.
Therefore, my first resolution is to finish the baby scrapbooks.

Forgive and let go of the problems of the world which I have no control over. This is a tricky one for me as I was born with a little gene that trickles down through my family tree- the ability to carry a grudge. I stay awake at night fretting about the family members who are currently not speaking to one another, as if my worrying will actually heal the problems that lie between them. Likewise, I carry a certain amount of bitterness with me when hurt by others. Most recently, I reached out to a relative, only to have my efforts ignored. In 2012, I'm going to forgive. And maybe, if I'm lucky, others will follow.

Sign with a literary agent. I've finished the novel and revised/edited it multiple times. I've read books in my genre (women's fiction) and researched trends within publishing. I constantly remind myself that publishing is subjective. That said, it's still scary jumping in and sending out my work. I want to be noticed, I want my work to be appreciated, and more than anything, I'd like to see it on bookstore shelves.

That's it for now...Happy New Year. May 2012 be filled with happy moments for you all.

Change of Address

2011-10-18T20:41:00.000-07:00

I'd like to invite all of my fabulous blog followers to visit me at my official website and blog at
http://www.melissablanco.com/.

Thank you to everyone who has followed this blog over the past couple of years. I hope you'll subscribe to my new website, or just stop by and say hi.

Remembering 9/11

2011-09-11T13:39:00.000-07:00

I've never been to New York. My mind's images of the island of Manhattan are a culmination of still shots and moving pictures on television shows, movies, and literature. Not once did I walk between the Twin Towers or see them from a sweeping view across the city's horizon. Yet the Twin Towers are embedded in my memory. They are the first pictures which come to mind when I recall the morning of September 11, 2001.

Like most Americans, it was a typical Tuesday morning. My husband was running late for work as I fed our one-year-old breakfast. I was four months pregnant with our son- combined with the fact that our daughter rarely slept, meant I was tired. So very tired. I picked my daughter up out of her highchair and wiped the remainder of Rice Krispies off of her chin before hoisting her onto my hip and turning on the television. What I first assumed to be a really bad movie, turned out to be real. My eyes widened while taking in shocking video of smoke billowing out of both Towers. I called to my husband just as the South Tower fell. "Oh my God," was the only thing I said, before beginning to cry.

It's been ten years. Yesterday my two older children asked what happened on September 11. It's a simple question which is hard for me to explain. How do you adequately convey the horror of that Tuesday, the despair as a third plane flew into the Pentagon, and then again as a fourth crashed into a field? The best answer I could offer them was, "September 11 changed everything."

My husband and I have been married for fifteen years. We've spent two of those years separated by the War on Terror. What our three children don't understand is that 9/11 was the catalyst for how our family is today. Just as I've never been to New York, my children don't know what it's like to have a dad who isn't gone for training every summer, who doesn't have to miss school programs because he's several states away with the Army. They live with the constant knowledge that with each passing year dad is home, it's one year closer to his next deployment. They also don't understand that the children, just like them, whose parents when to work that morning, but didn't come home, are just one of the reasons why I am proud to be married to a Soldier.

Today, I remember. I hope all of us who were alive on September 11 will never forget how we came together as a nation and held one another through our grief. I pray we will always remember the lives lost and the Soldiers who are still protecting us.

My reading recommendations for this September 11:
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
A remarkable novel written from the perspective of two Afghan women living under Taliban rule.

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand
September 11 is often referred to as the Pearl Harbor of our generation. Unbroken is a true story written about the aftermath of the attack on Pearl Harbor in World War 2. A tale of hope, loss and resilience of The Greatest Generation, a title they undoubtedly deserve.

2011-08-23T22:01:00.000-07:00

I've found that some of the best moments are the ones we don't plan for. This was a concept which took years to acquire, and unfortunately, it's something I occasionally need to be reminded of.

When I was a sullen teenager, my dad would often announce, "we're going for a drive," at which point I'd load my attitude into the minivan, sulking the entire way, while heaving giant sighs of complaint that he effectively ignored. Dad would then drive along winding roads, the windows rolled down and hot air blasting my spiral permed hair outward in every directions imaginable. My brother would fall asleep the minute the accelerator hit 35mph, as my sister's entire Baby Sitter's Club collection of paperbacks spilled all over the floor mats. Dad would drive down whatever road he fancied before spotting a river, lake, or other scenic viewpoint, at which point he'd stop and we'd all get out.

And...we'd have a fantastic time eating, exploring, trying to skip rocks along the water. Despite my groveling and blatant lack of cooperation, I enjoyed every single moment of those road trips. Even the winding road to get there provided memories, as Dad gave us his verbatim history lesson on the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Yes, my dad was a master at unplanned mountain drives, but he was also quite aware that the only thing standing between him and spending time with his children was a tank of gas.

Part of me realized last Saturday that my dad may have passed these traditions onto me when I awoke that morning with an insatiable desire to just get in the car and go.

The morning went something like this...

Husband, "What do we have to do today?"

Me, "Nothing."

Husband, "Nothing?"

Me, "Absolutely nothing. Amazing, right?"

Husband, "Hmmm."

Me, "Want to take a ride up to the mountain?"

Husband, "Um...okay."

Me, "You feed the dog, I'll pack the water bottles."

We loaded up our three kids, stopped by the store to pick up snacks and drove to the National Park located a mere ninety minutes from our house. The kids protested a bit, we ignored and pressed on. In a word, it was, fabulous.

Like I said, some of the best moments are the ones we don't plan for.

2011-08-06T10:03:00.000-07:00

It's already the first week of August and once again the sun isn't shining, but rather, hidden behind a smattering of threatening rain clouds. Oddly enough, I'm not bothered because now I can mark water the lawn off of today's to-do list. Yes, that's just one thing I can forgo in my busy day of revising and parenting, because when you're a stay-at-home mom/writer, the work never really ends. It just gets juggled around depending on who's hungry, has gymnastics class, or desperately needs a time out.

Last week I renamed my to-do list, Stuff I'd Love to Get Done. My oldest, looking over my shoulder as I jotted notes commented, "How come you haven't finished our baby books yet?" I thanked her for the reminder as I added finish baby books to the increasing long array of planning-on-it dreams. Then she said, "You promised to take us to the park today."

Last night I began painting our second floor hallway. Yes, it's on the list, but I've also discovered painting is the most effective way to clear my mind as I write my manuscript. Not only does it improve the look of my house, it also helps me calm my mind while developing plot lines and honing in on character voices. Confession...since starting this novel, I've painted the kitchen, living room, dining room, coat closet, master bathroom, laundry room, and now the hallway with plans to add a fresh coat to the stairwell.

I also realized yesterday, as I outlined the door frames, that the new paint I chose is nearly the exact shade as before. A creature of habit? Possibly. I suppose I'm just a bit resistant to change, like my son who cries when I make him throw out old toothbrushes or get new tennis shoes because the soles of his current ones are worn down to nothing.

I know my husband is going to look at my hard work only to tell me that it looks the same, cleaner and fresher, but exactly the same. Then I'll just have to inform him that I plan to write many novels, making plenty of opportunities for a fresh coat.

How Stephanie Plum Saved Me

2011-07-20T19:24:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I bought Smokin' Seventeen, the latest novel in Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series, which I look forward to every summer. To say that these books are addictive is an understatement. I know there might be some readers who stopped delving into these several numbers ago, but I'm not one of them. I love both the characters and story lines. Besides, I credit Stephanie Plum, actually Janet Evanovich, for saving me once.

The year was 2004, and my husband was leaving for his first deployment to Iraq. During my teens and twenties, I lamented over turning thirty, as if it was a prospective dark day looming ahead of me. Yet never, in my wildest dreams, did I envision packing up my husband's belongings for a twelve month deployment, along with ensuring that our wills and finances were in order in case he didn't return. That was the winter when my three-year-old daughter ran out to her daddy's car, before he left to complete his training, hitting it repeatedly while screaming, "Don't go Daddy. Iraq is far!" I was crying, my husband was crying, she was sobbing, and our eighteen-month-old son was yelling for strawberry milk. Not a good day.

That was also the spring when four U.S. contractors were killed, set on fire, and hung from a bridge by insurgents. As Marines were battling in Fallujah, my husband traveled in a convoy from Kuwait to Balad, passing through Baghdad along the way. They were attacked by direct fire, the vehicle in front of him, hit. Luckily, no one was injured or killed. Not so lucky- daily rocket and mortar strikes pounded my husband's Base. Members of his Brigade didn't make it home. I couldn't sleep, had nightmares of officers knocking on my front door to deliver devastating news, developed canker sores the size of pencil head erasers, and almost smashed our computer monitor to smithereens when it ceased working. Yes, adult temper tantrums are permissible when the only source of communication between home and war is thwarted.

It was also during that spring when my mom suggested that I read One for the Money. I was skeptical at first, wondering how this particular book would keep me from hearing the voices at night that told me I'd soon be a widow. Eventually, I relented, because moms usually happen to know best. Within two months, I'd read the entire series, up to that point.

Stephanie Plum is a former lingerie buyer who, after losing her job, starts working as a bounty hunter for her sleazy, Cousin Vinnie. She's not very good at her job, but despite that, things always work out with the help of her hot, on-and-off again boyfriend, Joe Morelli, and the shady security expert, Ranger. FYI...it's one of the greatest and most addictive love triangles ever. Her best friend and sidekick is the hilarious, Lula, and her Grandma Mazur keeps things interesting as she lives for viewings at the funeral home.

Yes, Stephanie Plum's trials brought me through a really rough time. It introduced me to a world where a taxidermist skips to avoid jail because he doesn't want to miss the cable guy, women outsmart a pet crocodile with fried chicken, and Ranger is capable of making anyone swoon just by muttering, "Babe..." I've read the hilarious- Plum family dinners, the psychotic- Benito Ramirez, and the downright hysterical- Lula carrying bacon in her purse because she's trying out the Atkins Diet.

Thanks, Janet Evanovich, for the laughs, for saving me, and for making your yearly deadline so I have something fun to read. For a complete list of Janet Evanovich's books visit,
http://evanovich.com/

Now I guess only one question remains. Morelli or Ranger?

Hello Again

2011-07-14T20:12:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a terribly long time since I last blogged. Blame it on the women's fiction manuscript I'm writing, the fact that I'm inexplicably incapable of saying "no" to any and all volunteer opportunities, or that my children are home for summer vacation. Either way, this is my first post in a month. Just a few things, in case you've forgotten me...

I still have Celiac Disease. Huge bummer, right? I'd hoped that, in the past month, a fantastic vaccine would've been developed that would make my small intestines capable of ingesting gluten.

Despite years of protesting, my children continue to grow up. I've asked them repeatedly to stay little kids, but it's just not working. Every day I wake up and cannot believe that next fall I'll have a fifth grader, a fourth grader, and a little one starting her final year of preschool. Whoever penned the cliche, "they grow up too fast" really knew what she was talking about.

I'm still the worst military wife I know. It's not that I don't support my husband and his career, but just that I wish his job didn't take him away from us so often. Also, I don't speak in acronyms, and realistically, he should have seen that red flag waving when he met me.

When I'm not raising my children, I'm writing. After I finish writing, I run our household with the precision of a really stressed out administrative assistant. I can dust a desk, vacuum a carpet, wash the dishes, fry an egg, and "like" a friend's family photo all in one hundred and twenty seconds.

Still not a fan of reality television, but with that said, I totally know who won The Voice.

Racing Into Pre-Middle Age

2011-06-14T09:26:00.000-07:00

Saturday marked my first race of the year, and as I navigated through the 7.4 mile course, I started thinking about all of the school track seasons I participated in. It doesn't seem that long ago that I was running around an asphalt track with my friends, hoping to qualify for the State Meet. Yet as I ran up the first of many hills last Saturday, I realized that my twenty year high school reunion is next summer.

Twenty years. How is that even possible? Wasn't it just yesterday that I was sporting ungodly, curled bangs and wearing a pair of green track sweats while riding a yellow bus to Hardin? It was during the sixth mile- right as I was smacking into the invisible brick wall- that I really began to contemplate the runner I was then compared to the runner I am now.

Then: I had a coach my freshman year of high school (when I was a slow sprinter) who directed us to imagine a knife wielding rapist was behind us as we left the starting blocks. Apparently that imagery would help us explode from them at a faster speed. Note: her yelling at me was motivation enough. To this day, I'm still a bit scared of her.
Now: I don't explode from the starting line because that would involve injuring the many people surrounding me, including the group of women who truly believe they are capable of walking eight minute miles and therefore register in that flight. Instead, at the start, I alert my right foot- the one that has race anxiety- that it's time to stop cramping because I plan to run like a Kenyan.

Then: Track season ran from March to May, and in Montana, that meant you could either be running on ice or in the scorching heat. During the latter, I hoped my lack of sunscreen would not lead to a track tan, which looks almost as dreadful as a farmer's tan, and doesn't compliment any prom dress...ever. The black biker shorts I wore beneath my green track shorts were solely there because all of my friends were wearing them and it was important to look the same.
Now: I lather on the sunscreen, wear a visor, and wish I'd have thought to wear biker shorts in order to cover up the cellulite that I'm attempting to hide from the course photographer.

Then: I ran into the school bathroom before the race and hoped there was toilet paper left.
Now: I wait in a porta-potty line that is at least fifty people deep and inevitably witness a group of clueless runners cut to the front, and in doing so, barely avoid a group lynching.

Then: I listened to nothing aside from the thoughts in my head saying important things such as; man, that girl from Livingston is impossible to catch and why hasn't he asked me to Prom yet, along with the voice of my coach shouting, "Run Melisser" as he noted that "after the first lap, it's all downhill."
Now: I run with an iPod because any course not allowing them doesn't appreciate the fact that I'm a pre-middle aged runner who has to listen to an eclectic mix of music including, AC/CD, Bon Jovi, Eminem and Taylor Swift, in order to motivate myself. The only voice in my head is saying, I paid ninety bucks for this torture? What a waste. Another hill? This is getting ridiculous. I'm seriously moving to Kansas.

Then: I finished the race with my girlfriends cheering me on, maybe even collecting the baton from me in order to finish the relay. I walked to the center of the field and collapsed from exhaustion with no table of bananas in sight. Good thing since I hated bananas.
Now: I finish a race and have the chip timer cut off of my shoe or removed from my ankle. I walk directly past the table giving away bananas (every race has bananas). I still detest bananas.

Am I am better runner now than I was then? Probably not. But I've learned that although running is physical, the dominating force is mental. It takes so much to motivate myself to put on those running shoes. There's always that voice in my head, the same one that wouldn't stop talking in high school, that is reiterating how I'm not strong enough to go another step. I have to ignore her opinions every time I go for a run, compete in a race, or beg my doctor for a cortisone shot.

Should I consider myself stronger than I was at eighteen? No. But at least I'm more confident and have better hair.

Stopping to Enjoy the View

2011-06-06T16:36:00.000-07:00

The weekend started off busy. I woke up early Saturday morning to write, before heading to the pool for my son's swim meet. After the meet, we ran back home to pick up the jello salad I made for my daughter's gymnastics party, which was held at a local park. It was a gorgeous day- sunshine, warm weather, and a very high pollen count. We all came home from the park exhausted, with runny noses and itchy eyes. Regardless, we decided the perfect way to end a nearly perfect day was to go out for ice cream. It was on the way home from Baskin-Robbins that my husband pointed out a hot air balloon floating over the valley below our neighborhood. We made a quick run home to grab the camera and then parked the van about a quarter a mile from the house to take some pictures.

"Why don't we just walk there?" My daughter asked.
"Because we'll miss the hot air balloon," I explained.

Sometimes you've just got to slow down and enjoy the scenery, or drive as fast as you can to grab the camera before it passes you by.

Happy Friday

2011-06-03T08:27:00.000-07:00

The sun is shining, the kiddos are off to school, and the four-year-old is still sleeping (the only benefit of having been up with her at five o'clock a.m.). I love these peaceful mornings- when the coffee is warm and the house is quiet. This rarely happens because there's always a crisis to be averted, a teasing intervention to be done, or a shih tzu that's veering somewhere between obsessive compulsive barking and complete and utter paranoia. Oddly enough, however, even the dog is quiet today. Perhaps she senses the magic of just being content on this beautiful day. Yes, it's one of those mornings where you wake up happy, if for no other reason than because the sun is shining and the mountain is visible from the front porch.

Let's Talk: The Proper Care and Maintenance of Friendship

2011-05-26T09:53:00.001-07:00

I try to have several books on my nightstand, and an order to which I will read them, because nothing is as exciting to me as looking forward to a well written novel. Every so often, however, I run out of reading material and head over to Target to peruse the book aisle in search of that new great novel. This is how I came upon Lisa Verge Higgins', The Proper Care and Maintenance of Friendship.

This is when I tell you that I picked it solely based on the cover design and the fact that it was placed in the section titled, New Women's Fiction. This is also where I tell you that not only did I enjoy reading it, I've recommended it to others. It was one of those book which proves that regardless of your lifestyle, you can relate to at least one of the characters.

Please join in the discussion, or at the very least- read it for yourself, share it with your book club, really take a look at your life and ask yourself, what would I be willing to do for a friend?

1. Rachel chooses not to tell her friends about her illness because she feels she is sparing them. Was this the right decision? Is it ever right to keep the news of a potentially fatal illness from your loved ones?

Sure, Rachel had her reasons. In her mind, those reasons were probably good ones too. But as far as do I think it's okay to not tell your friends that you have cancer, I'm going to say, Hell No. I'm a person who would want to know, to at least have the opportunity to offer support. Maybe it's for my own benefit, but I tend to care about the people I consider friends, and I need to know that no matter what, I offered some bit of support to them when they were suffering.

2. Which of the four women do you most relate to? Is it the one whose lifestyle most resembles yours? If not, why?

Because I am married and raising three young kids, I related most to Kate. I understand what it is to feel overwhelmed and to almost lose yourself as you're attempting to raise children. Would I have gone skydiving? Sure. Would I have picked up and traveled to India? Probably not, at this point in my life. Well, unless I was going there for work or a family emergency. I'm not a person who is capable of just packing up and leaving, maybe because I don't like to relinquish control over my household. I love being a mom, and with a husband who travels quite often for work, having me home makes things run more smoothly. I'd be up for an adventure, however, I'd just make it stateside.

3. Motherhood is often described as a sacrifice. What sacrifices did Kate, Rachel, and Jo make in order to raise their families? How did they each feel about their sacrifices? Is it ever possible to be fully comfortable with the choices a woman must make when she chooses to have a family?

I want to start off by saying that I've never considered motherhood to be a sacrifice. Being a mom is the greatest blessing I've ever been given and I know many women who would do whatever it takes to have children. Sure, we sacrifice on things that we can't have, or cannot do when we're raising children. Do I consider it a sacrifice that I can't watch reruns of Sex and the City until after the kids go to bed? No. I think the only person in this novel who was probably slapped right in the face of motherhood, was Jo. She was appointed legal guardian to a child that she did not willingly plan to have. She's learning how to be a mom like the rest of us, through trial and error, like when she had a professional chef cook gourmet macaroni and cheese for a child rather than popping open a $.99 box of Kraft.

I'm going to leave you with one final thought. These questions and more are located in the Reader Group Guide located at the end of The Proper Care and Maintenance of Friendship.

4. Rachel mentions that the friends have grown apart because they didn't properly maintain their friendships. Rachel's three best friends have become so busy with their own lives that they don't realize what is happening to their friend. But Rachel seems to understand. Do you understand?

Unfortunately, yes. Life gets busy and it's hard to maintain those long distance friendships, no matter how important they are. I guess the real question is, how do we prioritize friendships amid the chaos of our lives? If you figure it out, please let me know.

Weekend Road Trip

2011-05-16T17:09:00.000-07:00

"Why aren't we flying? Because getting there is half the fun. You know that."

-Clark Griswold

Last weekend marked our first official road trip of the season, which according to me, runs from Easter through Halloween (everything else falls into the, we'll come if the roads are good, category). My husband wasn't able to accompany us due to work, so it was just the three kids and me. The destination was four hours away, not too long if the kids are being good, terribly awful if they aren't.

Here's how it goes. You plan the trip, gas up the minivan (mighty frightening these days), pack the suitcases, throw some snacks and water bottles into the back, and load the kids up. Easy, right? Not so much.

These are my prerequisites for travel. Believe me, they aren't things that I plan for. They just seem to happen.

* It never fails that whenever I'm packing the suitcases, one of the kids will come down with the flu, a seasonal allergy attack, or a virus (because everything unidentifiable is deemed a virus).
Are you packing? Are we going somewhere? Ok. Let me just throw up on your bed.

