Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Alaska Twilight

I just realized this is the third of the four authors of Girls Write Out that I've commented on in, what, two weeks? I may as well round it out and find a copy of Hot Flashes and Cold Cream by Diann Hunt, huh? I hoped I would win in on Camy's blog, but no luck. Man, I have trouble staying on topic, don't I?

So, first update, no bad dreams last night. Phew. I don't have bad dreams when I finish Colleen's books because the bad guys (and in this case bad bears) always die or get caught. The good guys live and fall in love. Heavenly. Don't you wish all of life could be so easily resolved?

Easily? Readers of Alaska Twilight are shaking their heads in wonder at what I just called "easy." Tee-hee.

As I've come to recognize in the romantic suspense category, the bad guy is someone you don't expect it to be (but I sit and wait for it to be exactly that person because everyone else looks like a bad guy, she says proudly).

But what brought the most delight to me were the little details in this book. The baggage. The plot within plot. The seeming unconnected details that form one massive plot. And somehow Colleen brings them all together to form a coherent whole. She must not be a SOTP writer! I am always in awe of writers that can bring fifteen plotlines together and make it make sense in the end.

I also got a kick out of the cameo appearances. Bree and Samson showed up (Colleen's Rock Harbor Series. Actually they show up in the Aloha Reef Series, also). Hey when you've got a good thing going and the best rescue dog in the world, why mess with it? But also Savannah of Savannah from Savannah (Denise Hildreth) fame. You know, when you've read all the books (and like I said yesterday, begin to accept them as reality) those people are real to you. Of course they should show up in books. You think, "Wow! They know Savannah too! How handy that Bree just happened to be in Alaska with Samson when the girls went missing!"

Maybe I need to get out more.

And one more cameo that Colleen didn't intend, I'm sure, is Chugach. I believe Colleen mentioned the Chugach mountains. My brother in law works for Chugach, the company, the Floridian branch. I learned only last year that this company was based in Alaska when my sister got to go up there and touch a glacier. But while I was reading, I went, "Oh, so that's why it's named that!" You learn something new everyday.

Readers of romantic suspense will want to pick up this book. It's a cheap vacation to the Alaskan bush. Of course now I want to go even more than I did before, but we won't go there...

To learn more about Collen Coble check her out at www.colleencoble.com or go visit www.girlswriteout.blogspot.com they are my first-thing-in-the-morning-enjoy-with-my-coffee blog. You gotta love em.

Monday, February 27, 2006

The Difference a Year Makes

It’s been almost a year now since I had a life changing experience. Actually, I’ve had so many in the last 16 months, I can hardly keep my vision straight, but that’s not the point.

After the WORLDview fiction contest (a nightmare I don’t want to revisit anytime soon, yet one that led me here so I can’t complain), Westbow surprised and delighted the non-winning finalists, myself included, by inviting manuscripts from us. In the uncertain time between the finalist announcement and the winner announcement, I built a friendship with another finalist and eventually an awesome crit group out of the contest bloggers. Supersappygirl and myself both fasted sleep, food, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and families for about six weeks and pounded out our novels. Not surprisingly we sent them in within a very short time of one another and hoped for the best. (The best has yet to happen, by the way, but that story is for another day.)

Anyhoo, several weeks later, as I waited in the frustrating silence that every submitting author knows, I visited my local Christian Book and Gift at their grand opening and noticed that, the next day, one of the authors, whose book was one that I “won” by being a finalist, would be at the signing. Now to be honest, most of the books I got are suspense, or at least look creepy. I don’t do creepy. I like to sleep. I perceive books as real events and I have an active dream life. But I girded up my loins and faced the lion. I went home that night, grabbed the book of the shelf and read it. It was Colleen Coble’s Without a Trace. Yes, I had bad dreams. But it was worth it. Now I'll read Colleen's suspense, but I try to do it early in the day and when I know my hubby will be home. Man did she make me want to go to Hawaii when I read Distant Echoes ...Again, not the point.

