Cheer Meetings & Twinkie Trees

Yesterday, on my supper break, I received an angry text from Cathy:  "We are out of shampoo. Darn Sarah."  When I called her to tell her I had bought more, I got this response:

"Mom, I can't talk right now.  I'm in a meeting."  What?  I thought she said she was eating, so I continued, "You need to stop blaming your sister for using the last of the shampoo.  She has a right to use it, too, and I just need to know before it's gone so I can buy more."  Cathy whispered, "Okay, Mom.  I really do have to go.  I. Am. In. A. Meeting."  There was lots of teenaged giggling in the background, so I gave up.  "Fine, enjoy your meeting."

On our walk last night, Cathy told me, she really had been in a meeting, of cheerleaders having a cheer-mergency over their upcoming cheer car wash.  They were giggling, because they could hear me scolding her.  Oops.  And then, Cathy went into a long spiel about what did I think she was doing, having a meeting with her stuffed animals, asking Big Bunny to please take minutes, and Walking Talking Elmo to hold all calls?

So, that was yesterday's funny.  Sunday's funny happened after I forced the kids to try a bunch of unfamiliar foods.  We bought prawn crackers, spinach buns, fish balls, egg drop soup, biblinka, shredded squid, and more, from the Oriental Market where the non English fluent cashier whistles Scorpion tunes.  That was an unmitigated disaster.  But, the after-supper party was fun.  A few of Sarah's unsuspecting friends came to join us after they returned home from boating.  As they walked down the sidewalk, Cathy, Sarah, Spencer and Kaitlyn were ready, having tied a twinkie to a ball of yarn and left it on the sidewalk.  As Ashton and Leighton approached, the twinkie slowly moved out of reach.  Then, Ashton sprinted toward it, Spencer took off running down the highway, the twinkie bounced along ("like a gazelle," Ashton later said) and the kids erupted laughing. 

Leighton loved the idea of tricking more kids in that manner, so we set to work trying to string up twinkies in our mulberry tree with low hanging branches, with yarn that could retract into the branches when the kids reached up to grab one.  We then played Pictionary and the story game, and called it a night.

My kids keep me young.  And maybe, I keep them young, too, because I don't want to see them rushing into adulthood, with all its challenges.  Their childhoods will be over soon enough, and then the house will seem very big and very quiet, with no twinkies in our trees, and no stuffed animal meetings.  Cathy can laugh about it now that she has "real" meetings, but those conferences with her toys were not that long ago.

"Take One For The Team, Baby Carrot!!"

Cathy names all her facebook albums according to a comment, heard and worth remembering from that night's conversation.  One album is titled, "Where My Cabin Resigns," and when I pointed out it should be where my cabin resides, she just sighed and said, "You don't get it, Mom. You just don't get it." Ever since she was small, Cathy had an adult's ability to find the funny in any situation.  We went pedal boating the other night with Spencer and Erika, who was remembering our whole, "See that girl over there?" schtick.  We've been laughing over "See that girl over there" jokes (like, "See that girl over there?  She only thinks she's adopted") for several years, meaning Cathy came up with that joke around the age of twelve. 

She is now turning sixteen on Sunday, sharing her sweet sixteen party with her longtime friend, Erika, and here is her birthday blog, replete with old photos and a recent story for which this blog is named.  We were weeding the garden, and Cathy accidentally pulled up a baby carrot along with the weeds.  Rather than replant the tiny, feathery roots, she tossed it aside and said, "Well, now the weeds are gone, its brothers and sisters can get some sun.  Take one for the team, baby carrot!" and we laughed all night over that. 

Happy Birthday, Baby Carrot!  I am proud of you for many reasons: your sense of humor, your kindness, and your ability to deal like an adult, but enjoy life like a kid.  You made me proud when you bought Lexi's homecoming dress, when you wanted to sponsor Binti as yours (and Sarah's) Christmas present, when you opted to spend your time and money when you were given both, by going and buying toys to distribute to the Helen Nassif Pediatric Wing of Saint Luke's Hospital.  You are a great, funny girl and loved by many. 

In Lieu of Sugarbottom

Twenty four years ago, Rebecca Hanson moved with her dad and sister to Mount Vernon.  At first, I was scared of her.  Becky was strong and outspoken, confident enough to make jokes at her own expense and to call out people who took themselves waaay too seriously.  For someone like me, scared of her own shadow and opinions, Becky was something new.  We had friends in common, started hanging out more and more.  I made her laugh, and Becky's laugh is like no one else's.  She can make an entire movie theatre crack up, just at the sound of it.  We became friends.

Weekends were spent at house parties with friends, or at rural dance halls like Dance Mor in Swisher, the Loop in Monticello, and Prairie Moon in Prairieburg.  One of the best nights of my life was spent with Becky, New Year's Eve 1990, and a bunch of friends we met dancing on tables at Dance Mor, then followed to the SW side Denny's.  Becky spent Christmas Day 1990 with my family, and we cut apart all the boxed chocolates and smushed together the icky ones to leave for others, til we discovered there was a map. We smoked candy cigarettes to mock the teen smokers around us. We invented the stupefyingly hilarious game of holding a toilet paper tube to our eye, and watching objects like troll dolls dropped, while listening to Depeche Mode. No, we were not high. 

