Parenting Fail

Why does it come out of left field? Why do I have the feeling somehow my EASY kid will be the death of me? Oi! Guess maybe all the battles teach some lessons? Or something... Maybe the lack of trust is necessary?

Thing 1 was an easy baby and toddler, but she has been bossy, sassy, fast and loose with the truth, and obstinate since age 4. You heard me—her teen years are on their 11th year.



Thing 2 (right) is agreeable, likes me, tells the cook dinner was good EVERY NIGHT, has $700 of his OWN MONEY in the bank, and has never gotten below an A for a semester grade on a report card.



If you were the parent, which one would YOU worry about?



WELL YOU'D BE WRONG!





Thing 2 seems to suffer FOMS just like his mama. He is going to do every single thing he needs to succeed (and we will NEVER have trouble getting him into colleges—he will probably have scholarships. He will have a good job. He will be reliable. But I am coming to see, it may be a challenge to keep him from BEING ARRESTED. (never mind that he is 11)





So earlier this week I came home and my husband said, as I entered, set down the backpack and got the dog a carrot (aka: diet 'treat') ?“What do you know about the things on the table”



Having missed them, because my attention span is relatively limited, I returned to look. Realistic looking GUN and dangerous looking KNIFE. I picked up the gun. “It's a beebee gun,” the hubby supplies (holy freaking somethingorother, thank GOODNESS) I looked at him for explanation. I am a woman of few words and he darned well better know it by now.

“XYZ's dad came over with that. XYZ said it was Sam's. XYZ was aiming it at his sister's.” (note: XYZ had 3 sisters, one of whom I know pretty well, as when I co-led girl scouts, she was in the troop)



“That's not good.” (see how adept I am at grabbing right on the main point?)



“I'm not thrilled about it.” (note hubby's skill with understatement)



“Where did it come from?”



“I wondered if you knew.”



“erm... you know how I am about guns.”

“That's what I thought. After that, I looked in his room and found the knife. You didn't buy it for him?”



“Um... NO. No clue where it came from.” Then I thought. “I don't think anyway, but I think my stepdad might have bought him a pocket knife, but not one like that... but... if that's it, I might be wrong.” (see how I dance around not knowing anything? Hubby has a habit of setting everything one says in stone, so it is always best to only have said QUALIFIED statements so later you can say 'well I did say I wasn't sure.')





So son comes home. “Where did those come from?”



“MEIJER.”



“What?”



“I bought them at Meijer.”



"By yourself?"



"Yeah." (tone says, 'well of course')



Okay, so the beebee gun paint pellets say they CANNOT be sold to a minor. Our son is 11. You can't convince me the PELLETS have a warning and the gun does not (though the packaging is long-gone).



How is it I (a 44 year old woman) have to produce my ID every time I buy a box of wine (which happens more often than it should) and my 11 year old son is buying WEAPONS. Gun AND knife purchased when he rode his BIKE to MEIJER.





When asked why he was so secretive... catch this... this is part of the parental fail part...



“Well I knew mom didn't like guns...”



HOLY FREAKING COW. Isn't 'mom doesn't like guns a message to NOT BUY GUNS?! How does this become a 'KEEP YOUR GUNS SECRET message? I admit to being poky to even allow squirt guns... I grew up around guns and frankly, I just don't like the idea that something DEADLY in one domain is taken so lightly in others. I'm not a major hunting fan, but don't actively object to people who do it safely and ecologically (as in using everything from what they kill)--it is more humane than beef, when I put it in that light. My OBJECTION is that guns kill. We should not be playing games with them. But enough lecture on my firearms opinion.



My REAL problem (aside from raising a rascally rabbit who seems to have his mother's take on rules (DAMMIT) is that Meijer is selling these things indisciminately. If the age were 16 or 14, I can sort of see, but NO MINORS? My son does NOT look 18. He is 5'8” yes, but his face is clearly YEARS (like 10) from shaving—hubby STILL has a bare chest—the hair will be late).



So while hubby and I get a parenting fail... MEIJER needs a huge gobsmack upside the head.

Pregnancy Memory

I should start with the fact that instead of blogging last night, I was at a swim meet, so the blogging happened LATER last night and this morning. Thus my tardiness... And BECAUSE I was tardy, I thought it was a good day to go with my random list... So here it is...



A randomly generated thought sponsored by LISA![http://lisahgolden.blogspot.com/] My random number generator came up with 26-- the line that went with a pregnancy memory.



So here we have it...



I'm invincible, right? Have been forever, like... Not in a stupid way. I don't jump in front of buses or jump off buildings, but I DO do some things that might not be considered smart (certainly not in Michigan, where car is king (have I complained to you about how in Michigan cars have been given the right to vote, but are not required to pay taxes? It is totally not right)--can you say JAY WALKING?)



So anyway...

One gets preconceptions... pre-conception... I always figured myself for a 'stay active, be a super-preggo' type of gal. I have been active since I was 17, and so at 28 and pregnancy #1, why on earth would that change... Sure, the jogger might slow to a walk and all that, but... I had spent the prior year doing aerobics 5 days a week. PLUS, I periodically WALKED the six miles from campus (Portland State University) home (in NE Portland near the airport) just for fun (I can be a nut that way)--I STILL have days I walk 6 miles just because I want to.



And then I get knocked up. (planned—though perhaps not well thought-through)



And my body rebels. WTF?



So my memory to share with you was my realization that I was physically vulnerable for the first time in my life.



I worked at a pub in NE Portland—McMenamin's 'fern bar' was the nickname... anyone who knows Portland called it 'The Broadway' (based on the street). It was busy much of the time, and I was the ROCK THE KITCHEN gal on Friday nights... I don't remember what night I was coming to work, but I parked my car on a side street a block over (there was no lot) and did my normal jay-walking across Broadway, only to spot a car coming a little too fast, so I tried to pick up the pace...



I swear I transmitted the message... My legs couldn't go... it was like one of those quicksand dreams where you are making every effort to move but your limbs are just STUCK. I couldn't MOVE. I mean I was moving, but I couldn't pick up the pace—AT ALL. It was the most vulnerable I think I've ever felt... a victim of my body (and the little being in my belly who was surely a teenager EVEN THEN—certainly from the first time she could talk).



Speaking of that teen... here she is cheering her team mates (the blonde one with no cap) last night and diving into the water for her relay...

Still swamped, but hopefully only until mid-day or so... Have a great day!!!

Team Meetings

And what I love about them.



Warning: the sarcasm will ooze, drip and seethe off the path. Be careful not to let it stain your skin.

Early Team Meetings



When I was wee, and by wee, I mean... maybe only five feet tall and prior to braces straightening my teeth, I was on a couple teams... these would be sports teams, other than that brief stint in sixth grade where I was one of Charlie's Angels... erm... where I was actually 11, not 12, but Paint can be unforgiving...  These teams (the sports ones) never met. There was a coach who told us when to be at practice. When to be at games. Who would cover what base. There wasn't very much thinking involved, and that is how it should be. My mom paid the Parks & Rec fee, some business donated shirts with their logo and the team name, which they deducted as 'advertising' and life was good.



