Oldest thanks each and everyone of you

So Oldest spent quite a lot of time responding to every single person who left her a comment. I told her, "Why don't you just respond to everyone in one comment?" To which she responded, "But that would not be very nice and polite! I need to respond to each and every comment so that they know I read their note." She's a nice kid, not like her lame Mommy. But she got a great big kick from seeing everyone's kind notes so I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for commenting. She said "Is this what it feels like to have fans?" I said, "Sort of." To which she ran around the house screaming "I'm famous!!!!!"

And clearly she is a funny kid. My favorite comment she made was in response to Steve Malley who wrote:

"You make parenting seem like it might not suck!" :-)

Oldest responded as follows:

"Dear Steve, Kids are nice if you give them candy."

Ha! That cracked me up!

And Aerin just reminded me of another great comment. Stuart Neville, aka Conduit, said:

"Ms. Haworth is very lucky to have such an excellent fan to spread the word. And yours is a wise policy about kissing boys. In fact, I would go one further and say you should never kiss boys at all. Ever. Thay have cooties."

To which Oldest rsponded:

"Dear Conduit, You should know that since 3rd grade I now realize cooties do not exist. But boys are stinky! But you can't catch stinky. Thanks for your nice comments."

So since Oldest has gotten a taste of blogging, she is seriously thinking of the next blog post she can guest author for me. I best be watching out or one day soon this blog will no longer be under my domain!

Violet Raines Almost Got Struck By Lightning

Hi! My Mom is Ello and she asked me to do a blog post on my favorite book because she is very busy. I am 9 years old and I am in fourth grade. I love reading. It is one of my favorite hobbies. I try to encourage people to read more books instead of playing on electronics, which I learned from my Mom. I hope that there will be many more authors in the world who will write good books that I can read. Including my Mom.My Mom is always encouraging me to read and loves to buy me lots of books. She was excited to buy Violet Raines Almost Got Struck By Lightning because she says she was blogging friends with the author. She wanted to read it first but I beat her to it. I wanted to be the first to read it, but it took a little longer because I had to finish the Golden Compass first. My Mom has a rule that you must finish one book before you can start a new one. My sister, Skye, does not like this rule. She is always trying to read many books at the same time.

Anyway, I loved this book. Let me tell you about it.

Violet Raines is a regular 11 year old girl with a best friend named Lottie. They are fine until a new girl Melissa, starts hanging around with Lottie a bit too much. This is no fun for Violet. But it gets worse. Lottie’s house gets struck by lightning so she and her sisters stay with Melissa and then weird stuff happens because Lottie starts watching lots of TV and starts talking about boys. Will Violet change Lottie back and be friends with Melissa or will she have an enemy forever?I loved this book. It was very funny and I was smiling whenever I read it. I really liked the part when Melissa dared Violet to kiss Eddie. Violet pushed Eddie down onto the bench after she kissed him. He was so shocked he ran away. She chased him but he was too fast and she couldn’t catch him. The next day she tries to apologize but he runs away again. This was really funny! I can’t believe a girl would kiss a boy like that! I would never kiss a boy just because someone dared me to so I thought this was so funny. I also liked the part when Violet, Lottie, Eddie and Melissa saw a crocodile and everyone ran away except Eddie, he just stood there and watched the crocodile with amazement. It was so funny that everyone was screaming and running away.

My favorite part of the book was Violet. I liked Violet a lot. I would want to be friends with someone like her because she’s funny and a very responsible friend. She is loyal and brave. She is a good friend.

My mother always encouraged me to read more and always would buy me books. Her encouraging me has made me really love books and reading and I am so glad I read this book. It is my favorite and I am Ms. Danette Haworth’s biggest fan. I wrote an author letter at my school and I signed my letter – Sincerely, Your Biggest Fan! I hope Ms. Haworth gets my letter. I hope she will write more books about Violet. I want to read more books like this one. I hope that other authors (like my mom) will write great books like Ms. Haworth.

I really want to read more funny books about Violet. I really wonder what Ms. Haworth’s next book will be about. I really hope it is like this one.

(Note from Ello - Oldest read the first 2 paragraphs of my novel, said "I don't get it!" and walked away. Sigh. At least she loved Danette's book!)

I miss all of you...

I really do! And I'm sorry I'm not here with funny stories and outrageous situations but I am a revising fiend right now and I just need to focus! Awesome Agent Bill wants me submission ready asap. Which means I've just gone off the deep end!

But I miss all of you! I miss reading everyone's blogs. I miss everyone's comments. So please don't forget me! I will be back hopefully by next week, when I have another excerpt of my story and hopefully I will get to show you a beautifully illustrated map of my Seven Kingdoms fantasy world that the most talented illustrator in the world created for me. It is absolutely amazing... so come back next week, ok?

Peace,

E

PS - had to leave you with a funny to watch for the week...

For Moonie and friend

I am putting up this post in support of my dear friend Moonrat. Please take a moment and consider buying a raffle for this important cause and in the process you may win a wonderful prize. I have had the pleasure of seeing firsthand Moonrat's excellent editing skills. It would cost you over $600 to hire a professional editor and you may or may not get the quality editing that Moonie provides so if you have a manuscript or a query letter, please buy a raffle. The chance of winning is well worth the small donation you will make for an important cause.

The following information is from The Mischief Fights Cancer Raffle Site

From Moonrat:

Dear Beloved Blogging Fellows,

Recently, a friend of mine was diagnosed with Stage IV lymphoma. She is only 28 and is fighting back hard, but her valor is frustrated by the fact that she has no insurance. Medicaid will be kicking in for her in about a month, but in the meantime there are some hurdles that nothing will help her get over but money.

Of course, there are lots of benefits and pots for me to throw money in. Alas... I work in publishing and have no money. I was bemoaning this to my darling Ello, and she thought of this fantastic idea: I should raffle off my editorial services. So that's what we're going to try here.

Raffle!!

Prizes available:

-One winner: A full manuscript evaluation (up to 120,000 words)*
-One winner: A partial manuscript evaluation (up to 50 page)*
-One winner: A query letter and revised query letter critique*
-Five winners: A choice from select titles in Moonrat's library, which will be mailed with a love letter from Moonrat, who enjoys writing love letters
I've started this new, temporary blog to host a raffle for my friend. You can buy tickets, check the donation log, and see how much progress has been made on each of the raffled lots here.

*please note: these are critiques with an eye toward editorial suggestions, and will in no way be considered submissions to me or my company

General Guidelines (and my very best attempts to make the whole process honest and transparent)

-The raffle will run between now, Tuesday, September 30th, and 8 pm on Tuesday, October 7th, when lots will be drawn.

-Winners will be announced (or their anonymous IDs, if they prefer) on Editorial Ass no later than 11:59 pm on Tuesday, October 7th.

-Prizes have no expiration date--you can ask for your prize redemption anytime between now and, well, I guess 2020.

-Turnaround time for prize redemption is 2 weeks (i.e. if you send me your manuscript on the 1st of November, I'll need until the 15th to get you my comments).

-All prizes are transferable. If you do not have a query letter that needs critiquing but you have a friend who does, you can gift your winning prize on your friend.

-On top of the instant confirmation email from PayPal, you will receive a confirmation email from me by midnight on the calendar day on which you purchased your raffle ticket. My email to you will include your lot number(s).

-On my end, lot numbers will be written on highly scientific bits of paper, which will be dropped into one of four of the rally monkey's highly scientific baseball hats. Lots will be drawn from each hat at 8 pm on Tuesday, October 7.

-You will have the option to purchase raffle tickets under your real name or an anonymous ID. You may specify a code name or number upon receiving my confirmation email.

-I've opened a PayPal account, which will allow you and me both to maintain our identities. PayPal is free for you and only charges me $.30 and 3% off each transaction.

-All raffle ticket purchasers will be fully and publicly disclosed for accountability purposes. At midnight each day the raffle is active, the names (or anonymous IDs, if you choose not to have your name listed) of all the people who purchased raffle tickets for a particular lot will be listed in separate recorded posts. When you buy a raffle ticket, please check the name roster the next day to make sure your name is up. If it's not, email me ASAP at moonratty@gmail.com and we'll straighten it out.

-Again, for accountability, I have opened up a separate bank account that will receive nothing but PayPal payments for this one raffle. A record of the balance will be available for anyone who requests it. The entire account will be emptied at the end of the raffle, and our proud balance will be prominently displayed on Ed Ass.

Random funny things my kids say - Part 14

The kids have found my blog! And they have been reading the random funny stuff and I am going to have to clean up the rest pronto. But the girls are loving reading the old stories and funny things that they have done in the past. When I see how much of a kick they are getting over reading these stories and ragging on each other for their past actions, I'm glad I have done this. Now they are really hamming it up and even demanding I write about some of their past exploits. But I won't tell the funny stories they want me to tell. No, I'll tell the ones that I think are funny. Like this past Sunday.

We were at church and I reminded the older two that they needed to pay attention to the sermon. The Youngest is pretty good at church as long as she has paper and pen to draw on. The older two tend to have a hard time sitting still in church most times but they did pretty well this time and I applauded their effort and asked them about the sermon.

"So do you remember what the sermon was about today?" I asked.

"Uh, uh..." Oldest looked completely blank.

"It was about two sons!" Angus piped up all excited and happy.

"Good and what about the two sons?" I asked.

"Uh, uh..." Oldest is still lost.

"They was supposed to work in the fields," Angus said.