The next day I drove over to the bookstore specifically to see if I could visit with Colleen for a few minutes. I walked in, lined her up in my field of vision, and walked straight past. Totally freaked out. What was I doing?!? And then my husband’s voice echoed in my head. Something along the lines of, “Don’t be a wimp. Talk to her.” He’s always bossing me around. He calls it encouraging me to grow. Whatever. But I knew I would have to talk to her or he would never let me live it down. Besides, I left him home with the kids and I wouldn’t get away with “because I’m scared of that very nice looking lady over at the book table.”

Colleen was a doll. She signed my book, offered me a dog treat, and then, when I didn’t leave, she just waited for me to ask whatever it was that left me pale and trembling. “I need to pick you brain,” I said.

Her eyes lit up. “Are you a writer?”

I laughed. “Um, not quite, but let me give you the situation.” (I’ve since learned the answer would be yes, but newbie un-pubbed writers have to learn that from the old pros.) I really can’t delve into the situation because it might be unfair to people who can’t defend themselves, but basically I wanted an inside scoop to an editor’s mind. Colleen pulled her cell phone out of her purse and started dialing. Now, let me just say that if memory serves me, it was Easter weekend, a Saturday, I’m a peon in the writing world, and there was this very nice lady that might have to, in mere moments tell me that my manuscript was a pile of rubbish. “NO!” I yelped. (tags, how I love them!)

“Are you sure?” Still smiling.

But she sent me to www.americanchristianfictionwriters.com and told me it was “hands down the place to be if you want to be published in Christian Fiction.” She even wrote it down for me. I went straight home and signed up. I’ve never regretted it. Life changing in so many ways.

Later Colleen made the call for me anyway and sent me an email or twelve with advice and the “inside scoop” I so desperately needed.

I’m still not published, but ACFW is hands down the place to be if you want to learn from the best. Colleen won mentor of the year last year at conference and I sat there reveling in her glory because I can’t imagine they could have picked better.

Now I’ve been included in the group that gets to help her promote her newest book, Alaska Twilight, and I couldn’t be happier to help. If this hadn't gotten so long winded, I would have talked more about the book (which I just finished--late at night--it's a good thing the bad guys always get locked up in her books so I can sleep!) but I will have to reserve that for morning. Too much to say.

I wish you much success Colleen.


That's a word I've been hearing a lot. "Your first chapter is powerful." "Powerful words." "Powerful emotion." "Powerful scene."


And I'm thankful for the buts, don't get me wrong. I'm so glad to hear the buts because frankly there must be a reason that I'm not getting any takers on my manuscript and it sure isn't because it is powerful. Because I would consider powerful a compliment. Or am I misreading the word? Is it what people say when they don't want to say "this is crap?"

Powerful stuff dear, would you burn dinner tomorrow also?

I may have a new catch phrase. Beware of me if I say something you did is powerful stuff. :-)

No, powerful is what I was going for. I'm glad I succeeded. I just wish I were better at not writing passive, not using so many adverbs, giving facial description, giving the feel of the room. Because if I can be crummy at all that and still be powerful, imagine what I can someday be.

But here's the thing. When I read, I insert the story into my life experiences. If you tell me they are in an apartment it will be my husband's apartment our sophomore year in college. If you are in a generic house it will always be the house my cousins lived in in the 80s. If you are in an old house or say, a castle like in Siri Mitchell's Chateau of Echoes, you can try and try to describe it to me, but I will never be anywhere else except the old Victorian farmhouse I lived in when I lived in Chapman, Kansas (those were the days). One more. In The Trouble with Lacy Brown, they were in a (I think) West Texas cow town. She tried to describe the storefronts to me but what did I see? Downtown (if you can call it that) Hillsboro, Kansas. Because Hillsboro folks are friendly, open, and slightly behind the times (not in fashion, but in trust and in godly living--kudos to them!). Describe away but it is wasted on me. And I write from that perception. My crit group wants everything painted for them. Blank canvas, fill it. They can go on for three pages describing a creek. It is a beautifully described creek. I want to go visit. Why? Because it is the Colorado river that crosses in front of the cabins we stayed in when I was a child.

Sorry folks.

