It is time to say farewell. I've neglected this site in favor of shorter posts on Facebook and Twitter but it's time to get back to blogging! That said, it feels like it's time to start over. I'll leave this blog here and will come back and visit but it needs a renovation which right now, feels overwhelming!
I will come back and do some remodeling, some redecorating, update the links and touch base once in a while. I'm not selling this home but I am moving to a new one!
Feel free to stop by and visit, anytime at loraynecupero.com! I'm still moving in and decorating but it's shiny and new!
Now that it's a year later, I realized I hadn't published this one.
If you give your teen some turkey, it will make him think of Thanksgiving. And if your teen thinks of Thanksgiving, he will think of all the food he can eat! And if your teen thinks of all the food he CAN eat, he will get curious.
A curious teen will want to search the internet. If you give a curious teen internet access, he may find cooking videos. If your curious teen looks at cooking videos, they will probably make him hungry. A hungry, curious teen will want to look for the largest portions of food available. If you let your hungry, curious teen search for copious amounts of food, it will remind him that a turducken is a thing. If your curious, hungry teen remembers a turducken is a thing, he will search for it.
Chances are, if your teen searches for something on the internet, he will find it.
If your teen finds videos on how to make a turducken, he will want to show them to you. If you let your teen show you how to prepare a turducken, he will want you to prepare one.
If you begin to prepare a turducken, chances are, the rest of your family will deem you insane. They may or may not offer to help in the process but they will watch because, chances are, they cannot look away. If you are successful in both preparing and serving a turducken, chances are family will be surprised at how much food three birds really are! You will have plenty of food for a while!
If you have this food for a while, people will get tired of leftovers. Chances are that no one will request a turducken for Christmas. But if you were successful, chances are that your teen will want to see if you can prepare cornish hens.
If you successfully prepare cornish hens, your teen will be happy but chances are, he will still be hungry soon after. Cornish hens are small. You will go back to making lots of food. Your teen will mention chicken but if you make chicken legs, chances are your teen will ask for another cornish hen.
If it has been a while, you may give in and purchase two cornish hens and roast them in the oven. But chances are, if you roast two cornish hens, it will remind your teen that Thanksgiving is coming up and he will probably ask you if you can make a turducken.
He wants your love. He wanted your vote. He's just not that into you.
You know the old adage, "Once a cheater, always a cheater," but your guy is different. When you suspected, months ago, that there was a secret server in Trump Tower communicating only with Alfa Bank in Moscow, he reminded you of Hillary's private server. Her emails are the ones you really want to see. Sure, he was attracted to Russia, but he never pursued her.
He behaved. That forgotten, extra server in Trump Tower that was just sending spam marketing for his hotels stopped all communications. So you let it go. It was probably all in your imagination, anyway. But one day, you had that nagging feeling. You just couldn't let it go. After a little digging, you found another, brand-new server with a new name in the same location and only receiving sporadic communication from one other address: hers. Russia just won't leave him alone. But when you confronted him, he stood up in front of all your friends and dared Russia to hack Hillary's emails! He wouldn't have said that, in front of everyone, if he had anything to hide.
You tried to make it work. You prayed. You read. You wondered if your mom was right and Bernie was the guy for you, after all. When Hillary tried to tell you she isn't your enemy and she can help you get away from this guy, he became very passionate about babies! Finally! He was ready to commit to you and have all of the babies with you.
So you're in! Sure, it's complicated but what relationship isn't? His friend Rex is around all the time but that's okay. It's a tough adjustment making this big commitment and the pressure of all of the babies and their healthcare, you aren't going to make him stop spending time with his guy friends. It's just, well, this friend Rex has also had a thing for Russia. So you're not thrilled. He didn't have an affair with Putin but...Putin's second-in-command? That guy is totally infatuated with Rex. Rex wants to spend more time with them but everybody is always against him. It isn't fair. If only he knew someone who could relax a few regulations or change a law but don't worry about that. Russia just sold their biggest oil "jewel" without having to name who they sold it to so there is a whole international mystery there for the world to solve when they aren't watching the Tillerson-Sechin love story. It's like a double-feature.