* Whenever I've planned a trip, I come to find out that my husband has to work or will be away on TDY. This leaves me without a copilot as I brave the interstate system with three kids and a barking shih tzu.
I didn't know you were going to Montana, in June. I have to attend a mandatory class in Oahu that week. Yes, I'm taking my golf clubs because you never know, we might get out early one day.

* No matter the destination, I always go all Bill Cosby, while en route. You three have no idea what is was like to travel when I was a kid. No CD or DVD player. We had to listen to whatever was on the radio and sometimes there was nothing on but oldies. How else do you think the license plate game was invented? I don't care if she crossed the invisible line in the backseat, you'd better quit fighting or I'll turn off Kung Fu Panda and make you do what I did when I was your age. That's right. I'll make you look out the window and stare at the scenery. Yes, I'm serious, and I won't even pay you a quarter for the first deer you see.

Let's Talk: Water for Elephants...Again

2011-05-10T16:28:00.000-07:00

On Mother's Day, my husband took me to see Water for Elephants. In case you're wondering, yes, I enjoyed the movie. No, I'm not going to tell you about it because I still believe you should read the book before seeing it.

Please chime in on my virtual book club discussion, or at least share some of your insights into the novel.

See my original Water for Elephants post:
http://www.melissablanco.com/2011/05/lets-talk-water-for-elephants.html

Next we'll be discussing The Proper Care and Maintenance of Friendship by Lisa Verge Higgins.

Stay-At-Home Mom/Writer

2011-05-06T15:23:00.000-07:00

In honor of Mother's Day, I thought I'd share what makes me feel like the worst mother in the entire world. Mom Guilt #478: The Stay-At-Home Mom/Writer.

I only have an average of two to three hours a day to write (and believe me, three hours is usually a stretch). As I write, I'm at home with my preschooler juggling snacks, reading books, redirecting, turning on a show, preparing more snacks, finishing paragraphs with a four-year-old on my lap, worrying about getting older kids to their after school sports, promising my daughter that "I'll be with you after I finish this sentence." Then, just as the four-year-old begins to entertain herself, I hit my stride on my manuscript, and then, the older two come home and all craziness breaks out to get them to their activities on time.

I'm not sure how other writers, who are at home with their children, do it. It's not like those of us who are writing manuscripts, querying literary agents, and hoping that a major publishing house buys our work are raking in enough money to employ a nanny. (By the way, I recently read that Brad and Angelina have a nanny for each of their children. If that is true, I'm wondering if they'd be willing to share while I finish this novel.)

Cue the guilt.
Here's a recent conversation I had with my husband after a particularly exhausting day.
"I feel like the worst mom ever," I cried. Yes. Cried.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, his eyes focused on his laptop.
"I mean," sobbing by now, "I spend all afternoon working on this manuscript, that I'm not sure will even sell, (cue the violins) and I'm completely neglecting our daughter as I do it."
"She's not neglected," he remained fixated on his spreadsheet. You see, my husband works a ten hour day and then comes home to work a three hour night. "She's one of the happiest kids I know."
"But still?"
"You're at home with her," he pointed out, "she has a million toys and she's perfectly capable of entertaining herself for a couple of hours while you work."
"I just have this really bad feeling that our kids are going to leave for college and the last image in their minds will be of me typing on my laptop," I sniffled.
He looked up. "And that's a bad thing?"
"You just don't understand." Cue 1 Corinthians.

If you have any ideas on how to balance it all, pass them on. I'm sure all stay-at-home mom/writers would love to hear them.

Happy Mother's Day!

Let's Talk: Water for Elephants

2011-05-01T13:14:00.000-07:00

I convinced my husband to read Water for Elephants recently. It wasn't an easy feat being that his typical interests lie directly with books on Military history. I told him that it was a novel about a young man who joins a traveling circus in the early years of the Depression. My brief synopsis didn't entirely convince him that he'd enjoy reading it, much less finish it. Finally, I pleaded with him to read it so that we could go watch the movie together before talking about how much it was like/unlike the book.

"Reese Witherspoon is in it," I added. "Also, Robert Pattinson with normal skin tone." He remained wary.

"Just read the first chapter," I said. "If you don't care for it, you can stop and I'll never ask you to read another novel again."

Not only did my husband read the first several pages, but he finished the entire book in less than three days. I suppose that's proof of how crucial the first chapter of a novel is.

Water for Elephants was written by Sara Gruen and is the first book that I'll be blogging about in my intended virtual book club. It is strong literary fiction with emotional character development, historical fiction with a glimpse into the Depression, and has a plot that alternates between present day and glimpses of a young man's life after he joins the struggling Benzini Brothers Circus. The following questions are adapted from the Publisher for book club discussion. Please post comments to add to the discussion. I'm not going to give away the ending of Water for Elephants because if you haven't read it yet, you really should.

1. To what extent do the chapters concerning the elderly Jacob enhance the chapters recounting the young Jacob's experiences with the Benzini Brothers circus? In what ways do the chapters about the young Jacob contribute to a deeper understanding of the elderly Jacob's life?

Jacob became entirely miffed when another elderly man in the nursing home claimed to have carried water to give to circus elephants in his youth. Not only does Jacob know that this man is lying, because, as he says "do you know how much water an elephant drinks?" He also, I believe, is resentful that this man is thwarting his ability to share the true story of what really happened at the circus. Jacob is a man with plenty of stories to tell and although he is ninety-three years old, he remembers everything about his experiences with the Benzini Brothers Circus. I found it quite interesting that Jacob had a difficult time remembering who all of his family members were, with the exception of his children, but that time in his life remains vividly clear. Maybe we all have a time in our lives that we'll never forget and experiences, whether good or bad, which will continue to haunt our memories.

2. Who did you, upon reading the prologue, think committed murder? What effect did that opening scene of chaos and murder have on your reception of the story that follows?

The opening scene of the book immediately grabbed my attention, but I was uncertain as to who was being murdered and who was committing murder. All I knew was that a young man was witnessing an event that he was unable to control or stop.

3. August says of Marlene, "Not everyone can work with liberty horses. It's a God-given talent, a sixth sense, if you will" (pg 94). Both August and Jacob recognize Marlena's skills, in working with horses. In what ways does that sixth sense attract each man? How do August and Jacob differ in terms of the importance each places on Marlena's abilities?

Marlena truly had a deep respect for animals, her liberty horses in particular. She loved Silver Star and grieved when he was ill and had to be put down. Not only did she love animals, but she had a gift for working with them which led them to have a deep respect for her. Jacob, like Marlena, respected and cared for the animals. He was in his final year of veterinary school when his parents died unexpectedly and he found himself jumping aboard a circus train and landing a job as the show's vet. I believe it was his and Marlena's mutual affection for the liberty horses that drew them to one another. August was the official animal trainer, but he viewed the animals as nothing more than property and something that was dispensable and could be used as a bargaining tool with other circuses, or as food for other animals. This was also, in many ways, how he viewed Marlena. He was in awe of her abilities, but also demanded her to submit to him. The way that he pulled her chin to look at him was much like the way he threw a lit cigarette into Rosie's (the elephant) mouth. It was his way of making sure they knew that he was in charge.

4. Reflecting on the fact that his platitudes and stories don't hold his children's interest, the elderly Jacob notes, "My real stories are all out of date. So what if I can speak firsthand about the Spanish flu, the advent of the automobile, world wars, cold wars, guerrilla wars, and Sputnik-that's all ancient history now. But what else do I have to offer?" How might we learn to appreciate the stories and life lessons of our elders and encourage people younger than ourselves to appreciate our own?

Our elders have so many stories to offer that we don't take full advantage of when given the opportunity. I think of my own grandparents/parents and wonder how many things I don't know about them, how many stories they could have shared with me that would have enhanced my life. I find it interesting that Jacob's own children don't realize how many tales he has to tell about his years living with the circus. Not only do they not seem to care, but they don't appear to have a vested interest in his life. From what I gathered, they took turns coming to visit him, but even in the end, he is forgotten on the day he was supposed to visit the circus.
I guess that explains his decision at the end of the novel.

4. Looking at himself in the mirror, the old Jacob tries "to see beyond the sagging flesh." But he claims, "It's no good...I can't find myself anymore. When did I stop being me?" How would you answer that question for Jacob or any individual, or for yourself?

I believe Jacob can no longer see himself because in a lot of ways, he's forgotten who he really is. He's alone in a nursing home and aside from one nurse, is irritated by most everyone around him. I wonder if when Jacob looks in the mirror, he wishes that the veterinary student he once was, were staring back at him.

5. In his Carnival of the Animals, Ogden Nash wrote, "Elephants are useful friends." In what ways is Rosie a "useful" friend? What is Rosie's role in the events that follow her acquisition by Uncle Al?

Rosie saved Marlene and Jacob in more ways than one. She was acquired by Uncle Al from another circus that viewed her as the dumbest animal around. August agreed and couldn't do a thing with her until Jacob discovered that she only understood Polish. Of course, I don't believe that's entirely true. She understood a lot more than let on, even how to pull her stake out so she could sneak off and drink the circus lemonade.

As with any book club, the discussion only works if people participate. Please chime in and tell me your observations of Water for Elephants. Until next time...

Books I Love

2011-04-29T13:52:00.000-07:00

Here are a few of my favorite novels and my absolute favorite diary. There are so many great books that it's near impossible to choose which ones I enjoyed the most. It's like picking which child you love more. Impossible, right? These books, however, are ones that I continued thinking about long after turning the last page.

The Perfect Setting to Write

2011-04-27T14:15:00.000-07:00

Is there such a thing as the perfect writing environment? On the way back from my daughter's ballet class this week I got to thinking about when I feel the most motivated to write and under what circumstances I find it impossible to concentrate.

Helpful Circumstances

When the house is utterly quiet. Yes, darling shih tzu, I'm talking to you.

When I have a hot cup of coffee sitting beside my laptop.

If all high fructose corn syrup has been removed from my diet.

After I've read a fabulous blog from a writer or literary agent.

When my house is clean, organized, and clutter-free.

Unhelpful Instances

When blogger formatting is messing with my spacing and refusing to allow me to correct it, no matter how often I delete the extra spaces. If this wasn't happening...I'd be a much more content writer.

Anytime Donald Trump is in the news.

The same goes for Charlie Sheen

When my kids are whining, fighting, playing loudly, or asking questions that only arise when mom is working.

When the house is too quiet. It makes my mind wander and I start thinking about really important things like; who will replace Michael Scott on The Office?

Honestly, I'm uncertain if there is ever a perfect setting in which to write. I guess I just have to sit down and do it, even if the dog is barking and I'm strung out on gluten-free chocolate chip cookies. I do tend to concentrate more when my house is clean, otherwise I continually glance around at everything I've neglected to organize.

What, for you, is the perfect setting to write in?

Back to Writing

2011-04-22T10:16:00.001-07:00

"It is not often that someone comes along

who is a true friend and a good writer.

Charlotte was both."

-E.B. White

I've heard it said before that writers are not always taught, they are born. They can't fall asleep at night because stories are circulating inside of them. Writers are always people watching, looking for interesting concepts, and formulating unwritten manuscripts in their minds. Writing is just a part of who we are, the passion that follows us as we cart our children off to ballet lessons, and while making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for tomorrow's school lunches.

After taking a week off to recover from my surgery, I'm back at the laptop. What I refer to as my manuscript, or others might call their WIP (work in progress), is once again calling me. I close my eyes at night and see my characters' faces. I feel that bubble of excitement in the morning, wondering where their story will take me. My manuscript is not my baby. No need to feed it, diaper it, or send it off to college in eighteen years. Rather, the novel I'm working on is my passion, the untold story of the characters I've created, the result of many hours bringing their trials to life. The time has come to go back to work.

Bright Lights, Big Needles

2011-04-20T17:08:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged recently, but I have a fairly decent excuse, having nothing to do with spending my days stalking facebook profiles or interesting twitter feeds. As many of you know, I was scheduled to have my gallbladder removed through a simple, outpatient laparoscopic surgery (the stoic surgeon's words, not mine) on April Fool's Day. Well, apparently, the joke was on me. Exactly one week before the scheduled surgery, I met with my gynecologist to review the CT-scan findings of an ovarian cyst. I assumed she'd tell me once again that cysts are normal. After all, I wasn't having any pain and essentially would never have even known it was there if not for the scan. That was until the lovely doctor walked into the room and informed me that the type of cyst spotted on the scan was not the type I wanted growing inside of me. The question was not a matter of if we remove it, but rather, a matter of how and when.

This was when I burst into tears and began asking useless, self-loathing, rhetorical questions. Why is this happening to me? How come I have to lose both my gallbladder and left ovary? Does my body just hate my digestive system...and why is my left ovary being taken away? How come stoic surgeon doesn't smile?

After composing myself, I rescheduled the surgery, which was pushed back by another two weeks. It was set up to also include the removal of my left ovary, and would now be performed at the hospital. My insurance company also required an overnight stay, something I wasn't aware of until the night before I was admitted.

In an effort to keep you from falling asleep while reading this post of medical maladies, I will cut to the part where I tell you a portion of what I've learned through this experience.

* Having nurses who reminded me of LaVerne and Shirley while being prepped for surgery was not at all a bad thing. One with frosty blonde hair and the other with dark curls hovering over me, while questioning each other the entire time and cracking jokes was really good for the nerves. Maybe next time I'll be prepped by clones of Joanie and Chachi.

*The bright light in the operating room was oddly soothing and the absolute final thing I remember aside from the cool popcorn kernel decorated cap of the anesthesiologist.

*Waking up in the recovery room across from a screaming, out of control patient, was a bit of a drag. Through my barely opened eyes, I watched four nurses try to reason with her in the same way I've tried coaxing my kids to calm down when they've woken up out-of-sorts from a late afternoon nap. As she was screaming, moaning, and crying uncontrollably, I just closed my eyes and thought, maybe this surgery was a really bad idea.

*No matter how great of a parent you are, a four-year-old might refuse to sit on your hospital bed if you're hooked up to oxygen and have an IV in your arm. She did kiss my fingers though and waved goodbye. How could I blame her? I wasn't at my best.

*Laparoscopic photos of a gallbladder and ovarian cyst are awesome when you're ten years old. My daughter's first response, "Cool, Mom. Can I take them to school?" Umm...no.

I've rarely before been as physically tired as I've felt this week. Recovering from surgery has been as equally exhausting as my pregnancies, miscarriages, and bouts with anemia. I hope to be back writing and chauffeuring the kids around by next week. Thank you to everyone who has supported me through this entire process, especially my mom and stepdad for taking care of my children and my husband for just being there for me, as he always is. I appreciate the thoughts, prayers, and support. I'm grateful for the dinners our relatives brought over, the notes, homemade cards from my nieces, and the flowers. Thank you all.

My Fairy Tale Reality

2011-04-03T11:55:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday morning and I'm working on my laptop beside Cinderella. My Cinderella is eating crackers and drinking ice water out of a Dora cup. Her hair isn't golden or fixed to perfection, but rather, barely combed and haphazardly pulled back with a sparkly headband. She wears her dress up version of the blue gown Cinderella wore to the Ball where she met Prince Charming. Her voice is sweet, yet I occasionally strain to make out what she's telling me because every so often big words come out of her four-year-old mouth mispronounced. Her smile contains baby teeth, a reminder that she still has a few years of dress up and dollies ahead of her. My princess is content with her perfectly, innocent life.

If only we could all be four years old, still believe in fairy tales, and have no worries aside from not being able to find the plastic bottle that magically empties when we feed our favorite doll. We all know this isn't possible; mice can't sew ball gowns, princesses don't all have gorgeous singing voices, and there is no such thing as falling in love at first sight.

Yet, the world awaits the fairy tale magic. Just log onto people.com and you'll see a special tab dedicated to the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. We cling to the happily ever after, that dream life of a common girl being chosen by a handsome prince, falling deeply in love, even before the crown is placed on her silky hair. I remember watching the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana, marveling at the train of her gown and wondering if I would ever be lucky enough to ride away from Westminster Abbey in a horse drawn carriage.

No doubt, it's all fantasy. The reality is that it doesn't exist. We live in a world of natural disasters, financial fall outs, and cancer. We long for the fairy tale because it takes us away from the aspects of life that frighten us. It gives us something to hope for, an opportunity to be part of something magical. A chance to believe that there aren't paparazzi planted outside of the houses of royalty, hoping to get that million dollar picture to feed into our belief that we're missing out on the perfect life.

I also know that I wouldn't give up the life I have or the challenges I've faced. Nor would I give up the four-year-old Cinderella who would like nothing more than to ride her princess bike around the driveway in a ballgown. That is my fantastic reality, no fairy godmother required.

An April Fool's Surgery

2011-03-21T19:00:00.000-07:00

My son told me yesterday that I'm getting my blubber removed.

"I'm what?"
"Getting your blubber removed," he responded.
"I'm getting my gallbladder taken out." I clarified.
"I know," he said. "You're getting your blubber removed."

He's nine. He knows the difference between the words blubber and gallbladder. I think.
Regardless he pointed to my right midsection to demonstrate where the blubber will be removed from. Thankfully he's not the surgeon.

This entire thing has me thinking, or at least questioning why, in my late-thirties, have I developed a rather large gallstone (their words, not mine) and an inflamed gallbladder? I already deal with celiac disease, which cuts all gluten out of my diet. I don't eat food high in fat. I even threw away the deep fryer my husband always wanted to use, but I couldn't bring my self to cook with, several years ago. I've spent some time researching if the gallbladder is an essential organ because I'd have issues with the surgeon otherwise. It is not.

My friend, who had her gallbladder taken out in her twenties, wrote me a note recently. In it she informed me that while she was taking classes to become a Certified Massage Therapist, they were taught that in traditional Chinese medicine, the liver and gallbladder often become diseased when the patient is dealing with suppressed emotions, primarily anger.

Now that makes sense.

I don't voice my opinions loud and clear, but I do have a grudge holding habit. It's actually genetic. I can blame the problem on my parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Really, it's all their fault that I'm getting my gallbladder removed. They've apparently passed their anger down to me and I've held onto it with a vengeance. And developed some of my own in the process. (Next up...accountability.)

So on April Fool's Day, I'll be having my blubber removed. When it's gone, hopefully I'll have gained some perspective and won't feel the need to clarify to my son's teacher that my gallbladder has been removed, the blubber is still present and accounted for.

The Luck of the Irish

2011-03-14T19:43:00.000-07:00

"When Irish eyes are smiling, sure it's like a morning spring.

In the lilt of Irish laughter, you can hear the angels sing.

When Irish hearts are happy, all the world seems bright and gay.

And when Irish eyes are smiling, sure they steal your heart away."

When my siblings and I were little, leprechauns came to visit us on St. Patrick's Day. They wrecked havoc to our walls by leaving little green footprints, messed up our already messy bedrooms more, littered our floors with caramel filled chocolates, and turned our toilet water green. Who knew that leprechauns peed green? We were always pleasantly shocked, surprised, ecstatic when we awoke on March 17th to find these treasures.

As far as we knew, we were the only kids who were visited by leprechauns. Maybe it was because it was my sister Erin's birthday. Perhaps it was because it was also our totally fun Uncle Pat's birthday. We didn't question the mystery, but rather, assumed that we were just extra lucky. The leprechauns weren't chasing gold at the end of a rainbow on St. Paddy's Day, they were bringing candy to us. We alone possessed the luck of the Irish.

We didn't question any of it, not even the fact that the alleged leprechauns didn't bother to flush their green toilet water. My brother, sisters, and I weren't freaked out that little green men were stomping around our house while we slept, or that their miniature green footprints might stain the walls. All we needed to know was that we were lucky.

And that we had the coolest mom ever.

Understanding Rejection

2011-03-07T21:00:00.000-08:00

Want to be a writer?

No one takes rejection well. Anyone who claims to, is probably flat out lying. I've lost count of how many times I've received the standard, "it's not you, it's me" line, with "writing is a subjective business," coming in a close second. Either way, it's the same thing. You've just been rejected.

I've actually become accustomed to rejection. As a writer, you have to, otherwise you probably won't last long. Last week, an unfortunate rejection, found its way into my home, via my ten-year-old. That's a story no mom ever wants to hear.

She came home disappointed because her story was not chosen as a finalist in a class contest by her peers. Ouch. The thing is, my daughter is an excellent writer, and I'm not just saying that because she's mine. She really is. She's effectively surpassed the district standards in both her reading and writing assessments since kindergarten. She writes very vivid and interesting short stories. Therefore, she was terribly disappointed when her story about a magic land wasn't chosen as a finalist for the grade contest. I consoled her the only way I knew how, by telling her that sometimes even good stories aren't published because they aren't right for the audience, that writing is subjective, that maybe the kids who were judging were drawn to a different type of story. Hopefully nothing with vampires or werewolves...seriously, haven't we seen enough of that?

