Ginger Unplugged

I just called an electrician and I can't decide if this is a great idea or a big mistake. For about three months I've been disassembling a light fixture in my kitchen. Not just any light fixture--a sort recessed fisheye spotlight thing. Why? Because I got the coolest lights at (you guessed it) IKEA and I wanted to see if I could put them up. The little IKEA picture shows three wires coming out of my ceiling and when I finally got all the light bulbs, springs, screws and large metal parts out of the way, I found that I only have two wires. This is a problem I don't know how to overcome. I was actually going to experiment but then was wondering if I should turn the electricity off before cutting various wires and it all started sounding very permanent and dangerous and I figured it was time to pull out the little coupon I got for an electrician the other day. I called and this guy answered with a very reassuring voice, he sounded so much like a game show host that I thought h...

You know, it wasn't that bad. First of all, there are only 24 members of the family. Oops. But yes, half of those are children. I brought pretty much everything I said I would and played football, husker-du and set out the flannel board book but other than that, the kids really took care of themselves. Enough toys of the right variety work wonders. It was really nice to get together with family, celebrate birthdays and eat stuff. The flying monkey was pretty mellow actually. Diaper rash. :( I guess it slows him down. Unfortunately, no one even mentioned Apples to Apples. Not even my mom. Oh well. Maybe next year.

This all started the other night when I went for a walk with my friend. I had been looking forward to it all day and by the time we could go the sun had set, the clouds had rolled in and it was dark. We walked along the river trail anyway where before long the trees were creaking and lashing out at us in the howling wind. I admit, it was a bit spooky. But when my friend said something like, "Heaven's unleashed its fury!" You know what I said? "Bring it on." There was no way she was getting out of that walk with me. The walk was relatively uneventful. To liven things up, I decided to see if my pepper spray worked. It didn't, which was good to know. It just drizzled down my glove and smelled like aerosol. Are you supposed to shake that stuff first? Do you have time to shake it while attackers are pouncing? Does it just get shaken naturally by your fear? Anyway, I went walking today again. I wore the same gloves. I rubbed my eye. As I threw my contact into the ...

Today is Thanksgiving, that day of the year when my grandma Lois wants the whole family in her house for dinner. Let me elaborate: the whole thirty-four member family, and possibly friends, in her lovely but small 1940's style house. Twelve of those 34 members are children under the age of 10 (and one is a flying monkey). Cap this off with the fact that Grandma has a little yard, the weather has recently grown COLD and Grandma and Grandpa like it quiet and calm. Like REALLY like it quiet and calm. And did I mention that Grandma went to the hospital the day after Thanksgiving a couple of years ago from all the stress of trying to keep everyone quiet? At least that's what we think it was. Or the stress of everyone not being quiet despite her stern looks. So last night my mother called me. She had that tone between anger and hysteria that means "Look, don't discuss, just do this." "Hi," she said. "Do you have Apples Junior?" What the heck? "Y...

Yes, another tragedy in the family. The New Yorkers said they brought my laptop to life for an hour. Then it died. It's gone. They retrieved my hard drive information, though, and are sending that and everything back. My husband is going to sell my laptop's little parts on eBay--at least the parts that work. He told me the news as he presented me with THIS--a new MacBook with the Leopard operating system. Aaaah. I had very mixed feelings about the whole thing. But I think this laptop and I were meant to be together and there was no other way than the death of my other computer. I wish I could have been there when it woke up for an hour. At least it got to see New York before it gave up the ghost. Everyone should get to do that.

It all started on Halloween when, for the second year in a row, I didn't have a costume and wanted one at the last minute. You know those emergency Halloween parties? Well, I went to one. As I stood there behind the spiderwebbed cupcakes and the green-colored cheese bread, my friend said she liked my vest. "Did you make it?" she asked (having made her Bellatrix costume herself--including the corset and everything). "Um, no," I answered. "I bought it a long time ago." At that moment I realized that the huge belt, the white shirt with the awesome cuffs and collar, the slightly big and funky jewelry, the boots and, of course, the vest that I still wear under suit jackets were all items from my own wardrobe. My own wardrobe. My personal style through the ages has been "Modern Pirate!?" Luckily, I still have both calves intact and a serious aversion to knickers (my first 6th grade boy/girl dance--don't ask) or I think people would expect me t...

My computer has yet to turn on. I took it to a Mac repair place where I was informed that the power cord connection has a short--guess that's why the little light never even came on when I plugged it in. More tragically, the logicboard has a short, too. I don't know what a logicboard is, but it's apparently pretty important since it costs $1260 to replace. The whole Macbook only cost me $1200. My husband, bless his heart, loves me dearly. And his favorite way to show this is through electronics which he doesn't get much chance to do. Electronics and I don't get along so well, even when they haven't had water poured on them. Anyway, Husband found a place that claims to fix water-damaged logicboards in New York. We tried to explain to them that it must have a lot more wrong with it since we couldn't even get the info from my hard drive to transfer to another computer. Still, they wanted a shot. If they can't fix it, we don't pay. All hail the New York...