Try to relax. Rex is getting ready for his new job, anyway so he'll be busy with that. Other friends are here, all the time, too. His friend Bannon? Of course, you have to keep an eye on him. He keeps cautioning your guy to be wary of at least half of your friends but he doesn't even know them. Bannon keeps saying he can tell, just by the looks of them. You're afraid though, to put any conditions on this fresh, new relationship so you're giving it time.
Your guy just started a brand new job, after all and he is already making his mark! He is going to be so great at this new job! He will be the best! We're all going to have tough days, of course but just surround yourself with positive people. Ask that Louisiana guy out for coffee. David something. King? Knight? Duke. I think it's Duke. Try him. He has some really good things to say about your guy. That other group trying to keep his attention? Congress? They're super busy so you'll still be able to distract your guy.
He wants your attention. So give it to him. Pay attention.
I was gunning for a fight I just didn't get the one I was looking for.
I'm very angry about the number of guns showing up in schools. What do we do about it?
ALL life IS sacred.
I started a fight on Facebook. As we've proven in my fb posts, people get FIRED UP when it comes to the rights of the unborn and you should! I promise I can sympathize with both sides and will continue that discussion if you want but I want to know what we are going to do, as a nation, to protect the people who have already been born and should be SAFE at school!
A few weeks ago, a student at an alternative high school near my teens' high school brought a gun to school. No one was hurt and it was a blip in the local news.
Last Monday, a student at a large high school very near the alternative brought a gun to school in his backpack. Still just blocks from my kids' school. No one was hurt, thank God, so just another blip in the news. Two days later, at that same school, two students spray-painted threats in a school bathroom saying there would be a shooting "like Columbine." They were caught and hadn't planned actual violence but after hearing about the gun at their school, thought their threat would cause school to be closed for a day. They just wanted a day off and over 300 students were kept home, just in case. I'm angry that CHILDREN have GUNS in their BACKPACKS. I am very angry that CHILDREN HAVE GUNS IN THEIR BACKPACKS.
No one was hurt in these cases and no one made a big fuss.
But CHILDREN have GUNS in their BACKPACKS. In a Community College in Roseburg, Oregon, people were killed. They weren't "children" but every one of them was someone's child. My oldest attends our local community college in the mornings before she goes to high school. It's far away from Oregon but the tragedy still hit close to home.
Today, we had two school shootings. TWO shootings on college campuses on one day.
If you bother to look at the national statistics, somebody's child is shot every day in this country. Every day. Shootings on a school campus should be shocking! Any shooting should be a wake-up call but TWO in ONE day? We cannot afford to just shake our heads and light candles. We should pray, of course! All of us should be praying right now but my prayer includes a plea that someone has an idea. Maybe not THE answer but AN answer! A bunch of moms got together after too many children were killed as a result of drunk driving. MADD is now a national organization that has saved countless lives. Yes, we still have drunk drivers. But they didn't ignore the problem. Someone stood up and did something. We need to do something. Gun registration for all is a start. My car is a lethal weapon and I must register it and have a license to drive it, even though I don't plan to run anyone down with it. People buying handguns may hope they don't use them but they aren't buying them for any other purpose than to aim them at another human being. Register those suckers. Lock them up. I'm not trying to take them away from you but I want you to keep them from your children. Please! I'm not asking hunters to give up their rifles. I'm not asking people who have that gun by their bed to give it up. I am asking you to put it away. In the unlikely event an intruder enters your home, it is far more likely that you or your family will be hurt by that weapon than the intruder. But that is another argument, too. Children have guns. Teens have guns. Young adults have guns. America, our children are armed and dangerous. It is time to take action.
Journeys down Memory Lane are full of speed bumps, curves, detours and bridges but it's cool to look back and see how even perceived forks in the road were still part of the same main path. On my road, I see how the billboards and road signs were clearly there but I must have been speeding by too fast to read them or too busy looking for my exit.