"Good, and then what happened," I asked.

Complete quiet as we walked in the parking lot to the car.

"Come on, who was listening, the father asked his sons to go work in the field and what happened?"

No answer from anyone, we are almost at the car.

"One son said No but repented and went to work while the other said Yes but never went to work," I continued. "And then what happened."

"God punished them!" Angus said.

"No, that is not the point of the sermon," I said. "What is the point? Anyone?"

They are still quiet and so I try to remind them of the finer points of the sermon as we get into the car.

"So if the youngest son said Yes father, but then never followed through, then he didn't do the will of his father even though he said he would. So what is the moral of the story?" I asked one last time.

"Shut up and just do it!" Youngest shouted. The other two shrieked in laughter and I am just staring at the little one as if she had sprouted two heads. She smiled and then said. "That's what the priest should have said! Then everyone woud have known what he was talking about."

Another meme...

The lovely Kim Kasch has tagged me with the following meme:

1. What are your nicknames?

Ello, E, Ell, Boss.

2. What game show and/or reality show would you like to be on?

None. I only like to watch the pain and suffering of my fellow man, I don't actually want to participate in it!

3. What was the first movie you bought in VHS or DVD?

On VHS - The Princess Bride. On DVD - Gladiator.

4. What is your favorite scent?

Clean.

5. If you had a million dollars that you could only spend on yourself, what would you do with it?

That's for me to know and Da Man to never never find out!!

6. What one place have you visited that you can't forget and want to go back to?

Spain

7. Do you trust easily?

I'm from New York. Does that answer this question?

8. Do you generally think before you act, or act before you think?

I'm a thinker not an actor.

9. Is there anything that has made you unhappy these days?

Da Man has yet to bring up the desk for the girls to do their homework on. It is now going on over a year and I am at the end of my patience. I'm thinking of fraying all of his fishing line at strategic spots.

10. Do you have a good body image?

Only when I look at my feet.

11. What is your favorite fruit?

Mangoes and cherries - even though I'm terribly allergic to cherries I love them to death and eat them through my swollen lips and tongue.

12. What websites do you visit daily?

Lately I'm not on anything daily, which is good because I'm busy. It's been crazy busy for me and I am missing out on all my favorite spots!

13. What have you been seriously addicted to lately?

Chocolate covered macadamia nuts. Oh they are so good!

14. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

Awesome lady with a beautiful soul - you can see it in her posts and in her smile.

15. What's the last song that got stuck in your head?

Gimme Shelter - Rolling Stones, cause it's my ringtone!

16. What's your favorite item of clothing?

My jeans.

17. Do you think Rice Krispies are yummy?

Actually, no. I'm not a marshmallow fan and there's no chocolate!

18. What would you do if you saw $100 lying on the ground?

If no one was standing anywhere near it, I'd grab it and do a little Woo Hoo I found money happy dance. If someone was standing right near me, I'd ask them if they dropped any money and see if they can tell me which president is on it. If they say the wrong president, even if it is their money, I get to keep it cause they're an idiot.

19. What items could you not go without during the day?

My laptop.

20. What should you be doing right now?

Revising. Alright, alright! I'm going!

No tags! But do share...

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 13

"Mommy? The weather is good this week don't you think?" Youngest asks.

"Uh huh," I reply.

"Let's go to Hopeless Beach!" she shouts.

"Hopeless beach? What the heck is that!" Angus shouts out.

"HOPELESS Beach! You know the one with the rides and the big lollipops..." Youngest says.

"Oh you mean Rehobeth Beach!" Oldest cuts in. "It's Rehobeth, say Rehobeth."

"Re - hopeless beach," Youngest says, trying very seriously.

"Ruuuuh Hohhhhh Bethhhhhh, Ruuuuuh Hohhhh Bethhhhh." Oldest is sounding it out for her.

"Ruuuuh Hole Besssssssssss," Youngest says.

"No - Rehobeth!"

"Rehopeless"

"Rehobeth!"

"Reholeless!"

"Gah!! Forget it! It's hopeless!" Oldest shouts.

Youngest is absolutely indignant. "But that's what I've been saying this whole time!!!"

Pretty as a Hanbok!

So you might have noticed a change in the decor around here. If you wondered at the bright stripes framing the blog, it is to mirror the sleeves of a korean hanbok. I've posted an example of one below. This one is from a Korean museum and probably represents a wedding hanbok. The top photo is the front view and the bottom is of the back.

Copyright Momboleum via Creative Commons license via Flickr.com

Here's one of a child's hanbok - worn for the all important first birthday celebration.

Historically, the hanbok dates as far back as 57B.C., as evidenced by wall murals found in the burial sites of ancient kings. Personally I find hanboks incredibly beautiful and much more comfortable than the Japanese kimono. Let's compare:

Copyright Okinawa Soba via Creative Commons license via Flickr.com

See how the kimono wraps very tight and narrow around the woman's boy? I have worn a kimono, there is no way to take a normal step in that narrow skirt. You have to mince forward, taking baby steps, causing you to feel as if you will topple over and fall flat on your face. The obi is tied so tight around the waist to insure that no woman will overeat while the breasts are flattened to shape the incredibly sexy form of a number 2 pencil. Due to the tightness of the kimono, you cannot run. You can perhaps waddle very quickly, but it may cause you to tilt from side to side so drastically that caution is advised when in a hurry. With much practice over many, many years, a fast trot can be achieved. You must retain a perfectly straight-backed and balanced torso even as your feet move in a road runner like blur. And what the heck is up with that samurai hairstyle? Let me clarify that I love the look of the kimono (not the hair though). I think it is an elegant and incredibly beautiful outfit which also doubles as an instrument of torture. However, if flesh eating zombies are after me, I would be ripping that thing off and running in my skivvies.

Now let's compare the Korean hanbok.

Copyright by photoren via Creative Commons license via Flickr.com

You can't help but notice immediately the wide flowing skirts, right? Now here's a skirt you can run in! Here's a skirt you can kick a man in the tenders in! Since I own several hanboks I can assure you that the skirts are flowing, comfortable pieces that make you feel like absolute royalty. And the hair is tied back in a simple bun with some beautiful accessories to compliment it. Now granted, the hanbok does have the chest flattening top. For some reason, Koreans believe that the hanbok looks better if it is draped over a flat chest. So if you happen to be busty, the nice hanbok lady will try to smush you flat with a tight undergarment tied so tight that you may need an oxygen tank. But hey, at least your legs are free!

So why are we talking about hanboks? Well I wanted to share a little excerpt from my book and it just so happens to be a description of a hanbok.

General Kang and Lieutenant Lee walked out together, to where their men waited for instructions. As they left, the anxious Queen stopped them, her long curtain of ebony hair swept down her back nearly to her heels. She wore a light green satin hanbok with red silk trim over a full brown skirt. Lee couldn’t help but notice that her robe had the characters for luck embroidered in gold all over the shoulders and sleeves. He smiled grimly - for luck, it seemed, had abandoned them.

So what is the book about? Well it is what I would call historical fantasy based in ancient Korea during a time where there were many small kingdoms, but no unified country. It is about a young prince faced with the invasion of his home and an old prophecy that calls for a savior he may or may not be. It utilizes East Asian mythology and legends while working off of the historical times of the late 300 AD period. Stay tuned for more to come.

New blog title

You guys are so funny! I was cracking up over some of these suggestions. I really liked Ello's World but it is too close to Elmo's World and I wouldn't want a typing error sending little kids looking for the little red monster and finding an angry piggy instead. You Had Me At Ello was really looking good for a while until Precie pointed out that it looked like You had Meat Ello - which either made me a serious carnivore (which I am) or had an altogether separate reference which I shall scrupulously avoid - after all, I am trying to clean up my act here.

Lots of Beatles references were all shot down by Lana who hates the Beatles (gasp!) and Ello There was countered with Ello Here which cancelled them both out. Ello Me Pretties cracked me up but I think if I titled my blog with that, I'd have to change my piggy into a parrot. Elloicious and Ellos Bellows were very cute and I loved Ellocution - except it was a little too close to Execution. Ello Kitty is great but I may have copyright issues and To Ell-en Back is Too Clever and funny but a little to Ellish!

So after waffling like a weak minded politician for an hour, I have decided to change this blog title to Hello Ello because it is simple (possibly boring) but not at all controversial in any way. However, I was looking into the issue of changing the url on the blog and it seems like it is more trouble than it is worth so the blog url will stay randomactsofunkindness.blogspot.com and the blog title will be Hello Ello, thanks Cindy for pointing this out to me!

In the next couple of days I will post some interesting new stuff about my book and related information that you may or may not find fascinating - and I will explain why the new blog look also. So watch out for some interesting stuff.

And since I used my own title, I shall now go and buy something very expensive and sparkly with Da Man's credit card while he is on his all day man bonding fishing trip extravaganza.

Help an Ello out

Thanks to everyone for all your wonderful comments. I was once again overwhelmed by the amazing support and caring of our wonderful blogging community!