Still, she didn't understand. "Maybe it was too long?" she said. "Maybe it wasn't interesting enough?" Although I conceded that it might have been too long for fourth graders, I have no doubt that the story itself was spectacular. Don't give up, I said. If you've learned anything from me, you know that not everything gets published, but you really cannot stop writing if it's important to you.

Smiles

2011-02-27T17:11:00.000-08:00

Last week was rough for me. Blood work, endoscopy, CT scan, obsessive worrying about the results. Aside from all of that stuff, my children gave me plenty of smiles to combat the negative.

*My older kids were playing together. One of them was the writer, the other the literary agent. I was beaming with pride.

*During our Friday afternoon Krispy Kreme stop, my youngest asked how babies come out of the mommy. Rather than carry on about the stork or invent some magical button that drops the baby onto mommy's lap, I told the truth. My oldest daughter said, "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard. I can't even finish my donut." (Although she managed to finish two of them after the grossness wore off). My son said, "Well I'm just glad that I'm not a seahorse because then I'd have to give birth." My youngest daughter said, "Mommy, when I was born, I was so so cute."

*My daughters love the movie Freaky Friday and had a dance off to the music after we finished watching it. It still makes me smile thinking of how many giggles ensued.

*While picking up a birthday present for my husband yesterday, my youngest had a massive temper tantrum at the Hallmark store because she wanted silly bands. Actually, that didn't bring smiles, but it's just a reminder that no matter what's going on in our lives, silly bands will induce a tantrum equal to an international crisis.

Silver lining of the day...the ginormous bruise, courtesy of the IV contrast, during my recent CT scan has started to fade. Now if I could just get the worry that accompanies waiting for the results to go with it.

The Silver Lining

2011-02-23T17:10:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to believe in the notion that every disappointing or stressful event in our lives has a silver lining. The silver lining being, finding something remotely positive, while in a negative situation. Some days it's much more difficult to attain this perspective of happiness, but in the end, focusing on the negative does very little, for our mental health and well being.

Late last week I was told that I needed an upper endoscopy and CT scan to rule out lymphoma. The GI doctor elaborated and said that it was a very small chance, but because I have celiac disease and there's a slightly greater risk of developing it with the autoimmune disorder, he needs to rule it out. Every thing he said after that point was lost to me...once the words lymphoma and cancer were uttered. From that point on, I was scared.

No matter how slight the risk is, I'm worried. I sit on my couch, one day after the endoscopy, still tired and with a sore throat, and I can do nothing but wait. Silver lining...no masses, tumors or enlarged lymph nodes were spotted during the endoscopy. Yet, the results were inconclusive. The lump in my throat remains, the stomach pain lies below the surface of my ribs, I continue to lose weight, which is not helped by the fact that I'm scare to eat anything for fear that the GERD will worsen and my esophagus will burn.

Tonight I'll have a milkshake and some soft mashed potatoes to ease the inflammation in the back of my throat. I'll try to sleep dreaming of hearing positive results after the CT scan. I'll focus on the silver lining that although my house is a mess and I haven't driven in two days, I can sit on the couch and watch the beautiful snowflakes falling from the sky.

President's Day

2011-02-20T21:40:00.000-08:00

At the end of my son's first grade year, he developed a fascination with U.S. Presidents. You see, for my son, the presidents are celebrated more than just once a year. A future politician? Perhaps, but this month he's still planning on becoming a movie director.

My son is now a big third grader and still harbors a profound interest in anything history related, but during that one summer, presidents were all he talked about. This was the typical conversation in our home around that time.

"Mom, who was the thirteenth president?"

"Mom, do you know which four presidents are on Mount Rushmore?"

"Who's on the ten dollar bill? The five? The one? The penny?"

"Who was the thirty-seventh president?"

"Mom, who was my favorite president?"

"Why was Thomas Jefferson my favorite president?"

Within a month, he'd memorized all forty-four U.S. Presidents, in order. He knew nicknames and random facts. He knew home states, wives, father/son presidents, pets, ways that they died, and even last spoken words.

Was I able to answer all of his questions? No. Which is why I had a go-to guy. That's right, the eighteenth presidents became my answer for every question I didn't know.

***Ulysses S. Grant

"Mom, which Presidents were assassinated?"

Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, and Ulysses S. Grant

"Mom, who died after only thirty one days in office?"

Ulysses S. Grant

"Mom, who was the seventh president?"

Umm...Ulysses S. Grant?

"Mom, did you know that Thomas Jefferson sent Lewis and Clark on their expedition? Do you know what Sacajawea carried on her back?"

Ulysses S. Grant

"Mom!!! A baby!"

Oh, yes I did know that. But I think she was strong enough to carry Ulysses S. Grant.

"Mom, what were Theodore Roosevelt's final words before he died?"

Ulysses S. Grant

"No! They were 'put out the light.'"

We have books, flashcards, place mats, charts he's drawn, and puzzles (similar to the one he assembled today.) It's almost disappointing that he isn't as fascinated as he once was in presidential history, but he's very into geography, specifically Denmark. Yes, Denmark.

Although last week, he pulled out the trivia again with, "Mom, which presidents were awarded the Nobel Peace Prize?"

Barack Obama and...Ulysses S. Grant.

Shopping Gluten-Free

2011-02-16T18:10:00.001-08:00

It's been awhile since I've posted on celiac disease, but since my digestive system has been on the fritz this week, I thought it was time.

Alarm bells are probably ringing in your ears as I say my digestive system is having issues while also recommending food products, but the truth is that my celiac is well controlled. The problem currently lies with what my doctor believes is a previously detected hiatal hernia. I have an appointment with the GI doctor on Friday. I've never anticipated an appointment so fervently as I am this week camped out on my couch.

Here are some amazing products available on your every day grocery store shelf...

Chex. I've mentioned this company before, but I believe it really warrants a reminder. Chex cereals are just phenomenal. They have variety- corn, rice, honey (delicious), and cinnamon (think Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but gluten-free.) Not only are they more affordable than cereals found in the dedicated gluten-free aisles, but they also offer yummy snack recipes on the box.

Hamburger Helper. Yes, you read that right. There are now gluten-free varieties of this quick meal. I personally haven't eaten Hamburger Helper in over a decade, but hey, who am I to keep the info from busy parents who are enticing a picky little kid to eat?

Bisquick Pancake Mix. This box mix is located in the baking aisle. I love treating myself to blueberry pancakes, hot off the griddle, on a rainy morning.

Betty Crocker Cake/Brownie Mixes. I have to avoid purchasing these because I will literally eat the entire cake or brownies, in one day. They are that good.

Happy gluten-free shopping! Every year it gets easier.

Barista Barbies

2011-02-12T11:01:00.000-08:00

This made me smile.

Starbucks Barista Barbies

Working Woman

2011-02-10T22:07:00.000-08:00

Today...

I registered my youngest for her 4's preschool class. If all goes as planned, that will be her final year of preschool before kindergarten. I cannot believe elementary school is already less than two years away.

Last week...

I was asked the question.

"When she starts elementary school, are you going to go back to work?"

I've known the woman who questioned my future work plans for five years, since our eldest daughters were in kindergarten together. She was making conversation...curious, I suppose, not implying anything in a demeaning or derogatory way. Regardless, I walked away from the conversation feeling unsettled. True, I've asked myself the same question, more than once. Yet, a part of me still felt sad, for lack of a better word.

It seems a lifetime ago that I did work full-time, outside of the home. My job was stressful, unfulfilling, and not worth leaving my daughter in daycare for. Perhaps if I loved that job, I'd have chosen differently. Honestly...over half of my pay would have gone to childcare. I wasn't willing to drop my daughter off and spend ten hours a day at a job I detested. I was lucky in that my employers offered me a part-time position, often from home, so that I could be home with her. I began to enjoy my life more and woke up happy instead of dreading the hours away from my family. Then 9/11 happened. My job was cut. I was offered a different one with less hours. I had a second baby. Then, my husband was deployed. I left my job entirely to be there for my children while dad could not. I simply haven't gone back.

Or have I? I wonder why writing is not considered "working" unless you have a novel on the shelves or a monthly column. Maybe it isn't, but I can tell you with certainty that writing, revising and editing a novel seems like a lot of work to me. Researching literary agents and the publishing industry inhabits as much time as a part-time job. Then of course there's my full-time gig, my passion and force that makes each day better...my family.

Laundry Basket Chair

2011-02-07T15:54:00.000-08:00

My daughter has discovered another use for the laundry basket...television viewing cubby.

This is in addition to other uses she's developed, most of which have absolutely nothing to do with the laundering of clothing.

*Hiding spot

*Fort component

*Storage bin for toys when she's so so so tired and therefore unable to put them where they belong.

*Makeshift bed for tiny person and/or her dolls.

*Fairy Tea Party table.

*Castle for stuffed animals, pillow pets, anything soft, fluffy, and susceptible to dust and pet dander.

*Cage for the Shih tzu. (The Shih tzu is never amused).

The above laundry basket uses are only possible when the basket is devoid of clothing. Therefore, the child must empty it out first. The clothes are usually recently folded and waiting to be put away in appropriate dressers.

Note...The views, opinions, positions and strategies employed by the laundry basket child are hers alone, and are not now, nor will be in the future, endorsed by her mother.

Swimming in Shark Infested Waters

2011-02-01T17:07:00.000-08:00

It's scary (and frustrating) wading through the murky, muddy waters amid a steady drizzle of precipitation, either present or hovering above the surface. You spend copious amounts of time looking for the perfect space to inhabit...waiting for the sharks to pass by. You watch and wait- patiently- then slowly inch forward when a safe place comes into view. Sometimes, you arrive without incident. Other times, you're cut off, scared into submission, forced you to forgo the resting spot.

Yes, it's a dangerous world out there, especially for a smallish minivan wading through the SUV, extended cab truck, and ginormous Suburban filled ocean floor. They simply don't realize how large they are, how much room they possess, how often a school of fish is frantically seeking refuge behind them.

Of course...
I'm speaking of the YMCA parking lot.

It's a place riddled with eager exercisers, frazzled parents attempting to get their children to lessons on time, and vehicles too large to fit properly into orderly, and smallish parking spaces. It's the place that fills my stress level to the brink and makes me question if my sanity can survive another day. It's the sort of place that makes me feel like a guppy swimming in shark infested waters.

For Every Soldier That Comes Home, One Is Deployed

2011-01-28T08:54:00.000-08:00

"There is an epidemic of disconnection." -Bob Woodward

I had the opportunity to watch Oprah yesterday, and I'm so glad that I did. The show was about Military Families. I cried. I sympathized. I related. I've been a military wife for nearly fifteen years, as my husband has served as a member of the National Guard. We've endured two yearlong deployments to Iraq, along with multiple stateside trainings and call-ups. My husband works full time for the Guard, so although we don't transfer duty stations as an Active Duty family does, we are a military family in every sense.

Our lives have changed significantly since the beginnings of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Before September 11, I thought our major call-ups would be for flood duty or forest fires. When the wars started, it became a matter of when he would be deployed, rather than if. When he came home from the first tour to Iraq, we were inundated with questions of when he'd be getting out of the service and how much longer is he in for? It was assumed by nearly everyone that he would exit the service asap because; why would we stay in? That's when the disconnection began. Except for a small minority, the second deployment wasn't a matter of; is there anything we can do to help as you go through this tremendous trial? It became an unwritten observation of; well this is the life they chose...to be a part of the military.

First Lady Michelle Obama, was also on the program, and pointed out several things which resonated with me.
* Military families are not accustomed to asking for help.
* No matter what your political beliefs are...military families deserve your support and encouragement.
* The transition home after deployment is also extremely challenging.

Yes. Yes. Yes!

Want to help a military family before, during, or after deployment? Here are some ideas...
Offer childcare!
Call to say hi and see how things are. Getting a phone call at night when your spouse is deployed is an instant band aid for loneliness. A note of encouragement also does wonders.
Send care packages/letters to the soldier.
Help with home repairs/lawn maintenance. Never fails...the minute he leaves, something goes wrong.

Check out my Veteran's Day blog Patriotism and Respect (November 12, 2010) to read more on how negative treatment of the military affects us:
http://www.melissablanco.com/2010/11/patriotism-and-respectveterans-day-2010.html

God Bless all who fight for our freedom. To the parent who is currently comforting a crying child during a deployment, to the soldier who is missing her toddler's birthday party, to the mom who is visiting her son's gravesite, to the missing and wounded Veterans, I say thank you.

Competition Hair

2011-01-25T22:26:00.000-08:00

Vault, Bars, Floor, and Beam...the events my daughter practices and performs in a competitive gymnastic meet.

Ever wonder what the parents do?

Booster Club Meetings and volunteer committees. Yesterday I attended another meeting to coordinate the home meets we are preparing for. I had no idea how much time went into this until I became part of the Booster Club. Yikes!

Write checks. For monthly dues, booster fees, additional clinics, uniforms, meet fees, etc.

Attend meets and take photos and videos. Flash photography not allowed!

Fix competition hair. Very important. Below is our newest creation. I didn't invent the style...actually copied it from my daughter's teammate. It only took 25 minutes to do.
What do you think?

Yes folks, that's competition hair. All we need is some glitter spray to complete the bling.

Things I'll Never Understand

2011-01-19T21:25:00.000-08:00

Random things I don't understand, on this fine day...

How I'm unable to differentiate between my children being truly sick and just feeling a bit tired. Unless they're vomiting, I seem to make the wrong call, and either
1)let them stay home and play all day
or
2)receive a phone call that they're lethargic and running a temp.

Why my husband would rather research new home projects before actually finishing those he's already started.

How people, who use ghostwriters to pen a novel, can refer to themselves as a New York Times bestselling authors.

Why people continually fall into the same traps again...make the same mistakes over and over and worse, do not take accountability and/or try to improve their circumstances.

Why Ruby appears to be raising her brother, Max on Nick Jr.

The cost of computer ink.

To Tweet or Not to Tweet...

2011-01-17T21:13:00.001-08:00

After much deliberation, I've finally taken the plunge...to Twitter, that is. There is such an emphasis on social networking in publishing that it seemed just a matter of time before I came to the pivotal question: To tweet or not to tweet?

I still don't understand how to effectively use Twitter, but I'm playing around with it. Likewise, I'm unsure if anyone is going to be interested in what I'm doing during the day. Do you really want to read tweets such as:

Woke up late today. Kids almost missed the bus. Lot of nagging and whining.
Rewriting manuscript...again.
Argued with my husband over who gets to pick daughter up from gymnastics because time to workout uninterrupted is equal to a mini vacation to Maui.
Watching The Office. Why is it that every company party involves a plunge into Michael Scott's narcissism?
Avoiding volunteer opportunities at all cost because I'm starting to feel like my head is going to explode.

It remains unclear if anyone is interested in following my Twitter plunge, but I'm enjoying reading about people in the publishing industry. What some might call stalking, I refer to as, following people's tweets.

If you're interested in following me, I'm @melissblanco on Twitter.

My First Webinar

2011-01-13T19:26:00.000-08:00

Today I attended my first Writer's Digest Webinar. I was pleasantly surprised at how interesting and informative it was (and also intensely overwhelmed at how darn difficult it is to get published). The webinar was taught by literary agent, Sara Megibow, of the Nelson Literary Agency. I'm really glad I registered and took the time to sit at my computer desk and listen...really listen. It isn't often that I have the opportunity to tune out the thoughts inside of my head and focus on the art of listening to information on the craft of writing. Typically I'm reading, researching, and of course, writing with a three-year-old hanging from any reachable extremity.

As I've previously blogged, I spend such an enormous amount of time researching literary agents, reading their blogs, and honing my writing skills based on their suggestions that I do feel I know them. Therefore, today was fun in that I was able to hear Ms. Megibow's voice as she offered suggestions and information on the importance of the first pages of a novel...those first few pages that either draw the reader, agent, editor, and buyer in, or send them away.

I was also reminded that publishing is a subjective business, and while it is true that one agent might be drawn to a storyline which another passes on, it is also an objective business. Agents will only look at work which will sell. Editors are not going to buy a manuscript unless money can be made on it. The art that a writer works so hard to create also comes down to profit and loss statements in a publishing house.

Here are some fascinating statistics, and yet another reason why manuscripts need to be top notch before submission.
Nelson Literary Agency stats from 2010, according to agent, Sara Megibow.
Queries received: 36,000
Partial requests: 839
Full manuscript requests: 98
New clients signed: 9

Writing I Look For

2011-01-11T18:41:00.000-08:00

Do you have a favorite author? A writer whose work you always anticipate as you anxiously await for their next book to be released?

I have a few authors whose books I will always read. It doesn't really matter what the title is, the length, or even the subject matter. There are certain writers whose work I simply love to read. They are consistent and entertaining. They catch my interest almost immediately and the characters are not only likable, but flawed.

I believe that's the trait which makes someone a really great author- the ability to create a fictional world that is so enticing, fans are left wanting more. Yes, the material has to be interesting, the story needs to flow, but the writer's voice must have that emotional element that draws you into the character.

Novels about real women combating issues we all face, with a touch of humor mixed in. Those are the stories that keep me up way past my bedtime.

Are Dreams Genetic?

2011-01-10T14:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I attended my first competitive gymnastic meet. I took in the sounds of the floor routine music, watched the white powder flicking off of the uneven bars before floating away in a haze, and wondered how girls are able to balance on a beam that is only four inches wide. Really...it looks a lot bigger on television than up close.

Many years ago I had big dreams of becoming an Olympic gymnast. Believe when I write, I was (almost) willing to do anything possible to make these dreams a reality. I set up a sleeping bag in our yard to serve as my floor mat, used our metal swing set for my bar, and strategically placed a long slab of wood between our deck and a garbage can for my balance beam. I was committed, even contemplating how difficult it would be for me to move away from my loving family and stay with the Karolyi's while I was in training. I knew that I'd miss out on so much, but at the same time, I'd be learning from the man who coached such greats as Nadia Comaneci and Mary Lou Retton.

These were the dreams I carried with me as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror imagining a gold medal being placed around my neck, as I smiled up at the crowd and waved, before placing my hand over my heart while the National Anthem was played. It was the reason I placed baby powder on my hands before swinging back and forth on the rickety swing set and why I requested my mom sign me up for a gymnastic, ballet, and tap combo class. The class had zero focus on "real" gymnastics, which was overly disappointing because I wanted to learn how to do the cool stuff like flips and double back handsprings. Enough with the somersaults and cartwheels. It didn't matter that I couldn't really do the splits. I had ambition.

My gymnastic career was dismal at best. I quickly moved on from the dream and began working toward becoming a famous Christian music artist like Amy Grant. When the realization hit that I had limited musical talent and an extreme fear of singing in front of anyone who was not a close blood relative, I moved on to basketball and track, and found my niche.

So my question today is....Is it possible for children to inherit their parents' dreams?

Yes, yesterday I attended my first gymnastics meet. I watched my ten-year-old march out with her team and perform, after months of hard work. I smiled nervously as she moved from event to event: the vault, bars, balance beam, and floor routine. I held my breath multiple times as she competed and hugged her tight when the meet was over.

I am so proud of her. Not because she's a million times the gymnast that I ever was, or that she is participating in a sport that is not only physically, but mentally challenging. I am proud of her for making the commitment to practice and for smiling through her nerves and getting up there in front of people and doing the best she could. She is a star.

But I Thought We'd Become BFFs

2011-01-06T08:45:00.000-08:00

When I finished writing my first manuscript- a memoir- I began researching literary agents. This was almost three years ago and I can honestly admit that I had absolutely no idea what publishing a book entailed. As I prepared to dive into the slush pile known as literary agent query in boxes, I'd already decided who the perfect agent for my memoir was. I felt that I personally knew her and that she would receive my query and request a full immediately.

I'd read her blog and submission guidelines on the agency website. I curtailed everything she was looking for to be what I was selling. I agonized over the query letter before anxiously clicking on the send button. I think I may have even closed my eyes as I did it thinking the computer would spontaneously detonate when I emailed this life changing request.

A response arrived the following day. It was an eloquently worded form letter detailing how she wasn't the right agent for this project and that publishing was a subjective business. Good luck in seeking representation. In other words: thanks, but no thanks. I immediately burst into tears.

But we were going to be best friends forever....You are looking to represent this exact thing. I just knew you'd want to read it. Those were the words I uttered between bites of my microwave popcorn.