No. I am not second-guessing parenthood. With three children in school (most days), one of them being home sick today, it's a little too late to wonder if we're up for the job! I'm thinking of R.E.M.'s song, Second Guessing. If you're going to take a drive down Memory Lane, it's a good one for your road-trip playlist! I loved the song back in high school. I didn't own the album but had great memories of listening to it in friends' cars. I said as much to a guy on our first (second) date. I've mentioned both the date and the song here, before. Our very first date was a lunch date in the dining hall so our second date was the first time I got into a car with him. It wasn't my first time in that car. I dated a friend of his the prior semester and they'd both borrowed the same car from yet another friend! I was in a familiar car, with a fairly un-familiar guy, on a date I was pretty sure I didn't want to be on when he popped Reckoning into the tape deck. As Michael Stipe started singing, I relaxed a little and looked at this guy, again. First impressions being what they are, I was surprised. He was dressed for a date, not just coming from class so he was no longer wearing a t-shirt and a white baseball cap. Guys who wore white baseball caps didn't listen to R.E.M. Did they? Maybe dinner wouldn't hurt. We went to a little Italian restaurant where he gave the host a fake name, with a grin. He made me laugh. By the time we finished dinner, he asked if I wanted to go home. I didn't.
We agreed to go see a movie and ended up at Parenthood. Who goes to see a movie titled "Parenthood" on their first date? Halfway through the movie, he asked if he could "have" my hand! No weird stretching to get an arm over the shoulders, no slipping his hand over mine but actually asked first. Who does that? Still holding hands as we walked out of the movie, he asked if I wanted to go home. I didn't.
While trying to figure out what to do next, I think he noticed my glances at the daiquiri stand and suggested we go back uptown for drinks. We went to O'Henry's, had long island iced teas and talked and talked until the bar closed. Then we said we should probably call it a night. We didn't.
We drove down to the French Quarter. Along the way, at a red light on Canal Street, he kissed me. The guy who, when sober, politely asked if he could hold my hand, simply leaned over and kissed me. He will deny that. He told everyone that I looked over and kissed him. I didn't.
We parked the car and walked down to the river. We sat on a bench and talked until the sun came up along the Mississippi river. By then, we were getting a little tired and decided it was time to go home. A full twelve hours after the date-I-wasn't-going-to-go-on began, I made it back to my dorm room and shut the blinds so the morning sun wouldn't keep me from going to bed. I didn't have to worry about waking my roommate as she was out-of-town for Labor Day weekend.
The thing about these trips down Memory Lane is that they're pretty quick day-trips and you can read the signs when you're going this direction. The signs letting me know that second-guessing was available with each and every exit? The flashing caution sign announcing Parenthood Ahead? There they are. There was a point along this road, almost twenty-two years ago where I married that guy that asked for my hand.
This was the point, twenty-six years ago, where two roads merged. I only remember it was the Saturday before Labor Day but now we have Google, which tells me that back in 1989, that would have been September 2.
"A little learning is a dangerous thing." --Alexander Pope
We still do not have a yard. We have mud. A little bit of grass is beginning to emerge here and there but it's mostly a vast expanse of mud and puddles bordering our new pool. I remembered seeing a post or two on Facebook listing flowers and plants that deter mosquitos. I remembered marigolds but did a quick search to see if the post had any basis in fact and what other plants would work. Different sites gave similar lists so I headed out for pots and plants! I couldn't find lavender in the garden center and forgot to look for an actual citronella plant (I didn't think to search the lists while actually at the store) but found marigolds everywhere.
I put pots of marigolds on my upper deck a month ago. I did not buy any of the large, pretty, colorful flowers as we already had large black bumblebees out there. (They tend to freak my kids out a bit. I've reminded my offspring that while they're sweet, they need not worry about a bee mistaking them for flowers so they'll be fine.) I put marigolds up there and was happy that we've been able to sit up there without many mosquitos!