Now I have lots to do! Finish grading papers, revise my manuscript for my Dream Agent (see how I snuck that in? it sounds so good!), set up a website, and all the other life's essentials that pile onto our days. So I will be really busy! But one thing I need to consider is changing the title of my blog. Random Acts of Unkindness was always a sarcastic title that I put up when I first started blogging. But now that I am a serious writer (who snickered?) I need to reconsider my web presence and think about changing the title. Right now the only title that I can come up with is "Hello Ello" or "Ello There" or "You had me at Ello." (Who groaned?) So let's have a little contest here. Feel free to leave me your suggestion for a brand new title for my blog. Something fun but not over the top. Something cute but not too cutesy. Something creative but not too artsy fartsy. Feel free to vote for a blog title if you aren't creative enough yourself. The winning title will receive a nice gift from me. That includes me. I get to buy myself a nice gift if I pick my own title. Hear that Da Man? Be warned. It may be sparkly. (For me only! If someone else wins, no sparklies for you!)


So come on everyone, impress me with some great blog titles!!!

Dancing flowergirls

Pictures deleted due to Trolls.

Here's Angus and Youngest dancing together at a friend's wedding. All three of the girls were flowergirls but Oldest was too shy to dance. Angus and Youngest spent the whole night dancing together, at times they were the only ones on the dance floor! I would have joined them but I wore stupid shoes that are pretty and painful and by this point I was barely hobbling. That's Angus dipping Youngest. As you can see they had a great time.

Youngest is friend's with the ringbearer, an adorable little boy from her school. She announced during the rehearsal dinner that the ringbearer was her boyfriend. However, there was another little girl there, who was not a flowergirl, but was at dinner. Apparently this little girl declared that the ringbearer was her boyfriend, and shoved Youngest away. Youngest came crying over to me. The first lesson I tried to instill in her was to never cry over a boy.

"Yeah cause they are poopoo heads!" Angus chimes in.

"And they stink!" Oldest says.

"Yeah, poopoo heads!" Youngest says gleefully, her tears all dried up. She thinks for a minute and says, "Poor Mommy, she has to sleep with a stinky boy everynight. I know! Mommy you should sleep with us everynight instead and let Daddy sleep by himself!"

"But Daddy's not a stinky boy is he?" I ask.

"Well," Youngest says, "He's not bad. He's just a little stinky. But we still love him."

"Yeah!" Angus shouts. "Even if he is a stinky boy!"

Lord the air smells good..

Feeling blue so I am reposting an old post with my favorite picture and poem.

Copyright by Frances A. Wiley

Lord, the air smells good...
by Rumi

Lord, the air smells good today,
straight from the mysteries
within the inner courts of God.
A grace like new clothes thrown
across the garden, free medicine for everybody.
The trees in their prayer, the birds in praise,
the first blue violets kneeling.
Whatever came from Being is caught up in being, drunkenly
forgetting the way back.

I cannot sew a line

It's kind of a crappy day out here on the East coast. We have a fine constant mist that turns into a light shower and back into fine mist. Maybe it's the atmospheric pressure which is giving me such a headache.

School's in, summer's done, time for fall. The grocery stores have already begun to stock Halloween candy and the kids are deciding on their halloween costumes. This year I will not be able to get away with recycling their old costumes. This year they want new ones and they want me to make them.

What the hell is wrong with these children? Does this blog say Random Arts and Crafts? Do I look like Martha Stewart? See the angry pig shake it's piggy head. I blame this completely and entirely on a friend of ours who I shall call PIMA, short for pain in my ass. She likes arts and crafts stuff. She scrapbooks beautiful photo albums with lovely captions and swirly heart thingies. She makes homemade chocolate lollipops, with color too. She knits sweaters and shawls and can even sew patterns to make dresses. She cooks and bakes and takes her kids to fun places even without them begging to go somewhere because they are bored. Seriously, I hate her. In fact when I see her, cause Oldest is best friends with her oldest, I tell her to her face, "You know I hate you, right." She laughs. I laugh. I picture running her over with my van. I laugh again. Etc.

So apparently, last year she made a fantastic fairy costume for her daughter and this really cool Tide detergent box costume for her son. Both won costume awards at the Halloween party. This year Oldest and Angus have come to me with serious faces and announced that I will be making their Halloween costumes this year, bringing Youngest along to nod emphatically in agreement.

"That's crazy talk. There is no way I am making you costumes!" I say. "I can't even sew a button, or a hole in your clothes."

"You can learn to do it!" Angus says. "You watch that sewing show all the time?" (She means Project Runway.)

"I'm terrible at sewing. You all know this! You've seen me sew. I'm really terrible. I do crooked seams. I stick myself all over. I can't even cut straight. Do you really want the worst Halloween costumes in the school?"

The three of them caucus together.

"She's right, she is a terrible sewer." Oldest says. "She always waits for grandma to come visit and then gives her all our clothes with holes in them to sew.

Angus giggles, "Remember when she had to sew a hole in your rabbit and she got it all bloody from sticking the needle in her finger a 100 times?"

They laugh. "Bloody rabbit!"

"I want to be a vampire!" Youngest chimes in.

"Well then it doesn't matter if her costume gets bloody," Oldest says.

"Yeah and we want to be witches and that's just black," Angus says.

They turn back to me.

"So we decided that you can make a vampire and 2 witch costumes for Halloween and it will be ok if you bleed all over them," Oldest says.

"Yeah cause blood will be cool!!!!" Angus says.

"But you gotta make them otherwise we can't enter in the original costume contest," Oldest continues.

"There is no way I am making 3 costumes!" I shout.

All 3 of them stare at me. "But Sara's Mom makes Sara and her brother costumes every year. And they win every year!" Sara's Mom is PIMA - who I hate.

"Yeah and even Matt's Mom makes him costumes too!"

"And so does Meg and Kate and Sam and ...."

"QUIET!!!!!"

The sudden silence is depressing as the girls stare with disappointed eyes at me.

"Sheesh! So sorry I'm not as good as Sara's Mom, why don't you ask her to make your costumes!" I say peevishly.

"Great idea!" Angus says. "Come on let's go call her." They turn and head for the phone.

"No NO No! Come back here. I was kidding. Don't ask her. Fine. You win. I'll make them!"

"HURRAY!" They all say as they pile over and give me big hugs and kisses. "We just know you'll do a great job and we will win this year!!!!"

As they run off, I bask in the warm glow of their completely misplaced belief in me and I think "WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO?!!!!!"

So do you think if I hire a tailor to make their costumes, it still counts as original homemade?

Weirdo

Most of my friends would jump at the chance to tell people how weird I am. Da man and the girls all think I'm bizarre. Not quirky. No. Never quirky. Quirky is that oddball you know who wears long dangling earrings with pretty flowerly peasant skirts and high tops who sings kumbaya and talks in that new agey way that always makes you think they were sniffing alot of glue along with their artsy fartsy crafty projects. No that is not me. I'm the weird mom that likes to tell her kids in a very serious voice that they shouldn't panic because a bug is crawling up their pants leg and then laughs uproariously with the ensuing panic. I'm the weirdo that puts a ripe red cherry in my mouth and pretends to punch myself, then biting down on the cherry and allowing bright red juice to stream out.

So I'm weird. I embrace my weirdness.

Yesterday, I was in the bathroom and noticing the gray roots at the top of my head. Unfortunately, I have been prematurely graying since I was 16. Clairol is my best friend. But I hate to dye my hair too often so I have a neat little trick that I use. I buy myself some waterproof mascara in dark brown (sorry blondies, this trick can't help you) and touch up my roots with mascara. I find this very clever but my husband thinks it is absolutely bizarre. He walks in and watches me using mascara on my hair and just shakes his head.

"You do realize that it is for your eyes, right?" he says.

"Duh!" I reply.

"Well how do you know it is ok to use on your hair?" he asks.

I stop and just stare at him. "Because if it is safe for my eyes, the most sensitive part of my body, then it is more than safe for my hair, duh!"

"Yeah, you think you're so smart," he sneers. "I'm just saying, cause you seem to have a problem with using products in the proper manner. Like taking off your makeup with toilet paper."

"What? It's clean!"

"It's toilet paper! For your butt. You're disgusting!"

"I'm creative. You should be proud of my resourcefulness," I respond. "I am so very resourceful in ways you have no idea."

He stops short and just stares at me.

"Just how resourceful are you?" he asks suspiciously.

"Well, when you had that bad rash on your arm and chest and I gave you some of that funky smelling white creme to stop the itch. You never asked what it was," I say.

He looks alarmed.

"I'll give you a hint, it starts with an H," I say.

"You put butt creme on my arm?" He yells.

"Hey, what does it matter what I used as long as it stopped the itch?" I ask.

"That's just not right!" he says, stomping off.

Nah, I did not use preparation H on his rash, it was just hydrocortisone. But I just love freaking him out.

Happy belated Bloggiversary to me!

Where the hell did the summer go? Seriously, I feel like it was only a week ago I was looking forward to the summer and now school starts next week. For both the kids and for me. So life has gotten hectic, as usual. Preparing the kids and myself for school. I spent all my free time on my manuscript and left my syllabus and assignment prep to the last minute, so guess who is hating life right now? Plus, trying to take off a few days to take the kids to all the fun places. Brother! I could shoot myself for procrastinating. Coupled with all those overeager, overanxious students who keep emailing me for an early copy of the syllabus. Sorry, I am so very lame this semester. You'll be lucky to get it first day of class at this rate!

So it comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me that I would completely forget my own first blogiversary, which was August 4th. I have been known to forget my wedding anniversary and my own birthday at times. So I decided to post about my one year blog anniversary on the day of my 14th wedding anniversary. That way I only forgot one.

Happy anniversaries to me!

I shall leave you with another funnyism from my silly girls.