That was, by far, the most painful rejection letter I've received. It wasn't mean, but rather, a jolt of reality that this business of writing was going to be a lot more difficult that I'd originally anticipated. Yes, I queried a few other agents and got some form letters, but in the process, I decided that perhaps that memoir, although a nice reminder of what we went through as a family, was not what I wanted my first published book to be. So I kept writing. And writing. And writing.

I still think about my BFF sometimes. I continue to follow her blog and wonder if someday we'll have lunch together and I can tell her over drinks how we've been friends for a really long time.

Feeling A Bit Nostalgic and Very Overwhelmed

2011-01-05T13:44:00.000-08:00

I've spent the past couple of days organizing our photos and mementos. It's made me completely overwhelmed and very sentimental. I'd forgotten how small my kids once were. When my youngest picked up her Christening dress this morning and held it up against her chest, I almost burst into tears. She's turning four this month and will be in elementary school in just two short years. I miss the days when she once snuggled onto my chest and fell asleep. One day I'll be missing the times we sat at the kitchen table and colored together, as we did this morning.

The reason I'm going through all of this stuff, for lack of a better word, is also because I've realized it's accumulated into a such a huge amount. My oldest is ten now and the mementos, birthday cards, scraps of paper with "I love you, Mommy" written in crayon will only continue to grow. I need to root out the things we don't need to save, which definitely don't include the "I love you, Mommy" notes. Those I plan to save forever...if not longer.

Here's the plan....
*Finish the baby albums. I am doing the traditional scrapbook albums for the first two years, for all three of my kids.
*Complete a yearly digital scrapbook for our family. Don't you love Costco? It makes it much easier to put a yearly album together online. Plus, it allows me to purchase something at Costco aside from chicken wings and pre-made burger patties.
*Take photos of the kids' larger preschool craft projects to make into a digital album. This is my proposed way of consolidating the rather large boxes I have of their school work. I just don't believe it's feasible to save everything. I can't envision handing the kids multiple boxes of their old projects when they purchase a home after college. What will their spouses think? Can you tell that I have a rather large amount of Mommy Guilt over not saving everything? Mommy Guilt never goes away...that's why I capitalize the title. It's the never ending side effect of becoming a mom.

I asked my son yesterday if he wanted me to save every project he's ever done. "Do you really want fifteen boxes of your school work when you're an adult? This is my way of consolidating it so that you have a collection of the really great stuff."

His response, "Yes. I want you to save everything I've ever made."

So apparently I'm creating albums and school books for my children, and my son's will include every worksheet he's ever done. That should make his future spouse so very pleased with me.

Manuscript in Hand...Now What?

2011-01-04T15:12:00.000-08:00

So you've spent months, maybe years, writing your novel with dreams of that amazing label, New York Times Bestseller, inadvertently popping into your head. There's no reason to deny it. No reason to deny the dream of being chosen for Oprah's Book Club, either. You've printed over three hundred, double-spaced pages of words which have been edited and spell checked until your eyes felt like they were on fire. You've meticulously formatted properly, or by way of agentquery.com's suggestion; 12 pt. Times New Roman, header with title and author's name in top left corner, page number in top right, one inch margins, each new chapter begins 1/3 of the way down the page. Now what?

Find a literary agent.

Believe me, it's not as easy as the movies make it look. I like agents that have websites, who are listed on sites such as Query Tracker, Agent Query, and Preditors and Editors. I look for agents who are actively seeking to sign new and previously published writers. Most importantly, I pay attention to agents who are accepting unsolicited queries.

An unsolicited query is, in the simplest terms, a short letter explaining the genre of the novel you've written, the word count, title, pitch for the manuscript, and author's previous writing credentials. Most literary agents accept email query letters and allow writers to paste the first few pages to the body of the email. Never send an attachment, unless invited to. Spam filters, and the delete button, love to obliterate queries with attachments. They end up in the vast abyss of forgotten emails, much like the ones I get from classmates.com.

Then, you research some more, because every agent and/or agency has their own submission guidelines. If you were an agent, who only represented science fiction, why would you want a chick lit submission? It's only fair to query agents who represent what you are trying to sell. Otherwise it's a waste of both of your time, and really, who has extra time on their hands?

Feeling Motivated for 2011

2011-01-03T16:43:00.000-08:00

My van had a difficult time starting this morning, much like myself. Luckily she revved up (the van, that is) and was good to go after a few minutes. When I arrived at my circuit class, it took some time for my arms and legs to catch up with the part of my brain that kept convincing myself to exercise. Soon my motivation, combined with the freezing temperatures, gave me the sinking feeling that my muscles would hate me forever. It seemed that each and every extremity in my body ached and creaked with caution. You'd have thought that I didn't work out the entire Winter Break, when the kids were home. That wasn't the case. I worked out- I really did- just not at my normal pace. I also registered for my first 1/2 marathon of the year. Nothing says motivation like an impending 13.1 mile run.

I also woke up this morning a bit excited, like I was opening my eyes to a new start. I didn't want to get out of bed, but it felt so nice to start working toward my goals for the New Year. Writing...running...cheering my kids on...cooking new gluten-free recipes....reading some great novels...motivating my husband to finish installing the new baseboards...finally painting my bedroom...*finishing the kids' baby books.

Onward and upward.

*If I actually finish the kids' baby books, it'll be an absolute miracle. I'm just highly motivated right now. It's only January 3. I still have 362 days left.

Goodbye 2010...Hello 2011

2011-01-01T21:28:00.000-08:00

Last night, 2010 came to a quiet end. Well, for me it did, anyway. I went to bed around 10:30, read for an hour, closed my eyes, and then woke to wish my husband "Happy New Year" when our neighbor's amateur firework display began. I kept wondering...when did I become so lame? Why can't I stay up and at least ring in the New Year?

Despite my utter exhaustion, I look forward to a wonderful coming year. I anticipate exciting things to take place in 2011, both professionally and at home. I'm anxious to watch my children grow and pursue their activities, to enjoy spending time with my husband, to follow the path to publishing my manuscript. I am keeping my eyes open for new possibilities and opportunities that arise. I look forward to the challenges and the inevitable disappointments, the happy moments, and the unforgettable smiles.

Happy 2011. I hope the year brings all that you hope for. Thank you for reading my blog.

2010 Statistics...Books

2010-12-30T15:01:00.000-08:00

2010 started with one resolution: to read all six of Jane Austen's published novels. I can honestly attest that it was the first time I've ever completed one of my New Year's goals. Here are a list of the novels and memoirs I read in 2010...well, the ones that I can remember reading, as I write this blog. My resolution for 2011? Write down everything I read this year, so at the end of next year, I can give you a truly complete list.

*There is one book on this list I've read several times. Can you guess which one it is?
*Those in bold are my favorites of the year. They were the books I could barely put down, looked forward to reading all day (I typically only read at night after the kids are asleep), and those whose characters I simply fell in love with.

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Mansfield Park by Jane Austen
Emma by Jane Austen
Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
Persuasion by Jane Austen
Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
The Body Finder by Kimberly Derting
Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin
The Department of Lost and Found by Allison Winn Scotch
The One That I Want by Allison Winn Scotch
Time of My Life by Allison Winn Scotch
Heart of the Matter by Emily Giffin
Handle With Care by Jodi Picoult
Vanishing Acts by Jodi Picoult
House Rules by Jodi Picoult
The Gatecrasher by Madeleine Wickham
The Wedding Girl by Madeleine Wickham
Mini Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Runners by a collaboration of c0-authors (including me!)
Sizzling Sixteen by Janet Evanovich
Fly Away Home by Jennifer Weiner
The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa
The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls
Half Broke Horses: A True-Life Novel by Jeannette Walls
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown
The Help by Kathryn Stockett
Watermelon by Marian Keyes
Angels by Marian Keyes
The Ocean Between Us by Susan Wiggs
Table for Five by Susan Wiggs
Snowfall at Willow Lake by Susan Wiggs
Midnight Sons: Volume 3 by Debbie Macomber
The Shop on Blossom Street by Debbie Macomber
Changing Habits by Debbie Macomber
Thursdays at Eight by Debbie Macomber
Chasing Harry Winston by Lauren Weisberger
Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford

What am I forgetting? Looking for recommendations for 2011. Don't you just love losing yourself in a good book?

The Gingerbread House Manuscript

2010-12-27T19:33:00.000-08:00

On Christmas Eve, my children and I built a gingerbread house. I acknowledge that I should have started this project before the 24th...on a day when we didn't have so many other last minute Christmas preparations to complete. Perhaps? Despite the stress, however, we had a really fun time. Building this gingerbread house also got me to thinking about its similarities to writing a novel manuscript.

Step One: Assembling the gingerbread pieces. Like writing the initial first draft of a manuscript, it was frustrating, messy, and took a lot of time. Mistakes were made. Revisions were immediately necessary.

Step Two: Similar to the second draft of a manuscript, reassembling the gingerbread house where it started to collapse, was essential. I found many flaws in my initial design, reworked certain elements of its construction, and discovered that the primary binding ingredient (my main character), the frosting, completely and utterly sucked...for lack of a better word.

Step Three: I changed frosting. I threw out the previously used one and started fresh with a different brand. I discovered that this frosting was much more cohesive and adhered to the gingerbread pieces better. Like a solid protagonist, it was the essential ingredient in our project.

Step Four: I rebuilt the gingerbread house in what would be the third draft of a manuscript. The characters had more direction, they related to one another more fluidly, the storyline was more believable. Most importantly, like the completed frame of the house, the manuscript had a voice, direction, and had promise.

Step Five: The frame was complete, the roof was frosted; the manuscript was completed, but far from completion. Much tweaking needed to be done to make them both look as they should.

Step Six: Rewrites were done...decorative candies were fashioned on the roof of the house. Revisions were made...decorative edging was done around the borders and corners of the gingerbread.

Step Seven: Candy was placed along the sides of the house, candy canes decorated beside the front door, and a doormat was made using broken candy pieces. Editing started on the manuscript. Another round of revisions began. No matter how much candy the kids put on the house, will it ever be enough? You've read the same page twenty times and edited it as much....will it ever be perfect?

Step Eight: You've edited, rewritten, reworked, written again. The manuscript is ready to be sent out into the world (after much research- more on that in another blog). The gingerbread house is finished. It had been decorated for the better part of the day, from when it was just broken pieces until it was covered with hundreds of candy pieces because your three-year-old wouldn't rest until it was perfect. Much like that manuscript that's waiting to be sent out...

Merry Christmas

2010-12-22T10:45:00.000-08:00

Dora's Christmas Carol is playing in the background as I write this blog. It's gotten me thinking about how amazing it would be to catch of glimpse of Christmases past, present, and future. What would I see if I returned to the past? Would it be before or after my parents' divorce? Perhaps I'd catch the Christmas when I listened repeatedly to my new Bon Jovi record? Would it be when I received the huge dollhouse that I'd wanted or when I snuck downstairs, opened a mystery present, only to discover it was snowboots?

In the present, I'd catch a peek at a tired woman sitting on a couch with her laptop and undesirable bags beneath her eyes. Beside her lies a recovering little girl, still gaining strength from the insidious stomach flu that swept through our family like a Chinook wind storm. I'd see my son playing Lego's and my older daughter designing ornaments at the kitchen table. I'd watch my mind at work, wondering what chore needed to be done first, when to venture out to the shopping mall to buy that last present, what Christmas cards still have to be addressed for friends I'd forgotten in the first round.

The future is a bit shaded, but I know what I'd like to see. My husband and I sitting in our dream living room- clean and organized with not a speck of dust. I can envision my teenagers sleeping in after a night of high school fun or the trip home from their college dorm. I see a few of my novels, displayed on a bookshelf, alongside of the work of my favorite authors. Most importantly, I see myself. Yes, I'm older. But I haven't lost my passion or love for my family...my writing...my life.

Merry Christmas

Battle of the Pencil Sharpener

2010-12-16T21:23:00.000-08:00

I'm thinking of waving the white flag, giving up the battle, succumbing to the recurring trial of my day. Every evening I put this pencil sharpener away, and by the following day, it's out again. It is driving me bonkers! I have an idea of who's taking it out of the cabinet, but I don't understand how many pencils possibly need to be sharpened for the twenty minute duration of homework time.

Therefore, I'm planning a new tactic. One which doesn't cause wrinkles, nagging, or incessant finger pointing. I'm looking for a permanent location for the pencil sharpener-where it will remain plugged in and ready to use at a moment's notice.

I am ready to concede.

Just For Fun

2010-12-15T19:17:00.001-08:00

Today it occurred to me that Christmas is just ten days away! Where has this month gone? Obviously, I'm excited for the official start of Winter Break for the kids, but also, am anticipating rewatching all of my favorite holiday films. I thought it'd be fun to share my top five Christmas movies, not including all of the classic cartoons. There are a lot to consider- probably a few which I've forgotten about.

#5: The Family Man

Imagine falling asleep one night, in your plush New York City apartment, only to wake up in the morning to a life you could have had if you'd chosen differently. That's the gist of The Family Man...a very successful businessman realizes that being a husband and dad might just be what he wanted all along.

#4: Miracle On 34th Street (1994)

I'm sure the original version of this film is excellent. I just really like the acting of Mara Wilson, as Susan, in this one. When Kris Kringle speaks in sign language to the little girl in Cole's...my heart just melts. This is such a cute, sweet show about the magic of Christmas and the contentment of believing in miracles.

#3: National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

Nothing is ever easy when you're a Griswold. They drove all the way to Wally World only to discover that it was closed for repairs. Catastrophe followed in their European Vacation. Of course nothing will be easy when relatives, including Cousin Eddie, come for Christmas. Perhaps the reason I like this so much is because holidays have never been stress-free in my house either. I'm just fortunate that no one is wrapping up their cat to give as a gift.

#2: It's A Wonderful Life

George Bailey discovered that he had a profound affect on everyone around him. He learned, through his guardian angel Clarence, that if he'd never been born, many people's live would be drastically (and not in a positive way) different. I think we'd all like to think that our lives matter and we have left an imprint on other people's, even if we didn't realize it. In thinking about my life, I do agree that it's wonderful and I wouldn't change a thing. But if I had the choice, I'd definitely request a faster metabolism.

#1: A Christmas Story

I love this movie. I could spout off quotes like this, "In the heat of battle, my father wove a tapestry of obscenities which as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan." Instead I'm just going to write that if you haven't seen this movie, you should. We all remember that one special toy we absolutely couldn't imagine living without. Ralphie and his Red Rider BB Gun are just one example of how great it was to be a kid. C'mon, I triple dog dare ya!

December Craziness

2010-12-13T08:38:00.000-08:00

Wow, it's been a hectic month. This morning, while glancing at my wall calendar, my head physically ached at all that I have to do this week. Last week was even busier, but the really crazy thing was that it was all altered by the weekend. Meaning, several of the things I thought we'd be doing were not done because of sick kids. Rather than stress about getting the kids from A to B, we were checking temperatures, sanitizing, washing bedding and towels in hot water, and enticing our three-year-old to take Motrin.

We didn't make it to the Gymnastic Team Christmas Party or the gift wrapping Cub Scout event. I attended the ballet dress rehearsal while the ballerina was resting at home (no I didn't dance, but had to help behind the scenes). Even as I write this, I know we should be en route to preschool, but instead, the preschooler is still sleeping and a doctor's appointment has been scheduled.

I suppose then that I shouldn't worry about all that I need to do this week...I won't bother stressing about it because...who knows? I've decided that instead of obsessing about the To-Do List, that I'll just take it one event at a time. Until then, I'll procrastinate. What's better than taking a nap on a cold day, or watching a Christmas movie with a bowl of popcorn and glass of wine? What's more comforting than a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles? Yes, that's what I plan to do whenever I can get away with it. Relax. Procrastinate. Enjoy the moment.

She Did What?

2010-12-09T21:52:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the second installment of my life with a preschool daughter. Please refer to the previous blog post if you'd like to read the first installment, She Said What?

Moving on...

Guess how my day started? Well, let me tell you. I went upstairs to finish getting my three-year-old ready for her Preschool Christmas Program. I had her velvet Christmas dress in hand, along with a brand new pair of tights and shiny black shoes. I heard her rustling around in my bathroom...not uncommon. She likes to "look sparkly," by putting on my blush. The water was running and toothpaste was splattered across the front of the sink. Typical, in my house. She was smiling and telling me how she was "all ready."

Oh....and she'd cut her bangs. I was shocked. I knew that someday, one of my children would do this. I just didn't expect it to be today, fifteen minutes before we had to leave, an hour before her first preschool performance. But all ends well, although slightly crooked. She looks cute with the remainder of her bangs pulled back into a clip and has promised me that she will never cut her own hair again.

Just in case, though, I'm hiding the scissors.

She Said What?

2010-12-08T20:58:00.000-08:00

My three-year-old just prayed that I would be "not mean" to her. What? I was almost shocked when she said it, even though it followed prayers for her Purple Baby, sticker chart, our dog (five times), the toys in her bedroom, and "everything in the entire world." I couldn't help but ask her why she felt the need to pray that I'd be nice to her.

"Why do you think I'm being mean to you?" I wondered if perhaps I'd bruised her fragile preschool ego today, maybe I'd forgotten to cuddle her enough, been too stern with her when she wandered away from me in the toiletry aisle of Target.

Apparently, she wasn't bothered by anything on my list of possible parental wrong doings. Her response, "You were mean to me when you didn't let me wipe applesauce on the couch."

Oh. But that wasn't all. "You telled me to not hit Macy (our dog), and to stop fighting (with her brother)."

Okay... "I wasn't being mean to you, honey." I explained. "I was just doing the things that mommies do. I don't want you to fight with your brother, I need you to be nice to Macy or she might bite you, and I don't want you to wipe your applesauce on our couch. Do you understand?"

"You also being mean to me cause you said I have to go to bed. I not tired."

Well, we can't be nice all of the time...

Mr. Snowman

2010-12-06T19:31:00.000-08:00

Dear Mr. Snowman,

We tried.

Remembering Rosie

2010-12-03T14:49:00.000-08:00

I don't recall her face, but I do remember her. I can vaguely picture flowing gray hair peeking out of her taunt bun. Perhaps, however, I've imagined it wrong and she looked nothing like that. Maybe instead she had tightly permed curls surrounding her lively cheeks. Her name was Rosie and she was our next door neighbor many, many years ago. We lived in an area referred to as, The Drives. Our house was pea green (paint job gone wrong) and hers was yellow. She was in her eighties when I was born and had been widowed years before that.

My brother and I liked to play in the backyard of our house in The Drives. When we weren't cruising the neighborhood on our three wheelers, that is. Rosie always came out to say hi over the chain link fence. I was the spokesman for my brother and I...the more extroverted of the two. Plus, the fact that he couldn't speak well might have had something to do with it. After all, he was barely two years old, a staunch little boy with a letterman jacket buttoned up to his throat and a hood tightly secure around his head.

"Rosie," I'd say through the chain links, "do you have some candy for my brother and me?"

She always came through for us, the saint that she was. "Of course, I have some candy for you two."

My parents bought her a stained glass nativity candle holder for Christmas before we moved away from that cozy house. There were images of Mary, Joseph and Jesus etched into the front, with the candle placed in the back. I'm sure that Rosie accepted the gift happily, just as I always smiled when she handed my brother and me candy over the top of the fence. Like I said, I always had my brother's back and Rosie, well, she knew how to make a kid smile.

A few years after we moved, dear Rosie passed away. My family returned for the funeral and Rosie's daughter returned the nativity we'd given her that Christmas. I'm sure my mom protested its return, but Rosie's daughter insisted, saying, "she would have wanted us to have it back." Many years after that, my mom passed the gift onto me. It now sits on my mantle every Christmas.

Every year I look at that Nativity and remember Rosie. I don't exactly remember our conversations, but I can recall how important she was to me when I was so young. Each time I place it above my fireplace, I smile and say to myself, "Rosie, can you give my brother and me a piece of candy?" Then I hear her voice, "of course you and your brother can have a piece of candy." And in that image, I picture Rosie, and she's smiling too.

The Christmas Dance

2010-12-02T21:17:00.000-08:00

Possibly one of the greatest moments in television history:

The Charlie Brown Christmas Dance.

Schroeder playing his little piano, Pig-pen with his billows of dust, Freida and her naturally curly hair, Lucy the Christmas Queen, Snoopy the smartest dog ever, and Charlie Brown, desperately attempting to keep everyone focused. Finally, Linus explains the true meaning of Christmas, with the help of his blue blanket. I look forward to this show every year. Thank you Charles Schultz. Of all the Charlie Browns in the world, you were the Charlie Browniest. And believe me when I say, that was a good thing.

