There are all kinds of things you can do on a Saturday evening in June. This is merely one of them:
Just a little off the top, PLEASE!
Nothing says wacky like purple, pink, and glitter hair.
Yes, we know. He needs a haircut. He hasn’t decided on his “style” for junior high. Why not this one?
Yes, that’s a rainbow over the bridge of her nose and a cloud on each cheek. Why do you ask?
Feeling stressed from a long day at kindergarten or summer programs? Too much time in the pool? Did you create artistic masterpieces all day long and now need a break. Well, the Marvelous Miss B is an expert at just this thing.
Three seconds after entering the house, you must change into your loungewear. This consists of:
On the wish list (as soon as Mommy is sufficiently worn down):
Proceed to lounge. Sometimes it helps to dress up a friend in bedclothes. We recommend the teddy bear.
For advanced loungers: the right combination of cuteness and sleepiness can result in those around you bringing you a snack. Use this technique sparingly. Those around you may catch on.
What the House Test Says About You |
 You are happy with who you are, and you don’t have an inflated sense of self importance. You do your own thing quietly. You don’t take up a lot of space. You aren’t against being community oriented, but it’s not really your thing. You tend to prefer to focus on your family and not the neighborhood around you. You are a calm, contemplative, and smart person. You take ideas very seriously.You look good in a low maintenance sort of way. You do the minimum required to be attractive.
You are moved by your own inner sense of peace. You spend a lot of time reflecting on the meaning of life.
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For someone who’s supposed to be housebound working on edits, I’ve seen a lot of the sun today:
That grumbling you hear is Darcy wondering then I’ll start my part of the edits. I’m starting. Really. Right … about … now.
At least Darcy didn’t have to do hers twice. Twice, people. I’m pretty sure you feel sorry for me.
The first were too formal. Thanks to our weird and delayed spring, my allergies were nuts. I really wanted outdoor shots, but decided just to get them done inside where the pollen isn’t. Because nothing says: great pic! like red, swollen-shut eyes.
My first clue should’ve been Kyra pronouncing my top as “unfashionable.” She five, people. Five. And yet she can channel Carrie Bradshaw. Go figure.
In the end, I should have waited, considering I had to have them retaken anyway. Outdoors this time (and a different outfit), with the photographer urging me to smile and pretend I was laughing at something funny. Which was absurd in its own way and made me laugh.
We took pictures in Rice Park and by the St. Paul Public Library.
At one point, a guy wandered by and asked if we wanted him to take a picture of the two of us together. Good thing it was sunny. The photographer gave him a stare that dropped the temperature a few degrees.
Clearly he was interrupting.
The photographer even gave me a CD with my image on it (the surface), and well, on it. So you might say, I’m all over that CD.
Results below the cut.
Yesterday, the Marvelous Miss B had her dance recital. Her group danced to At the Codfish Ball, which of course, I can’t get out of my head.
She’s growing out her bangs. They hit right about at her nose. She usually keeps them out of her face with a headband. But. This is show biz, so we had to go the extra mile and really keep them out of her face. In addition to a headband and the fish thing on her head, I used about half a can of Aqua Net.
Waiting for dress rehearsal to start.
The cuteness–it’s nearly lethal.
After the (codfish) ball. A little downtime with Fancy Nancy.
Warm up: Pace around the house. Check phone for dial tone. Pace some more. Do deep knee bend to get water out of mini-fridge.
Aerobic phase: Phone rings. Heart rate doubles. 212 and New York flash across the Caller ID screen. Heart rate triples. Pick up phone. If you can still say hello, clearly you’re not panicking hard enough.
Weight training: Pick up pen. Take notes. Repeat repetitions for half an hour or so.
Cool down: Laugh. Go limp with relief. Place phone on cradle and hop on IM to chat with writing partner.
So, yeah, Darcy and I had our conference call this week with our editor (!!!) and agent (!!!) and it went very well. We have some edits (of course), but nothing huge. Our editor (!!!) discussed the concept they have for the cover (sounds totally adorable) and here’s an interesting tidbit:
It looks like we’ll publish with both our names on the cover and won’t need a combined pseudonym. How about that? So I guess Kyra’s pen name suggestion of “Charity and Darcy likes each other” is the one we’ll go with.