Later, when talking with a landscaper, I asked him if it was true that lavender would deter mosquitos like marigolds. He didn't know of any plants that actually deter them and reminded me that my deck is higher and mosquitos prefer to stay low by the ground. Okay, maybe my marigolds weren't helping but I figured they weren't doing any harm, either so I left them on the deck and yesterday, bought many, many more to plant near my pool. While I was planting, the kids were having fun in the pool but had to duck once in a while to avoid a pesky wasp or two that were scaring them. (What happened to those big, fuzzy bees?) I suggested we take a break and go sit up on the deck for dinner. They could stay in their wet suits but get up and away from the pool and the bugs. They climbed the stairs half-way and stood there, waiting for another wasp to stop circling the deck, then went to sit down. My youngest started yelling that our dog "pooped on the chair!"
My Golden Retriever is capable of a lot of mischief but actually climbing up on a patio chair to do that? Not likely. I came up to investigate and did find something on the chair but it was not put there by my dog. I stormed into the house, complaining that I've been trying to avoid chemicals but I now we had a mud-dauber nest on a seat cushion and no spray to kill those suckers. My husband said he thought we had hornet killer in the garage but while I went to get it, he took care of the nest. He went out with a fly swatter and swatted the one trying to protect the thing, scraped it off the chair and kicked it somewhere! (I asked what we would do if it was still full of wasps but he said he stomped on it!)
It was gone but the kids didn't want to sit there, any more. One went inside and another came back down to sit by the pool, beside the large pots of marigolds as I went back to planting. I finished the pots up with ivy around the edges, just as a deer came by to investigate! (I'd forgotten the deer as I was planting my large pots of salad for them!) The deer left, I cleaned up, poured a glass of wine and got back online. I wanted to read more about marigolds and see if they really would deter any insects, at all. This time, I read a little further. One site said that both mosquitos and many gardeners dislike them for their strong smell but they are a good plant to place by windows and doors to keep the mosquitos from entering your house. The same site cautioned, however, not to put them on patios or around a pool as the large orange blooms can attract wasps.
You can take the girl out of the South but there ain't no getting rid of her southern fears. At 5:30am, I saw it out of the corner of my eye as I walked down the hall. Some of you will recognize the following routine.
Keep walking and start praying. "Please God, don't let that be what I think it is."
Stop walking, start talking to self. "Don't be stupid. It's not what you think it is. Can't be. CANNOT be."
Turn around, slowly. "It isn't moving. That's a good sign. I should turn on the light. I don't want to turn on the light. PLEASE, God don't let it fly."
Turn on light (while preparing to run). "OK. Breathe. It still didn't move." Actually breathe.
Slowly retreat to go grab a shoe. Walk around complete opposite end of kitchen to get a paper towel. Continue inner pep talk. "You live in Indiana. That is not what you think it is. Repeat. Not.What.You.Think.It.Is."
Move closer, try not to close eyes. "It's just a moth. Oh Lord, it's The Biggest Moth Ever."
Try not to panic because deep down, you know it is still going to fly. "Please God, just don't let it fly in my face. Please God."
Move in. "Please God."
And it's just dog hair. "Thank you, God! Thank you, God. Thank You, God!"
I've just admitted my house could use a cleaning but we've not yet invited roaches and thank the Lord, Indiana roaches don't fly!
One more cup of coffee and I'll be ready to write another southern scene. ;)
Packing up "the library"/aka "my room" has been a slow, work-in-progress. Each time I try to fill a box, I find a book I've not yet read, a draft of a novel I never finished or a box of photos I swore I'd scan or, at least, organize. I've mentioned, I have a tendency to keep EVERYTHING.
Every so often, that makes it worth it. Determined to finish this room tonight, I finally got to my file folders. And I found artwork by and photos of Natalie and Christian from years ago. Much, much too cute!
Under those were some more novel drafts. Why didn't I finish those? Under those--my answer. A folder stuffed with "Volunteer Appreciation" certificates. Each and every time someone takes the time to print one out, I shake my head and swear that I don't volunteer in order to receive any recognition whatsoever. And I mean that. I don't. I don't need the certificates or thank-yous or gifts.
That said, I was tired from a busy day plus tired of packing and tired just thinking about moving and then to find so many things still unfinished...I will say it made my day to find a folder full of "thank-yous."
As it turns out, just because I don't have a folder full of finished products/novels/projects, that doesn't mean I haven't seen things through. I am just a little better at finishing things you can't really see. But for those who took the time to notice anyway, it's my turn to say Thanks!