I took the girls to the Museum of Natural History the other day and we went to see the insect exhibition. The girls were absolutely disgusted to see huge centipedes, beetles and cockroaches. Although, being a New York city girl, those giant cockroaches were nothing compared to what I've seen in the subways.

So there is a little tunnel that you can crawl through and see stuff and then come out at the other side to a pretend house. The girls crawl out and come face to face with a breastfeeding mom and her baby. No not an exhibit. A real life lactating kind. And I kid you not. She had her breast completely hanging out for everyone to see as she is trying to get her baby to take her breast which the baby is refusing. First off, the museum was crowded. Secondly, she clearly didn't care that everyone could see her boobies. And she is right smack in front of the pretend house exhibit! I'm thinking, ok the kid doesn't want the tit right now, give it up before some lecherous old man takes you up on your offer instead!

So youngest comes out of the tunnel and comes face to face with the very large breast and immediately cries out.

"That nimple is bigger then that baby's head!" Yes, she is still mispronouncing nipple. Yes she seems to have mistaken nimple with breast.

Angus comes up right behind her and starts giggling madly. Oldest looks, rolls her eyes and says, "Oh great! I really didn't want to see that!"

The mom is smiling at youngest as I run and grab her to drag her away. But I am not fast enough as Youngest informs the mom to try chocolate milk instead. I finally steer them away. Angus keeps laughing and Oldest announces in her most weary voice, "I don't know what was worse, seeing gigantic disgusting centipedes or a gigantic disgusting breast! Couldn't she use a blanket or something? Gross!"

Head motion, eye rolling all with accompanying flicks of the hand. Oh boy! It starts! I thought I had a few more years before she morphed into an ugly teen. But apparently signs of it begin at 9.

I don't know if I'll survive 3 of them going through puberty all at once. Let the heavy drinking commence!!!!

The Best of Beaker

God I love these videos!

So...

You may have noticed I've not been around, again. Well, I have been feverishly working on my manuscript and it is final. I have begun the stress inducing querying process. I am a bit worried. Last year while I was quering my first WIP, my hair fell out in huge chunks (ok there were other things going on too, can't just blame querying). Here's to hoping I don't find it as stressful this time around.

One funny thing though. One of my wonderful, fabulous, marvelous, beta readers suggested that I needed to include a funny story for a character who didn't have much distinguishing characteristics. So... I added a fart story. It seemed the most natural thing to do. They were sitting around a campfire eating. Blazing Saddles came to mind. Viola, campfire fart story. Even if no one else laughs, my characters thought it was a riot. Except for one uptight character, she doesn't have much of a sense of humor. Anyhow, I have had readers comment about how different my blog writing is from my novel writing. I figure the fart story should fix this problem.

So will including a fart story help or hurt my book? I don't know. Only time will tell.

Karma

So today I had Angus with me since she didn't feel like going to camp. We decided we would have a nice Mommy and Daughter lunch, just the two of us. I parked in a garage on Bethesda Avenue and we waited to cross the street. No, not at the crosswalk, but right at the garage, like everyone else too lazy to walk down to the corner light (which included a mother with a baby stroller). I admit to being a chronic jaywalker. Growing up in NYC, the only way to get around is jaywalking. Having kids broke me of the habit and I usually always go to a crosswalk when I have the kids with me. Today's exception was cause it was really hot and humid and at least Angus is a fast walker. I know - no excuse. Believe me when I say it doesn't happen often.

However, that is not the point of this post. As we waited, we edged out to wait for a break in the very slow traffic. We stood a foot off the curb right next to the entrance to the garage. A very slow woman driver turning into the garage pulls short of us and begins to scream at us.

"What the hell do you think you are doing? This ain't a blah blah crosswalk!!! Who do you people think you are? You think you own the blah blah road?!!!!" Throwing her hands in the air and yelling up a storm. I was pissed, but I didn't say anything (I really don't like to have nasty confrontations in front of my kids). Since she had stopped to yell at us, I just decided to cross in front of her instead. Angus stared in open mouthed fascination and asked me why the woman was yelling at us.

"I don't know," I say as all the nasty reasons for why she is like that roll through my brain.

"How rude!" Angus announces. "She doesn't have to be like that."

I agree and we walk into the restaurant. Not 5 minutes pass and the sunny skies turn completely dark and a terrible thunderstorm hits, causing the lights to flicker ominously several times as rain dumped in absolute buckets. All the diners sitting outside ran inside, completely drenched even though they had been sitting under a covered area. The rain was coming down so hard it was bouncing sideways. As Angus and I sat enjoying our drinks and eating our chips and salsa, a soaking wet woman dashes for cover in front of the restaurant windows. I get a good look as she runs by and recognize the rude yelling woman from the car. Not even 5 minutes later, the skies completely clear and by the time Angus and I head for the car, the sun is out once again.

Poor woman. Karma is a bigger bitch than I could ever be.

An Old Korean Folk Tale

I'm moving a bit slower around the blogosphere these days. Posting less, commenting less often, letting my blogger reader climb up to the 200s and not sweating it. I am trying to find a right mix of family, writing, blogging, working, etc. As all of you know, this is not easy. But it is doable. The right mix is somewhere out there and I will eventually get it right. So I am still around, perhaps less visible than before. But always thinking fondly of you all and waiting for the the right story to share.

So I thought of a funny story to share. When I was young, my mom once told me an old Korean folktale that made me laugh my ass off. I always thought she had made it up but she is not really the creative type so I couldn't be too sure. So imagine my surprise to find that the story is actually truly an old Korean folktale, called "The Farting Daughter-in-law" and recorded in the Korean Studies Series No. 5 volume of Korean Folktales. The version I read reads like a superhero story. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's Superfartress! It is quite long and complicated and ends with Super Farting Daughter-in-law saving her in-laws with a superfart. Quite comical, but not what I remembered. So I'll give you my mother's version.

Once upon a time, a long time ago. There was a young girl who had a really fat butt and was known in her village for farting so loud and powerfully that she could kill a bird in a tree with her fart. Although she was quite pretty, no one in her village, or the surrounding villages wanted to have anything to do with her. Til one day, a matchmaker from far away came for the girl. She was to match her with a family many villages away. The girl's family was delighted and they sent her off with her bridal dowry. Before she left, her mother admonished her not to fart and ruin her new life. The daughter promised and left.

She arrived to her new family and settled nicely into a routine, turning into a perfect and most dutiful daughter-in-law. Her husband and his parents were very happy with this lovely, respectful, modest and dutiful addition to their household. The house was very small, and the internal walls made of sliding paper walls. There was very little privacy in the house. As several weeks went by, they noticed that their new daughter-in-law was turning very pale and sickly. Quite concerned for her, the husband and both parents took turns asking her what was the matter, but the girl refused to tell them. Instead, she continued to turn sickly pale. Finally, the mother-in-law took her aside for a strong talk.

"My dear, you are wasting away and look like you are about to die. All of us are terribly concerned with you and I insist you tell me what is wrong!"

The girl was in terrible pain by this point and decided to confide in her mother-in-law.

"I am so sorry to cause you such concern, but it is because ever since I have arrived, there is no place that I can fart without being heard by the family and I am too embarassed to do so in front of all of you."

The mother-in-law began to laugh. "Is that all this is about?"

The daughter-in-law nodded.

"My dear! You had me so worried! This is nothing, just a little gas. Please go ahead and let it out. None of us will think badly of you, in fact, since we have been talking, I have farted many times without you even knowing it!"

The daughter-in-law began to look relieved, but was still a little nervous.

"Are you sure you will not think badly of me?"

"I told you! Go ahead and fart!" the mother-in-law insisted.

Without another word, the daughter-in-law released the fart that she had been holding for so many weeks. But because of the incredible amount of gas buildup, the fart came out as a huge explosion, one that blasted through all the walls of the house, sending it flying apart like a house of cards. Her mother-in-law was blasted several houses away while the father-in-law and the husband were hidden in the rubble.

So here is where my mother's version of the story differentiates from the recorded Korean folktale. The book states that the daughter-in-law was kicked out by her in-laws who were worried for their son, but on her way to her parents home, she has these adventures where she knocks out bad guys with her farts and makes lots of money and goes back to her in-laws who take her back happily, now that she is rich. My mother's version ended like this:

The mother-in-law came back to the ruins of the house, still dazed by the fart. Seeing her daughter-in-law unharmed, while her husband and son were crawling out of the wreckage, blood pouring from various wounds, the mother-in-law called her a monster and chased her away with a shovel. So mortified was the poor daughter-in-law that she went into the deep mountainside and died of a broken-heart. And the moral of this story is, never trust your mother-in-law.

Me - I thought it was never fart in front of your mother-in-law.

Mom - Who cares about the fart! Just never show your true colors to your mother-in-law or she will drive you away!

Me - OK, Mom, thanks for the interesting story.

Mom - And never let your husband get life insurance on you either.

Me - Wha?!

Mom - Especially over a million...

Me - Mom, I'm 13, why are you telling me this now?

Mom - Because you are never too young to learn. Let me tell you this story. It's called the Stupid Daughter-in-law...

Little Lawyer

The other day Oldest and I were chatting about camp, school, life, High School Musical and other topics of great importance to a 9 year old. We were having a lovely chat when she looked at me seriously and told me, "Mommy, I don't want to grow up. I want to be little and stay with you and daddy forever." Now this is nothing new. She, and the other two have been saying this for a long time. But this time she was so very serious. And this time, she is nearly as tall as I am. I can tell she doesn't like the fact that she is getting so big and can't easily curl up on my lap. She looks with envy at youngest who is still small.