More or less.
Last night while we were driving to swim lessons, Kyra sat quietly in the backseat, a serious scowl on her face. Andrew and I both asked her what was wrong. Then we asked again. And again. All at once she turned to us and said:
“I’m dreaming!”
We discovered, later, she meant daydreaming. She had a whole story going, with plot and characters, and, ahem, we were rudely interrupting that. While I combed her hair into ponytails for swimming, she told me she was dreaming about a step mom who locks the real mom in a spider room (filled with many spiders and webs).
“And the daughter has to save her mom?” I asked.
Serious nod.
According to Andrew, he has many ideas for stories but, “Writing them down is so hard. I’d rather wait for someone else to write them, then I can just go ahead and read.”
This, by the way, was how I became the brand new owner of a story idea called The Football Nerd. From his head to mine.
Now all I have to do is write it down.
I’ve been a bad blogger but a good productive writer. The fourth (at least, I think it’s the fourth) draft of MacKenna (The Fine Art of Holding Your Breath) is done. I’ve asked a few victims volunteers to read it over.
So I was finishing up the last pages–literally, when Andrew stumbled from his bedroom to his computer in the dining/computer/whatever room. He wanted me to make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Now, he’s quite capable of making his own small meals/snacks. He cooks on Scout camping trips, makes his own ramen and soup, and even wields a knife to cut up strawberries for us. He can spread peanut butter on some bread.
He insisted it would taste better if I made it.
And I told him that PB&J pretty much tastes the same no matter who makes it.
To which he said: “But, Mommy, you make yours with extra love.”
You gotta give the boy points for that.
I eventually finished editing.
He still made his own sandwich.
So, the other night after we dropped Andrew off at Scouts (for his last requirement to make first class), Miss B and I went to Target to find a little gift for her kindergarten teacher. We were looking for an elephant, since her teacher has one on a bookshelf in the classroom. Kyra thought it needed a friend.
Target has elephants, right? Er, not so much. I glanced down the aisle with the plastic animals. It was crowded, so I decided to check out the stuffed animal aisle.
The closest thing to an elephant was a rhino. I was about suggest this to Miss B (who was busy inspecting the Fancy Nancy display) when the people crowding the neighboring aisle cruised by us and plopped a stuffed elephant on the shelf.
Right in front of me. An elephant. The perfect size for fitting on a bookshelf next to another small, stuffed elephant.
A little stunned, I picked it up and showed it to Kyra, who was delighted. We went to find a gift bag and card.
So, the moral, I guess, is sometimes the universe hands you an elephant. And when it does, you simply have to take (buy) it.
So, the other day, we drove over to my mom’s to help with a little gardening. Kyra became proficient at weeding, Andrew at planting, and both of them at befriending worms. This last probably added a good twenty minutes to the task. Well, that and the fact Andrew felt compelled to examine each petal of a decapitated flower.
Kids = pokey.
But on to the worms. They weren’t finding any at first, just some centipedes, which weren’t on the cuddly list. Finally, they founds some. Andrew held one up on the trowel he was using and said:
“Hello, my name is Andrew. What’s yours?” Significant pause. “Ah, I see. You must be the silent type.”
Kyra carried one around in her cupped hands. I told her that worms really like dirt (hinting that she should put it back in the dirt). She simply added some dirt to her hand. I finally had to tell her that no, we couldn’t take the worm home, but he’d be happy with Grandma’s new flowers.
She was a little sad about that.
On the way home, we stopped at Target. Andrew spent another twenty minutes in the deodorant aisle. His brand of choice is Old Spice and each offering was seriously considered with much sniffing.
He was intrigued by Old Spice After Hours. He thought it meant that the deodorant would last a really long time. I explained that it’s the sort of deodorant one might wear for a night on the town.
“Oh,” he said. “I’ll probably need that in junior high.”
In the end, he selected Old Spice Pacific Surge. For the rest of the evening, he applied it about twenty times and then proceeded to offer up his underarms for sniffing.
“Got B.O.?” he’d say. “Get deo!”
Why do I get the feeling junior high is going to be a long three years?
Writing Wrongs 