Emotion I can do. I have a lot of it. Scenery, I'm working on it.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Oh My Goodness

My sister sent this to me this morning. I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes. Why they call it "Menopause Jewelry" is beyond me, because I totally get it. Not that I would do it, but...

Menopause Jewelry
My husband, being unhappy with my mood swings, bought me a mood ring the
other day so he would be able to monitor my moods. We've discovered that
when I'm in a good mood, it turns green. When I'm in a bad mood, it leaves a
big red mark on his forehead. Maybe next time he'll buy me a diamond.

Friday, February 24, 2006


I need a healthy dose.

So yesterday I bit the bullet and contacted the editor that I mentioned a couple days ago. I thought, "Hey, at least we could speed up the 'no.' Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Heck, the bridge has already been burned anyway, I already sent her a "boring" proposal (ACK!), and she gave me a second chance.

Anyway, I found the last email she sent which used the word "this," tagged it onto the end of my email which used the word "something," to which she responded that I could send "it."

You think they know what you're saying, you hope you know what they are saying, and at the end of the day, you haven't a clue what to do to proceed.

So, I've spent twenty-four hours paralyzed, unsure of what to do. I've decided to go with brutal honesty. And I'm going to hope she said what I think she said even if she said something else.


Thursday, February 23, 2006

The Trouble With Lacy Brown

I have a whole new respect for romance novels. I confess I used to be in the "Love Inspired" book club that a certain critique group of mine (not naming names) thinks is less than stellar. And when you read some of the descriptions they put through....Oh, my. But, a book with a pink car on the cover and a purple spine has a tendency to strike my fancy, being the chick-lit reader that I am.

This was a fun book. Very well written.

You know, writing has ruined reading for me. I used to pick up a book, read it, either like it or not, and feel like I'd accomplished my goal: escape (relax for those of you that think escapism is sinful). I especially enjoyed what I called mindless reading. Jeanette Oke comes to mind. No offense to the authors of those mindless reads, it just mean that I didn't feel like I had to work to read it. Mostly simple or simply-complex sentences. Smooth plot line. Predictable maybe, but enjoyable. Such are the love inspired. You know they are going to end up together because they must have a happy ending and the two people that fight throughout are the two that end up together, hence the aforementioned "romance."

Now I read a book. Note how many passive words I find. Note whether the chapter ends on a cliff hanger so I feel compelled to turn the page. If there is a rule about it and it is broken, I note it. Note to self: check out whether this publisher takes unsolicited subs because if this what they are printing, surely I have a chance....You get my drift?

So, predictably, I picked up Debra Clopton's book The Trouble With Lacy Brown and expected to "go to work." Not so. I got totally lost in the story.

kudos Debra. Either you didn't break the rules, or you wrote such a cute story I forgot to notice. Either way, I say "You Go Girl!" I'm looking forward to the next two trips I'll take to Mule Hollow.

Commit Me Now

Yesterday was a red letter day. Except, quite honestly, I have no idea what that means. I hear people say that when they've had a really great day, but I also hear people say that their checkbook is in the red and THAT is definitely bad. Anyway, besides the migraine, yesterday was really fun.

I got an email from a publicist that enjoyed a review I'd written and promised the next pre-release that author put out. This person used the letters "VIP." I liked that. It made me giddy. I've decided that I live a very limited life when I get giddy at the promise that I'll receive a pre-release several months from now.

I had a great phone conversation with a friend, who shall remain nameless for soon-to-be obvious reasons. Mid sentence, she broke off and said "Jim Bob (name has been changed to protect the innocent) are we allowed to kick balls in the house?" I heard a murmured no. "Then why are you doing it?" I heard a murmured I Don't Know. "Go to your room and sit on your bed until you can come up with a better answer." I heard wailing and gnashing of teeth dwindle as JimBob obeyed. My friend, a very sweet Christian woman, by the way, came back on the phone and said, "If he'd just say, 'because I don't give a flip what the rules are, Mom' I'd be happy. At least that would be the truth...'I don't know' now that is original, glad he put some thought into it."