I've tried to take some time this year to refocus--spending more time in prayer, or meditation or just sitting still. I don't have a job outside the home, I am not an overly ambitious person but as you know, life is busy. Lately, I have had to schedule quiet time to make it happen but it has made all the difference. It is amazing what happens when you take the time to sit still.
I signed up as an Adorer for Perpetual Adoration. For those of you that I just lost, the host, the body of Christ, is on the altar in the chapel. People sign up for an hour to ensure He is never left alone. I have to say, this is easily one of the best hours of my week. Once there, I am not required to do anything for an hour except be there. I pray, sometimes say a Rosary but most often I just sit. I sit and listen. It is perfectly quiet in there, of course, but I have learned more about myself, my faith and my place in the world by simply sitting still and listening. Sometimes I jot down a few notes/thoughts that come to me that I didn't expect. (A friend of mine once told me that her friend started taking a notebook with her to Adoration, started writing a book while there and is now a successful, published Christian author!)
I'm usually running to get in there! I have it on my calendar each week, else I would never get there but I still try to fit one more thing/task/chore into my day, right before I go. Whether you believe it is God, the universe or your subconscious that guides you, it is so hard for most of us to find the time to just sit quietly and listen. Put it on your calendar!
Of all of the books I've read to my children over the years, one of my favorites is It's Hard to be Five, by Jamie Lee Curtis and Laura Cornell. Of course, my youngest doesn't want to hear it, anymore as he is SIX. The struggles are real for any age!
I stepped out of my comfort zone a week ago and attended a weekend retreat at church. I wasn't going to go; I have been avoiding it for years. In my quiet hours at Adoration, I kept hearing a voice telling me that I should go this year but I attributed it to my "guilt voice" as I knew I probably should go but really was not interested. Finally, just days before, after enough separate people had asked/encouraged/suggested that I go, I relented. It was lovely, of course, to meet new people and learn more about my faith but what I did not expect was to have quiet time, alone. This was exactly what I needed and never experience on a normal weekend!
I try to go to Mass on the days the kids have "All School Mass." It is nice for the kids to see that I go, too and my youngest still enjoys having me there. ;) But I'm rushing in the mornings, to get them all off to school, give the husband a kiss on the cheek and still make sure I have matching shoes on in time to get there. Today I was a few minutes late. Since then however, my day has gone so smoothly.
So many friends of mine who are also mothers say that they purposely get up very early to make sure they have quiet time for reflection before getting everyone else up and on their way. I haven't been able to do that, yet. I am not a morning person. I stay up far too late and know that I can send up a few prayers when I finally lay down to sleep. But the voices and the thoughts and the schedules all assault my brain at once and then it's tough even to fall asleep. But making time during the day--even if it is running into Mass in the morning, going to Adoration after lunch or just sitting somewhere in my parked car for a few minutes with the radio off--has made all the difference. Now, once I get to bed, I fall asleep immediately. I know if I would go to bed a little earlier and get up a little earlier, our mornings could start off much more smoothly. I am working on that.
Are you superstitious? How would you approach an obviously sinister threat, directly outside your door?
Our fluffy, Golden attack-chicken would like to know.
Human visitors are easy. She will BARK loudly and be THERE. (Preferably ON THEM.) But what if the threat is more sinister? What if you were to look out and see the tall grass swaying in front of the corn fields, only to see a black cat taking her time, poking around the outside of your fence? Bark! Right? Yet one bark caused the cat to turn and look this way. Looking into the direction of the rising sun, her eyes were glowing.
Golden chicken looked back at me, to be sure she had human back-up, before proceeding half-way out the door, barking and wagging her tail, simultaneously. She cautiously made it all the way out on the deck, bark-bark-barking until the cat stopped. Sat. Stared.
Golden chicken came back inside. It's better to protect the home from the inside. When the cat was ready to move on, gc did go back outside to bark the dog equivalent of "that's right, you'd BETTER go!" until the cat finally sashayed to the next yard. Our fierce, fluffy protector then felt empowered enough to venture out into the actual yard (ever so slowly) for one last bark ("yeah!") before running back into the house to make sure I was okay.