"I never want to be apart from you!" Oldest announces.

"Well you say that now, but you might change your mind when you grow up," I say.

"NO! I will never change my mind!" she shouts. "I don't want to get married! I don't want to have babies! I just want to stay with my family forever."

"Oh that's so sweet," I say. "I should put that in a contract and make you sign it! Also put in a clause that you will never put Mommy and Daddy in a nursing home!"

"What's a contract?" Oldest asks.

"It's a legal document and it just puts in writing an agreement between people," I explain.

"But why would you need a contract?" Oldest asks suspiciously.

"Well I'd put it in your memory box to remind you of what you said. Cause people change their minds as they grow older."

"Well I said I wouldn't change my mind!"

"I know, hon, but you never know..."

"And what's a nursing home?" she asks.

"Don't worry about that sweetie, just agree that you will never put Mommy and Daddy in one and everything will be just fine."

"Well, a contract sounds like a good idea, but maybe you should also put in stuff about how much allowance I get and what my chores are and what the other girls chores are, you know?" Oldest asks.

"Uh huh," I mutter.

"I mean I should get more allowance as I get older, right? And when can I get my own phone? And when am I allowed to wear makeup? And what about Angus and Youngest? Don't they have to sign too? And I think you should put in that they are not allowed to play with my stuff unless they have my permission..."

"Ha Ha, I was just joking about the contract?" I cut her off. "Ha ha! Big joke! Forget I said anything. Just go play."

Later on I hear the three girls playing together when suddenly I hear Angus yell out, "What do you mean I have to give you my pokemon cards if I touch your stuff without your permission! I'm not signing that!"

Uh oh.

Oh Writer Where Art Thou?

One of my favorite movies is "O Brother Where Art Thou?" by the Coen Brothers. It is based on Homer's epic poem, The Odyssey, but is set in the deep south during the the Great Depression. The reason I bring it up is related to my manuscript but first let me give you the set up. For those of you who have never seen it, in the movie, George Clooney (Everett), John Turturro (Pete), and Tim Blake Nelson (Delmar) play escaped prisoners who are out to retrieve a hidden treasure. Along the way, 3 beautiful women (sirens) singing and washing their laundry by the river's edge, seduce the 3 men with liquor. When Everett and Delmar wake up, they find Pete is gone, and all that is left is his clothes and a large toad within them. So here is the scene from the movie:



So I am reviewing all the comments that Da Man has given me on my manuscript, most of which are incredibly helpful and wonderful catches. Towards the latter half of my story, the hero and his group discover a beautiful spot where heavenly maidens bathe and frolic by jade green pools deep in a mountain valley and the maidens inform my MC of the treasure he must find. On the paragraph after this scene Da Man had written the comment "We thought you was a toad!" I just about bust a gut laughing. It reminded me of how well he knows me that he knew I would find that hysterical. But it also reminded me of how many references and nods to other books can be found in most people's writings. While I don't think my book is completely derivative, it cannot help but have similarities with so many quest based novels.

If you look at Harry Potter or even the Chronicles of Narnia, you can see alot of concepts that are similar to Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, and look how successful these books have been. Eragon has been criticized as having the same plotline as Star Wars but told through the same world of the LOTR. And yet Hollywood even made a movie based on it (not a good movie, but still). Similarities occur everywhere, and what might be derivative to one reader may be fresh and new to another. For example, older readers criticized Eragon for being a hodge-podge of stolen plotlines and concepts from better novels. Yet young readers were opened to a new world of fantasy they had never seen before. And surely the success of the trilogy, speaks for itself.

If someone were to make a similar comparison to my novel, they might call it an Asian based LOTR. But would this be an accurate analysis of my book? I would hope not. I would hope that my creative East Asian mythlore take on the old "quest" devise would give it a completely new spin. I would hope my execution is what will keep it interesting and fresh and so very different from Tolkien's world. And yet to have your work compared to Tolkien would be an ultimate compliment. One that could bring a similarly themed book to a new audience.

But at the end of the day, it is hard to know what interpretations a reader will bring to your book. I would never have thought my YA Asian historical novel would raise similarities to "Oh Brother Where Art Thou?" but that is the correlation Da Man saw. Was it a good thing or bad thing? I'm not sure. But I can only hope, that when the last page is turned, and the book is finally put down, that whatever interpretations were made added to the reader's enjoyment of the book.

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 12

Da Man was in a particularly foul mood the other day and yelling at the kids for any perceived disrespect. In fact, he even went so far as to ban them from playing with their barbie dolls. This I did not understand. Ban TV, ban computer and all other electronic devices, ok - I get it. But to ban creative free play with their dolls and dollhouses? I'm not sure I would agree. So I had 3 mopey girls sitting on the couch next to me commenting on their daddy's bad mood.

Oldest - Boy is he cranky.

Youngest - No he is really really angry.

Angus - He's Crangery!

Oldest - Crangery? That sounds like a drink! A yummy drink!

Angus - NO! It's a Daddy drink. And it tastes really really sour and you make a sour angry face. (Angus makes said face. They all begin to giggle madly.)

Oldest- No when you drink it, it tastes real bad like horrible medicine and makes you want to throw up.

Youngest - No it tastes like throw up!

Angus - No it tastes like diarrhea!

The conversation has now been reduced, as usual, to disgusting bodily functions.

Me - That's enough! Stop with all that disgusting potty talk! I mean it.

Quiet for a few minutes, then the whispering begins.

Youngest - Mommy is crangery too.

Oldest - No that's a Daddy word, we have to find a new word for Mommy.

Angus (starts giggling) - She looks real mad and she's definitely cranky. She's Manky!

All 3 burst out laughing and start chanting "Manky Mommy! Manky Mommy!"

You know, I think I would rather be called Crangery. Manky sounds vaguely obscene.

******

In other news, Da Man is definitely in my good lists again as he managed to finish reading my manuscript in less than a week, a new reading record for him. To top it off, he gave me probably one of the best compliments I have ever received. He said that when he finished it he felt the same mixed emotion of regret and anticipation he had after watching the first of the Lord of the Rings movies. Regret that it was finished and excited anticipation to know there would be two more coming. I was actually quite moved by his comment. It is hands down the nicest thing he has ever said to me. I am verklempt!

Scaredy cat

Copyright by Yves Lorson via Flickr.com

I'm from a family with apparent supernatural psychic abilities. All my life I would hear my parents make comments about a certain place having bad spirits or disturbances in the spirit world, etc. Even my sister could apparently sense a ghostly presence in certain areas. Whenever I hear my parents and my sister talk about all these ghosts around us that they can sense, it would always freak me out. In fact, a shivery tingly goose bumpy flesh crawling feeling passes me whenever I even think of their connection to the spirit world. In fact, I have that terrible sensation even now as I type. shudder.

For some reason, like the gardening gene, this sixth sense ability completely passed me over. There has to be a really really strong presence for me to feel it. And it has happened only twice in my life. Once, I walked into a building where I literally felt such a horrible feeling of malevolent evil that it frightened me so badly I ran out of there. I never knew what it was about that place that was so bad, but I would not have been surprised to find out that something really bad happened there. The only other time I sensed something otherworldy was passing by Ground Zero a year after the towers collapsed. I became nearly overwhelmed with a swirl of emotions, the strongest of which was incredible sadness, but it also felt scared and angry and so very confusing. But other than these two instances, I never sense anything else. It is an extraordinary blessing for me for I am a horrendous scaredy cat. Oh yes, loud mouthed, obnoxious, opinionated me is a big pansy. I can't watch ghost movies anymore. The Ring scared me so bad I had nightmares for months. In fact a few weeks after I saw the Ring, Oldest, who was about 4 or 5 at the time, walked over to my side of the bed in the middle of the night. She had had a bad dream. Trouble was she had long straight dark brown hair which was hanging down in front of her face, just like the girl in The Ring. To top it off, she didn't say anything cause she was still sort of sleepy, and just stood by my bedside waiting for me to open my eyes (I am a light sleeper) and notice her standing there. Well I did wake and I did notice her and I did scream my head off, which frightened her so much that she ran screaming back to her room and burst into tears. The next day I took her to the hair salon and had her hair chopped short. Yes I am a big baby.

Growing up, my parents loved telling ghost stories from the old country. And for some reason, their ghost stories were a million times scarier than anything you can read in the horror section at Barnes and Nobles. Their stories were always about real people that had really horrible things happen to them for doing things their parents told them not to do. They didn't need to turn the lights off and shine a flashlight in their face. All they needed to do is start with "Once there was this person..." in that serious quiet way they had, and my hair would rise off my neck. My mom's stories always had a murdered child or girl in them while my dad's stories were famous for the unexpected scary ending. My dad is the king of the long drawn out dramatic pause. He could really drag out the tension and suspense in a story with his dramatic pauses. Only problem was sometimes the pause started as a pause but ended as a memory lapse, at which point the suspense would be ruined. One time, in the midst of telling the dramatic conclusion to a particularly horrific ghost story, he fell asleep. I didn't realize he had fallen asleep because I had my eyes closed in fear. I only opened my eyes when he started snoring. I got real mad and poked him. He couldn't remember the end of the story. Til this day, I don't know what happened to the girl trapped in the closet with the decapitated body of her murdered boyfriend and the blood hungry forms of her now dead friends pawing at the splintering door.