We went to prom together, graduated together.  When Cathy was born, Becky videotaped it, and the tape gets all shaky when she started to cry.  I was in the waiting room for Mitchell's birth and in the room to see Kennedy born.  One of the first things Becky said after I called her with the news my dad had died was, "How can I help?" I call Beck first, with all good news and bad news. 

The Prairie Moon Ballroom has burned down, many years ago now.  You can't buy candy cigarettes in stores anymore.  The Denny's on the southwest side of CR is long gone. And, still, we are friends, better now than we were back in the days we spent every weekend together.  Even if I don't see Becky for weeks or even months, I know we can pick up where we left off and I know that she understands every backstory to every new story I tell her.  I know her family and their stories as well as my own.  I have faith in her goodness as a human being, and with her ability to empathize, because she understands bad luck, too.

So, tonight when my truck started flashing the oil and battery "Danger, Will Robinson!" lights on its dashboard, while I was on my way to her birthday campout at Sugarbottom Campgrounds, fully stocked with tent, sleeping bag, potato chips, Bacardis, and her silly birthday card, I couldn't believe my bad luck.  Of all the things I would never want to miss, it would be Becky's birthday weekend, at a time in her life when experiences and good times with friends is what she values most.  But, here I sit, at home with my truck in the garage, waiting for morning when Karl can look it over. 

So, Becky, here is your birthday blog, in lieu of my presence at the campout tonight.  You are my best friend, and have been for more than half my life.  I think of you as a sister now, and my whole family loves you.  You are incredibly funny and make everyone around you laugh. You are kind.  I've seen you many times hold your tongue when you knew something and wanted to say it, but didn't.  You are generous, with your time and your talents and praise of others. You give more than you get back, time and again.  I'm sorry I'm not there tonight.  But, I hope you know that I am always there in spirit.  Happy Birthday.

What My Girls Put Me Through

Last Saturday, Sarah sent me the following message:

"OH, MY GOB!  Baby raccoon!"  And this:



I started to panic.  On the tiny screen of my phone, the background appeared to be the back porch where her grandparents live.  Could a baby raccoon have crawled up there to die and Sarah was petting a rabid animal?  I remembered all the times the girls had liberated tadpoles from the pond, to keep in ice cream buckets under their beds, until I returned them to the pond from whence they came. 

I texted back, "Oh, MY Gob, is that a raccoon?  Has it bitten you?"

To which Sarah replied, "Oh, the minx bit me, but twas only a scratch."

Oh, no.  I was one hundred miles away and Sarah had been bitten by a raccoon.  Then, I get this from Cathy:

"Don't worry about Sarah, I was the one who got bit, but it wasn't the raccoon.  It was the bobcat."

WTF was going on?  I didn't get the full story, just tantalizing, "Oh, Mom, stop worrying.  The skunk left us mostly alone,"

until last night, when Cathy told me they had been at a fair and played with the animals (under supervision) at the wildlife preserve area.  She actually was bitten by the bobcat, whose baby teeth were so tiny and inoffensive, they didn't even break the skin. 

My girls love to tease me.  It was a great weekend for all of us, they had a nice time with their dad, I had a good time with friends at Leah's going away party, but the best part is that they included me in their good times.  And that they didn't die from rabies or death by bobcat.

This last photo is not from their time at the fair, it's one I took a month ago, when we were out walking on the gravel road behind our house.  The girls decided to share a dandelion and each try to blow the fluff off it, into the face of the other.  Such moments were made to last, even just on film:

 All my girls put me through... is worth it.  Every moment. 

Unusable Wedding Toast #1: Textses From Your Exes

On this happy occasion of John' and Abbi's wedding, we all have this one chance to congratulate them on their good sense in finding each other, and then, making it work.  We all have stories to share about John and Abbi, great, fun experiences we've shared.  I was curious, though, about those not with us today, who years ago knew our happy couple best.  I'm referring to their exes.

It was tough work, getting these names.  Neither one will offer up much dirt on ex-boyfriends and -girlfriends, they are just too frickin' happy to care about what didn't work out in the past.  So, I was forced to take over several bottles of Captain Morgan and our friend Adam, to get the happy couple talking about when they were less happy.  You don't remember this night, guys?  Well, neither do I, not really, but in the morning, I had lists of names.  You both wrote down the names of your exes on cocktail napkins.  I used the back of a postage stamp, and Adam filled several toilet paper rolls, single-spaced, writing on both sides.  With the miracle of facebook, I hunted down your exes for their congratulations.  And here is what they had to say:

Alicia:  "I can't believe John is getting married.  Finally!  I thought he would never commit.  I guess that just means he couldn't commit... to me."

Pedro:  "Abbi was the light of my life, star of my nights, sun of my days.  I will miss her forever, and wreck her marriage if given half the chance.  So... do you have her number?"