I wish I were smart enough to be able to craft children's books. Admittedly, it irritates me when my husband says I should write for children. He offers it as a suggestion because children's books are short. (I am eternally "almost finished" with my current draft.)
I spend much of my day with children. Every evening, I read to at least one child. Thus, my husband believes that I KNOW children's literature. When I have time of my own to write, however, I want to create something that I would want to read. I wouldn't even know where to get inspiration for picture books.
There were very few "slow" or "boring" days this summer but on one of those rare days, my youngest was bored and had no one to play with. I found him in the garage, talking to a small caterpillar. He showed me his new friend, and I asked if he had a name. He looked at the little green guy and said, "Jack."
I suggested we relocate Jack to the garden as he would starve in the garage. My son was a little worried he would lose him in the garden but didn't want him to die in the garage so we scooped him up and moved him. My son stood, put his hand over his 5-year-old heart and said, "So long, Jack. I will keep you in my heart, forever."
He will, too. Five-year-olds, especially mine, do not forget. Just in case, though, he did draw Jack's portrait so he would always remember him! (The creature flying above Jack in this portrait is a bird. My son began talking to a bird in the grass after he drew Jack's portrait but the bird quickly flew away. Josh added him to this picture of all the friends he made and lost, all in one afternoon.)
My children, unlike myself, are artistic. Another reason I do not consider writing children's books is the number of illustrations! How would I find an illustrator?
All three kids are finally in school full-time, so on the four days that I am not going into the school as volunteer librarian (to read more picture books to more children) I fantasize about using those hours to craft grown-up, full-length sagas. I keep meaning to get to those drafts right after I throw the kids' clothes into the washing machine, wipe toothpaste from the bathroom counters and empty trash cans that have been decorated with basketballs or zebra stripes.
After taking the dog for a long walk recently, I decided to clean up the backyard. I paced the yard, thinking about the next chapter I really am trying to work out in a current draft. While I searched the yard for piles of dog poop and thought about escaped slaves in Florida, one lone, beautiful butterfly kept following me. By that time, I smelled. A sweaty human who had played with a dirty, smelly dog and was holding a bag of excrement cannot possibly smell like ANY type of flower this butterfly might be trying to find. He kept flitting in my face, darting back and forth. He would not get out of my face. I stopped thinking about Civil War battles, thinking instead that the butterfly looked like so many butterflies in so many children's picture books. He circled my head again until I stopped, smiled and said "Hi, Jack." He did a little spin in my face and flew away.
(This butterfly was not drawn by my son. This is a close-up of part of a picture my daughter drew years ago. It now hangs on a wall in our library/den/office so I have something to look at when I can't think of what to write next.)
One of my big challenges in parenting is recognizing that my child may not be able to be ANYTHING they want and guiding them towards areas that are similar to the skills and talents I see in them.
Having said that, my children can be anything they want to be. I stand by that.
Having said that, some careers are going to be much easier than others.
Tonight, I heard myself say to my son, "There is no successful career path out there where you can procrastinate, find the loopholes around the work you should be doing and blame your mistakes on others."
As I shook my head (hoping he thought it was in dismay over the as-yet-not-completed homework), I realized that there is a career path where one can succeed with that particular skill set. And my son is charming enough to get enough people to vote for him.
For better or for worse, I have a tendency to pick up "local" accents wherever I go. I don't mean to do it, it is just a bad habit. (Not a problem until I hang out TOO long with friends from Canada as they start to look annoyed.) ;)
After 12 years as a military wife, you never know what I'm going to say!
Anyhoo....it comes with perks. Like drinking with my little brother one night and he says "with each glass of wine, you sound like you come from somewhere else!" Or...the cab driver in Miami, the other day who was listening to me talk to my kids. He finally asked "where are you from?" When I replied, "I was actually born here," he shook his head and said "that's not it." I said, "We live in Indiana, now. Do I have a MidWestern accent?" He nodded and said "THAT'S it!" *sigh*
Although I grew up in Florida, I acquired my "southern" accent more during college in New Orleans and it seems to show up again around family in the South, or when I drink. Ahem. So... I am going to feign innocence (as even the older kids are giving their little brother a "break" on this one) as it isn't TECHNICALLY wrong for him to ask, "What the Hail?"