But the thing is, what made their stories even scarier was when they would end a freaky story with a personal anecdote about how they were reminded of that story because on their way home that day they passed by some spot where they were opportuned by the murdered spirit of a child seeking its mother, or they felt the malevolent presence of evil spirits seeking to do harm. One time, my mother told me that there was an evil spirit of a child murderer lurking in the mailbox at the corner of our street. For a year, I walked all the way around the block to avoid that mailbox. One night my dad thought it would be funny to tell me that a ghost lived in floor of the hallway leading to the bathroom and that sometimes in its desperate attempts to take form, it would tickle his feet as he walked past. During the day, I would try my best to tiptoe across that floor, pulling a spiderman and nearly climbing the walls whenever I inadvertently stepped on a creaky floorboard. But at night, I would risk peeing my bed not to have to walk to the bathroom. I secretly think that they would do this to me and run behind their bedroom door and laugh their asses off at me. I was a difficult kid, always getting in trouble, always in the principal's office. This was their way of getting back at me. Sickos.

So when I had Oldest, Da Man and I had moved into a larger 2 bedroom apartment in a brand new building down the street from our old building. The new place was built on a site that had an abandoned warehouse. We'd been living in the apartment happily for several months when my parents came down to visit and stay in the baby's room with Oldest. Next morning, my Dad came out and complained that he didn't get any sleep. The moaning and groaning of disturbed spirits had kept him awake all night. My Mom announced that something terrible happened at this site. All of a sudden, I get a tingly disturbed feeling along with inadvertent shudders and wonder why it is I didn't sense this before we moved in and made this terrible mistake. A month later, my sister came to stay for the summer and began to tell me similarly, how there were lots of sad, bad and angry spirits at our location. That tingly feeling became a full firehouse alarm and I began to campaign strongly for us to move to a new house. A year later, we finally moved into our current residence. But before bidding on the house, I compelled my sister to come and walkthrough the house with me. Only after she proclaimed that she could sense no spirits anywhere, did I agree to buy the house. We've been living here happily for seven years now. And I have no intention of ever moving out.

Why your husband should not be your beta reader

Da Man is one of my beta readers because he demands to be one. He used to be a law review editor in law school so he thinks it makes him an editing genius. I was not too keen to hand it over. After all, it took him 6 months to read my first manuscript. Yes, 6 months. When someone you respect takes a long time to read something you wrote, you feel as if you are imposing upon them and that your work is really crappy because they can't make themselves read it. And unlike my beta readers, who I know have busy, hectic lives and I am just grateful for any time that they can devote to reading my work, I can see just exactly what my husband does in his free time. Like endless hours watching cheesy late night cable shows, going fishing, playing soccer, playing basketball, lifting weights, surfing the internet for I don't want to know, going to Sports Authority, talking on the phone way too long, sleeping on the sofa, picking his nose and scratching his ass. But mostly he watches way too much TV. He watches TV so much I think an antenna should start growing out of the top of his head. And everytime I see him watching TV, I think, WHY ISN'T THAT BASTARD READING MY BOOK?!!!!! Yes, it took him 6 months to read my first manuscript. But it was also 100,000 words long. At least this time, my new manuscript is only 52,000 words. Maybe this time he might be a little faster? I was unsure.

But he said he wanted to read it and I really do value his opinion so I gave it over to him, with the caveat that he needed to make it a priority and read it sooner than later. He printed it out and told me he would bring it to the beach and read it over vaca. After all, there would be plenty of downtime at the beach to read. I was hopeful. Well, we got to the beach and LO AND BEHOLD, he forgot his copy of my manuscript at home. Hmmmmm. Mortified and seeing the steam rising from my ears, the thinning of my lips and the reddening of my face, he promised me that as soon as we got home Friday night, he would devote the weekend to reading it. Yes I was disappointed and sad about it. But he promised, again, and I was sure he wouldn't break another promise.

Friday, we spent the whole ride not talking to each other because he is an ASS and got mad over something so trivial that I am too embarrassed to even write about it. he sulked for 3 hours straight, dropped us all off and drove off to sulk some more. He then spent the night watching stupid MTV shows all night long and not once cracking open my manuscript. Saturday night, after noting my Botox-like expression, he picked up the manuscript at 1:30AM and tried to read it. He got about 7 pages in before he crashed for the night. Sunday, he slept til 12, lumped around all day and didn't even try to crack the manuscript open. Monday, I thought for sure he would take it with him to read on the metro ride back and forth from work. But no. It lay abandoned and forlorn, next to the sad little pile of blankets on the floor he must now sleep on. Part of me feels brokenhearted that he has so little care for my creation. Had the roles been reversed, I would stay up all night to read whatever he had written. But he would rather watch Cribs or endless hours of boring fishing shows. Yes, I am a little hurt.

Last night, as he slept, I watched him, oh great love of my life. He likes to sleep with his arm raised over his head, a position of such peaceful repose. I looked down on him, sprawled out on the floor, and think to myself, I'd like to wax his armpits and show him what true pain is all about. His armpit hair is nice and long too. It would really catch the hot wax well. The amount of pain would be excruciating. I tingle with anticipation of his horrendous scream of agony. But wait, is waxing his armpit torturous enough? Who would even know of his shame? Perhaps an eyebrow instead? That may be just as excruciating, but adds the element of humiliation. Yes, his left eyebrow, cause he likes to sleep on his right side. I'll do it from behind, so I can race out of hitting range. Maybe that'll teach him to break another promise.

Over at Jason's

Hey everyone, I've got an entry up at Jason's for his latest contest. Please pop by and take a look. As usual, his contests always gets the best entries. It's always a blast to read them all. Mine is called Speed.

Back to Normality - I hope

Beautiful Beach copyright by Esther** via Flickr.com

We just got back from the beach. But not the beach above. That would have entailed flying. No, instead we drove to a local beach in Delaware where the brown muddy waters are about as inviting as an ice bath in a blizzard and the crowds of people with their blankets and chairs encroaching upon your space could have made Mother Theresa a sinner. But it was the beach, and it was for the kids.

We debated whether or not to go at all due to Youngest's walking pneumonia. But Oldest was finally getting better and Angus had been all cured a week earlier and they would have been crushed if we had cancelled. So we went back to the doctor and got his professional opinion. He said we could go provided we monitor her progress and watch out for any problems with her breathing. What he failed to mention was that the disease turned our normally even tempered, happy-go-lucky, sweet 4 year old into a nasty, angry, whiny, screaming, irritating, demanding, foul horrid monster. Everyday there would be a minimum of two horrendous temper tantrums lasting anywhere from 20 minutes to over an hour. Where she would scream, howl, rant and rave like a madman for some perceived offense, like asking her to pee before leaving for the beach. Unfortunately my husband is as stubbornly pigheaded to get his way and when Da Man and Youngest would go head to head, the rest of us all suffered, including our family friends who came on vacation with us. The only good news about her ugly temper tantrums was that the doctor had asked me to make sure she would do lots of deep breathing exercises to work her lungs and keep them from collapsing. All her shrieking and screaming gave her all the deep breathing she needed for the week.

In an interesting bit of karmic energy, on our last day at the beach, Youngest had a singularly bad meltdown right on the beach. A friend of the girls had accidentally kicked sand in Youngest's face and had gotten in her eye. No amount of consoling and bribing would settle her and she refused to leave the beach, instead proceeding to shriek bloody murder about her eye. For nearly an hour after finally shutting up, she would continue to whine, sulk, brood and be particularly nasty to her family and friends. She finally fell asleep for a nap under the umbrella and me and Da Man sat on chairs right behind her, revelling in the semi-quiet.

The waves had been acting up, forcing us to move our blankets back earlier, but we were definitely on high ground and in a spot that the waves couldn't get us. Our blankets were at the top of a high incline safe from the waters. That is, until a huge monster wave built up in the sea, racing for the shore, at a good five feet height over the heads of those standing waist high in the waters. Angus had gone inside with my friend so I looked to see where Oldest and my friend's son were. They were standing halfway between where the water was supposed to stop and our blankets. The wave when it hit them, came up to their armpits and thundered by up the incline and onto the blankets where Youngest was sleeping. The split second that I realized the wave was coming at us, I had jumped out of my seat, reaching for Youngest, but I was a second too late and the wave rushed over her. The scream she emitted is one I will never forget and hope never to hear again. I could not have gotten to her faster, the wave was too fast for me. But I did grab her just as the wave hit so she didn't actually swallow any of it.

The monster wave reached nearly to the boardwalk, it was so big. The entire beach was filled with shocked people picking up the mess the waters had made of their stuff. Everyone's stuff got washed several feet away. It could have been worse. The undertow was pretty bad and could have swept Oldest and others into the sea, but it didn't. My cell phone got corroded and my camera got f**ked up, but my pictures were safe and my smartchip card was fine. No one can control Mother Nature. I'm just glad it wasn't worse. We were quite lucky.

Youngest is still a little cretin at least once a day, but we are hoping and praying that she snaps out of it as she gets completely cured. Otherwise, I will go completely mad. While we were at the beach, I had no wireless access and my laptop got screwed up trying to get the foreign wireless access so I am now working off my kids computer until my laptop gets fixed. Another headache I shall have to deal with. Sigh. But at least things, I hope, are starting to normalize. If not, don't be surprised to read a headline, Crazed Mother of 3 climbs Washington Monument with bare hands and suction cups singing "You are my sunshine" and flinging a variety of different snack foods and juice boxes at the crowd below.