Puzzle Pieces

2010-11-30T21:37:00.000-08:00

I'll admit it...I have a secret obsession. Puzzles. Actual, real, picture puzzles. I prefer any that are between 500-750 pieces, but if we find one that's 1000, I'll commit to it. The problem is that when I start a puzzle, I simply cannot get anything else done. I become utterly focused, almost to the point of neglect. "Sure kids, go ahead and make yourselves something to eat. No, I can't cook a healthy meal for you right now, I'm trying to finish the border." That kind of obsessed.

Not only do I love doing puzzles, my husband does too. Our kids have inherited the gene (who knew it was genetic?), well, the girls have, anyway. My son only wants to contribute when there are like five pieces left and if he gets to put the last one in. My husband and I though, we're those ultra-competitive types. We actually trash talk one another while doing puzzles. Really. "Well you just wish you were as good at the border as I am." And, "Why is it that you always pick the easiest portion...can't you handle the more difficult aspects?" That kind of stuff.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, we completed four 500 piece Santa Claus puzzles. By the time Sunday rolled around I had a kink in my neck, hadn't gotten a shred of laundry done, and fell asleep with miniature cardboard pieces floating across my eyelids. It was great though. We had such a fun time staying home, drinking warm mugs of tea, and working side by side until late into the evening. I should probably clarify that we are in our 30's. I'm figuring retirement is going to seriously rock for us.

I've always thought my life was a mixture of puzzle pieces. Taken apart, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but put it together, and it's quite spectacular.

1 piece for A's ballet rehearsal
1 piece for M's book report
1 piece for P being invited to his first swim meet
1 piece for the Christmas decorations being up
1 piece for my bonus dad being out of the hospital and healing from lung surgery
1 piece for the hella hard circuit class I took yesterday
1 piece for the goodnight hugs and kisses from my kids

Can't you see it? It's marvelous.

Just a Pinch of Salt

2010-11-24T16:42:00.000-08:00

There was once a time when most of my family gathered at my grandparent's house for Thanksgiving dinner. I remember being called to help stuff the celery, which was always my job, and believe me when I write, I complained about for years. Why was I forced into the kitchen to help when my siblings were off playing? Because I'm the oldest grandchild, I suppose. Grandma always made a huge turkey and still makes the best gravy, ever. Mashed potatoes, stuffing, rolls, cranberry sauce, and homemade pumpkin pie. All of the best fixings settled in the center of grandma and grandpa's antique dining room table. Yet, that isn't what I remember most.

What I recall, most of all, are the people. Well, the relatives, and...the Kids' Table. Unfortunately, I was a consistent resident of the kids' table, along with my younger siblings, since we were the only grandkids for the first ten years of my life. I was certainly miffed when my Uncle Brian, who is only four years older than me, was moved up to the dining room table. Oh, the injustice of it! I begged to accompany him and take part in grown-up conversation and longed for the thrill of being perceived as a "big kid," but alas, I remained stuck in the kitchen, looking out through the open bar partition, at the full dining room.

I don't know what the conversations were about, but in my mind, they were fabulous. I've always envisioned colorful and interesting debates at that table. Although now that I'm older, I've learned in our family, aside from grandma and Uncle Pat, everyone is quite introverted. Most likely there wasn't much conversing happening, but rather, a lot of eating and complimenting of the food. How I wanted to be there though.

It's been over twenty years since we all gathered at my grandma and grandpa's house for a holiday together. As each of my aunts and uncles married, they moved away from home, and everyone started their own traditions. Everyone, including my family. Holidays were further complicated by my parent's divorce. Thanksgiving and Christmas at Grandma's house became, Thanksgiving at Mom's, and Christmas at Dad's. I tried to hold onto the early traditions in my life, always making the holidays a big deal, perhaps because I felt it should be, or maybe because I'm attempting to hold on to the way things once were.

A few years back, Grandma gave me her pilgrim salt and pepper shakers. They were, by far, one of the best gifts I've ever received. Each year, as I take them out of their original, decorated box and display them for the holidays, I remember marveling over them to grandma so many years ago. I suppose that's why she passed them onto me, honored me with such a thoughtful gesture...because she was holding onto the memory of those Thanksgivings when her eldest grandchild would stare longingly at the festive salt and pepper shakers.

Two years ago, my Uncle Pat died of cancer, long before he should have departed this earth. His death has left a massive void in my family; has brought out feelings of guilt, anger, bitterness, and overwhelming sadness that I never once thought my family was capable of feeling, when I was young. My grandpa died a mere six days after Pat's funeral. Another crushing blow to our once close family. I'm not sure if our shared grief will be able to pull us back together or if it will continue to chip away at the solid foundation of our Irish roots.

I give thanks for all of the amazing people in my life, past and present. I am blessed to say that my grandma and I still talk on the phone, sometimes several times a week, and gab like we're two high school girls. I have kind-hearted and gentle children who adore each and every one of their cousins and look forward to the times when they come together and play. I have a husband who supports me, whether I'm happy or a bit cranky, and who doesn't mind telling me to go for a run if I'm veering onto the agitated side.

Today, when my youngest was admiring the pilgrim salt and pepper shakers, as I did so many years ago, I caught a glimpse of the past, combined with my present. I closed my eyes and could almost see myself sitting at the kids' table again, peering into the dining room and watching all of my family talk, laugh, and come together over my grandma's fabulous gravy. I also saw my husband and children there with us. I saw Pat and Grandpa and everyone who doesn't come around so much anymore. Most importantly, I saw my grandma smiling because we were all together again.

Happy Thanksgiving! May you have a safe and happy holiday weekend. Signing off now to spend time with my family.

Snow Day

2010-11-23T21:19:00.000-08:00

School was cancelled today, as were all of our extra-curricular activities. Good thing too, considering I can't even open the rear doors of our van. The news stations are referring to the storm as, "Arctic Blast 2010." I've even heard, "Snovember" and "Snopocalypse." That's what the reporters in our area do, they make it bigger by calling it something to accentuate what it really is...a really cold snowstorm.

I slept in this morning. My husband woke up with the kids and let them play while he prepared for a snowy commute and short workday. I laid in my bed, beneath my warm comforter, and absolutely dreaded getting up. If I didn't have three kiddos to contend with, I'd have stayed there and read a novel all day, with a cup of coffee on my nightstand.

The kids and I went outside until our eyes felt like they would freeze shut and our hands were numb with bitter cold (about fifteen minutes); I cleaned the garage strictly so that I could park the van inside of it for the remainder of winter; the kids fought, I watched twenty minutes of television, and cleaned out my email inbox. It was, by far, the most relaxing day we've had in a long time. It was also the coldest day we've had.

What I'm thankful for today...

A warm house.

Food to put on the table for my children.

The ability and freedom to stay home with my kids on these cold winter days.

Nick Jr. on Demand. I don't understand where Max and Ruby's parents are, but my three-year-old sures loves watching Ruby tell Max what to do.

Gluten-free for Three Years

2010-11-22T20:00:00.000-08:00

Happy Anniversary to me! I've officially been gluten-free for three years now. I'm finding it difficult to believe, as I write this blog, that it was only thirty-six months ago when I heard the words, "you have celiac disease." I still miss a lot of the foods that I used to eat- French bread, Olive Garden bread sticks, angel hair pasta, my mom's Thanksgiving stuffing, pasties, croissants, to name a few. I don't think I'll ever get over certain gluten food cravings. But as my wonderful Uncle Pat said when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer, "it is what it is."

It is what it is.

I'm healthier now. Well, as healthy as a woman who's being pulled in twenty different directions at once, can be. I like finding new gluten-free desserts and trying different recipes. I'm happy to share that I've perfected homemade lasagna, with gluten-free noodles. I even made gluten-free sugar cookies in Star Wars character shapes last week. I felt like Yoda was telling me, "be gluten-free you must."

From Editing to Baking

2010-11-16T21:21:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here beside my husband, each of us on our laptops, and he's once again watching "Big Break." If you haven't seen the show, I'll catch you up-to-date. It's a reality show about golf. There...you're caught up. I've learned each night, when he turns the television on, to tune it out. (Seriously, this show seems to always be on). I don't like reality TV and when the subject matter is golf...zzz...zzz...zzz

Where's "The Office" when you need it?

Lately my life seems to be a revolving door of editing, cleaning, and baking. Oh, and also raising three kids- truly awesome, amazing children at that. I'm furiously trying to finish reading/editing the third complete draft of my manuscript. I've set a personal deadline of Friday, so that I can relax over the weekend and prepare for Thanksgiving. That leads me to the cleaning. I've made a concerted effort lately to keep my house clean. Yesterday, as I was vacuuming, I realized how much better things go during my week if I achieve this goal. I think it's because I don't have that crushing weight of "man, I have to get that done," in the back of my mind as I'm focused on my children and writing.

Lastly, baking...'tis the season for baked goods. Plus, I tend to bake when I'm under stress. My bonus dad (aka step dad) is getting ready for surgery to extract a nodule from his lung. He is a cancer survivor, but we've known that his form of cancer, ACC, or Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma has a high rate of recurrence in the lungs and liver. We're praying that this nodule is benign. Being the furious baker that I am, primarily under stress, I plan to take cookies and banana bread to the hospital. I'm hopeful that someone there will be looking for a bit of comfort food.

Wow, they're currently on the 18th hole. Absolutely riveting...well, for my husband it is. It's a good thing I love that guy. Now if only we could channel his interest into finishing the baseboards.

Patriotism and Respect...Veteran's Day 2010

2010-11-12T10:23:00.000-08:00

There are a lot of things a person should never do...

*Ask an expectant mother if her pregnancy was planned. It's just totally not cool.

*Loot during a natural disaster. Really? Don't the families have enough to deal with?

*Reprimand another person's toddler at the grocery store when they are clearly being ignored for a reason.

On the more patriotic side. You should never...

*Protest at military funerals. Don't Ever Do It.

*Bash veterans on Veteran's Day. Completely wrong.

*Protest the war and/or military on Memorial Day.

Yesterday was Veteran's Day and let's just say, it was an interesting one for me. I got into a bit of an altercation with another person over a friend's facebook status news feed. I know, it's ridiculous. It started innocently enough when my friend thanked the military and wished them well. Then a friend of his decided to use the status as a political rant to protest the war and accuse our military of killing innocent citizens in the Middle East. What?!? Has this guy never heard the phrase, "if you can't say anything nice...don't say anything at all?" Obviously, he didn't care. I don't even know him, but I can assure you that he surfs anti-war websites and posts their news to his own Facebook. I can tell you that he's one of those people who likes to form an opinion about things that he's ill informed about...and push his opinions on others for no other reason than to prove his superiority or showcase his ignorance.

There are a lot of people who protest the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I just wonder why people would choose to protest on a national holiday dedicated to all veterans. Even those who helped liberate Concentration Camps in 1945. You don't have to like the military, you don't have to agree with the military, but you should respect the military. Unless you've forgotten about Vietnam. Lots of people who didn't agree with the war, were drafted to go fight. Perhaps people who choose to sit on their soap box and spout ridicule over the war's cost and how our military should stand up and refuse to go, should realize that it's because of those soldiers, many of whom have gone to Iraq or Afghanistan several times, that YOU are not being drafted. Oh and not-so-fun fact...when a lot of soldiers returned from Vietnam, they were spit on and accused of being "baby killers." Seriously people, let's not let it happen again.

As you might have guessed, I'm married to a member of the military. I've seen how much my children hurt when he leaves, I've witnessed his pain at not being here for birthdays, holidays, and those special moments no parent wants to miss. I've spent countless nights worrying about him as he is deployed overseas and hoping furiously that he'll return. I've also been told how different it is in Iraq than the media portrays and how much progress has actually been made. This is why I snapped yesterday...why when he responded something to the effect of, "as a military wife whose husband cannot think for himself, she has to assume that the soldiers are handing out lolly pops rather than dropping bombs on innocent people." Tell me that's not ignorant. To which I responded (after apologizing for clogging my friend's news feed), "Apparently, you are an expert on the subject and have seen the progress in the Middle East first hand. So the next time you're over there, I'll have my husband and friends say 'hi' to you as they steer your high horse around a hidden IED buried underground in a paper sack." (I should also mention that my friend deleted the original post and wrote me a message thanking us for our service and noting he was upset by what the other person said to me.)

If you've gotten nothing from this post, other than the fact that I'm staunchly proud of my husband; please remember that veterans, soldiers, and military families are real people who work hard, sacrifice, and stand up for one another. You might not agree with this war, in fact most members of the military are eager for it to be over, but you should respect the work they've done and how much our lives have changed since 9/11. If only we could have bottled the patriotism that hung in the air nine years ago, to save it for a later day...so that even when people have forgotten that our loved ones are still over there, we could sprinkle our houses with it and feel supported by the masses.

I'll leave you with a quote from the movie, "The American President," which pointedly addresses the instances when people complain for no other reason than to complain; for those who balk at the system, but refuse to offer any suggestions to improve it; for those who disrespect people who fight for what they believe in and help citizens improve their lives, because they are too cowardly to do it themselves.

"We've got serious problems, and we need serious people, and if you want to talk about character, Bob, you'd better come at me with more than a burning flag and a membership card. If you want to talk about character and American values, fine. Just tell me where and when, and I'll show up. This is a time for serious people, Bob, and your fifteen minutes are up. My name is Andrew Shepherd, and I *am* the President."

(By the way...comment moderation is on. If you plan to bash the military, don't bother.)

Learning the Business

2010-11-10T21:58:00.000-08:00

I'm a writer, hear me roar...well, read what I write anyway. Isn't that the goal of anyone who spends hours a day churning words onto paper? To have those words be read. But do others really care about your subject matter? Are you a writer if no one ever reads anything you've written?

I've been published before, but am still considered a novice in the publishing industry. I've spent a lot of time- over the past several years- working on my craft; writing manuscripts, editing, researching literary agents and publishers, seeing some of my work in print, and yes, getting a lot of rejection letters. As I finish up the women's fiction manuscript I've spent the last several months churning out, I find myself looking at literary agent websites (not just the ones whose blogs I follow) but many others, because realistically, I might need to query dozens. I have this hidden hope, deep down inside me near where I keep that dream of someday going to Ireland with my husband, that the first agent I query will fall in love with my manuscript. Let's just say, the Ireland thing probably has more of a chance of happening in the near future. Not that I think my novel is bad. I've just learned enough to know that writing is subjective, and it may take some time to find that agent who sees my manuscript's potential and wants to sell it with almost as much heart as it took me to write it.

Therefore, as the holidays near, I anticipate the flurry of sent email queries and the long wait to (hopefully) hear back from someone...anyone...Bueller...Bueller...

She's Stressing Me Out!

2010-11-08T18:52:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make...I hid in my closet twice last week. Was I playing hide-and-go-seek? No, not in the traditional sense. Yet, I was, in fact, hiding from my three-year-old. The difference being that she didn't know we weren't playing a game and she was too upset to really care.

Here's the thing. My daughter, who will turn four after the New Year, is making me slightly crazy. She's ambivalent. She throws monster temper tantrums. Her tantrum fuse is shorter than that of the Road Runner when he's after the coyote . She won't eat, or sleep, or often get dressed. For example, yesterday she attended her brother's Cub Scout meeting in her pajamas because I finally gave up the battle and let her. My reasoning...Fine. If you want to wear princess pj's to a meeting at 4:00pm, then go ahead. Perhaps I'm a bit ambivalent too.

I've tried the reasoning (doesn't work), the swat on the bottom (seems archaic and still doesn't work), the threats- "just wait until your dad gets home." (doesn't work because she's too smart knowing that he's gone a lot), and the time-outs (works to an extent).

I'm not sure that there's an easy answer. She's going through a phase and is bringing the rest of us down with her. I'll just keep trying, being consistent, and pulling my hair out when no one is looking. Other times, I'll hide in the closet because often that's the only place I can get some privacy.

Egg Allergy...No More

2010-11-05T20:34:00.000-07:00

Today was a great day. My son has officially outgrown his allergy to eggs. I literally burst into tears when we walked out of the pediatric allergist's office, the same doctor who diagnosed him with a severe egg allergy when he was just one-year-old. Today that doctor turned to my son and said, "We're going to have you eat some eggs today, to make sure you're not allergic anymore. Your mom's been waiting for this for a long time." Boy, isn't that the truth?

I honestly didn't think he'd ever outgrow it. Eight years ago, my baby boy had colic and stomach cramps, severe eczema that became infected and required four rounds of antibiotics, he threw up his first birthday cake, and then broke out in hives and vomited profusely when eating scrambled eggs a week later. He underwent the allergy skin and blood tests and was diagnosed with allergies to both egg whites and egg yokes, basically anything with the egg protein in it. People used to ask, "Can he have egg beaters?" The answer...nope. It still contains the protein. In fact, initially he couldn't even have anything with lecithin in it, which is a form of egg protein. That eliminated a lot of crackers, granola bars, candy, and most typical snack foods.

We were armed with epi-pens, in case of accidental ingestion, but the most stressful thing was sending him out into the world where we couldn't always be with him and hoping that no one would feed him something which would send him into anaphylaxis. We soon learned that although he couldn't yet talk, his sister did it for him. She'd question anyone who offered him a snack at church daycare or the YMCA, "Does that have egg? My brother's allergic." Today on the way home after hearing the news she announced, "This is a great day for our family!" She's right. This afternoon, my son ate his first donut. Not many people announce that when their son is almost a decade old, but it was a cause for celebration in my house.

Here I sit, watching my boy and how far he's come. I'm so happy he will now be able to eat cupcakes with his classmates, have pancakes from a restaurant, dye Easter eggs, and try salad dressing on his salads (if I can someday entice him to eat a salad).

Logging off now to watch Toy Story 3 with my kids. Pass the Kleenex!

Happy Weekend.

Costume Festival

2010-11-04T19:04:00.000-07:00

I'm invited to the Costume Festival. If you're wondering what this is, you're not alone. I just found out about the Costume Festival three minutes ago. It's being held by a three-year-old. Not only that, but she is currently wearing swim bottoms over her face, topped with a plaid headband, and a dishtowel. She's carrying a drumstick in one hand and a toy vacuum in the other. Oh...and she isn't wearing any pants.

It's all very exciting! Did I mention that while we were playing hide-and-seek today she wore the same outfit and sat in a laundry basket? She was like a chameleon.

Gotta run! Costume Festival is starting.

The Longest Hour

2010-11-03T21:18:00.000-07:00

My mom has a saying for when little kids get fussy during that time between late-afternoon and dinner. She's always referred to it as "the purgatory hour." Lately I've been hearing her voice in my subconscious every afternoon when M. and P. get home from school. Not only do I hear her saying, "purgatory hour...purgatory hour." I find myself wishing she was here with me so I could say, "Help!"

Definition of Purgatory: Condition or process of purification or temporary punishment in which the souls of those who die in a state of grace are made ready for Heaven. That's according to my handy reference guide, Wikipedia. Here's the lowdown...Catholics believe that purgatory is a temporary place for people who aren't quite ready for Heaven to go, before moving on.

So my mom always called the hour before dinner, purgatory, probably because it felt like a punishment for any transgressions she might have committed during the day. I'm not sure what her transgressions could have been because she was always there for us- except during "General Hospital" because she really liked Luke and Laura.

I find myself totally agreeing with mom's concept lately. Here's how our afternoons usually go...
~M. and P. get home from school.
~A. starts to get fussy because
a. she's tired
b. she's hungry
c. she doesn't want my attention to waver from her to her siblings
~ M. and P. are starving and completely cranky. They don't want to do homework, go to gymnastics, or swim team. M. usually cops an attitude and P. starts whining.
~ I inform them that if they want to play sports, they have to attend practices.
~ The whining ensues, usually accompanied by A. flopping herself onto the floor because she doesn't want to get her shoes on.
~ I grit my teeth and we get into the car (ten minutes behind when we should) and drive.
~ A. typically cries during the drive and then kicks her shoes off before nodding off for a very late nap, which is never good because then she wakes up cranky and won't sleep at night.

My mom was right about another thing, thankfully. The purgatory hour ends at dinnertime and all returns to normal, unless I've cooked something they don't want for dinner, and then it all starts up again. On those days I suppose I've been extra unholy.

Complete Meltdown

2010-11-02T21:43:00.000-07:00

When I picked my daughter up from preschool this morning she was all smiles...totally happy and excited to see me. Her great mood lasted for about ten minutes, until tiredness took hold of her twenty-eight pound body. By the time I pulled into our driveway, she'd been screaming for ten solid minutes. I'm not sure what set her off, I don't think she knows either, but I think we can probably nail it down to the Alvin and the Chipmunks song she wanted to hear. I, however, did not understand which song that was, and my incomprehension just made her angrier.