In junior high things were about the same... only it was a coach. I don't think we had to buy anything—the suits and such belonged to the school and were checked out.  They were in varying degrees of disrepair—you had to pay if you wrecked it or lost it, but otherwise, it was all part of the public school budget. You did what the coach said, or you didn't get to be on the team anymore. Pretty simple.

In high school, I SWEAR I don't remember it being any different, though the only teams I was on were gymnastics (an individual sport--all 4 years) and two years of JV tennis, in which I was only a burden to Deb, my most frequent doubles partner (poor Deb—she was seriously more coordinated than me—thankfully she still likes me). But as to TEAMS? I suppose Varsity tennis might have had a captain—if JV did, this memory eludes me. Gymnastics never did.



(I think this pic was my junior year, so I was 16...erm... with late 70s hair, as it was Idaho and 5 years behind... I still HAVE those leg warmers and have been asked as recently as last winter where I bought them *shifty*)



So I escaped childhood virtually FREE of team meetings. I participated in events that had REHEARSALS... I was Moscow's Junior Miss (a fact relatively shocking in retrospect) so planning the next year's 'pageant' was SORT OF a team event, but REALLY there were adults doing most of the coordinating... I was asked for input on a number of things... but TEAM? MEETING? If it happened, I have blocked it entirely.





The Early Middle Meetings



In college my dorm we had a few meetings... I think two official ones where be planned a ski trip and got to know each other... then the 'meetings' that can be more accurately defines as parties... the Everclear Punch meeting, for instance... Or the Road Trip to Idaho Meeting that involved Crisco Twister *cough*



My sophomore year I joined a sorority... and then BOY DID I LEARN MEETINGS!? Pledge meetings. Rush meetings.... the meetings I can't tell you about without killing you after... Most of these involved a little input and a lot of pretending to pay attention. I think the most eventful one was the planning of the pledge class walk-out (we went to Rockaway Beach, as one of my pledge sisters had a mom who ran a motel there).



But are these team meetings? Not so sure...

The Later Middle Meetings



Of note...

only one of these Ad Men lacks a penis -->



So after college I got a job—over developed sense of responsibility shining through (I heard that. Stop laughing.). I worked for an advertising agency in Portland and I was on the McDonald's Team. Let me explain team meetings for you. The Tart (shiny and fresh from college) plans the meeting, takes notes at the meeting and does all the work for the meeting and after the meeting. The other team members make unreasonable demands... late in this job, there was a portion of the meeting in which we all compared penis sizes. I didn't fare well. My penis is very very small.



Meetings though, DID involve good food... sometimes involved exotic locations (the Maui Hilton, for instance, or the Camelback in Scotsdale). I got to pretend I was an important advertising executive (when really I was unimportant—first an account coordinator then an ASSISTANT account executive... with no penis)



I eventually decided advertising wasn't for me. (did I mention I don't have a penis?)





So I went to graduate school, where the meetings all involved beer. They typically occurred at the Cheerful Tortoise ($2 micros during happy hour—oh sure... it was 1993) or Hot Lips Pizza. These were the BEST TEAM MEETINGS YET! Intellectual conversation, critiquing each other's papers (the Tart learns peer review!)... with good BEER! (And only ONE of us had a penis, and he seemed THRILLED to hang out with a bunch of people who didn't! Go figure. 



Coinciding with the Master's program was the PUB JOB. These meetings ALSO involved beer, unless you were on the night shift (which because I was going to school during the day, I typically was) but it was AT LEAST good company. And sometimes Eli and I would get in trouble because we couldn't look at each other without breaking into laughter for no reason (well, lots of reasons, but never one in particular--on this planet, this is the person with whom I had the greatest mind-meld, and I've had some pretty darned good mind melds) and people always thought we were making fun of them, which—because we never WERE made it even funnier--many tears (of laughter) were shed... that was a definite bonus.







The Current Team Meetings



So then I went and had some childings, right? And things have CHANGED since I was a childing... Oh, sure... there were the years of Rec & Ed sports (each parent signs up for a snack day... volunteers asked to help coach (you still have to PAY for your child to participate if you coach--WTF?)... hubby's being head coach... Tart's required to master scoring—(you laugh—I see you... yes the double entendre is apt... and telling you it is baseball only makes you snicker harder). These sports teams have varied widely in the degree of pain and pleasure they offer... seems to differ by sport.



I STILL miss the girls softball family... my daughter played with the same girls for several years, and while she only liked some subset of the girls, I REALLY liked almost all of the families. This is our 3rd year away from them and it was a great part of summer.



Rec & Ed is also partly responsible for my harsh critique of the families of my SON'S peers. In my daughter's cohort, there were always volunteers, always people involved (occasionally annoying people, sure, but mostly good people, and plenty of them). In my SON'S cohort, if the kid my son's age is the oldest... RARELY involved. You have to threaten root canal's to get them to do ANYTHING and when they volunteer, follow-through was POOR. (there are exceptions--the photographer dude is GREAT-- but as a rule). Drives my husband, the would-be-dictator crazy. When he coached he wanted SO BADLY to not let kids play if they missed practice or were late to the game. HELLO FREAKING PARENTS... WE ARE ALL COUNTING ON YOU! (if there is a phone call, fine... conflicts happen, but no communication... just not THERE, until... hello, third inning?)



Still... no meetings...



Middle school sports? No meetings.



BUT HOLY FREAKING MOTHER COW!



Yeah... the high school sports? They have meetings... team meetings. Parent meetings. FREAKING SPORTS BANQUETS. Sheesh! I don't want to know ANY of these people this well!



Okay, that's only a little true. My daughter played three sports last year, and honestly, the swim families are pretty nice. For families who swim, it really is more like religion. Chlorine seeps from their pores. I volunteered to do concessions a few times and my husband timed for most of the home meets—they were organized, welcoming... really WONDERFUL... other than the six hour meeting at the beginning of the season where we dropped over $300. (that particular meeting was last night, and the thing that inspired this post).



The Synchronized swim families were a mixed bag... some real nice, some less socially adept... It was smaller though, and not quite as externally organized... I'm not even sure we WENT to that meeting... just got emails from the coach.



Water Polo? What a MESS! Water Polo is an aggressive sport inspiring aggressive parents with chips on their shoulders, or so it seemed. My husband tried to learn scoring but nobody would tell him (like they'd pissed a circle around the scoring table—seriously) and it was organized like a bug circus. Nobody knew what the hell was going on because these parental pissing matches impeded communication... My daughter loves the sport, but MAN, I hope some of those parents graduated *shifty*

<-- (one of captains) And NOW... My Favorite Things About Team Meetings



*My husband pointing out all the evidence he could do it better.

*The fact that 'Michigan time' (aka: half hour late) is so universally understood.

*The thirty minute speeches by each of four captains about how great swimming is.

*Writing checks when there is no money in my account.

*Learning they've discontinued the warm-ups we paid $150 for last year.

*Spending $85 on a swim suit.

*People who seem to actually LIKE these features.