Call me sadistic, but I'm glad I'm not the only one who has some really bad days with my kids. I laughed, and laughed, and laughed, came up for air gasping, then laughed some more. Every time I thought of it all day, I cracked up. Somedays the truth would be preferable to yet another non-reason for disobedience.

An overwhelming headache attacked me and my five year old chose to act responsibly and get snacks and movies for the littler ones while I rested.

I got a UPS package containing Colleen Coble's Alaska Twilight not yet released. (I'll tell you about it in a couple days.)

I had a great day with the kids. We played. We cleaned up. We made a huge web.

It was 55 degrees outside.

The Olympics are on.

I laughed a lot.

And today, I woke up surly. Yahoo isn't letting me post to my online group, but I'm getting all their mail. I feel left out. I thought my daughter's dance class ended today (so there was supposed to be a program and I made my boys sit through the whole class instead of going to the library) but it didn't, there was no program and my boys will have to sit through next weeks class also. And I have another migraine. I just don't see them letting me retreat to my bed again today. And my husband probably won't be home before the kids go to bed.

You'd think days could even out a little better than that. I'm going to go have a Pepsi.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Saving Grace


Last year when I started my novel, I did searches all over the place for "Christian Infertility fiction." Zip, Nada, Nothing. No, that's not true. "The Pearl" by Angela Hunt popped up. And don't get me wrong, it was good. But it wasn't really about infertility so much as cloning. That girl had issues, but her issues weren't recurring every 28 days if you know what I mean. And this isn't about Angela's book, now is it? So on to Denise.

When I was at the ACFW conference in September, I picked up Denise Hunter's Saving Grace. Interestingly, it is book two in a series (gonna have to go back and buy book one) and it doesn't "look" like a book I would necessarily buy. The cover is kinda suspenseful-ish. But something made me pick it up (I'm remembering the old SNL scene with the old lady (who I think was a man in reality) saying, "Could it be SA-tan?" Could it be God?). Anyway, last week on the ACFW loop, as happens about once a quarter, someone started the "untouchable topics" topic and this book came up for infertility. I thought, hmmmm, I think I have that one. And I went and pulled it out.

Wow. I'm glad I did. It was a great book.

When she described Paula in the restroom just after she realized she wasn't pregnant, it was right on. I just shook my head. So much conversation went on on the loop along the lines of, it isn't the issue, it's you, and when I read that scene, I knew they were right. Then I finished the book and most of it wasn't about Paula--at least not in a way that I would call it competition or already been done.

Whew. Because I wouldn't want to be up against that.

But this book was a beautiful story of redemption, forgiveness, and grace. And it painted an awesome picture of adoption. (Another one of my goals) I'm not going to tell you any more of the plot because that is what makes it so stinkin' good.

Great book, Denise. I look forward to book 3

If you want to read more about Denise or her books, go to:
or her blog which she shares with more that one talented author (and is hilarious) www.girlswriteout.blogspot.com

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Ah, The Sweet Taste of Rejection

Well, it's been more than a week and I think I can talk about it. After I'd finally given up, decided they'd lost the proposal-or the return address (I screwed up and deserved it, but they found me anyway)-the rejection came. My sixth. Granted, I have a few more in my file cabinet, but it is my sixth for my novel "Rollercoaster," Expectation Failure," "Expectation," or "Back on the Rollercoaster" depending upon when it was sent out.

Now, mind you, I should be pleased. Only two of those were rejected flat out, without much thought. I came home from conference with six requests for a proposal. many people don't get past the interview, I hear. They didn't seem to be terribly discriminating to me. But, neither did I write a "Historical Fiction Missionary Infertility Story Set in the 1970s" which my friend Melanie and I decided had to be the epitome of what publishers didn't want. We got rather hysterical about it one rather trying afternoon. Poor Mel had a Missionary story set in the 90s and I had the infertility issue, but we came up with something worse, for sure.

None of our staunch, serious writing friends thought it was nearly as funny as we did. Compatibility, I tell ya. We had it.