One hour later, and she was still crying. She'd gone to timeout, refused to eat lunch, sat on the the bottom step in defiance, and finally laid down on the couch and fell sound asleep. By the time she closed her eyes and her breathing slowed, I wanted to burst into tears. My jaw was tired from being clenched, and during her fury I'd unfortunately consumed not one, but four, pieces of Halloween candy. Talk about emotional eating.

Her meltdown and subsequent nap did provide me with over two hours of uninterrupted work time, which allowed me to finish the second draft of my manuscript. I'm so excited to work on it again tomorrow, to start from the beginning and read it in its entirety. However, despite completing this task, I still feel emotionally drained from this afternoon. It was one of those days that I'm reminded how difficult raising kids is. Don't get me wrong, it's the greatest thing I've ever done. But jeez, trying to diffuse an angry and irrational three-year-old is just plain exhausting. Good night.

A Tale of Two Shih Tzus

2010-10-31T20:56:00.000-07:00

I've been watching my mom's shih tuz, Genevieve, for the past week. Add her to my dog, Macy, and that makes two shih tzus. Wow. My house isn't quite big enough for both of their egos, but we're making do.

Here's a crash course on the history of the shih tzu. Shih Tzu means "lion" in Chinese. These lion dogs were considered the sacred beasts of Buddha. It was believed that lion dogs housed the spirits of Buddhist monks. Therefore, they were treated as royalty. They had servants and were given as gifts to dignitaries.

I'm not sure Macy and Genevieve received the memo that the shih tzu reign of pampering is officially over. That fact aside...they are great dogs. *This is my shout out to the breed.* They don't shed, are typically sweet tempered (although they can be fear biters), and they're extremely good watchdogs. The barking is a tad annoying, especially when you have a nursing baby who was up four times the night before, finally fall asleep at the exact same time as your toddler after an hour long tantrum. It was just great when the dog woke them both up. Not that I was mad. I wasn't mad when Macy ate one of my opal earrings three years ago either. Seriously, I was fine with it...Macy's the best. Really.

I do love these dogs and have enjoyed watching them establish who is the alpha female for the past week- fighting over who gets fed first, determining who's the "real" one in charge, etc. They are like toddlers who play beside one another, but don't interact; when one starts barking, the other gets into it; they lay in the same room (Macy, who thinks she's a cat and stares out the window) and Genevieve sitting beside her on the floor to provide backup on neighborhood lookout lest anyone within a mile radius attempt to invade their territory.

Genevieve will be leaving us tomorrow and I just know that Macy is going to be devastated, as will Gen when she wakes up in her own home and doesn't hear the clanking of Macy's collar. I'm sure in the end, however, they will survive. They will somehow come to grips with the fact that they no longer have to share the royal reign and will cope with being the queen of all that is good on this earth without competition.

The Painful Side of Writing

2010-10-28T20:36:00.000-07:00

I went to the library this week and rented one of my favorite movies, "Julie and Julia." If you haven't seen it, you should. It's based on the true stories of two people, Julia Child, and a popular blogger turned writer, Julie Powell, who cooked her way through Julia Child's cookbook in one year while blogging about it. My husband watched it with me once and thought it was an "okay movie." Therefore, I'm watching it while I run on the treadmill this week. I think the reason I like the movie so much, aside from the fabulous acting of Meryl Streep and Amy Adams, is because it's about cooking, which I like to watch, but not necessarily do, and writing, which I love.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'm inspired, and bit envious, of Julie Powell. I think anyone who has their manuscript, novel, blog, or short stories published into a bound book by a major publishing house is very fortunate. We all know how subjective the industry is...reading is subjective in general. We all prefer different genres, which is why walking through a bookstore or library is so terrifically exciting if you like to read. I walk through those front doors and can practically inhale the delicious scent of freshly bound books and I get mentally excited. After taking the obligitory jaunt through the children's section with my kids, I go straight to women's fiction or young adult (which has surprisingly adult themes these days). I love reading, which is probably why I love to write and I too aspire for people to read the words I've put onto paper.

That brings me to my next point...rejection is hard. It hurts to submit a work that I've put a lot of time, energy, and thought into, only to have it turned away by a form letter, or even worse, the silent treatment. Although rejection is a huge part of writing, sometimes I think negative criticism hurts even worse. As bad as it is to have your work turned away before reading it, having it picked apart afterward is just painful. I've writted articles on celiac disease that have been blasted by readers, and those are based on very personal health experiences and intended to help people cope with an autoimmune disorder. Ouch...that hurts.

My advice to anyone who aspires to write: thicken your skin...literally.
And lastly, keep writing because if you want someone to read your work, you have to finish it first.

To Have and To Hold

2010-10-15T08:41:00.000-07:00

My family recently returned from a wedding in Maui. Yes...Maui! It's not everyday that you get to attend a gorgeous, oceanview wedding located at a golf course on an island of Hawaii. It's funny because in the weeks leading up to our departure, we had to alert people that we'd be away- the kids' schools, gymnastic coaches, swim team, etc...and everyone we told asked the same question, "You're going to a wedding in Maui? Wow! Do you have family there?" "No," we answered, "they live about a half an hour away from us."

Regardless, we loaded up three suitcases, my husband's golf clubs, a car seat, two carry-ons and all of the necessary stuffed animals before boarding a plane for the tropical paradise of Maui. I won't go into all of the details of our trip, but will say that the island is every bit as gorgeous as its reputation. The warm breezes, the night sky lit up with stars over the pristine blue ocean, the lack of annoying insects at the open air restaurants. It was absolutely breathtaking.

The entire experience got my husband thinking about renewing our wedding vows. The thing is, my husband's a dreamer. He's always planning out exciting adventures and wondering how we can amaze the guests of our fabulous twentieth anniversary ceremony. This is where I have to point out that I am a realist who is always looking at the cost of this spectacular fantasy vow renewal. My husband wants to purchase a vacation home, or timeshare, in most places we travel to. I am always pointing out how if we purchase homes, land, trailers, timeshares, or condos we won't be able to afford to go anywhere...ever again.

Maybe this is why we work together as a couple. I wouldn't go as far to say that we're polar opposites, but we are quite different. He is the sunrise to my sunset, the sitcom to my drama, the spring to my autumn. You get the picture.

We recently passed our 14th wedding anniversary. Our marriage hasn't been perfect, but it's been pretty darned good. We've had our share of losses, financial troubles, military deployments, house catastrophes and remodels, three amazing children, not nearly enough date nights, and quite a few disagreements over the years. We've also had fun adventures, exciting reunions, shared moments watching our children grow, and the times I love the most- simply spending our lives with each other.

So for our 20th anniversary he wants the lavish party on a golf course (so he can have an excuse to play 18 holes beforehand), a renewal ceremony in front of hundreds of family and friends, a month long exotic vacation to round out the adventure. I, on the other hand, want to go away...just the two of us. Skip the renewal ceremony (it was emotional enough the first time), and the promises we made aren't going away anytime soon. Take a vacation, walk hand-in-hand alone on a beach or though the doors of a Pub in Ireland. Maybe we'll compromise...we still have six years to figure it out, right? That's what I keep reminding him of anyway.

The Wisdom of a Preschooler

2010-09-22T13:51:00.001-07:00

My youngest has a lot of sayings. I like to think of them as Ally-isms. When she just isn't interested in doing something which is asked of her, she responds, "I can't know." When she doesn't want to go somewhere (like preschool) she will say, "I not going...ever 'gain." Of course the word "no" is a staple in her vocabulary, as is, "no way." She says a lot of cute things that just melt my heart like, "I love you so so much" and "you the best mommy in the whole world ever." Daily she tells me, "I want that too," when she is watching NickJr, and one of the many commercials geared at little children entices her, with their ads for new and amazing toys.

Today while we were enroute to her ballet class- hands down, one of my favorite hours of observation during the week- this conversation transpired, following my stop, at the Starbuck's drive-thru.

"Mommy, why you always stop at Starbucks?"
"Because I like to drink coffee."
"But Mommy," she reasoned, "why you like coffee?"
"I don't know," I responded. "I like the taste of it, I suppose." And I'm so totally tired all of the time, I thought.
She kicked her little legs out in front of her. "You need stop drinking coffee. It gives you tummy ache."
"It does?" I questioned.
"Yes." Did I mention that she was dressed in a pink ballet leotard, white tights, and green Crocs? She's a fashionista in the making. "Coffee give you tummy aches like grapes give Ally tummy ache."
"Oh...okay." I reached in and unbuckled her from the carseat.
"Grapes give tummy ache, but I love them so so much."
"You sure do like grapes don't you?" I asked as her tiny little fingers grasped my hand.
"I love grapes." She skipped alongside of me. "And mommy loves coffee."
"But Mommy loves you more." I responded, before bending down to kiss her soft cheek.

Food Allergy Or Food Intolerance?

2010-09-14T12:39:00.000-07:00

Recently I've read a lot of articles, in magazines and online, regarding food allergies versus food intolerance. I even read a survey of chefs who admitted how annoyed they become when people claim to have a food allergy when they are not, in fact, allergic.

Here's the thing...I am not allergic to gluten (wheat, barley, rye and oats), but I am unable to eat them. I have an intolerance to them. The minute I consume even as little as 1/8 of a teaspoon of gluten I develop stomach cramps and a headache, my mouth dries up, and I can barely get out of bed for several hours. I don't break out in hives, vomit severely, or have to carry an epi-pen with me. I have celiac disease, which is an autoimmune disorder that breaks down the small intestines after consuming gluten.

I've witnessed first hand both sides of the allergy/intolerance debate. Here are my thoughts on the subject.

Allergy...

Eight years ago, I sat my son down in his high chair and excitedly placed that pivotal first birthday cake in front of him. We sang Happy Birthday and clapped our hands as he dug his pudgy fingers into the sugary layers of frosting and vanilla cake, before shoving several bites into his mouth. Then we watched him throw it all up less than two minutes later. We thought it was an overreaction to the excitement of his birthday. We were wrong. Less than a week after his birthday celebration, I cooked dinner for breakfast- pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon- and set his little Elmo plate in front of him. I remember even encouraging him to eat the eggs, which he wasn't too thrilled about. I should have followed his instincts. Within minutes, he was covered in hives; seconds later, he was vomiting. My husband and I were terrified as we called the doctor's office and forced Benadryl down him. A week later, I held my scared little boy as he endured allergy testing, which confirmed an allergy to both egg whites and egg yokes. An epi-pen sits in the school office 'just in case', he has never eaten a donut, and he still asks me if there is such a thing as "egg-free scrambled eggs." His allergy is considered serious, but we've had zero bouts of anaphylaxis, and thankfully, there is hope he will outgrow it. Testing will resume later this month.

Intolerance...

I was diagnosed with celiac disease when my youngest was nine months old. I had symptoms of it all of my life, but it wasn't until following her birth, that they accelerated and became difficult to live with, and therefore, ignore. I miss wheat, still crave baked good, and find it very challenging to attend functions where I am unable to eat with other guests. I've been asked several times, when telling people I have this condition, "Did you go to a naturopath or something?" I find myself getting defensive at that question, because, first...the answer is, no. I saw a gastroenterologist and had to have an endoscopic biopsy of my small intestine, stomach, and esophagus to make the diagnosis. Second...I wonder why it would matter. How is it wrong to conclude that a food is making you sick? I wish that I'd visited a naturopath many years ago. Knowing that gluten was the culprit would have improved my overall health immensely.

As if the diagnosis with celiac wasn't enough, I've also developed similar symptoms when I consume soy, peanuts, and eggs. Am I allergic to them? No. Is it worth it to eat them and then feel so ill I can barely function. No. Do I miss eating them. Desperately.

So here's the dilemma. Would it be better to tell a restaurant chef that I'm "allergic to wheat" or to tell them that "I have celiac disease, which is an autoimmune disease that damages the small intestine when wheat, barley, rye or oats are consumed. Therefore, I am intolerant of gluten. No, I won't go into anaphylaxis if you accidentally place a smashed up crouton in my salad, but you'd better be prepared to hire someone to lift me up off of the floor when the cramps incapacitate me."

I think the bottom line for me is this...

Food allergies can be very severe and should therefore be treated with caution. We all want our children to be safe when we are unable to be with them. I trust that my son will not be given a cupcake during lunch period, and likewise, that my niece (who is allergic to peanuts) will not be allowed to eat a PB&J sandwich. If you, or your child, have signs of a food allergy, don't assume it's nothing. From my son's experience; the first reaction was serious, the second was severe and very serious.

Food intolerances are becoming more common. In fact, many don't know they have one. So many people are living with celiac disease and have never been tested. Others, are right on the line; they suffer from the symptoms, but don't test positive. If you feel that a food makes you sick, don't eat it. If it's easier to tell strangers that you're allergic to save some time and make things less complicated, that's up to you. We know our bodies, what works for us. Having a food intolerance is not just about dieting...cutting out wheat, to trim our waistline. They are about avoiding the ingredients that make you bloated, crampy, or covered in dermatitis herpetiformis, the rash commonly associated with celiac disease.

*******************************************************
I made a vow to cook something we've never eaten before. It had to be free of gluten, soy, egg, and peanut. Also mayonnaise (not allergic, just don't like.) Since I've missed breaded chicken and even the occasional Shake and Bake, I made up a variation.

2 tablespoons melted butter.
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts.
3 cups Corn Chex crumbs (these are gluten-free and I smashed them up beyond recognition.)
Spray a nonstick baking pan or Pyrex dish. Coat chicken in butter (as your binder- it doesn't take a lot) and then dip into crushed Chex. Place into dish and then cover with additional crumbs, if desired. Sprinkle top of coated chicken with Parmesan cheese.

Bake at 350, until chicken is cooked through. This received three thumbs up in my family, and trust me, that's not half bad.

Sweeping It All Under the Rug

2010-08-20T09:30:00.000-07:00

I've spent a lot of time over the past weeks going through my house...getting rid of stuff we no longer need (and haven't used in what seems like forever), throwing away junk, organizing books and photos, and shredding. I'll be honest, the donated items are still piled high in the garage waiting to be transported to the Goodwill by my husband. Likewise, the garbage, bound for the landfill, sits beside that...also awaiting transportation. How did we accumulate so much stuff?

It feels so good to get rid of thing we are no longer using. I feel a sense of relief walking through my garage, knowing that it will soon be cleared out. All of the unfinished projects around our home seem less daunting, because we've gotten this one out of the way...until the next clean sweep that is.

I celebrated this accomplishment by stopping by the new Goodwill, in our town, and purchasing ten gently used paperback novels; a few for me, the rest for my children. It seems so ironic to accumulate someone else's used items while in the midst of clearing out mine. I suppose it's another form of recycling...out with my old, in with someone else's old, returning their old when it becomes my old...the cycle could continue forever.

Perhaps I should become like my youngest, who likes to sweep. When I say she likes to sweep, I mean just that. She picks up everything with that broom and dustpan. Toys, clothing, dirt, stuffed animals, bits of paper scraps. She brushes it all into a pile and leaves it for someone else to pick up. She's sweeping it all under the rug, into the rug, beside the rug, behind it. As long as she gets to do the sweeping part...it's all good.

Fond Memories

2010-08-11T14:13:00.000-07:00

I spent the better part of three days doing laundry after returning from our vacation. I should admit that it wasn't just me working to sort through two weeks of travel clothing for a family of five. In truth...I sorted, washed and dried, and my husband folded, before I put all of it away. I lost count after six loads- perhaps the part of my brain which controls parental sanity just blocked out the specifics, to spare utter exhaustion.

As I was sorting the clothing it amazed me how many vivid memories of our vacation resurfaced when the fabric was placed into the soapy warm water. I held the purple shirt my youngest wore to the ice cream parlor in Philipsburg, and could almost smell the warm waffle cones while fingering the ice cream splatters on the front. I located the tee-shirt my son wore as we hiked up to a mine nestled above a ghost town, its sleeves still embedded with dust, and remembered how excited the kids were to tour the abandoned town where the worn sign for a forgotten ballpark stood.

I found the Seahawks cap I sent my grandpa for his birthday, the year they went to the Superbowl. It was recently returned to me, following his death. While wearing it in the mountains, to shade my eyes from the scorching sunlight, I felt swallowed by grief, as I looked toward the peaks above, wishing he was still here to wear it, rather than me.

I pulled out sweatshirts that still carried the stench of a campfire and was able to close my eyes and hear sparks crackling against burning logs and cries of frustration from children when the smoke billowed their way. "Smoke follows beauty." Adults always said, when I was that child. Maybe years ago I believed that, and hoped the campfire could see a princess beneath my dirty fingernails and pony tailed tomboy exterior. As I helped my children, nieces and nephews roast marshmallows and assemble S'mores, I watched their jeans get smothered with melted chocolate and marshmallow. These too, I threw into the wash.

Many hours later, after the washing machine had done its job and the clothes dryer shrunk my jeans enough to make me consider a post-vacation diet, I began putting away the stacks of clothing my husband folded. These clothes now somehow looked different...the shirts crisper, the cabin smells evaporated, the campfire smoldered beneath detergent and fabric softener. I've often wondered why the moments we look forward to with the most anticipation are often the ones that pass the quickest, leaving us with nothing more than digital photographs and a mountain of the fondest memories.

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Runners

2010-07-12T12:37:00.000-07:00

July 13 is the big day. What day you might ask?It's the day, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Runners, is released. Why am I promoting this book on my blog? Well the answer is quite simple. I'm promoting the book because I am a contributing author for it. Believe me when I write how honored I am to have my story, Running Home, chosen for the book.

Please check it out and let me know what you think.

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Runners...

http://www.amazon.com/Chicken-Soup-Soul-Inspirational-Endorphins/dp/1935096494/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278964050&sr=1-1

I am also very grateful to have been published in two other Chicken Soup books; Chicken Soup for the Mother of Preschooler's Soul for my story Daddy Bear and Chicken Soup for the Sister's Soul 2 for my story The Gift.

Chicken Soup for the Mothers of Preschooler's Soul...

http://www.amazon.com/Chicken-Soup-Mothers-Preschoolers-Soul/dp/075730401X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278964260&sr=1-1

Chicken Soup for the Sister's Soul 2...

http://www.amazon.com/Chicken-Soup-Sisters-Soul-Celebrating/dp/0757305512/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278964290&sr=1-1

Mommy Moment # 8

2010-07-05T15:13:00.000-07:00

Mommy Moment # 8: Cartwheel Catastrophe

Setting: In the living room- on the laminate floor- to be precise.

Cast: Nine-year-old gymnast (older sister), Eight-year-old boy (younger brother), Three-year-old sister (most stubborn of all).

Scenario: Gymnast decides to perform a cartwheel in the middle of a game of hide-and-seek. Brother does not know she is planning this maneuver and in his excitement of hiding from youngest sibling (AKA, the one who's always "it") runs smack into the gymnast's extended foot.

Result: Brother's top teeth go partially into his lower lip. Blood pools into his mouth as he screams. Gymnast begins crying because "it was an accident." Younger sister stops running and asks, "What's wrong now?"

Outcome: This incident will likely be recalled for years to come...the story will expand to include- gymnast was doing a round off and double back handspring, brother was running at a speed of ten miles/hour. Brother's front teeth went through his bottom lip and he almost needed stitches and a skin graft, younger sister was in charge the entire time and told them exactly what to do for all eternity. Actually, that last bit might possibly be true.

Happy Independence Day

2010-07-04T14:29:00.000-07:00

What July 4th meant to me as a child...

Fireworks

Traveling to Butte to visit my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins

Sitting along the parade route, waiting for politicians to throw lots of candy my way

Fireworks

The annual Family Reunion at my Uncle Dan's house

Getting lathered up with sunscreen during the day and insect repellent after dusk

Fireworks

Yes, the fireworks were the absolute best part of the 4th of July. I remember them as crazy fun. I counted the days until they would light up the sky above us as we sat along the street of my uncle's house, and wouldn't rest until my parents purchased our box of snakes, sparklers, tanks and those crazy twirly things that shot out in all directions.

What July 4th means to me today...