I have recently dubbed my 9 month old baby, "Flying Monkey." So we have Princess, Sunshine (who prefers "Crash"), Butterfly (who prefers "Princess") and Flying Monkey. This is the day he really earned his nickname. First, I was in the kitchen making lunch for Butterfly when there was a decent size crash from the other room. When I went in, the baby was well and happy but he'd pulled over a small table that had my laptop and a glass of water on it. I know, big mistake to begin with. Still, he'd never once tried to pull over that table. So there's my laptop, shut down with water spilling out the sides. Not good. I take out the battery and set it out to dry, not knowing if the laptop shut down from the crash or the water or who knows what else has gone on in that room while I made one speedy little sandwich. With no laptop, I grudgingly set to work on sewing a Halloween costume. I thought it was a wise move to set up the ironing board in the mudro...

I've never thought that a few granola bars and some gum would hold me in an emergency for three whole days, but, you know, better than nothing. But I just discovered it's really called a 72-hour kit because if your baby gets into it, it takes 72 hours to locate everything and put it back where it goes. I guess putting this kit back together is better than the kids finding the gum under the couch later on. Just imagining what they might do reminds me that in the last 72 hours I have found toothpaste on a bathroom light bulb, permanent marker on my rolling pin and a pocket full of staples in the laundry. Honestly. Do I have to ask them to please not flip toothpaste above eye-level, don't draw on the cookware and WHY ARE WE COLLECTING STAPLES? I should make them actually live on these 72-hour kits as penance.

Fall is here. The leaves are changing colors, the pumpkins are ready for picking and neighbors are hanging witches on their porches-- decorative witches of course, or I might be in big trouble. In honor of fall, here's a new list: Ginger's Most Memorable Falls 1. Most recent fall : I was carrying the baby's carseat, diaper bag, scriptures, etc. into church when my shoe came off at the same time I was stepping over a curb. I sacrificed everything for the baby, of course, and books and diapers went flying and I skinned my knee. I just lay there awhile waving at people going into church. "No, no, I'm fine. Really." 2. Waterfalls: I once hiked to a waterfall with my mom and sister. On the way down every baby rattlesnake in existence had come out to sun itself wherever we wanted to step (Indiana Jones pfffff, whatever). My teenage sister refused to go forward or backward or anywhere and my mom had to carry her! Actually, I think we took turns carrying but not long...

Last night son's remaining turtle, Claws died. This morning Slither, the long-tailed lizard, followed Claws into the great reptile habitat in the sky. We are thinking, sadly, that we have not kept them warm enough somehow even though we did have two lights...we're not sure. At any rate, we are coping. I perhaps should have known when Slither was rolling around in his cage that something was up. Do lizards normally roll? And when he let us pet him last night, I just thought he was being friendly. Maybe he was. We are better with frogs, fish and stray cats I think. But my son really did all we knew how.

This was uttered around my kitchen table just yesterday: "Spread eagle on top of a farting chicken, now there's a place I never want to be." Closely followed in funniness by the conversation: "A cricket, get it!" "I can't, the antennae are missing!" "What happened to them?" "Baby must have gotten to it first." Which was a delight to listen in on compared to the most inane conversation of the week: "Most tornadoes are a mile wide." "Are you sure? A mile is pretty big." (Big fight over how sure Tornado Boy is that most are a mile wide.) "I am thinking that maybe most are a mile tall," I offer in consolation. "How can they be a mile tall? Clouds don't get that close to the earth." "Are you crazy? Clouds even touch the earth all the time, it's called fog." "Yeah well tornados don't happen in the fog. Plus, if clouds are so close to the earth then why does it take us ...

I have been studying my baby over the past few days trying to understand why he does certain things. Here are some of my conclusions. My baby's thoughts: If I ram it with my head, it might just open. Anything on the floor would be better in my mouth. Tissues are evil. Scream when you see them. If tissues are on the floor, it is better if they are in my mouth and then I scream at them. I must get that cat in my mouth, but he is too fast. So I scream at him, too. Sisters are coming. They are worse than tissues. I have only one tooth. This doesn't matter so long as I use it well. Gnawing sisters with my tooth makes THEM scream. Cool. Was that a cricket? Showing everyone my tooth makes them get closer. Then I can gnaw them more easily. I will let you know as I decode more of his ideas. Till then, watch your cat. They all have to sleep sometime.