*Evidence none of these OTHER moms have to work.

*My husband refusing to let me read between important points.

*My husband telling me to sign up then lecturing me I did it wrong.

*Volunteering 47 hours of my time IN THE FUTURE.



At least though... this is the batch I can get along with... Good girls. Good parents. It matters (even if it is still time-consuming and expensive)

Mo-o-om (3 Syllables)

So my kids fly to Idaho (or Spokane, Washington, actually) this morning... I thought I would allow you to be a fly on the wall from when I got home from work at five last night.





“Mo-o-om, where's dad's camera case?” (I heard this as camera and case)



Response: find camera next to my laptop, put in case, hand off to daughter.



“No-o-o; I don't nee-ee-ed the caaaa-mer-a.”

“Mo-o-om, where are my skinny jeans?” (from son in basement)



Response: remove camera from case, hand daughter case, noting boyfriend (hers, not mine) lurking quietly in corner; I exit, shout from top of stairs, “I need to do some laundry!”



“They're not the-ere!”



“They're there.”



“No, I looked. They're not there!”



“They are. I saw them.”



“Theyyyyyyyy're no-o-ot there!”



“Mo-o-om!” (daughter, upstairs again, though I am now in basement noting the hubby is well trained... all laundry is going.  Consider favors to bestow on him. Jerk self back to reality.)



Response: “What?!” (shouted through floor)



“Come he-ere!”



Response: Climb stairs, from living room shout, “What?”

“I forgot my cap and goggles at practice.”



“Call D**** and ask her to get them for you.”



“No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o, I have to have them! I can't swim when I'm in Idaho.”



Response: fetch own personal goggles from room and bring to daughter.



“No these are crap!” (note the short crisp words of rejection--crap is not a word one needs to drag out)



Response: Deep breathe in effort to not strangle daughter. Return goggles to my room.



“Then I'm not swimming!”



Response: Ingore ingrate.



“Mo-o-om!” (from basement) “Where are my skinny jeans?”

“In the laundry!” (considers hail Mary, though has never been Catholic)



Hubby the saint: “I put everything in the laundry because Sam wanted those jeans.” (remember I was considering considerable favors)



AHA! PROOF!



“Momyouneedtotakemetothestorefordeoderant.”



“We have...”



“No, no, no; it'sCRAP!”



“It's fine. We've got three of the Secrets.”



“SmellslikeCRAP.”



*heavy sigh *



“I'll tell you what. You can just give me my money you owe me, and we will go.”



*deep breathing* "We will go after dinner. I will get you guys some snacks, too.”



(Son has arrived upstairs, begins hopping) “Snacks? Snacks? What kind of snacks?” (still bouncing: son likes snacks)



“Mostly healthy. It's breakfast time. But maybe a pack of Pop Tarts or something.”



“Yes!”





******



I'd like to say it ended there, but in actuality, it continues as you read. Fortunately, I pass them off at 7am, and they are somebody ELSE'S problem for a week. Not that I won't hear about anything they do that indicates bad parenting, but I DO know they behave better away from me, at least for a couple days.



But for NOW... I have a week off... at least during my down time. I plan to FINALLY finish typing my Cozy, and hopefully make SIGNIFICANT progress on the editing.



So Happy HING Day!!!!

Bonding at Sam's Club

A Little History

So when my kids were little we had a Sam's Club membership. It wasn't that I loved Sam's Club—after all, it is owned by the evil WALLMART, but when I had a child in diapers... three pets... A house to maintain... it just was sort of a necessity. Our area HAD no CostCo [read: highly preferable warehouse store] at the time (the existing CostCo's are still a comparatively long way away). So Sam's Club it was.



I worked full time. My husband was the 'at home' dad. So on the weekends I had the kids—he was fed-up and I sort of needed some bonding time. My husband was UNWILLING to do the Sam's Club trip because he had already acquired the delusion that we were made of money and the whole concept annoyed him. So to Sam's Club with the small childings it was...

Eight YEARS (part of which, my family looked like this—miniature kids and me at goal weight)... twice a month (or thereabouts)... the kids and me... Sam's Club. My son—you may not know this—is called Sam. And as small children are inclined to do... he figured if it was called 'Sam's Club' it was HIS. Never mind that the concept of a child having his own warehouse store is a little wonky. He would say, 'there's my club!' as we approached.



About two years ago the savings from the membership sunk under the membership cost... we haven't had a membership because between the drive and our current need, it just really wasn't quite worth it anymore.



But this weekend they had a 'anyone can come in' weekend, so my husband asked if it was a good idea to make a trip... Sure... there is some stuff we could use... I threw it out. BOTH KIDS REALLY wanted to go with me. WTF? They are 15 and 11 now, and they wanted to give up half their Saturday to go to Sam's Club with me? WITH EACH OTHER?

The Trip



(not my ACTUAL shopping cart... just representative) So I got them up at noon—they ARE teens, after all... got them fed... and off we went. They joked the entire time about 'buying in bulk' whatever they saw, they suggested we needed to buy in bulk... 'look, mom—there is a pack of nine phones. We could put one in the bathroom' *rolls eyes* Our house doesn't have nine rooms—no, wait... it has exactly nine rooms... but we'd need a phone in the storage room and laundry room... They negotiated—'you get to pick two snacks, I get to get two snacks.' They harassed me over things they were sure we needed and got all nostalgic over things we used to buy (I gave in and bought snack packs of applesauce). I guess what really struck me though, is that other than a couple movies, the three of us haven't done much with all three of us in a long time, and I think they really MISSED these Saturdays shopping together... such an ODD thing to get nostalgic about, but they WERE. And I really liked it, too. So there you have it... you never know where the moments might poke through. Take them where they come.





On that EXCITING note, I bought two thumb drives and two packs of NOTEBOOKS!!! I salivate when I buys notebooks. I love them... spiral. Three ring... Each one is a novel to me. And because it was Sam's Club, I have 10 of them... 10 novels sitting in the chair WAITING to be written. Makes me all squiggly just thinking about it! And blue, medium point pens! SQUEEEEEEEE!

Changeling

In which the Tart family has to face that the TWEEN may make some poor decisions. [not a writing blog]



Before I forget though, don't forget to stop over at Burrower's Books & Balderdash to see the image and whether you want to give writing a Drabble a shot!



Okay, back to the blog!

Thing 2



My son has historically been my easy child. (that doesn't mean he's not ODD, just easy) He does many of the things he is supposed to without being asked (homework, brushing his teeth, bathing)--those of you with younger children may not REALIZE you can't take these things for granted—not all children do them without battles or trying to sneak out of them.



We left him alone from time to time starting at age 9, as he just seemed to have a really good head on his shoulders. I should have remembered that at age 4, he was my kid that took off down the street because 'the woods looked interesting'--the one who would take off on his bike without telling us where he was going. You see... he is mostly a good decision maker when he realizes there is a DECISION to be made, but he has lived all but his first 19 months in Ann Arbor, where reality never comes. He has grown up FEARLESS.