A day off of work for my husband

A morning to sleep in

Crazy neighbors lighting off what seems to be bazillions of fireworks which keep my three-year-old up way past her bedtime

Grilled cheeseburgers and fresh fruit for dinner

A week of pleading with my husband to go easy on the firework purchases because we have a mortgage payment

Smiles and excitement from my children as they eagerly await the fireworks that my husband purchased as I stayed home and cleaned the bathrooms

A visit from family to see the said firework display that my husband plans to showcase rain or shine

A dog suffering from an anxiety attack from the excessive noise

A feeling of overwhelming pride for all we've sacrificed as a military family

A sense of gratitude for all who have served our country and are currently stationed overseas

Fear...anxiety...smiles, amid screaming children...and a fire extinguisher ready-to-go for my husband's fireworks display.

Happy Independence Day!

Funny Home Decorating

2010-07-01T14:22:00.000-07:00

I saw this sign at a furniture store and had to share. Although I wouldn't hang it in my own home, I thought it was quite funny.

Dad Got The TV...Mom Got The Microwave

2010-06-23T10:52:00.000-07:00

My parents divorced when I was in the sixth grade. It was so long ago that I often find it difficult to remember specifics. What I do remember is that, according to the divorce settlement, my dad got the television and my mom got the microwave. Therefore when we were at dad's place, we were able to watch all of our favorite television shows like The Cosby Show, Family Ties, and Who's the Boss. When we were at our mom's, we got to quickly heat up our leftovers with the turn of a nob on a microwave which likely weighed a hundred and fifty pounds.

It was the mid/late-80's and for my family it was a luxury to have a television set with a remote control. Perhaps other homes had more than one television, but we were not one of them. As a mom, almost twenty-five years later, I think my own mom was smart in choosing the microwave because it simplified her life and forced her children to entertain themselves with boardgames and playing outdoors. For my brother and I it was torture to be without a television. We were like, "Are you kidding me? How can we survive without The A-Team?"

Regardless...we survived. We are all happy adults with families of our own, blessed with a loving mom and stepdad, dad and sweet fiance, and many stories to tell when we come together. As I write this blog, I think of all that my children have in respect to what I had growing up. We are still a one television household, although that one television is a 42-inch plasma. My children will likely never have a TV in their bedrooms because I find it unnecessary. We have a microwave and use it daily. My children have no idea what it would be like to live in a world where pizza flavored bagel bites are not able to be heated in less than three minutes. We have a smaller yard compared to the massive one I was blessed with as a kid (the drawback of living in an area where houses cost a lot and land is minimal). Despite the yard size, my kids have inherited my love of playing outside; digging, exploring, soaking in the sunshine.

The world my children live in is filled with computers, video games, cell and cordless phones that enable me to put away laundry while chatting with my sister. We have CD players and DVDs...no more renting large VCRs from the video store on family movie night. The days of waiting for the movie to rewind are over, as we can control exactly what scene to watch with a remote control that has so many buttons it takes weeks to learn how to use. If that isn't enough, we have High Definition capability now, because we all need to watch the news in high definition, right?

Yes, the world has changed and we will continue to evolve with it. What I see as a luxury today, my children will find commonplace when they are adults. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go load my children into our minivan, which has a built in DVD player, and hit the drive-thru Starbucks for a latte because I know in my heart that is what my mom would have wanted to do, a quarter of a century ago, when she was choosing the microwave over the television.

Tacoma bakery trims allergens, keeps flavor | Food - The News Tribune

2010-06-16T11:41:00.000-07:00

Tacoma bakery trims allergens, keeps flavor Food - The News Tribune

I thought giving up gluten, when I was diagnosed with Celiac Disease, was difficult. I changed my diet, but still didn't feel quite right. Occasionally the dry mouth persisted, I still had stomach aches, I felt lethargic and my brain was "foggy." I started paying attention to what I was still eating and eventually made the connection that it was soy. I am now also soy-free and feel better every day.

Giving up soy has been more challenging than gluten because many of the gluten-free foods out there are made with soy. I am grateful for manufacturers who create delicious recipes which are devoid of all allergens.

Mommy Moment # 7

2010-05-13T11:07:00.000-07:00

Mommy Moment # 7:

Interior Design by a three-year-old.

Sometimes I wonder if cleaning the house, while my kids are young, is like ordering a decaf, nonfat, sugar-free latte...why bother?

The truth remains- I wouldn't give up my children for the cleanest, most organized, spectacular house in the world. They are my life, my reason, and my every day happiness. I am blessed.

Mommy Moment # 6

2010-04-30T13:54:00.000-07:00

Mommy Moment # 6

"Hide me! I scared!"

Do you see that lump beneath the sweatshirt? That lump is my three-year-old, Ally. She's hiding, quivering, absolutely terrified. Is there a ghost, a humongous monster, a bad guy from a Disney movie? Nope. What she is hiding from is goofy, harmless, and relatively ridiculous looking.

The source of her angst...the Red Robin bird. That big, friendly, red feathered bird wearing sneakers scares the bejeezus out of her.

And this is why we will not be visiting Disneyland anytime in the near future...

Mommy Moment # 5

2010-04-25T21:02:00.000-07:00

Mommy Moment # 5

My son's great idea at the hardware store.

When I was a kid, one of the worst places to go, was the hardware store. I remember standing in an aisle, the smell of wood and sawdust filling the air, and watching my dad spend ten minutes rifling through assorted bolts to find the exact one which would fit whatever he was fixing...

Yesterday we had to stop by Lowe's to price some new laminate and that is where my son decided to create his new game titled, "we look with our hands, not our eyes." Long story short- he was playing his new game and walked right into a laminate plank my husband had pulled partially away from the shelves of stacked flooring to get a better look at.

Obviously my son was embarrassed and sore when he walked right into the plank and proceeded to fall backwards onto his bottom. He begged me to take a picture of his injury so he could see how badly it looked. The damage was a small reddened welt where a slight bruise would form, but in his mind- because he was feeling, not seeing- it was a massive purple goose egg with blood vessels swirling throughout.

The moral of the story...it's always better to look with our eyes while walking through a hardware store. In fact, unless you have a visual impairment which prohibits it, looking with your eyes and not your hands is the better bet.

Mommy Moment # 4

2010-04-20T12:07:00.000-07:00

Mommy Moment # 4

"Yes Mom, I put all of my dirty clothes in the laundry basket."

Hmm...

Mommy Moment # 3

2010-04-18T09:42:00.000-07:00

Mommy Moment # 3

"Mom, I called K to see if he could come over to play. His mom is on the phone and wants to talk to you."

The day before my seventh birthday party I informed my mom that I'd promised everyone who was coming that they were going to get coloring books and crayons for attending. It made perfect sense in my mind and that's why her reaction of shock and slight annoyance confused me. Now that I'm a mom, I understand...all too well.

This happened to me on Friday when my child, who had just gotten home school, walked through the front door and asked if K could come over to play. My response, "we'll see." Apparently he hasn't learned that, in female terminology, "we'll see" is usually code for "no." Needless to say, K is coming over to play in a couple of hours. Not that I'm complaining- I like that my kids have friends, I want my kids to have friends, just a bit of a head's up would be nice.

Mommy Moment # 2

2010-04-15T11:38:00.000-07:00

Mommy Moment # 2

Recently made beds are always the best to jump on.

We were fortunate to have family over for Easter, and as is typical, I finally got around to washing the guest room sheets about four days after they left. Within roughly five minutes of taking the sheets out of the dryer and remaking the bed, I walked past the guest room to see my youngest doing her daily calisthenics on top of it.

"I just made that bed." I stated matter-of-factly.

"You did good job, Mommy." she responded.

Mommy Moment # 1

2010-04-14T13:44:00.001-07:00

Mommy Moment # 1...

The child who still manages to remove crust from an Uncrustable sandwich.

You've seen these sandwiches in the grocery frozen food aisle. They are convenient and slightly expensive. They are advertised as the perfect lunch for children because they are premade and the crusts are already removed. However... My child (I'll leave her anonymous) still manages to remove a semblance of crust because apparently, "it just doesn't taste as good."

An Austen Resolution

2010-04-05T17:19:00.000-07:00

I've never been good at keeping New Year's Resolutions. In fact, I typically don't make them to begin with, because really, what is the point if I'm not going to commit to them? This year, however, I not only made one, I stuck with it, and I completed it.

My resolution for 2010 was to read all of Jane Austen's six completed novels, in order of publication. Therefore, during my quest; I didn't lose weight, give up any bad habits, or develop new healthy habits. I didn't end world hunger or improve the lives of anyone around me, although I hope my children were inspired by me to someday read 18th Century period pieces. If you've never read Jane Austen, I would encourage you to do so. If you have little or no interest in reading her, I'd still encourage you to read Pride and Prejudice, which I believe to be her finest work.

Sense and Sensibility was Jane Austen's first published novel. In its original form, it was a series of letters titled, Elinor and Marianne. I enjoyed the characterization of the novel and thought the story to be interesting. The primary problem I saw with it was the incessant whining of Marianne over Mr. Willoughby. I do have to credit Jane Austen for writing a true portrayal of a broken heart and subsequent depression following the loss of a first love. Having four younger sisters of my own, I could relate to Elinor and admired her sensibility. I also watched the film adaptation starring Kate Winslet and Emma Thompson. I enjoyed the movie, but had trouble getting past the casting of Alan Rickman as Col. Brandon because I kept remembering him as the evil Sheriff of Knottingham in Kevin Costner's version of Robin Hood (crazy...I know). Favorite quote, "Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical."

Pride and Prejudice was my favorite of Austen's novels. I enjoyed all of the characters; from the crazy Mom, to the narcissistic younger sisters, to the amazing and forthright, Elizabeth Bennet. I laughed after Lizzy turned down Mr. Collins' marriage proposal and her mother freaked out, which led her father to say, "An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do." The love story between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy was beautiful, and if judged from first appearances would have been deemed unlikely and impossible- yet, in the end, Elizabeth proclaims, "I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but no one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh." I watched the film version of Pride and Prejudice starring Kiera Knightly and truly enjoyed it and believe her to be a wonderful Elizabeth Bennet. I also want to note that Bridget Jone's Diary has an interesting take on the novel and makes multiple subtle references to it.

Mansfield Park is Jane Austen's third published novel and although it took me time to develop an interest in it, I did find it quite enjoyable. Fanny Price's quiet manner and sensible convictions were relatable to a non-risk taker and shy individual, such as myself. This book really addressed the classicism in Jane Austen's day, showcasing preferential treatment and upbringing for those born into wealth and circumstance. "Give a girl an education, and introduce her properly into the world, and ten to one but she has the means of settling well, without further expense to anybody." Mansfield Park also displayed bits of the theater, marital infidelity and liberal thinking in a very conservative society.

Jane Austen's fourth book, Emma, was very smartly written and entertaining to read. If you've ever watched the 1995 movie, Clueless, you already know the essential elements of the novel, as the movie was based off of it. Alicia Silverstone was a modern Emma (named Cher), Christian was Frank Churchhill and Harriet's character was the lovable and newly-improved-for-Cher's-taste, Ty. The novel itself was about a spoiled and somewhat selfish young lady who faithfully adores her hypochondriac dad and is devoted to becoming a matchmaker of relationships. The problem- she's not very good at it, and has failed to see the love of her life, in her own brother-by-marriage, Mr. Knightley. "I cannot make speeches, Emma...If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." Gwenyth Paltrow also played a perfect Emma in the movie adaptation.

Northanger Abbey was the first novel written by Jane Austen, the shortest manuscript, and the final one published. Its style is quite different from her other novels and is written from the perspective of the heroine, Catherine Morland. Catherine is given the opportunity to visit the town of Bath with family friends where she meets Henry Tilney. She is invited to go to Henry's estate, Northanger Abbey, and there lets her imagination run wild with images of the Gothic literature she likes to read. Although she falls in love with Henry, she is almost disappointed to discover that the Abbey is not ridden with secret, hidden passages. "We can tempt you neither by amusement nor splendour, for our mode of living, as you see, is plain and unpretending; yet no endeavours shall be wanting on our side to make Northanger Abbey not wholly disagreeable."

Jane Austen's final novel, published following her death, along with Northanger Abbey, was Persuasion. This is a book about love and second chances. Anne Elliot falls in love with a naval officer named Frederick Wentworth, but he is deemed unworthy by her family, so she ends the relationship. Years later he returns. Anne has never loved another and watches as he pursues other women, knowing in her heart that she still loves him and is unworthy of his returned affection. Although Anne hopes for another chance, she cannot expect it of him. Yet in the end, Mr. Wentworth possesses the ability to forgive- which I believe to be quite noble- and admits he's also loved only one person, Anne. "Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you."

All in all, an entertaining New Year's Resolution. If you have a chance, watch the movie, The Jane Austen Book Club, where the lives of the characters model the story lines of Austen's novels. Great movie...great books...fantastic and timeless author.

The Award Goes To...

2010-03-10T09:48:00.001-08:00

Welcome to the Melissa's Journal, I Just Don't Get It post. This is my current list of pet peeves, moments of frustration, and downright annoyances. I've decided to model this year's post after the Academy Awards, which were broadcast last Sunday. No, I didn't watch the telecast, but being that the only thing that changes each year are the nominees- with the exception of Meryl Streep- I can imagine exactly what happened; from the monologue, to the tearful speeches, to the orchestra music to end the speeches, to the dresses I will never be able to afford and have no place to wear.

And the Award goes to...

Most Annoying Celebrity: This year's award is special in that it is going to an entire family, rather than my usual picks of Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan or Denise Richards. This year I choose, the entire Kardashian Family. Honestly, why are they famous? The only one who should truly be famous is Bruce Jenner, for his Olympic success, not for being step dad to an insipid group of narcissistic women.

Most Annoying Television: Reality TV...all of it. Yes, I know there are a lot of you who like Reality TV. I, however, do not. I refuse to watch TV that makes people be judged and voted off. The only time a person should be judged is when they are on trial, or part of my annual blog.

Most Annoying Athlete: I know you're thinking I'm going to pick Tiger Woods here. Yes, he's had a bad year and has made some awful choices, but I'm going to, rather, choose a man who I thought would never make this list, Michael Jordan. I was a huge Michael Jordan fan, at one time- in fact, my room was decorated with a mixture of Michael Jordan and Jon Bon Jovi posters, no joke. However, I was truly disappointed while watching his Hall of Fame speech. It was a disservice to anyone who has believed him to be a role model.

Most Annoying Politician: Well, in a year when there's been a lot of talk of change and health care reform and "you betchas," politicians are easy to find annoying. My choice for this year is, John Edwards. His cheating and lying and covering up are a disgrace to families everywhere. My hope is that Elizabeth Edwards will continue fighting her cancer and live a happy life with a man who treats her the way she deserves to be treated.

Most Annoying Celebrity Couple: Jon and Kate Gosselin. No, they are not what I consider a celebrity couple, like Brad and Angelina, but they are in the public eye. My advice...keep your kids' lives private and let them grow up without a camera following them around. Don't air your divorce on tabloid TV and for Heaven's sake, Jon, act like the father of eight. Did you never watch Dick Van Patten on "Eight is Enough?" I don't remember seeing him on a Boat Cruise with a dying-to-be-famous twenty-year-old.

In Memoriam Segment..........
I'm going to take a brief break to say that this year has been one of extreme loss for my family. We lost my uncle, Pat, and grandpa within two weeks of one another. I love them both and will miss them forever. My condolences also go out to anyone who is grieving the loss of someone in their lives. Please know that my thoughts are with you.

I further want to recognize Farrah Fawcett, because if I don't, Ryan O'Neal and half of Hollywood will be pissed at me.

Personal Grievance Awards.....

Most Annoying Dog Walkers: This is a repeat award and one I must address again. If you are walking your dog, clean up their mess! I often find dog crap in my yard, or on the sidewalk in front of it, and further, I don't think my children should have to dodge it while running to the park. Seriously, it was funny in, I Love You Man, but in the real world, it isn't.

Most Annoying Parenting Moment: When I've finally finished cleaning up the dinner dishes and one or more of my children comes and asks me for a snack. "You just ate," I say. "But I'm hungry," They whine. Also, when I sit down to eat and everyone starts asking for seconds. I begin to feel like the mom in, A Christmas Story.

Annoying War Protesters: There is a time and a place for everything. Do Not Ever protest the war at a military funeral. It is cold hearted and disrespectful. No one wants to bury their Soldier, let them grieve in peace.

Thing That Really Ticks Me Off: Criminals on the Streets...another repeat winner. Most sex offenders should never be released from prison. Keep them there so society is safe. Don't release dangerous criminals...Four Lakewood Police Officers would still be alive today if a career criminal had been kept behind bars.

The Final Year-End Annoying Award Goes To: Homeowners Associations. If you've had one, you understand. If you've never dealt with one, count your blessings.

Thank you to all those who read my blog. I encourage you to leave a comment if you have something that really bothers you, because chances are, it bothers other people too. As you all know, I'm not a confrontational person and these opinions are not meant to irritate anyone, they are my opinions alone. Have a great year and please, remember to use your turn signal and don't speed in school zones or down my street.

What If...

2010-03-05T08:41:00.000-08:00

The only television show that my husband and I watch together each week is, Lost. The producers tell us that this is the final season and all answers will be revealed. Following Tuesday night's episode, and after checking on our kids and climbing into bed, I turned to Chris and said, "I still have no idea what's going on...do you?" His answer, "There's about ten episodes left, we'll get it in the end." But will I? Seriously...I'm beginning to doubt myself and the producers on their all-will-be-answered promises. From what I gather, the Losties are currently living two parallel lives- both on the island and off. The off is a look at the "what ifs"...the how would life have turned out if we'd never crashed on the island, in the first place. Yes, I'm still confused, yet it has also gotten me thinking about the what ifs in my own life.

Sure, we all have, what ifs. I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I'd made different choices, if those I love would have stayed together, if loved ones didn't pass away. Many of these things we have no control over, but for the ones we do, for the choices we've made- would we choose differently now, if we had the opportunity, to go back? Would it matter if I'd have told the boy I had a crush on that I liked him, would I respond differently to the ex-boyfriend as he was breaking up with me, would I stand up to the girls who were ganging up on me? I think the most pertinent question is...would it even make a difference?

I've met wonderful people in my life, and many of these people would never have crossed my path, or been a part of my existence, if different choices were made. If I hadn't moved to Washington for college, I would not have met my husband and would therefore be giving up the three most important people in my life- my children. If my husband were not in the Army, we wouldn't have had to deal with deployments, but would our lives be the same? Yes, deployments are enormously challenging, but they've also given me confidence and empowerment and pride that I didn't know existed before I experienced them.

Although I've asked a lot of what ifs, over my lifetime, I don't know if it would make a difference to go back and change anything now. The past experiences that I've gone through have made me who I am today. Yes, I've made mistakes. Yes, I regret these mistakes. I guess the real challenge is to move on and change those what ifs into an action to turn these past regrets into a promise to improve in the future...forgive those who've hurt you, love those who might not be with you forever, check in on someone who needs a person to talk to, and always tell those you love how much you love them before saying goodbye, so they never have to wonder what if...

What A Weekend

2010-02-22T12:38:00.000-08:00

Friday evening, my sisters and I took Seattle by storm...well, not so much, but we'd like to think otherwise. Yes, Friday night was the Bon Jovi concert we'd spent months (actually years) anticipating. For my sister, Kristin and I, it was our second Bon Jovi concert. For Erin and Hannah, it was their first. Obviously, the band didn't disappoint. They are amazing performers and still my favorite rock band and the only that would leave me feeling letdown after it was all over. Not because they weren't what I'd expected, but rather, because they were better. I feel sad because it's over, in the same way my children feel after Santa comes and they realize it's going to be another long year before he returns.

Sunday night, I finish reading Jane Austen's, Mansfield Park. My New Year's resolution this year was to read all of Jane Austen's novels, in order of publication. Therefore, I began with Sense and Sensibility, followed by Pride and Prejudice, and lastly, Mansfield Park. Initially, the writing confused me; for example, I'm accustomed to characters being referred to by their first names, rather than Mr. or Mrs. I really get tripped up when a couple of characters are being called Mrs. Rushworth. These novels have taken me longer to read than others written in the 21st century, but they are quite entertaining and I'd recommend anyone looking to read well written literature to give Jane Austen a try. I will definitely be writing more on Jane Austen as I complete my resolution.

This morning, as I was thinking about my weekend, I reflected on these different forms of entertainment...how they've both peaked my interest. How do you compare Bon Jovi to Jane Austen? Yes, I grew up when Bon Jovi was at their peak, and have followed them as a fan for over twenty years; yet, Jane Austen's characters appeal to me so much that I can envision them- truly caring for some and despising others.

*Bon Jovi was an average rock band before 1985...before the album, Slippery When Wet, was released. Before you could purchase a pair of stone washed jeans and feather your bangs, they went from semi-famous, to one of the hottest bands around. Jane Austen, on the other hand, published her first novel, Sense and Sensibility, under the name, A Lady.