Nothing funny to say

After my last post, Youngest kept getting sicker. We kept going to the doctor but they couldn't figure out what was wrong. Meanwhile she kept getting sicker. Finally today, we found out she has a bad case of walking pneumonia, right before our annual beach trip. Oldest has also been diagnosed with beginning pnemuonia. Both are now on heavy duty meds. I've been surrounded by sick, whiny, crying children at home and sick, whiny, crying students at school. Hopefully now with medication, the girls will all get better. I really hope so. I haven't had a good nights sleep in weeks and this continuous cycle of sickness in the house has made me absolutely miserable.

So my inability to blog and visit my favorite blogs has now been explained. I have no idea how much longer I will be out of commission. But I can only hope and pray that Youngest and Oldest both get completely better soon so they are no longer so miserable.

Zombie Mommy

It started with Angus. I shall blame her. She came home from the last day of school with a cough and fever which came and went for a week before I finally took her into the doctor and found out she had walking pneumonia. Feeling like a terrible Mom, I immediately bought her a toy to try and cheer her up. Now she keeps whining that she is still sick and requires more toys to make her feel better. Bad Mommy.

4 days later, just as the medication has begun to make Angus feel a little more like herself (so that I can finally yell at her that I am not buying anymore toys for her, and that's final!), I have to rush Dumb Man to the emergency room with a badly sprained ankle and hamstring injury from playing soccer. He comes home in a cast and crutches and a bad attitude. Instead of feeling sympathetic and sorry for his injury, I feel very sorry for myself who now has to deal with another whiny injured baby in the house. Put upon Mommy.

5 days later after lots of cranky, whiny Dumb Man behavior and having to drive his dumbassery back and forth into Washinton, DC and still make it to work myself, and take all the kids back and forth to camp, and grocery shop, and cook, and clean, and do never ending piles of laundry, Youngest comes down with a vicious case of the stomach flu. 48 hours of chronic barfdom (seriously the little thing lost lots of weight cause she was just puking up saliva and bile) with very little help from gimpy and I am beginning to look and smell like a zombie. Stinky Mommy.

4 days later, the earache Oldest has been steadily complaining about for over a week seems to be getting worse so I take Oldest to the doctor. I've been to the doctor more times in this two week period than in the entire year and it just so happens to be the cute, sexy in that smart geeky way, doctor that I totally have a crush on, except I look and smell like crap and am at the point of just not caring anymore. Cute doctor tells me Oldest has a severe infection with a blood blister in her ear leaving me feeling terribly guilty and remorseful and so I immediately drag Oldest and Youngest to Target to buy them toys. Angus stays with her auntie and gets nothing. Rotten Mommy.

1 day later, I wake up with a horrible headache, aches, chills, fever and a terrible sore throat. And to top it off, my stomach is not feeling too hot causing me to run back and forth out of the bathroom and sweating like a ravenous fat man at an all you can eat buffet. Zombie Mommy.

The only good news from this whole ordeal is that:

1. I lost 4 pounds which I shall immediately put back on as soon as I feel well enough to eat an entire pan of brownies by myself.

2. I finished my YA manuscript. I was on a mission to finish and finish I did. Am making some revisions and getting ready to send it out to my beta readers. But the first installment of the Seven Kingdoms trilogy set in ancient Korea is done. WOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Now I shall go rest my weary little zombie head. I shall come visiting as soon as the urge to gnaw on my extremities passes me.

I won't be around til next week

Angus has walking pneumonia, I've got friends in from out of town, trying to finish my WIP, and grading papers like mad. You won't see me around the blog-o-sphere til next week, which will hopefully help cure this maddening case of the stupids I have. I shall be marking google reader as "all read" until I get a grip on everything and then I shall be back. So don't forget me while I am gone and I shall see you in a week, I hope. But I will leave you with Youngest's latest attempt at negotiating.

This morning Angus is home sick. The walking pneumonia has given her a terrible headache, cough and diarrhea. But my friend's kids are also here and Youngest loves my friend's daughter. So this morning I'm trying to drop Oldest and Youngest to camp. Usually they love to go but today they are both malingering. They want to stay and hang out with the other kids, of course. Youngest being very resourceful keeps complaining of many different types of ailments.

"My head hurts, my tummy hurts, I have diarrhea, my eye hurts, I can't walk!" Youngest cries.

"You're going to camp, that's final!" I say.

"I have to go to the doctor, I'm sick, I need a shot!" (Unlike the older two, the girl is not afraid of shots!)

"You are not sick and you are going to camp!"

"I am sick and you don't care about me anymore!"

"Don't say that, honey."

"I'm going to run away and never come home!"

"No you can't"

"Yes I can!

"No you can't."

"Yes I can!"

"No you can't because you are sick."

"No I'm not!"

"Good, then you can go to camp."

"I mean I am!"

"Too late."

"I want Daddy!"

Addled Brain

Once every few months, something happens to me and I get a vicious case of the stupids. The synapses don't fire correctly which affects my motor skills making me clumsy, my brain is addled and turns me into Patrick Star from Spongebob Squarepants. I find myself unable to focus my attention on what people are saying, instead I become absolutely fascinated with a stray nose hair or a long stringy booger or a sesame seed stuck to their bicuspid. God forbid they have a wandering eye! I can't focus, I'm too easily distracted. I'm officially stupid.

Today, I was reading Lisa' Kenny's post on Green Porno and decided to call Da Man. So I asked Oldest to go get me the porn.

"Huh?" she says.

"The porn, the porn! Get me the porn!" I repeated several times before realizing exactly what I was saying and substituing the right request. Luckily she didn't know what I was talking about.

Yesterday, at the office while working on a document for nearly 2 hours I closed out of it, not realizing that I had downloaded the document from my email because I had emailed it to myself to work on at the office, and I had not saved it in a new word document. I lost all 2 hours worth of changes.

I pulled a soda out of the fridge and dropped it on the floor. Since it was the last soda, I decided to put it back in the fridge so it would settle down before I opened it. Not even five minutes pass when I realize I am thirsty and open the fridge, relieved to see there is one soda left. I open it, forgetting it was the one I dropped just a few minutes earlier. Now me and the open fridge are covered in soda.

The other day I pulled out my wallet to empty out the garbage I have collected in my bag. I made two piles - things to keep and things to throw away. When I'm done, I put all two piles back in my bag and throw my wallet away.

I swear I'm certifiably going mad with stupidity. If anyone knows of a cure, please let me know.

Disturbing Sight

The other day I saw a disturbing sight. The little boy across the street had on a Boston Red Sox t-shirt and a Yankees baseball cap. I was so troubled by this I told Da Man that I was going to go have a word with the twerp, I mean kid.

"Take it easy on him, he's only 5!" he says to me.

"Five is old enough to know better!" I reply as I head out the door.

"Hey Opie!" I yell out. "Who dressed you this morning?"

Opie beams and admits proudly to dressing himself.

"But honey," I ask sweetly, "Why are you wearing that shirt with your lovely hat?"

"Cause the Boston Red Sox rules!" he shouts out at me.

I swallow the bile that comes up into my throat at such sacrilege.

"But you shouldn't wear that shirt with that hat!" I say.

"But you gave me this hat," he says.

"Yes, I know, but not to wear with that shirt. That's a dangerous thing you are doing little guy. It could get you badly injured if you were to show up in a NY or Boston street like that. I mean if you can't handle the awesome responsibility that comes with the wearing of this hat, maybe I need to take it away from you!"

Opie blinks and then laughs and says "Aw you're just kidding!"

Since Opie's Mom has now come out to join us, I smile and laugh and agree that I am just kidding. But I ask him not to wear the hat with the shirt as it would be disrespectful to both teams. Ok he says, with a big grin covering his adorable little face. He runs into the house. A minute later he comes back out wearing a Boston Red Sox cap with the Boston Red Sox t-shirt. Little traitor. I'm taking my hat back.

I am afraid of my Google Reader

I have it on my igoogle home page. It waits there for me to click it, glaring at me disapprovingly while the parenthetical counter ticks ever up.

I loved it at first. A great way to stay on top of my blog reading, I thought. Oh look! What a good little reader you are! It counts how many new posts have popped up! Good reader. Good good reader.

The first time I used it, I relished marking the new posts off as read. It gave me a sense of accomplishment seeing the number of new posts click down from 50 to 0. I was so proud of myself. But then the next morning, the counter would be back up to 50 again and I would feverishly be trying to catch up. A few hours later, it was as if I had read nothing. I was making no headway. At one point, I was off my computer for a whole day and that night after class, I came back to a counter that read 124 new posts! No longer is Google Reader my friend. No - we are now sworn enemies. We do battle daily and nightly, and it always wins.

But how can I let an inanimate computer program get the better of me? Because I am weak and it is technologically advanced. And it kicks my ass every single day. I feverishly click through all my posts and read as much as I can, trying to desperately keep that counter at (0), but to no avail! When I get it to (0), it lasts about 15 minutes before someone is posting again and ruining my nothingness. And I'm beginning to resent prolific posters. Some blogs seem to post every few minutes. And I think to myself, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!!!!!!!!! HOW MUCH DO YOU ACTUALLY REALLY HAVE TO SAY OF INTEREST?!!! But they are interesting and I must read the posts, of course. Can't not read the posts. Have to read the posts. I'm like a clicking junkie fiend. Give me another hit baby, just another hit...