A Contrast



My kids were both born in Portland, Oregon—safe, as cities go, but a CITY nonetheless. My daughter was a REALLY PRETTY baby and toddler and as my first, I was TOTALLY paranoid somebody would take her, so I ALWAYS kept her close when we were in public places.



We got to Ann Arbor, wealthy college town without a spec of reality in sight... at a grocery store I rounded a corner as she lollygagged looking at something she was probably trying to convince me to buy. I hear this blood-curdling shriek.



“MOM! SOMEBODY'S GUNNA TAKE ME!”



Oh, the shame of instilling so much paranoia in my child! I was mortified! And I began the slow undoing—we live someplace a little safer now... we don't have to be quite as careful...

Unintended Consequences [this picture was one of my son's profile pics on FB--do not ask me to explain]



So I suppose in UNDOING for my daughter, I OVERUNDID for my son (who had nothing that needed undoing—he was tantrum boy—nobody was EVER going to steal HIM.). And ironically, while they didn't need that paranoia for a decade, I've seen in BOTH kids that it would be fairly useful as teens. My daughter maintains enough healthy skepticism that she has made such decisions as telling the boys who like to take a girl off to get stoned and leave her there that they are HORRIBLE and she is NOT INTERESTED. You see... her paranoia lets her spot their plan (that, and the reputation they have for DOING it, but a lot of teen girls have a 'they wouldn't do that to ME' thing going.)





But Back to my Son, the Changeling...

So he and his best friend, who is a really NICE kid (-->), have taken to riding their bikes all over town... harmless enough, yes? Well... within LIMITS... they have ended up some STRANGE places... Toys R Us comes to mind—it is about four miles away through a TON of busy roads and a fairly primary business district. I guess when I think, 'oh, they are off riding bikes' that they will go NORMAL places, but they don't seem to have any bounds on it.



So Friday my son was at a different friend's house... then ANOTHER friends house... then he was doing this then that... long story short, he and his friend wanted to do DIFFERENT things that night, the friend wanted to go to Extreme Bounce (which my son loves, but it is always here) and my SON wanted to go to the Carnival that comes once a year and sets up in the high school parking lot. So Thing 2 GOES, with a different 'friend' then wants to spend the night... Mr. Tart approves, and we don't learn until the next day that this boy was a BRAND NEW acquaintance from ANOTHER TOWN... holy crap, are you KIDDING ME? How did we let that happen?



So Saturday I pick them up at the mall, drop this other kid at a condo, as he requested... THAT was when I learn he lives in Ypsie (read:  rough neighborhood--though that is exaggeration, but still, around here, it is relatively rough)... The boy had something to do and then was going to come spend the night with Thing 2—he arrived LATE... and he didn't actually ARRIVE. Whoever was giving him the ride just DROPPED HIM OFF at a phone store up the street because they were lost... just LEFT HIM THERE! What kind of parents did we send our son off with on Friday? And what kinds of decisions is Thing 2 making that he doesn't even think that is pertinent information to tell us?!



*wipes brow*



Turned OUT fine, but I suppose we've had a wake up call that reality DOES periodically come to Ann Arbor, and that we need to be more diligent.







The New Debate with Mr. Tart



HIS answer is 'well you won't have anything more to do with that kid.' MY answer is 'that KID needs some responsible adults in his life, so being HERE is a better answer than just shoving him off and not letting him come back.' I'd love to hear what you guys think about kids with irresponsible parents...

The USA and My Mother

The parallel problems of a woman with Authority issues.

I should probably warn you right of the bat that it is likely I will offend anyone who is very patriotic. That's what I do though, stick my foot in my mouth, and this pair of relationships really DOES have a lot in common, so there you have it.

I'm a bad patriot. And a bad daughter.

You see, I don't like to be told what to do. I sort of live my life more along the lines of the Hippocratic oath than any following of laws, per se. Just because it is the rule, is JUST not good enough. I admit most rules are rules to avoid people getting hurt (those I follow) or to help us coordinate with each other (those are mostly okay), but the 'it's the law' never flew with me.



I am of the belief that world empirical domination of nations have about a century per country to run their course. The Dutch had the 1600s. The British the 1700s. The French the 1800s.... and the USA the 1900s. But you see, in the few decades of 'no longer able to make everybody bend at our feet' ALL these countries have behaved badly for a while. It is currently the US's turn.



This is not to excuse it. Just to point out that I think it is the natural course of events. So there are A LOT OF PEOPLE in the US trying to 'go back' to some (mythical, I might add) good old days, and trying to force other nations to RECOGNIZE our superiority, which frankly, we just don't have anymore.



But a girl isn't supposed to criticize her mother... I promise at the end I will try to make some amends. How's that?



But first I want to go through some of the trouble, where I am concerned...

Disparate Desires

(what she says/what she really means)



My Mother

“I want you to have choices!” (to work or stay home)/but under no circumstances are you to allow your partner those choices—HIS only option should be to work. Choice is for you alone.



“You can't count on somebody else taking care of you—you need skills.”/And nobody should count on YOU either. Only inferior people can't take care of themselves financially.

“You are such a strong, independent woman.”/But I'm too sensitive for that, so don't inflict any of that strength on ME.



(about a woman we know who forgave a cheating husband) “She is so forgiving, amazing really. I don't know if I could have done that.”/because forgiveness is something we TALK about being good, but really that just isn't what we DO. It's all well and good in theory, but it lets people off the hook.



My Country

“Individualism and an entrepreneurial spirit are what made this country great”/but now that we're great already, it is time for everybody to fall into line.



“We are the world's melting pot.”/but the fondue is ready and we've started eating, so don't put anything ELSE in there! Anyone to arrive after world war II really is just unable to contribute, unless of course they are willing to work under the table for less than minimum wage in dangerous conditions—in THAT CASE it's just good for Capitalism.



“We have Separation of Church and State.”/but of course presume everyone is Christian, so it doesn't matter anyway... unless someone tries to do something that some small subset of this group finds offensive! THEN YOUR BUSINESS IS OUR BUSINESS!





Compounded by Daddy Issues



My dad was mostly a great big kid. He was too loud. He drank too much. (funny, some people say those things about me). He was macho, and he was reckless. MOSTLY, because he was also good-natured, he was also just pretty fun, instead of scary. But you know what you DON'T want to do with a macho, reckless guy who drinks too much? Encourage him to play with explosives. The fourth of July, with my macho (need I say Patriotic—that is PART of macho in my world—or maybe the problem REALLY is that I see MACHO as part of Patriotic, and macho is not my favorite feature), reckless, drunk dad and his EXPLOSIVES was the only time he really SCARED ME.



We usually spent the fourth at my grandparents' lake cabin, located on an Indian Reservation in northen Idaho—reservations mean two things among the macho... no TAX on alcohol and cigarettes, and no LIMITS on what is legal for fireworks. This addition of explosives divided family and friends solidly into two camps. The safe, sane (boring) camp, and the reckless, drunken, blowing-shit-up camp. Explosions from one team. Shrieks from the other... usually for an entire three day weekend. And when I was a KID, I loved it.