*Bon Jovi can entertain a crowd for two hours straight and then leave them screaming for an encore. Jane Austen wrote her first books, to entertain her family. It wasn't until her family received them so well, that she pursued publication. In fact, several years passed between when Sense and Sensibility was written and published, and the name was originally titled, Elinor and Marianne, and was written as a series of letters.

*Mansfield Park studies the theater and it's negative effects. It also talks about classicism and how people who are born, or raised, in privilege are more well bred then those with less education and training. Bon Jovi doesn't take any chances on stage. They rock hard and they entertain. Fans range from the wealthy to the lower middle class, and they sit in the arena alongside one another. One of the songs from their recent album, The Circle, is titled "Working Man." It was written after the election of President Obama and for all those who work hard for a living; whether in a factory or a steel mill.

*Bon Jovi will travel all over the world during this two year tour. Traveling during Jane Austen's time, the eighteenth century, was not easy. People took horse drawn carriages, or traveled by post (with the mail.) They stayed long periods of time in the places they were visiting because travel was infrequent and difficult.

*Jane Austen is a beloved author of six completed novels. She died at a young age and before she could complete what would have been her seventh novel, Sandition. Her final published novels, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, were published following her death, by her brother. Multiple film adaptations and literary works have been made from her novels. Bon Jovi has sold over 120 million albums worldwide. They have performed for over twenty six years and still have an amazing fan base and following. With any luck, they will keep rocking for many years to come.

Perhaps, I'm the only person in history to compare Bon Jovi to Jane Austen. As a true 80's girl, all I can say is that they are both...totally awesome.

Fan Club President

2010-02-12T19:20:00.000-08:00

As I ran onto the basketball court before my first Varsity game, I felt a bundle of nerves, mixed with adrenaline, well up inside of my chest. I’d worked hard, for many years, to finally be able to wear the signature warm-ups of the Varsity team. Memories swirled through my head, in tempo with the rhythm of the pep band—late afternoon free-throw shooting at the neighborhood park, morning runs to build my endurance, and pick-up basketball games around a metal hoop with my dad and younger brother.

My brother had no finesse on the basketball court, and his primary accomplishment was perhaps the number of jammed fingers he’d given me over the years. My dad was a direct descendant of the coaching-school-of-tough-love, truly believing that no foul was ever committed unless blood was drawn. Yet, as I ran onto that basketball court, with my ponytailed hair and number fourteen jersey, I knew undoubtedly that my dad would be in the bleachers cheering for me. I did not anticipate, however, that he would be cheering during the warm-ups. As my team circled the court and began doing lay-up drills, I had to motion to my dad to come to the edge of the court, at which point I shouted over the music, “Dad, you’re not supposed to cheer during warm-ups, okay? Can you please wait for the game to start?”

My dad was twenty-one-years old when I was born, after marrying my mom directly out of high school, and entering the work force, as a baker. I’ve heard some speak of their fathers as though they are enigmas they barely knew—men, who worked all day to provide for their families, yet didn’t speak a lot about themselves, while their children respected them from a distance. Yes, my dad was like a lot of fathers who retired in front of the television each night after a long day of work, and whose primary goal in life was to provide for his family. Aside from that, my dad was the exact opposite of reserved. There was not one shy bone in his body, not one ounce of ability to keep his feelings hidden from his kids. He was part historian, part philosopher, part outgoing salesman—trapped inside the body of a baker.

My dad had multiple ideas and theories, along with a mountain of historical facts which consumed his thoughts on both long road trips and short jaunts across town. As my brother, sisters, and I zoned out on his reenactment of the Lewis and Clark Expedition toward the Pacific Ocean, our dad continued teaching us, in his animated way. It didn’t register that we were barely interested, or that our eyes had begun to float toward the back of our heads—he knew that either osmosis or some other life form was helping us to absorb what he lectured. My dad could’ve written a textbook on how to handle sullen teenagers. At a stage of development where a lot of parents began to obsess over receiving silent and stoic behavior, he ignored it and continued to educate us in the only way he knew how—by persistence.

Of all of the things I learned from my dad, a handful stand out. His most common phrase when I was an adolescent was, “boys will ruin your legs.” To this day, I’m not really sure what he meant by that. Perhaps it was to instill fear in me that by becoming involved with a member of the opposite sex, I would in fact, forfeit muscle tone. Further, he was adamantly opposed to me dating upperclassmen. He gravely told me that older boys only wanted one thing, and it wasn’t help with homework. What that translated to was that if I brought one of these scary older guys to our house, they would certainly get a personal tour of his gun collection. Shopping for dresses was always a fun experience with my dad. Anytime he pointed out a dress to me I would make a mental note that it wasn’t the right one. His saying, “this would look great on you,” actually meant, “not one ounce of your flesh will be seen through this dress which is the fabric equivalent of a couch cover.”

My dad knew we were lying by looking at the bottom of our tongues for the presence of blue lines. We’d no idea that those were actually veins which were always present—in our minds, he was a genius capable of espionage. Whenever he suggested going out for a family adventure, we knew we’d be taking a load of garbage, to the dump. If Dad talked about driving to the perfect picnic location, we could pretty much count on the fact that we would spend three hours in the car looking for this magical place before he settled on a different one. For my dad, it was never about the destination—he enjoyed the journey, because that meant time together in the car.

Dad was the master of home projects, and would rather spend every available moment he had working around the house, rather than hiring contractors, to do it. In his pursuit of home makeovers, he was an equal opportunity employer, which meant he hired—free of charge—his children. There was no such thing as “man’s work” or “woman’s work”—we were all created equal and capable of helping out with painting projects, laying out shingles as he roofed the house, and holding of the flashlight, while at the same time, staying out of his light.

Yes, I knew my dad would be out there cheering for my first Varsity basketball game, as he had been for every other game I’d played in. Although I hadn’t anticipated him to be cheering so loudly during our organized warm-up routine, I wasn’t surprised to see it. Dad was my ever present fan club president; the man who wore my picture button proudly on his winter coat, who still carried my tattered first grade photo in his wallet to show co-workers, and who never forgot to say I love you, before leaving for work in the morning. He was the dad who followed our winning basketball season all the way to the State Championship, and who was there with tears in his eyes, following the game. Although I wasn’t the star of the team, he was proud of me; and if I would have challenged his pride, I wouldn’t have seen any blue lines beneath his tongue, because it was the truth. As the basketball nets were being cut down by our team captains and the championship trophy carried by our coach, I ran to the edge of the bleachers and hugged my dad—who was, of course—still cheering.

Mommyhood

2010-01-19T13:47:00.000-08:00

2009 brought many things to our family, including four babies on my husband's side. Just this past Sunday, we got a serious baby fix when almost all of these babies were together and we literally had the opportunity to pass them around and cuddle with them. As I'm approaching the third birthday of my youngest, I find myself reminiscing about parenthood...what I thought it was going to be like....versus what it actually is.

I had a lot of notions when I was pregnant with my first. My ideas of starting a family went beyond the perfect crib, cute clothing, and most safe car seat. I truly believed that at night when I laid her down in her cradle, she would sleep soundly until it was time to nurse her again. I reasoned that nursing would be easy- after all, women have been doing it for centuries and what could be easier than feeding an infant warm milk from your own body? I figured, with support from my husband, our perfect child would instantly mold her routine into ours...that which we were accustomed to.

Then I gave birth and realized how wrong I'd been. Honestly, I knew parenthood would be an adjustment, as I'd heard for years, "parenting is the hardest job there is." Yet, what came after Madison's birth was such a shock that nine years later, I still haven't completely recovered. Of all of those plans and routines and rules I'd envisioned, I missed the one most important component...the baby. Until I had Madison, I didn't know what it was to be tired and at the same time awake enough to feed a child in the middle of the night after only two hours of sleep. I didn't understand what fussiness, or tummy aches, or teething pain could do to a baby- and how loud their cry would sound at 3:00am. I didn't know the fear of a first high fever, or the anxiety of leaving her with a babysitter, or the insurmountable love I would feel whenever she smiled at me.

Slowly the insecurities and exhaustion washed away, and we welcomed Peyton and Allison. I learned first hand that no two children are alike. Everything which worked for Madison didn't work for Peyton or Ally. My three children are no more alike than different fingerprints. With each of them, we were relearning how to cope, to struggle, to love them in the ways they needed us to. In fact, we are still learning how to be parents, every single day.

Until I became a mom, I didn't understand the sadness I would feel when my son lost his first school election, or the fear that would shoot through my system the first time Madison fell off of the high balance beam. I didn't realize the anxiety I would feel while standing in an emergency room with Allison coughing so hard, I thought her lungs might burst. Before having kids, I didn't realize that the more you read to them, the better readers they will become. I didn't know that it is entirely possible to be thrown up on by three different people in one night, or that I would look forward to hearing "hi Mommy," whenever I came home from the grocery store. I didn't know how frustrated I'd be seeing newly washed clothing thrown back into the laundry basket or how wonderful it is to get multiple hugs and kisses throughout the day.

Every day I learn something new as a parent. What worked yesterday in getting my toddler to eat her vegetables will certainly not work tomorrow. Likewise, no one will go to bed when I ask them to, or clean up their rooms without being told, and they will never request the same movie on Family Movie Night because that would make life too easy. And when it comes right down to it, parenthood is never easy, no matter how much we wish for it to be.

Forgiveness

2010-01-17T11:03:00.000-08:00

What is forgiveness?

According to my handy online Thesaurus...
1. Compassionate feelings that support a willingness to forgive.
2. The act of excusing a mistake or offense.

This would lead me to believe that in order to be forgiven or pardoned, one must have committed a mistake, an offense, a blatant error which hurt another. Yet, I question...is this always the case? Does the offender typically know when they are hurting another, or is the other possibly incapable of forgiveness, or perhaps fashioning a crime in their mind, so that they have a reason to be bitter and angry?

I know in my life, I have hurt other people. I haven't been there when I should have, I've forgotten to call when they needed me, I've said something which was taken the wrong way- or was a comment I shouldn't have said period. I've also been hurt by others. I've been left out, I've been lied to and put down, I've been gossiped about. At what point is it time to let go of these past transgressions and go on with life?

No one benefits from bitterness and grudge holding. No one lives a longer life by gossiping and defaming the reputation of the innocent. The inability to forgive, no matter the reason, will eat away at your soul until there is nothing left but a shell of the vibrant person you once were. Recruiting a following of fellow haters, for no other reason, than to form a camaraderie of animosity to feed off of perceived transgressions will do nothing but lower others to your level of empty gratification.

I also realize there are crimes which are often impossible to forgive- murder, molestation and rape, abuse, the list is long. I'll be honest in admitting, if someone hurt my child, I may never forgive them. Yet, I find inspiration in the mother who visits the drunk driver who killed her son in prison, the woman who turns a terrible sexual assault into a passion for educating college co-eds into the dangers of campus date rape, the family who chooses not to pursue wrongful death charges and rather advocates for causes to keep these occurrences from happening again.

My plea for today is this...
An end to a needless cycle of----
*hating another, just for the sake of hating
*refusing to forgive the innocent based on feelings of grief and bitterness
*choosing to follow a gossiper because it is easy to thrive off of controversies and look for blame.
I think if we could all do this, the world would be a better place...if nothing else, we'd all be a lot happier.

Dreams and Loss

2010-01-11T11:29:00.000-08:00

I've always had really vivid dreams, some which make sense and others that are just bizarre. Last night- or more accurately- this morning, due to almost sleeping in, I had one that's still got me thinking.

From what I remember, I was living in a different house. That's not too weird since I often dream that my husband and I are moving. Usually, we sell our house and buy one that needs a lot of work. The new houses are never nice, extremely messy (one of them even had rotted food left in the kitchen for me to clean up), and always I'm panicking over why we sold our house for "this." Anyway, in this dream the house had a basement with three bedrooms and a large closet for my photo albums and books. Oh, and my dad lived there. He informed us that my brother was moving in too.

Before I had time to adjust to living with my dad and brother again, I was walking through a mall and saw a lot of people who I went to college with. I was talking to them about basketball and my writing. As I was leaving, toward a long hallway, I saw a former neighbor who played for the GU basketball team. He remembered me and as we were talking we walked toward a large fish tank. After passing the tank, I lost him among the crowd.

I then walked toward a door which was being held open and that's when I saw them...my grandma and grandpa. They were both standing in the doorway, essentially holding the door open for people. I wanted to reach them and talk to them. You see, my grandpa passed away five months ago, yet in my dream, he looked so healthy and happy. He wasn't reclined in a chair, or unable to walk without assistance, or barely able to speak. He was happy and vibrant and standing proudly beside my grandma. I wanted to reach them and hug them both, but I was only able to get to my grandma and hug her. Before I could touch grandpa and tell him how much I miss him, I woke up.

I don't know what my dream meant, it didn't make much sense at all. What I do know is that I woke up this morning with an ache in my chest, knowing that I'll never again see my grandpa alive. I wish I could have reached him before the dream ended, if nothing else than to tell him one more time how much I love him.

Gluten-Free Dining...Spreading the Word

2010-01-02T11:27:00.000-08:00

Today I googled myself and came across a website noting an article I wrote which was published on Celiac.com. The article was titled Gluten-Free Dining, and it was also published in The Journal of Gluten Sensitivity. I was pleasantly surprised to see it had also been noted on The Gluten Free Network.

That's the funny thing about googling yourself. No, I am not the Melissa Blanco who is a professional ballroom dancer, although how cool would that be? I unfortunately embarrass my family at wedding receptions because I am a terrible dancer. Likewise, I am not the Melissa Blanco who is an in-house writer for Tequila.com. I know nothing about tequila aside from the fact that it is in margaritas and I got seriously ill after a fun night of drinking it a long time ago.

Here's the link to the link of my article. Or you could always just go to Celiac.com.

http://glutenfreenetwork.com/articles-and-news/gluten-free-dining-in-a-chain-restaurant/

Temper Tantrums 101

2009-12-05T20:39:00.000-08:00

My two-year-old, Ally, has had quite a day...and therefore, so have we. From the moment she woke this morning, she has been in a bit of a funk. Realistically, I cannot blame her much- we've been traveling, she's gotten less sleep, possibly had a tummy ache, etc. Unfortunately, she's so unhappy, so frustrated, so set in her ways, that she is determined to showcase her anger, and bring the rest of us down with her.

I feel her methods should be shared, in case anyone is interested in perfecting her craft.

1. If you don't feel like getting dressed in the morning, the best approach to getting your way is to throw yourself onto the bed, scream to a point of waking your baby cousin up, and then convince your mom to allow you to wear pants beneath your nightgown.

2. Scream at the top of your lungs, and with your eyes shut securely, when any show other than Little Einsteins is turned on. Furthermore, if the episode which is on isn't the exact one you want to watch- scream again- and louder the second time.

3. Refuse to eat your dinner unless it is cut into pieces which meet your specifications. Adamantly shove away anything resembling a vegetable.

4. Getting your point across is much easier if you lie directly on your stomach as your arms and legs kick out in all directions.

5. Say "no" a lot...and really loudly. Say "no" even if you mean yes, kind of, maybe, or I suppose so. Say "no" if your brother asks you a question, your sister attempts to help you, your mom tries to hug you, and your dad tells you to stop.

6. If you have trouble remember any of the above methods...just focus on screaming and saying "no!" Yes, others will think you are unreasonable, but you won't be able to hear them above your own voice, so it really doesn't matter.

Second Anniversary

2009-11-28T14:24:00.000-08:00

I recently passed the second anniversary of one of the most significant events in my life. It's not my wedding anniversary or the birth of any of my children...rather, it's the anniversary of my celiac disease diagnosis. The day a simple blood test confirmed I had it, seriously rocked my world, and everything I'd ever known.

I was never one of those dieters who stopped eating any food in particular, to shed weight. Not liking something was the only thing that would keep me from eating it. If I was told not to have a slice of french bread, I'd begin craving it. That was, until I was informed by a knowledgeable medial professional that one slice of french bread was breaking down my small intestines, and therefore affecting my entire health.

To celebrate my milestone, I ate gluten-free donuts for breakfast. They weren't the best donuts I'd ever tasted, but they satisfied my cravings, to a certain degree. When you are unable to eat anything containing wheat, barley, rye or oats- you come to learn that donuts are a commodity, similar to a fine tasting wine, meant to be savored.

For information on Celiac Disease visit, www.celiac.com
Celiac sprue is an inflammatory condition caused by intolerance to gluten, a substance found in wheat and other grains. The inability to digest and process this substances may lead to inflammation of the intestines, vitamin deficiencies due to lack of absorption of nutrients, and bowel abnormalities. Gluten may be found in many foods, especially processed foods and baked goods. Breads, cakes, desserts that use thickeners, alcoholic beverages (except wine), cereals and pastas may all contain gluten.

Defensive Driving

2009-11-13T13:22:00.001-08:00

Although I took Driver's Education in high school, something like twenty years ago, I think I may need a refresher course. More specifically, I might need a crash course- so to speak- in defensive driving. My primary reason to acquire this skill is for one reason...shopping at Costco.

Yesterday my family stopped by the local Costco to grab a few things. Mistake #1: it was a Sunday afternoon. To say that it was busy, is an understatement. As I was grabbing a shopping cart, while being rained on, after finding a parking space a good distance from the Costco entrance, I got to thinking about how we all need defensive driving in order to shop here. And I'm not just talking about our cars, I'm also referring to the carts we use inside of the warehouse.

Here are a few of my thoughts:

1. Parking at Costco can be a time consuming and stressful situation. Many people (myself not included) find it unacceptable to park a certain distance from the entrance, forcing them to walk. Therefore, they proceed to drive down each aisle until a closer spot becomes available. In some instances- they choose to wait for a mom with children, to unload her full cart, put the kids into the car, and put the cart away. In so doing this, they avoid the obvious fact that if they had parked further away, they would already be halfway through the store by now. As an added convenience, they have blocked traffic for a minimum of five other cars who are also waiting for the perfect parking spot. As the flustered mom hurries to vacate her spot, tensions mount in the Costco lot...defensive driving is a must.

2. Careening through the store with a cart. Now this part becomes tricky. One must always be aware of their surroundings while moving through Costco, especially if you have a couple of kids in tow. Shoppers must be visually aware when they come to a standstill...an indicator that they have arrived at a food sample display flanked by hungry shoppers. People are willing to wait for long periods of time for that small sliver of heated frozen pizza- as long as it's free. Please be aware as you move around these kiosks.

3. The Book/Movie aisles. Costco is not designed like a book store or a Blockbuster Video. With people pushing large carts, and books stacked in piles, in no particular order- it should be noted that now is not the time to pick up a book, park your cart, and proceed to read the first two chapters. Not only is this dangerous for you...a defensive driver should always stay aware of the perils around her. This is also quite annoying to shoppers who are trying to move past you without ramming you in the backside, accidentally. I feel that this section of Costco should be like the Airport drop off area, where a person over a loudspeaker says, "This is a no parking zone. There is no stopping. Drivers must remain in the vehicle at all times."

4. The in-store parking lot. Another parking lot exists at Costco- at the food court. Seriously, Costco has the cheapest food in town, and why not capitalize on it? Please be advised to park your cart at an angle, in front of the tile and carpet displays, while you eat. I don't think anyone will take your groceries, so have faith that the cart will still be there after you've finished your hot dog and drink.

Potty Time

2009-10-23T17:57:00.000-07:00

Apparently, my two-year-old is potty training her doll. For those of you who've followed my wordpress blog, you are aware that I began potty training Ally, in June. Now it's late-October, and let's just say, we haven't accomplished our ultimate goal...the one where Ally wears big girl underpants and uses a toilet seat when she goes to the bathroom.

But the good news is, her doll does. Did you know that her Purple Baby (Ally's favorite doll), Elmo, Dora, the Backyardigans, and Kai lan all pee in the potty chair? It's really quite amazing when you think about it. They take the initiative and go to the bathroom on Ally's potty. They don't need sticker charts, candy, or toy incentives of any sort. When they have to pee or poop, they just sit on this Dora potty and go. Ally, however, does not.

The only time Ally truly takes the initiative to not go in her pants or a diaper, is when she is stalling before bed. Maybe it was my fault for trying too soon...before she had the urge to go. What's interesting to me, however, is that she tells me before she goes, after she goes, and often while she's going. Hmm...

Yes, this doll pees in the potty. In fact, Ally put her there so that she could go. And while this doll was peeing, Ally went in her pants, and then told me about it.