Anyway, I had my manuscript out to four pubs and two agents. I already had one pub and one agent reject me out of the gates. One of my rejections allowed for a re-read if I gave her a re-write. (I did.) So now I'm still waiting for two houses and one agent. If that house rejects me again, I get to count it as two rejections, right? Because I'm determined that I will either get picked up this year, or win the "most rejections" title at conference. By my count, I have 12 to go.

Anyway, this rejection was a form letter. Very sad. Up until now my rejections have been pretty personal. Change this, don't like that, whiny, not likeable, title, issue, flashback, bored. You know, standard weep in my cheerios kind of rejections. I give myself 24 hours to feel sorry for myself, then I pull up my bootstraps, evaluate whether I think I can "fix" that particular problem, thank the rejecter for such helpful criticism and get to work.

But this was a thanks, but not thanks form letter from an admin. There wasn't even anyone to thank for their time and no comments to thank them for their enlightenment.

They didn't like me. They really didn't like me.

And I didn't even cry. Because how can you take that personally? Whiny, bored, issue, I cried over--after I got done laughing--but this?

I realized it was true. I'd rather have the rejection in my pocket than wonder another day.

I'm not sure that holds true for the other three out. One I want the rejection so that that circle can close. It's been a year now, after all, all said and done, and I really have no hope of anything good coming from them. But the other two, I really, really want. Both were my number one choices. One agent. One house. And they haven't rejected me yet. (Okay, one has, but she gave me a second shot!)

Enough blubbering. If I'm going to have 18 rejections by September, I need to get on the ball.

Monday, February 20, 2006

A Girl's Best Friend

I've had a surreal experience.

I sprinted out to the mailbox to get the mail before we left town and there was a bulky package for me. I didn't recognize the return address, but a hopeful thought flitted past my brain. I asked for it...Surely not...But maybe...What else could it be? I hefted the weight. It had to be! I tore it open. It was! Kristin Billerbeck's not yet released A Girl's Best Friend!

I heard it could happen, this receiving pre-released books from your favorite authors, but I didn't think it could happen to me. I feel so important in my own exclusive kind of way.

I carried it around with me everywhere I went this weekend. Well, for the 24 hours it took me to read it. People would ask what it was, and I would tell them. They'd ask why it was spiral bound and bulky and I would give them a knowing, aren't I important, look and say "It isn't out yet." They'd ask if it was good and I'd blow my bangs out of my eyes, give them a look of delight as if I had just tasted Godiva dark chocolate truffles and squeal, "It's fabulous!"

I'd read, burst out laughing, slam the book down and exclaim (mostly to my husband), "She is just so funny!"

Okay, so yeah, most of us can't relate to Morgan financially. Who has that much money? But who can't relate to bad shoes, lack of self-knowledge, or just flat out embarrassment at our poor choices? Her horror at powdered cappuccino had me spitting out my latte in gales of laughter.

Oh, and guess what? I actually own a pair of shoes that appear in this book. I've waited 30 years, but I own one pair of shoes with a brand worthy of appearing in chick-lit. And not the payless variety that has Morgan shuddering (Because that would comprise the other 37 pair in my closet). I even had them with me on my little trip. I took them out of the suitcase and caressed them a little, thinking, "I knew you were worth it babies." Don't tell Kristin, but I found them on the 80% off clearance rack at a store that already marks their shoes 30% off. Cole Haan for a whopping $25.

So how did I get the priviledge of reading this book? Am I a close personal friend of Kristin? Um, no. I met her a couple times. She did a paid critique for me last September, but I doubt she could pick me out of a line-up. She called me "talented." Yes, I'm still revelling in that. Leave me alone. I figure I can squeak another seven months of joy out of that one.

No, I am a new reviewer for www.armchairinterviews.com and I asked for it. Who'dve thunk it would be that easy? Of course my serious review has to go there. They did get the book for me after all. And I'm not sure the readers want to hear about my shoe success. Oh, guess I better go write that, huh?

Now the only problem is that I have to wait even longer for Kristin's next one.

Oh, the agony. How can I wait that long?

Check out Kristin's books at www.kristinbillerbeck.com

Friday, February 17, 2006

O, Happy Day!