It is currently however, tied in my mind to 1976—US Bicentennial. The fourth happened six days before my dad died driving drunk—too fast on a gravel road—and somehow the sound track for me of that memory, is the weekend of the fourth of July.



Oh, I'm mostly over it. My husband and some neighbors do a group fireworks thing in our street, and I love sitting out in the front yard—talking to neighbors, catching fireflies, drinking cocktails. I may drink too much, but I am NEVER the one blowing stuff up, and I ALWAYS plea for 'pretty lights' instead of explosions. But the fourth is STILL not my favorite holiday.

Back to being a bad patriot and daughter



I really probably need to work through the same stuff with mom and country I have with my dad... seeing the flaws, but ALSO being willing to see the good. There is good. I just have often resisted seeing it. Maybe that is what I should work on this year...



The US has AMAZING and varied geography, a fabulous collection of cultures, enough resources that a good portion of our population has a ton of opportunity (even if it bothers me that those opportunities are unfairly distributed).



And my MOM, gave me a great foundation—a belief I could do ANYTHING I wanted to do—hard work and determination were the only limiting factors. My confidence, my work ethic, my unwillingness to give up—those are from my mom. Not bad, as legacies go.



I need to work on that acceptance thing... the forgiveness I accuse my mom of not having... few things improve if we wait for everybody else to change first.



and so I don't leave you thinking I have no patriotic spirit, please enjoy the following...

Muppet Independence Day Tribute

Daddios

I have a full-up day in order to make things relatively nicish [wish I could aim higher; it just seems I can't] for my husband's father's day. I picked up the chairs and umbrella we took to the Block Party last night, and I need to finish up the dishes and such... clean the bathroom, finish laundry, walk to the grocery to buy some over-priced steaks... feed the children that slept here... yeah, it's a pretty full plate.



But I didn't want to have the day pass without wishing all you dads out there a really happy father's day! You know dads make a big difference in the lives of their children. They come in all flavors and shapes from critical and demanding, to the never-serious playmates, but any dad who is present and engaged is a-okay in my book.



Some dad's are terrific role models:

Others not so much:

Some might try to help you out of a bind... or into one...

And though most are flawed, having them in our lives makes them better!

Happy Father's Day!

Afraid to Look

So while I don't think EVERYTHING is yet going badly, I noticed a bad habit crop up this week, that has me vaguely worried. I only weighed myself TWICE other than weigh in day. Now I know if you are doing a program diet they TELL YOU only once a week, but in my 30 years of dieting experience, it is my experience that if I WEIGH every day, I keep from letting it get out of hand... YES, weight goes up and down, and you get a feel for what is normal and why, but you DON'T, if you weigh every day, have more than about 2 really stupid days in a row.



I don't think I am yet at stupid days exactly--in fact my weight is microscopically down (-41 from starting point--half pound below my low), but I AM having some challenges.







Day Job Stress



I need to be a little obtuse here, as it IS a public forum, but suffice it to say, while I HATE micromanaging, I probably should have been doing it and my boss is getting some crap for my having NOT. This is compounded by ANOTHER person having FAILED to tell somebody “they are asking why you are doing this” (to the person I should have been micromanaging-when said person was out of MY view, so I didn't know) and instead gossiping within a different part of the department. THREE of us fell down on what we should have done, but I am going to be stuck picking up the pieces.



It's very stressful to fail somebody you respect. Even more so to feel like you failed because you believed the best in human nature—that others shared your work ethic and loyalty (the idea that I should have said "where were you?  What were you doing? Seriously?  But I should have). There also seems to have been some common sense missing, but I suppose part of MY common sense comes from people who used to work above ME gossiping about how it goes, and I'm not really a gossipy gal.

Summer



And then the kids are ending their school year—not me. I work year-round... And I always feel just a little jealous of people who get that cycle... with starts and ends and a break in between. I wanted to be an academic at one point, before I understood that in reality, it is only the TEACHING part that is cyclical—summer is just as busy or more so, because it is the intensive research time. Anyway... I LOVE this season, but it is also one I fight the little green-eyed monster just a little.

Hubby's Class



My husband is doing nursing prerequisites. Once he is done, he will apply for nursing school, which is an EXCELLENT fit for him. My cue that this punk rocker has a good heart was that he nursed his mom through cancer 22 years ago—but in all this time he has lacked the confidence to DO IT. Finally, after getting laid off almost 2 years ago, he decided to give it a go. He took his math.  He took some biology.  Well this spring he has been doing a CNA course (NOT certified nudist assistant, but certified NURSE'S assistant) and he really likes it--first patient contact, but it is ALL DAY Saturday and Sunday. Normally HE has family duties weekdays and we SPLIT on weekends. But right now, I have FULL ON family duties on weekends WITH NO CAR. You see, we only have one, and he had to go too far to either leave it with me, or have me drop him off and come home.



So today I need to WALK to buy the father's day gift (which I at least finally remember what he'd LIKE!), do laundry, clean the bathroom, then prepare for our neighborhood picnic... where I will proceed to drink too much beer and embarrass myself, as I do each year.





ON THAT NOTE... the neighborhood picnic last year was my first 'outing' among people I KNOW as a writer—there were a couple following my blog (which made me feel totally NAKED!--I know... ironic I should mind, ne?) but I talked to the neighbor who introduced me to my first 'published author' acquaintance (the woman who said 'they are rejecting you because it is 200K words'--THANK YOU honest feedback!) So I am THRILLED to be able to tell them this year that I have a publishing contract in progress!





Okay... Nuff on Excuses... BACK TO IT!  I am ready to yank the eating plan back on track!  (erm... after the block party)

And More Pleasantly...



I had a moment of maternal pride last night. My son, done with 6th grade... asked if he and a few friends could go to an Ann Arbor tradition called 'Top of the Park'--on campus there is a stage (band some nights, movie others) food booths, ton of activity--all family friendly... we made it VERY clear this was going to be RARE for our 11 year old, but he was going in a group, AND his sister (15) would be there with her boyfriend and a couple of HER friends.



He went. 'The Boyfriend' drove him. His sister showed him where I'd pick him up and what his friends meant about where to meet them. Then about 9 he calls (pick-up was scheduled for 9:30). “Mom, can you come get me now... thunder storms, yada yada.” (apparently a weather warning had come through)  So I did.



Did you know two minutes after I got him, his SISTER called his cell phone to make sure he was okay and wasn't going to be caught in the storm? She is normally TERRIBLY self-centered, and I was so pleased she was concerned enough to make sure he got to cover okay.  We had asked her just to keep an eye out, but she told us they wouldn't be there the whole time, so I wasn't sure if she'd even known about the warning).



It's nice to get periodic evidence that you haven't completely failed at creating caring offspring.

Waxing Responsibility

[This is a parenting blog, rather than my more typical writing one.]



Last night I was sitting in the bathtub writing and as often happens, my husband came in to annoy talk to me. Oh, wait... I started this story part way in.