(Right?)
The fun part of writing historical fiction is that you can spend a morning reading ("researching") and call it "work." I have always been interested in the Civil War and Reconstruction eras in our nation's history and am currently fascinated with Natalie Benjamin (wife of Judah Benjamin, "the Brains of the Confederacy.")
I find history compelling but need to find a way to make it more accessible for my children.
This week, I reminded my son, "those who do not know their history are doomed to repeat it."
It did not so much motivate him as give him a new motto.
He keeps muttering, "I'm doomed! DOOMED!"
Switching gears for a moment to review a non-fiction book (although the cynic in me suspects a few of the "correct" examples given in this book were fictionalized a bit). Having said that, the examples of what to say and do were invaluable to me as most of the "what not to do" scenarios are exactly what I might say or do on any given day!
Getting to Calm, by Laura S. Kastner, Ph.D. and Jennifer Wyatt, Ph.D. belongs on every parents' bookshelf! My copy now rests in a very easy to reach/consult spot, snuggled between T. Berry Brazelton's Touchpoints and Christie Mellor's The Three Martini Playdate. As this book offers strategies for dealing with tweens and teens, I've come to it a little late but after reading it from cover to cover, I feel reassured that I may not be TOO late. (If you have younger children, get this now and read this now--before you are in the midst of some of these scenarios.) My two older children are 14 and 12 years old, and many of the chapters in this book apply to our situations today. (The authors suggest keeping this book to refer to the appropriate chapters when needed--when these issues arise--but I found at least 11 of the 14 chapters useful NOW and the other 3 were still worth reading. I WILL need them!)
I am still working on the calmness. The authors detail a four-step plan to achieving the calm. The stories/examples they provide in each chapter offer invaluable instruction as you witness parent/teen interactions. Some go swimmingly well and you see WHY. Some plummet quickly and things go horribly wrong and you see WHY. Changes have been implemented in our house and more are coming. And now, when I yell and nag, I understand where I've gone wrong much sooner. It's a process. ;-)
Speaking of where I've gone wrong however, the book made me feel better. Written by a professor of psychiatry and a psychologist, the authors show where parents go wrong without laying blame.
I usually use this space to discuss reading or writing fiction but once in a while, there are a few other must-have books out there that you should know about. This is one. If you are a parent, give yourself this book. If you are not a parent, give this book to someone else in your life--somebody needs it!
Just when I think I am through with the ubiquitous Mid-Life Crisis, I find that there is yet another inning to be played.
I thought it was over and I had made it through to the other side. Then I bought a pair of skinny jeans and a revised GRE prep book. Clearly, the battle has only just begun.
This afternoon, while wearing my new jeans, I opened the book, found the information needed to take a diagnostic test online and sat down to face Question One. I was asked to write an essay question and had 29 minutes and 54 seconds to write it. I read, and then typed over, the instructions on how to save often and how to "delete" (using the command key and "x" if typing on a Mac) and typed my first few words. I used the delete/backspace key immediately and was kicked back to the login page. Right. I took a deep breath and started again. This time, I saved the directions at the top of my page, planning to delete them when I was done, but leaving them there as a reminder not to hit the delete key the moment I mistyped a word. A typo followed not three seconds later and my fingers automatically hit the delete key before I knew what had happened...and I was back at the login screen. This went on numerous times. (At least, by the third time, I had managed to save what progress I had made, so I was able to "resume" my test rather than starting again.)
Finally, with three minutes to spare, I had a convincing 5-paragraph essay complete with examples and a quote from Harper Lee. I read it and clicked on the option to "grade my essay." It asked ME to grade MY essay. Huh?
I went back and clicked on the little bubble indicating that I had completed my essay. Then sat there and watched the timer continue to count down. Oh! Right! I needed to click the next button. Except I was to click "next section" (as it had indicated there was only one essay question in this section). I did not, of course. I clicked the "next" button, which took me to a screen which reminded me that there was only one question in this section and then gave me 29 minutes and 54 seconds with which to write my essay--on a completely NEW Question ONE.