Jane:  "I thought John and I were perfect together.  He didn't think so, obviously.  He just took my heart and my record player and hit the road after three glorious days and nights.  I still miss that record player."

Brad Pitt:  "Abbi's getting married?  Shit."

Cameron:  "I think I was John's first boyfriend.  I'm pretty sure I was.  Except, he didn't know I was a boy.  I went by Candace back then."

???:  "It was a night of passion and then it was over, Abbi was gone.  I have never forgotten her.  Does she ever mention me?"

Pedro:  "So, seriously.  Do you have her number?"

Shannon:  "John is the best boyfriend I ever had.  I still love him, but I know he was looking for somebody else.  He was looking for Abbi.  I'm glad they found each other.  Mostly glad."

Leah:  "Congrats, John  and Abbi!  I was John's first girlfriend back in sixth grade.  It was great the two weeks it lasted, but I knew we wouldn't stay together."

Pedro:  "GIVE ME HER F&^ING NUMBER!"

So, let's all raise our glasses to John and Abbi!  You found the loves of your lives, and you could have done MUCH worse!  Love to you both!

...And the Business of Books

And doesn't everyone who loves books secretly want to write one of their own?  I have read so many books that I am now the worst kind of critic.  If a book bores me quickly, I will toss it aside.  And I have literally thrown a few, like "The Da Vinci Code."  I hated that book, which puts me into a minority, I know.  After throwing a blah book aside, I've many times had the thought, "I could do better."

So, I tried to.  My first novel, "Lights in a Black Forest," has been read in its entirety or in pieces by many friends.  No one hated it.  Brandon and Kyle made suggestions, Christine corrected my German text, but everyone who read it, thought it was good, and publishable.  Even one literary agent who liked it, but didn't love it with the requisite fervor required of an agent who handles only a few books per year, said she had no suggestions to make.  There was nothing to fix.  The book should be publishable. 

Two years later, however, I cannot find a publisher or agent.  The book industry is changing, publishing houses are closing, agents are struggling to make a living as consumers move away from print copies and toward ebooks.  This had me completely bummed, until three people intervened to make me see that what I perceived as a hurdle was instead an opportunity.  John and Trey both suggested selling my book online as an ebook, Trey even sent me the link on how to do this.  A few weeks ago, Ed told me of the seven largest publishing houses, four were expected to close soon, leaving three.  The head of  Warner Books has moved to Amazon to handle their online book print business. 

And so, ebooks it is.  I spent this morning looking around Amazon at how to self publish, and worked on designing a rudimentary book cover, which I need to show Becky for help and advice.  And now, I am pumped.  I can sell ebooks and also use a Create Space site to make print copies, meaning I can have book signings at area businesses willing to host me.  I can give my book as gifts.  And, the lack of an agent or publisher will mean less help, but also more control over my final product.  My book is my baby.  I hope it does well in the world.  I hope people other than my friends like it. 

We shall see, very soon.

Books...

When the girls were small, we used to read chapters each night, all curled up on my bed. I read aloud from the Great Brain series by John D. Fitzgerald, the Narnia books by C.S. Lewis, and first four Harry Potter books.  After Cedric died at the end of "Goblet of Fire," I thought those books were growing faster than my girls were, and worried they would get nightmares reading the rest.  We read the Series of Unfortunate Events, and some excellent stand alone books, like the "Phantom Tollbooth" and "Nurse Mathilda." 

For a few years, after they had outgrown the age of being read to (I thought!), the girls did not seek out books on their own.  And that worried me.  They played the Sims, excelled at board games, and made movies on our PC.  But, they didn't read half as much as I did as a girl, with fewer distractions than kids have now.  But, eventually, they rediscovered reading.  On her own, Cathy read Gregory Maguire and Rachel Cohn.  Sarah liked manga for a few years, and then found Margaret Peterson Haddix and other authors she enjoys so much, she reads non-stop until the book is done.

What a relief, as a parent and lifelong reader, that my kids will be readers, too, even without Mom there to narrate the stories.  But, that nightly tradition has made a resurgence, too.  About six months ago, when Cathy was sick, she wanted nothing more than for me to read the Mrs. Piggle Wiggle books aloud, and change the names of all the children characters to Dylan.  Last week, I read the children's book "I Love You Forever" to Sarah, and she cannot stop referencing it.  Her favorite part is when the mother of her grown son drives across town with a ladder on her car and breaks into his home to cuddle him when he is sleeping.  So, Sarah and I will text each other:  "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, When you are grown, I will break into your home Macgyver-style with only a ladder and some chewing gum." 

And this fall, I have one reading goal and I hope we can make it happen, despite Sarah's cross country and Cathy's basketball cheerleading.  There is a book titled "The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear", which is 700 pages long, but full of adventures, like Minipirates and dragons.  I want to read this to the girls like we used to, a few pages a night on Mom's bed, like midnight travelers on our own little raft, which sets sail on the first page, and takes us whereever the book does. 

Which is what books are supposed to do.