In a younger, more idealistic time, did you ever find yourself saying something that now you not only regret, you feel you are paying for, and probably should apologize about? You know, in college, or before you had children, or, heaven forbid, when you had only one child and you were the perfect parent?

Okay here's mine:

"If a child is old enough to say, 'Mom, I pooped. Change my diaper' he is old enough to go in the potty."

You know where I'm going with this, don't you?

It worked with child number one. Child number two? No sweat. Child number three had me eating my words. What's worse, he was a really early potty trainer. Super early. So early that you wouldn't believe me. Let's just say it this way. I was perfectly trained. As long as I put him on the potty every 45 minutes, he never had messy pants. Never. No accidents. And he always put it in the potty like clockwork.

And then we started solid foods. Yes, that early. Vegetables didn't settle as well in his tummy like that breast milk did. He had to go more often, at unannounced times. I took him out of underwear and put him back in diapers. Yes, my 6 month old was wearing underwear. If you were using the toilet, would you want to wear a diaper? Anyway, with that cushion on time, I fell out of the habit of toileting him (I told you I was potty trained and if I could go back to that again I'd have kept at it). Before I knew it, he couldn't even produce when I took him, so I gave it up and waited for him to hit 18 months. The age my other two started.

Now he is two-and-a-half. I've repented of my pride, I've repented of my words. I've apologized to the people I said that statement to and about. I have made public professions of my stupidity. I've cried. I've begged. I've bribed.

But today, Oh, Glorious, Glorious day. Today, even though he was scared, he did his business on the potty.

We have now hung an "Incredibles" clock on his wall. He had a "big candy." He is watching "Monster's Inc." (Only big boys get to watch that.) And even though I offered him $100 if he would just do you-know-what, he wanted two quarters.

So that's what he got.

Pray for me. Tomorrow is another day.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Tell Me, Would You Laugh? I Did.


Today my four year old was trying to draw a cat, threw down her pencil and exclaimed with perfect inflection “d-----t!”

I blinked at her, asked what she said. She repeated it, less perfect inflection, starting to sound concerned.

I crooked my finger at her to come here. “What did you say?”

“I can’t draw the cat.”

“But what did you say?”

“Look Mom, it’s all weird.”

“But what did you say?”


“Where did you hear that?”


“Did you hear that from Mommy?”






“Where did you hear it?”

“I made it up.’

We, of course, covered the fact that that particular word was unacceptable and if she had ever heard it from me, I was sorry. But I don’t think she’s heard it from either of us. A derivative, maybe. I confess Dang it does come out of my mouth when I’m excessively frustrated but I’ve really tried to stop it. (Primarily because she started saying it and we had to have this conversation once before.) We don’t watch TV when they are awake. Do they say it on “Star Wars?” Or did she really make it up?

I’m just glad it happened at home and not at Sunday school. My pride is intact.

For now.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

A Valentine's Day Nightmare

We never do anything for Valentine's Day. I think it stems back to our very first V-day celebration, or lack there-of when my then boyfriend of less than a week apologized profusely for not getting me anything. I was rather ecstatic a the time because we lived in a small town and I hadn't even picked up a card for him. "Great! Me either!" Long convoluted story that, of course, ends up with anger and flowers. Me angry because he keeps saying stupid things like, "I can't believe you are mad that I didn't get you anything." I wasn't mad that he didn't get me anything. I was mad that he thought I was that shallow. Actually, I also got the flowers that he intended to get me anyway, which was supposed to be funny.

I laugh now.

Regardless, V-day isn't that big of a deal for us. So when a friend calls and asks if we can get together at my house in the evening, my answer is "Of course. We never do anything for Valentine's day."

And when the receptionist at the dentists office says "I have an appointment next Tuesday....But it's Valentine's Day." I respond, "No big deal. Just another day."

When a friend sends out a list of days that another unwell friend needs meals brought to her, I look at the list and think "I'll do V-day. Everyone else will be busy."

And when the Bible study coordinator says, "Our next meeting is on Valentine's Day...Does that work for everyone?" You know my answer.

Guess what day was my mother's birthday?