FLASHBACK: My daughter is a swimmer—three water sports for our neighborhood high school (she attends a magnet with no sports, but the district lets her play with the big local), and she has been swimming competitively since she was 9. She's good. She isn't always fastest, but her stroke is strong and sure (and beautiful, but never mind). So a few years back I got a wild hair, that 'eventually' she should be a life guard in the summers. Her academics are a bit of a struggle, and she already DOES sports during the school year, so money would have to be earned summers, rather than a year round job... THIS is a job only available summers, so one of the rare ones that only having summer availability is not a disadvantage... brilliant, right? She bought in (though she really wants to be a camp counselor—but I figure camp counselors would have an advantage if they were a licensed life guard, too—HELLO? LAKE!)  Well eventually is here... next summer she can get a PAYING job.



So I emailed the Red Cross this week to find out their class times. One of them is the week BEFORE high school students are out. Are you freaking serious? Why would you DO THAT? I suppose it is most compatible with pools needing life guards from day one, but it still annoys the poo outa me. The OTHER is two weeks of evenings for FOUR HOURS A NIGHT. Six to ten for two weeks. Well, I wasn't surprised she didn't find that appealing—Hell, I didn't find it appealing. ODDLY, the grouchy hubby thought it was FINE, and was annoyed she wasn't willing, and HE said he'd give her the rides. Well rides had been my concern—normally these wild hairs that are mine, I am responsible for—completely. I didn't want to drive the 15 miles to Ypsilanti every night to pick her up, smack in the middle of my writing time (I can be selfish that way, but in my defense, I also WORK the next morning, and like the WIND DOWN to be my last thing). [/End FLASH BACK]





So I'm in the tub... and the hubby says, “ I think if she isn't willing to take that class, we should make her do some volunteering. I jump on it. She is 15. She can't have a REAL job, but she is certainly old enough to learn part of her time should be geared at productive activity. I jump on board. “Something productive, anyway—the class, volunteer, or put some effort into finding and then doing some babysitting. I agree. (Hubby and I are rarely on the same page, but we were EXACTLY there on this matter—15 is old enough to be productive.)

NEXT DIGRESSION: *cough* So last night Natalie went with her boyfriend to a place called the Neutral Zone—a local teen place where they have music sometimes—local teen bands—it is actually pretty cool—nobody over 18 is allowed in as a patron—I think it is 13 -18, but we only let her go once or twice in big groups of girls before she was in high school. Then they went to his house for a little while to finish watching a movie—she was supposed to come home at 11.

Well wouldn't you know, about 10:45, tornado sirens began. I have a confession—these used to scare the bejeezus outa me, but now I sorta love this big weather stuff. Out west... Portland, rumored for all it's rain.... drizzles and is gray like nobody's business, but they don't KNOW rain like it can rain here. The sky opens up and DUMPS—ten feet from the garage to the car and you look like you've been submerged. And... I like rain. I like weather that makes we, the human race, seem small and insignificant. I can be freaky that way. It's how I like my geography too—oceans and mountains—real mountains, not the poser mountains they have east of the Rockies. [/end DIGRESSION]





So the boyfriend lives out of town a little ways and my daughter was worried about him driving in the mess... she got first a curfew extension (you can wait until after the sirens stop:  11:15) but then I agreed to pick her up instead of making him go out in his compact car.



So on the way home, after the 'Did you have fun? How was it? What did you do?' conversation, I broached the subject.



I could not BELIEVE how indignant she could be over what seemed to ME a very reasonable requirement. “Something productive, your choice—class, work, volunteer.'



“Mom it's my last summer to spend with my friends.” (Did you SEE my eyes roll--what, are you DYING?)



“Mom, I'm just a kid!” (okay, you may want to remember THAT when you are asking for greater privileges)



“Well I'll do that class, but only if you keep up my school year allowance.” (she gets $20 a week because her school doesn't have 'lunch' so part of it is to eat lunch downtown--might have considered this one though, presented as a REQUEST rather than a demand)



“You can't make me!” (HOLY CRAP, are KIDDING ME? “It's a good thing DAD didn't hear that answer or you'd be in your ROOM all summer!”)





I guess I'm a little baffled. When I was her age, I was at my third summer (maybe fourth) of understanding I needed to earn some spending money on my OWN--babysitting 40 hours weeks--yeas EVERY DAY for MONTHS—the handouts would ONLY be for specific events, NOT 'just fun'. I got a small allowance ($5 a week in high school, but that ALSO covered my lunch). I liked the independence of earning my own money.



But my daughter has never been independent like I was, and she has always seemed significantly more entitled. I don't know where that comes from--we are relatively poor, and DON'T just hand her money.  My son has done work for neighbors--most recently hauling wood for 3 hours to earn $25.  Daughter thought he got a raw deal--that her time was worth more than that.  Hello, he has $25 he didn't have three hours ago, and that means NOTHING?



So I've been lecturing her to marry a millionaire, because clearly she doesn't have the work ethic to make it on her own.  But seriously--am I insane?  Isn't this a completely reasonable requirement?  Ah well... Maybe the YMCA will have the class at a reasonable time and the problem will be solve, but I think we definitely need to work out some way for her to understand life isn't a free ride.

“No No Nanny”

The story of my first born...



My daughter is not Nanny, or Nan, or Nancy, or Nanette, but one of her first ever sentences, when she was younger than two, was when she woke up from a nap. I heard her and went in to find her head under the blanket, she peeked up giggling, and said, “Where Nanny go?” As the joking first refusal or correction since then, I've said, “No, No, Nanny.” Though when I call her something, No No is the choice.

No No is turning 15 next week (but today is our N day, so there we have it). Here she is with her lifetime best friend, who happens to live in Canada now, but we try to get the girls together once a year or so. I'm not too worried. No No has been a teenager since she was four. We've got the system down. It's funny. My son is a far easier child, much more like me in most ways—does his school work because 'it's just what you do,' engages in sports as a social event, but isn't terribly competitive, likes word play and reading. He's a chip off the old block.



But if I will have a writer in the family besides me, it will be No No. No No sees the world in larger than life terms. Everything is WONDERFUL or HORRIBLE. There is no middle ground. But she has an artistic gift... visual, musical, and verbal. She also LOVES to write, if it isn't … you know... organized. I thought maybe I'd tell some childhood stories on her to illustrate this, because they so perfectly display her gifts.

I have no idea where the silly streak comes from *shifty*



Noticing Notes



I sang the A,B,C's to her when she was about two. She segued directly into Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. She was two. I was 30. SHE KNEW it was the same tune, and until she started singing, I had not noticed. She constantly baffled me at this age. My life was falling apart in some ways. Her dad was a MESS for a solid 18 months during this time, so I was pretty much a single mom, and this little miracle would come out with these bursts of GENIUS.