Perhaps I have too many blogs to read. It's true I have added more than I used to read in the past, but they are all so good! And then everytime someone new visits my blog, I have to follow them home. Like Mary's little lamb, following it home. And there it is... another interesting blog to read. The junkie wants more. Give me more! Find me more! But I can't handle more!!!! I think I need an intervention, or a good ass whooping.

I live in terror of Google Reader. I get nervous, my hands shake and my palms start to sweat as I wait for my homepage to load up in the morning. The question isn't will it be high, the question is how high. And I am scared. Very scared. I now have nightmares. I dream I am in a padded room of all white. The walls around me are covered with gigantice Google Reader pages. The counter keeps clicking ever higher. Past 100, then 500, up and up until the zeros overrun the pages and I shriek in hysteria as the numbers start spinning faster and faster, higher and higher. And I wake up in a cold sweat and slap Da Man in the head to orient myself. He gets up and screams at me, "WTF is wrong with you!" This immediately makes me feel better and I can go back to sleep. But I can't keep slapping him in the head every night even though it hurts my hand more than it hurts his head. He keeps threatening to have me arrested for spousal abuse. My defense would be that Google Reader made me do it.

Perhaps someone can explain what it is I am doing wrong. Perhaps someone can tell me their method of keeping Reader in check. Perhaps someone will get me a prescription of Xanax and a couple of beers and sing me some Marley. Or perhaps Google Reader and me are just not meant to be.

Random Funny Things My Kids Say - Part 11

Yesterday was an incredibly hot day. Over a 100 even in the late afternoon. I decided to take the girls to the pool after school. There were a lot of kids already there. Mostly boys. The water was so warm it was like a bath but still refreshing from the incredible heat.

There was also an attractive woman in a very revealing black bikini. She was standing on the steps into the pool with her back to Youngest as she paddled by. Youngest stops right behind her and calls out to her.

"Excuse me lady! You have a rock on your butt!" Youngest says in her loud cute carrying voice.

"What?" Bikini lady asks.

"YOU HAVE A ROCK ON YOUR BUTT!" Youngest shrieks.

By this time I have grabbed Youngest and am trying to pull her away from the scene she is causing as little boys start gathering to look at this lady's butt. Bikini lady finally figures out what Youngest is going on about.

"Oh that!" she says with a strained smile. "That's just a mole."

"A MOLE?!!" Youngest shrieks. "It looks like a nimple. A nimple on her butt!"

She turns to me and says again, "Mommy, she has a nimple on her butt!"

I am trying to cover her mouth as the little boys start chanting nimple, nimple, nimple, butt, butt, butt! Poor woman. Luckily, Youngest then farted in the pool, leaving a trail of bubbles as she promptly announced "I farted in the pool and felt bubbles come out of my butt!"

All the boys forgot all about nipple butt lady trying to turn the pool into a jacuzzi.

I decided to get out before a real accident occurred.

Guest Post over at Moonrat's!

Moonrat graciously allowed me to guest blog over at her celebrated blog Editorial Ass. Please pop by and let me know what you think!

Selfish Parents

Yesterday I drove down to the bus stop to pick up my girls from school. Because of the layout of our neighborhood our closest bus stop is 4 blocks down an incline and I end up driving in order to not hear the complaints of walking home uphill with heavy backpacks. Anyway, the bus technically is scheduled to arrive at 3:20 but always comes at 3:30. However, I always head to the bus early because of my paranoia at the thought of being late to pick up my kids. Turns out that yesterday the bus came extra early and when I arrived at the bus stop, I could see the bus pulling away and leaving a large group of little kids UNATTENDED.

Legally, the bus driver is not allowed to leave kids at a bus stop alone, especially since there are kindergartners in this mix. So when I pulled up and saw ten little kids, including my own two, with no parents anywhere around, I got mad. I asked the kids if there had been any parents at the bus stop when the bus arrived. They said yes, there had been a few parents who had picked up their kids and left in their cars and one who lived in the apartment building behind the stop. I was astounded. It explained why the bus driver left. He saw parents there so he left to keep his schedule. But it doesn't explain why the other parents would have left too. I parked my car and waited 15 minutes for their parents to show up because the thought of leaving little kids unattended is unthinkable to me. This is a particularly busy corner with alot of traffic. I never leave the bus stop until I see that all the kids have been accounted for and I would hope that someone would do the same for my own kids. To see that a bunch of parents had not done this simple and important courtesy makes my blood boil over. I am grateful that I happened to arrive when I did but I wonder what would have happened if yesterday had been one of those days I decided to pick the girls up from school instead of the bus stop? When I showed up, the 6 and 7 year olds had already thrown down there backpacks and were running around wild in the grass and into the parking lot below. I shudder to think what might have happened if they had run unattended into the street.

So I am going to have some choice words to say to the parents of the kids that left. One of them is a nanny, but that is no excuse. All adults have a responsibility to keep children from harm. This could have been a dangerous situation and for the adults to abandon the children was irresponsible and selfish. I can only imagine their thoughts. Hey I was here early to pick up my kid, they should have been too. That's just wrong. Maybe they didn't think that, maybe they were too engrossed in their own schedules to even look around to see or care about someone else. Honestly I think that is just as bad. I am disappointed. I am mad. They should have known better.

Unfortunate Lingering Odors

The problem with the public library is that it is public and thereby I have no control over the people who may or may not sit in my general vicinity. I would personally like to put out a ten foot no fly/walk or passing of gas zone radius around my body that would be effective at all times unless you have been specifically approved to enter into my personal space. And of course at any given times, people normally allowed access to my personal space could be arbitrarily kicked out for specific offenses commited in my safe haven.

I say this because especially at the library, I have been the unfortunate victim of the Lingering Odors phenomenon. There I sit, earnestly typing away or reading for research, breathing, like I normally do, the clean and pleasant odors of books and paper, occassionally interspersed with the slightly unpleasant very old book smell that occurs when someone is perusing the stacks and opens an oldie.

And then it happens. Without fail. Someone will either burp, fart, take off their shoes or just have failed to use their deodorant on an unusually hot day and I begin to suffer.

Listen I'm not trying to be mean about this, I just happen to have a very sensitive nose. It is really more of a curse. I spend most of my life breathing through my mouth to avoid unpleasant smells. I am cursed by sympathetic vomiting not because of the visual but because of the odor. Taking the NYC subways all my life was the bane of my existence because nothing smells funkier than the subway tracks. I am paralyzed by port-o-potties and would rather crap my pants than go into one. But I would rather jump in front of a Mac Truck rather than crap my pants. At least I would be dead.

So the other day a pungent offender came to sit next to me. The acrid BO smell had high notes of gamey meat and low notes of garlic and middle notes of IthinkI'mgoingtovomit. On top of the complexity of his STINK, he had compounded his offense by spraying himself heavily in some expensive I'mgoingclubbingtonightandhopingtogetlucky cologne. Holy crap are you kidding me? Let me explain something to you, showering in cologne does not actually make you smell better if you don't actually clean yourself first. And to make matters worse. Oh yes there is a worse. Everytime he shifted in his seat, you could smell nasty butt stink. That actually made me angry and in a huff of gagging fury, I packed up my laptop and books and ran away to another available spot across the room from Stinky butt man.

I thought I was safe, I really did. This time I was seated next to a woman. Women usually smell better then men. But not this woman. Perhaps she had a glandular problem. Perhaps she ate a particularly pungent meal that day. Perhaps she was related to Stinky butt man. I don't know what it was, but it was nearly as bad. Nearly. At least next to her, it wasn't a lingering in your face odor. Hers came in waves. I'd be typing along at a fast clip and suddenly a wave of sweaty dirty sneaker odor would hit me and make my eyes water. Then it would pass and I would be fine and then a few minutes later I would smell sweaty musky underarm odor. And then someone in my area burped and I swear they must have been eating hot dogs and onions. You could almost smell mustard in the air.

Not the type to pretend and ignore such a stink, I waved my hands frantically in the air and glared at all three people sitting in their separate cubicles next to and in front of me. The two guys in front of me wouldn't even look up but funky woman next to me had the audacity to sit there holding her nose and glaring at me! Can you believe the nerve? Her stinky ass giving me the evil eye?

Indignant, I had to defend myself.

"That was not me!" I whispered at her.

I could tell from her facial expression that she did not believe me.

"I'm telling you that was not me! I did not have hot dogs or onions for lunch!" In a louder whisper.

All of a sudden another wave of odor hit us, making my eyes cross. We turned to stare at the men sitting in front of us, both studiously avoiding eye contact. I looked at her and stuck out my hand at the men, as if to say "See! Told you!" She nodded her head and then turned an evil eye at the both of them. By this time, I am nearly hyperventilating because I'm trying not to breathe through my nose and I'm mad and I think it is the old guy right in front of me and I have a sneaking suspicion he is deliberately blowing them my way but I can still smell musky woman next to me and when the next wave of onions hits me I have had it!

"That's it! I can't take it anymore!" I muttered as I angrily packed up my stuff and glared at both men. This time they looked up at me. The younger man seemed a bit bewildered to see me glaring while the older man was indifferent. Musky woman eyed me sympathetically and glared at the men again. But it is too late, the odors have done me in and I left the library and headed home where at least I knew I would be safe from unpleasant odors.

At least until the kids and Da man get home.

I think I need to invest in a gas mask.