And I am expected to cook my husband's favorite meal on Valentines day even if we don't really do anything.

Guess how many writing contests had due dates of February 14th? Two. Yes, two. And one required a visit to the Post Office. And I forgot to put the check in the package. I did. The postal worker took pity on me and dug it back out, opened it, and let me stick a check in without touching the contents.

And I had a book due at the library.

I'm so glad it's the 15th. I'm not going anywhere.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

I Married Dilbert

Have you ever seen that Dilbert cartoon where he is happily typing away on his computer when Liz walks in and says "I think you love that computer more than you love me!" Dilbert responds, "I do not love that computer more than I love you!" Next frame dilbert is chanting to himself "Please don't ask about the laptop, Please don't ask about the laptop!" And Liz calls from the other room something like, "What do you mean, 'That computer?'"

My husband cracked up, cut it out, and refers to it often.

So last night, my husband of nine and a half years, always the romantic, said, "Well since I can't get it in time for Valentine's Day, I might as well tell you what your Valentine's Day present is." This from the man who hasn't bought very many of them.

I responded, "You mean I get something besides that Godiva Cheesecake that I'm buying from Sam's tomorrow?"

He said, "Yep. Look at me." He was holding up his laptop.

He does love me.

Yes, he replaced it with a bigger better machine. Yes, the reason I don't get the laptop today is because he doesn't have his machine ready for him yet. But I'm feeling the love.

Friday, February 10, 2006

The Dreaded Puke Germ

Also known as “hypochondriacs r us.”

This week we have contended with the dreaded puke germ. What that means is that Tuesday morning my daughter complained that she felt like she was going to puke. After a good forty-five minutes of this I finally gave her a “puke bowl.” Meanwhile, she asked for various food items such as Milk, Oreos, peanut butter sandwiches, etc.. I repeatedly told her, in all my haughty mom-ness, “If you really thought you’d puke, you wouldn’t want to eat.” She’d put the requested food item down and cough into the bowl.

As I cleared the morning dishes I heard her again coughing into the bowl and I yelled, “Quit trying to make yourself puke!” I spun around and in my pinnacle of mom-ness, mid “pu-ke!” saw my poor four-year-old in a retched state of puking. I sent her daddy out for Sprite and saltines which she and her brothers ate all day. Yes, her brothers also. I decided I’d rather reward them for not being sick then make them lie about feeling ill so they could have pop.

No more puking.

Now it is Friday. For four days my daughter has demanded she carry a puke bowl with her everywhere she goes. The puke germ going around apparently gets you for one day, goes away for a couple, and just as you think it is gone, it comes back. Really. That’s what I hear and not just from my kids. But my daughter turned it up a notch today, took a voluntary morning nap and asked for more Sprite. Hypochondria, anyone?

I shrugged and poured the soda. It was going flat anyway.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

What is it with kids?

We have a set of friends that we only see on Thursdays. Now that doesn't mean that those of us under four feet tall don't ask to see those friends the other six days of the week. Today is Thursday. We are supposed to go see our friends. Do any of the short people want to go?


Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Grappling with Nonsense

Today I had a surreal experience on my monthly trip to Sam’s.


I’m eating an apple. A nice, crisp apple. Best texture of an apple I’ve come across. And it tastes like grape soda. The idea, I believe was to combine grapes and apples (which I was curious about considering one grows on a tree and one grows on a vine…how do you cross those?). I think what they did was add grape flavoring to apples. How? I don’t know. I’m baffled. And they were only six dollars for about as many apples.

Lucky me, my children don’t think apples should taste like grape soda. They like grape soda, they like apples. They must, like me, like their flavors separated. There are just some lines you can’t cross.

On the other hand, I also sampled the newly carried Cheesecake Factory cheesecake. Godiva chocolate. Cheesecake Factory Cheesecake. Enough said. And only fifteen something for the whole thing. Considering that a single slice of Cheesecake Factory cheesecake is $7.50, I may crack and buy the thing long about next Valentines day.

Oh, golly, that’s next week. (Can you visualize my feigned surprise?)

Lucky me.