ANGRY WORDS



I managed to keep some rules for myself though... I NEVER yelled.... erm... except when the dog (a dalmatian lab mix puppy with anxiety issues) drug garbage all over the house or chewed up a couch (which he did 3 times). One night when I was trying to get No No ready for bed, I told her it was time to get her jammies on. You know what she said to me (she was TWO—barely two). She said, “You're a dumb dog!” You see... when someone was mad and yelled in her universe, that was what they said... they yelled something about the dumb dog... Her little brain had calculated that when somebody really pissed them off, you called them a dumb dog. *snort*





Always a Critic



I didn't get out much at this part of my life. I worked at a Microbrewery. I was tinkling away very slowly at my Master's Thesis. But socially, I didn't have a lot of outlets. The day job was a contra-indicator for make-up (greasy environment and frequent sweat) and why else WOULD I, but at one point I was invited to a party. A friend was watching her (or maybe her dad, even though he didn't live there) and I was getting ready. She came into the bathroom while I applied eye shadow and mascara and frowned at me. I picked her up and she pointed. “What's that?” I laughed and said, “It's make-up. Don't you like it?” She scrunched her face and shook her head. “It's too spicy.” She said, definitively, sure she'd expressed herself perfectly... the thing is, SHE HAD. It just wasn't words I would have put to it--being constrained... you know, by how people USUALLY say things.



Then, at about 2 ½, I was singing to her... she covered my mouth... she shook her head... I may still have been her favorite person, but she had solidly decided I wasn't going away if she expressed that I couldn't carry a tune (which is sadly true)... She didn't let me sing again until she was about five when she realized I knew a lot of songs with really silly lyrics...



The criticisms now usually pertain to my clothing choices.  I'm not very hip (or so I hear).

No No is in green here, not the tallest—the person on the far left is actually male (possibly transgendered—he's LOVELY—BEAUTIFUL, and definitely plays up his feminine attributes—these are her friends from camp she went to Chicago with--I LOVE that they hold hands.  I don't know if it's generational or Ann Arbor, but they also tell each other they love each other all the time.  When I grew up we were paranoid about being called gay, so I hope TIMES have changed.)





No No has some challenges ahead. It's time for her to fully come to the table in terms of academic responsibility. She is smart, but not great at book learning or memorizing, and has REAL math and organizational challenges. She is approaching the years when we add driving, substance experimentation, and... dare I say it... sex... to the mix. She has been open about the topics to date. I hope my approach (risk reduction---decisions based on trust and communication with whoever your with, whatever you're doing) will keep her communicating.



She has such a strong personality though—a charismatic leader with her friends. And she is really committed as an athlete (which offers at least SUBSTANCE use protection—teams kick people off for pretty much anything. So I have to believe her future is very bright. It just may take a few years before it is unturbulent...

Parental Spanking

And not even for ME this time (even though I try to earn them with some regularity). This is an open letter to the parents and teachers of today.





Hey Fellow Parents, Esteemed Teachers:



Y'all are insane! I don't think it bodes well for our future. Let me e'splain...



SIX SUSPENDED AT MIDDLE SCHOOL FOR PINCHING: St. Patrick's Day goes awry in middle school madness!



You think I'm kidding, don't you? If my older child, the drama queen, had come home with this story, we might have questioned it. She is prone to exaggeration, and I think she truly edits events as they happen, so she remembers them the way she would have LIKED them to be (read:  DRAMATIC er... and not her fault). My son though, is a more reliable witness, so I believe him.





He is a newly budding fashionista and pays attention to things that drive my husband crazy. He's got that crazy longish hair swept way to the side so he has to hold his head tilted. He wears fragrance. All those signs he is becoming aware of GIRLS. (aware nothing, report is, he HAS a girlfriend, though at 11, I think it is pretty mild)



Night before last he asked for some help finding a green shirt. This University of Oregon grad was ashamed he didn't have a UO shirt to call on, but there we have it. We finally found a gray shirt with green stripes and called it good. What this makes me THINK however, is that among the sixth grade set, there had been some discussion, nay... anticipation... as to what happens to kids who don't wear green.



You got it. They get PINCHED. They had been anticipating standard middle school silliness, probably for a week. Now I don't know the origin of this tradition, but it's been happening for eons—well before I was in school. So why the kerfuffle?



The only reasons I can think of are:



1)  Sexual Harassment: I can see this taking a butt pinching vent and I know there is a no tolerance on sexual harassment that has been taken WAY too far. A friend of mine saw a grade school girl suspended for hugging a boy because he was holding a stuffed animal she was enamored with. My thought on this? SINGLE EVENT HARASSMENT MAKES NOT (Sorry, my Yodaish is rusty). Harassment, by definition GOES ON. That doesn't mean tolerance for inappropriate behavior, but it really DOES mean you get a warning first. And I think this pinching thing could ONLY be considered sexual harassment if it IS done in a sexual way--which I don't know that it was, but to be fair, I don't know that it wasn't.



2)  Escalation: Maybe one person pinches, another pinches back, the 2nd pinchee gets mad because they are wearing green and shouldn't have been pinched.... builds up to a fight. I can see it. Boys aren't going to pinch boys, I don't think, but there are some tough girls who might get into this cycle. Bad idea. I get it. Slippery slope, so a blanket ban on pinching. STILL, isn't a WARNING adequate?



3)  Serial pinchers: Okay, maybe these kids DID get warned and kept doing it. Then they asked for it, right?





Which leads to my next point.



ARE THESE KIDS STUPID?



How are people getting CAUGHT? Back in the day, we did a lot of this, and I'm sure we were told not to, but I can't remember anyone getting in trouble (at least not more than a 'Lance, keep your hands to yourself.' I can only think of two ways these kids are getting busted like this.



1)  They are DIM and so doing it in front of teachers.



2)  They are being tattled on.





And thus begins my doom of the world saga.





Nation of Wimps



My husband has had this book on our bedside for a long time and I've thumbed through it. For a naked chick who just thinks everyone ought to be nice to each other, it's sort of odd that I agree so strongly with most of the premise.



We have become so protective, so guarding of fragile self esteem, such advocates for equality among all, that we've created a generation that will NEVER take responsibility and can't shrug ANYTHING off. You heard me. By never letting kids fail, by not allowing their peers to chastise them into place, they don't learn what behaviors are inappropriate, they don't learn the difference between minor infractions that peers cope with WITHOUT authority intervention versus serious stuff, and they never think they are in the wrong (unless of course they are trying to correct somebody ELSES bad behavior, when in fact they get in trouble).



Long time readers may have heard me mention issues related to this with my son. My son's peer group (this was 2 years ago) was working NORMALLY (excluding a boy because he always wanted them to play his game and if they didn't he'd go tattle—making stuff up if he had to 'they said my ideas are stupid' when really they said, 'no, we already decided to play this'). My son (the mouthpiece because he was the only one naive enough to not know better) said 'we don't want you to play with us' and got in trouble for bullying. Group decision. MY POINT: That boy SHOULD have been excluded in the short term for tattling—those are kid rules and everyone should follow them unless there is physical danger or a chronic problem. He would have been given a chance again after he learned his lesson—I know these boys—they are NOT mean and rotten. They were peer correcting and got in trouble for it. So that OTHER boy, now in middle school, has no friends because he never learned how to behave, because the no tolerance bullying policy wouldn't allow his peers to train him. [Though admittedly, his chances were low because his mother behaves the same way *cough*]... still, that peer system WORKS. My peers corrected some of MY inherited neuroses...