I think I will try again tomorrow. And pray that if and when I do take this test again for realz--it is on a PC. Because my shiny little laptop? Oh, she is a pretty computer but she is no PC--and clearly she is not in this fight with me!
“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt
I must go camping. Outdoors. I don’t want to do it but I suspect, deep down, that I cannot. I wonder if I should give it a shot. As I began reading Cheryl Strayed’s “Wild,” I compared her experience level at the beginning of her journey to my own. I thought if she could hike the Pacific Coast Trail from the Mojave Desert to the Bridge of the Gods on the Oregon-Washington border, I could possibly survive a few days out there. Probably.
The memoir is exquisitely written, covering the author's physical and spiritual journey on the Pacific Coast Trail. We're about the same age--she is one year older. Cheryl left her home, her family and her marriage behind in the first week of June, 1995 to head down to Mojave, California and hike back up to the Pacific Northwest. I was headed there myself that week, albeit in a car. I did not leave my marriage behind--though just two months earlier I'd vowed to let it leave without me. By the time June arrived, I'd decided to go with my husband and we each drove a car over 2,500 miles from New Orleans to Tacoma, taking turns chauffeuring the dog. In 1995, I remember thinking that I should have already finished a novel--the same thought the author has during her hike. I could publish a novel. I want to do it but I suspect, deep down, that I cannot. I wonder if I have truly given it a fair shot. I finished reading “Wild.” I compared Cheryl Strayed's writing style to my own and am both inspired and humbled. There is still a chance I could make it as a hiker.
I want to tell you a story involving a sunken Civil War ship. There is another story I'd like to share with you about two sisters--who've never met--which is also set during the Civil War.
Writer's Block is not my problem. Lack of time is occasionally a problem. Three kids and a dog have a way of needing something when I could be writing, along with all of the volunteer gigs, meetings and chauffeuring that go along with said family. Still, those are obstacles that can be overcome.
The real problem with getting those stories to you is The One that is in my way. I started a story years ago with no clear idea where it would go. I've picked at it over the years until last year, decided that I would absolutely whittle that sprawling mess into a story. It has evolved so much over the last year but still needs so much. I need to set it aside and work on a story I can finish--and maybe even sell. Right?
I have been comparing my stories to homes. If you have a finite amount of both time and money, the best bet might be to purchase a new or newer home that is complete and has no obvious issues. There may be another house that you really love but it is much older. Parts of that roof need replacing, it might not have air-conditioning--there are likely problems with the foundation itself. But it has character. It has history. It speaks to you. (Yes, I've done this to my husband every time we have moved. We always end up with a new(ish) home that won't suck up all of our time and money but it doesn't stop me from pulling him over to a 150-year-old house, "just to look.")
Maybe that is why I can't let this crazy book go, or at least not yet. It isn't just a little fixer-upper. It is a messy, crumbling mansion with termites and a leaky roof. The floors are slanted. But I can work on it whenever I have the time and don't need to apply for a permit, get paint in my hair or even find goggles and gloves. When it is all fixed up, there will be more to it: who knows what is hidden in the attic?
Sometimes, you need to make sure you are hearing the right words.
After enough of my daughter's music this afternoon, I gratefully flipped back and forth through a few XM channels, confident that I'd find music that my 4-year-old son could sing (repeat) without any concerns. While I rarely land on the 80's station, not much else was on my standard stations and I thought Bananarama was safe. I drove home, oblivious to the familiar lyrics while I ran through the rest of my evening schedule in my head. My son was happy--he liked the song and bopped along. I thought all was well until he kept singing after I'd turned the car off. As it turns out, other words rhyme with "Venus."
As I was composing this blog post, my older son came over to tell me about a conversation at school today. If you read this blog often, you know my kids attend Catholic school and today was a day when Father visited the classroom. My son wanted to let me know that Father instructed them to avoid "sidekicks" and mediums (as they practice black magic).