I don't sound very much like a pacifist at the moment, do I?



I guess though, I am thinking the world is a rough place and we all need a little bit of thickness to our skin. I don't think kids should EVER be allowed to pick on others because of what they ARE (a different race, gender or religion, fat, short, pimply, slow at learning, uncoordinated—even dirty)--those things aren't the kid's fault, but it seems there should be some tolerance for kids to correct other kids BEHAVIOR. ("If you don't stop picking your nose, we won't play with you!") Because eventually, the OTHER kids are going to have a choice who they hang out with... eventually the social time moves away from school.  It is a huge incentive for kids to mature and grow at the same rate as their peers and is absolutely critical to later life where things WON'T be tolerated.



You know what else? Learning to peer correct in an environment where some rules can't be crossed (on a playground) means it is done within boundaries--it doesn't become a fistfight, or one kid at the center of a dozen badgerers. If it ISN'T learned there, people go overboard elsewhere.



So I think these kids haven't learned not to tattle, even though it is the most basic honor code among kids. And I think they haven't had enough behaviors corrected by teachers, so they don't realize one little thing could get them kicked out of school for a few days. They don't self monitor because good behavior has never been enforced, so this little, joking tradition doesn't cross their mind as any worse than things they get away with all the time. I just think we have been rather puritan in how we draw our lines, when in reality, we should be drawing them in ways that make more sense...





The Future of Publishing in this light.



BLEAK. Twenty years from now when these guys are joining the field, I predict they will not have developed the perseverance or thick skin necessary to go through any 'reviewed' process. They may self publish, but I don't even think they will be able to stomach peer review, and their peers will have learned they aren't allowed to be critical, so the quality will be POOR.



I just think it would help the kids, help society and help the future of literature if we reintroduced a little sanity. Establish a tiered system where kids don't get any hard knocks when really small, but that allows some peer correction as they age, then some institutional correction (read: competition--yes, some people have to lose for there to be winners, but losing now and then makes most people work harder) as they get a little older than that. Kids need to LEARN how to push themselves, so this needs to be a SLOPE, not a STEP... right now we expect NOTHING, then suddenly they have to be 100% ready... Everything is either totally okay, or completely unacceptible.



My own world is a little grayer than that.

Friday Hodge Podge

Yet ANOTHER Better Idea or Two (expanding from yesterday)



I need to credit Helen Ginger for reminding me of this. She is doing a great series summarizing a Publishing Industry Predictions (http://straightfromhel.blogspot.com/ check three of her top four posts) and one of these gems has actually given me a reason I might choose an eBook over a hard copy—AND a way the eBook could be as valuable or more.



One ‘prediction’ is that the eBook comes with an instant link to talk to OTHERS currently reading the book—a discussion forum. Now most books I like to just absorb on my own, but SOME are difficult—literary fiction can be—I’m not a schlep intelligence-wise, but I was not a classics major, I didn’t study much history, I didn’t major in literature… there are references in literary fiction that elude me, and I LOVE the idea I could follow a discussion that would enrich the work for me.



Now for the FRESH thought (or, why they should put me in charge)

I ALSO love the idea of books written that allow the reader to make choices now and then. In fact I have a sort of memoir-inspired thing I toy with now and then… what if I’d done this instead… a book that follows through the readers choice to its consequences—that on a REread the reader could make a DIFFERENT choice and get a different story. RL Stein has been doing this for kids for years, and they are fun (though almost impossible not to end up dead), but can you imagine buying a book you could read half a dozen times, always a little different, depending on your whim? It would be a lot more work for the author, but what a GREAT use of the new media, and the dollar value would be higher, because it is something you couldn’t GET in hard copy (without all that pesky ‘turn to page 36’ stuff of the ‘Pick your own’.

In Query News



So I’ve sent out 9 eQueries this week and have a snail mail one ready to go. I will package up a few more this weekend (maybe 17 total—that number is seeming to strike my fancy *snort*). Of these, 5 went Mondy, 2 Tuesday and 2 yesterday. On Tuesday I heard back positively on 2 of the Monday ones (one send partial—VERY positive, one send a chapter, which might be positive or might be just that they felt the query wasn’t enough to decide on, but AT LEAST the query wasn’t enough to reject me on.) I thought I’d look at my trend, thus far.



April: 6 sent, 5 rejections, 1 no response (passive rejection) = 0/6

Shortened significantly

August, sent 11 initially, then another 4. One not taking new, one request for a partial, two passive rejections, the rest real rejections. = 1/14

I sent one in October and one in December on whims because I saw information about ‘perfect’ agents—the October didn’t reply and DOESN’T for rejects, so I can assume. December, I am still in range of ‘may hear’ but I also know many people said that was bad timing to send.

Anyway… Polished since last send, and tightened beginning…

January, sent 9 and ALREADY 2 partials, no rejections…



I’M MAKING PROGRESS! (and this is EXACTLY the way the wisdom of those agent blogs said it would go, though I didn’t believe that would be ME at the time… always confident in my cream of the crop status and all that…)





Speaking of Progress



Almost done with my NaNoWriMo fill in, though I've identified two dropped plot lines I need to work back in in the re-write.  That's okay though... by this time tomorrow, I should have finished my fourth book (with the caveat of the necessary rewrite, but all books need that to some degree).  And CONFLUENCE only has one more chapter to polish, though last night I realized a SECOND scene that shouldn't have been dropped, had been... in my mad shortening, I consolidated the last four chapters into two, and mostly it was good, but this is the second thing I've dropped that I needed to track down from last summer versions in order to reinstate it... err.... still, this ALSO should be done by this time tomorrow... ONE editing project done until I have REAL feedback from a professional, and ONE writing project moved to the editing pile so I can get back to my trilogy.



The Book Tour Fitness Plan

I am doing great. I’m on day 7, so official weigh in isn’t until tomorrow morning, but I have high hopes I managed to take the ‘holiday pounds’ back off—pathetic, but that is how it goes—it got ON there, it has to come back OFF, and to get it back off in only a week is progress.



I think for the foreseeable future, Saturday will be a fitness blog because it is weigh in day… not that it will all be about ME, but I like the idea of it—keeping that in focus for the day… just to give you a heads up… and then I won’t be so tempted to ramble about it on other days, when in reality, I would rather be blogging about either writing, trying to publish, or blatant silliness.

Synchronized Tartlet



My daughter is having her first Synchronized Swimming competition today. She started the year intent on swim team and water polo and was convinced by a swim team teammate to try synchro because it would teach her the treading skill needed for the water polo, but the coach has picked her out as one of the talented newbies, so she has gotten more excited (though one of her swim team teammates who is doing basketball instead calls her ‘water dork’ *snort*—all in fun). Anyway, this one is away—I won’t get to see her in a meet until next Tuesday, but send out happy water vibes, if you would!





Snow Job



Man, I wish. I got about six inches last night. I always prefer to get at least nine inches, but I can live with a wild, enthusiastic six inches. Enough that I can’t really do much the next day. This six inches that just lays there is NOT doing it for me. *cough*