A few weeks ago several women in my church group got together and decided it would be fun to do a mini Parade of Homes through our neighborhood--you know, where people tramp through houses to get ideas for their own ( I think that's what they do anyway, I have never actually attended a Parade of Homes). Did these Christian women decide to parade through their own homes like the selfless and giving daughters of God that they are? NO. They want to parade through mine. MINE. Yes, yes, I KNOW I could have said, "no." I really do know this. Thank you for the emails with the practice exercises attached, by the way. Unfortunately, they came too late because here I am cleaning and cleaning and I just can't stop. I have a problem. I have OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). If you are an alcoholic, you do not go to bars, wild parties or the refrigerated section of gas stations. If you are OCD, you do not clean. Unless you REALLY want to clean. But with a possible one hundred w...

The opposite of go isn't "stop." It's "go backwards." "Stop" is just the middle. (Crash is my oldest son. He has issues with his real nickname--Sunshine.)

Like any good mother, I told my son he would have to work and scrimp and save all his money until he had enough for his long-tailed lizard. He was totally willing although he did keep asking me if there was anything I wanted him to do for ten dollars. I referred him to the usual chore chart and with a minimum of grumbling he earned quarters here and there. He washed dishes, vacuumed, cleaned counters--it was fabulous. It was working out perfectly. First, I was getting lots of work done, or he was getting it done, rather. Second, I figured his desire for a long-tailed lizard wouldn't hold out clear till whenever he earned seventy dollars. Then his dad offered to pay for half the lizard and supplies, saying my son would only have to earn forty dollars. I was a bit miffed, but still, I thought, that will take a good three months. Then Grandma sent my son a birthday check for thirty dollars. The long-tailed lizard is in my son's room this very minute. At least it better be--I haven...

My kids loved school. I loved school. What a beautiful day. What a wonderful life. Aaaaaah. Can't wait for tomorrow.

Day 7 I am not a lover of musicals but there has been this song in my head all day. ToMORrow, toMORow, I LOVE ya, toMORow, you're ONly a day Awaaaaaaay. I would dye my hair orange and wear a red dress if I thought it would make tomorrow come any faster. As for the Pet, my son went over various lizard brochures all morning. In church an adult asked if there were any announcements--presumably she was asking other adults--but my son raised his hand. She smiled of course, as my son is nothing if not entertaining. "Yes?" "I am getting a long-tailed lizard," he said. My entire neighborhood is asking about it and talking about how adorable he is (my son, not the lizard). At least long-tailed lizards are only $70, and they don't get out of their cages much--according to the brochure anyway. He will still have to earn and save all his money. I am still hoping he goes for the snail after all.

Day 6 Absolute chaos. I nearly strangled my son. Really. Just ask him. It was self defense. My son and his best friend have been planning half the summer to buy a Pet together and share it. Something they could switch between their houses like a hermit crab or a frog or something. Together they saved $40. No small feat for a couple of 8 year olds. "Have you checked with Best Friend's mom?" I asked many times. "Oh yes, absolutely," they told me. They lied. When Best Friend's mom produced a tiny fishbowl and said she might be willing to let them share a fish, my son had yet another breakdown. Later in the day, I took them to the pet store just to look at what my son could afford on his own. I pointed out the frogs. The crabs. The colorful snails. The fish that would work in a tiny fishbowl for Best Friend. He chose the bearded dragon. The bearded dragon is $200. "Is there anything you want me to do for $200?" he asked hopefully. Nothing came to mind...

Day 5 Is broccoli a cure for ADD? Is it? My son was having a difficult night on the town (which is code for when I take my kids to run errands with me). He kept ramming himself into things, spinning on the grocery store floor, telling me the things he could smell and running around to find them. Then he spied the broccoli. He begged me to buy a head so he could eat it. I figured it would save a fight if I did, so I got one. HE ATE MOST OF IT. Raw. He loved it. And then he calmed down. Of course, there are broccoli florets all over the van from where he beat his sister with the remnants but I swear, comparatively speaking, he was calm. Trust me. I adore this boy. He is brilliant. He is funny. He is also one of those kids at school that "every teacher knows" which I found out today from the lips of a teacher who didn't have him in her class. Anyway, I am considering sending a head of broccoli with him to class on Monday. Aaaah Monday. Only the weekend to go.

Day 4 My "It's all worth it" prize was the BEST. Friends. That's what my prize was. The world's best friends. One friend sent me a nice card that said nice things and even had nice flowers on the front. I am not usually into "nice" but inside I'm a big marshmallow and it melted my mad little heart into sugary sweetness. One friend made my not very nice day seem like it all happened because I am the coolest person on the planet. How she did this, I'm not sure. But she did. She's a tricky one. I'd be lost without her. Another friend sent me a thoughtful email saying she missed me. Aaaah. One friend (my husband friend) hugged me and commiserated and got upset and laughed at all the right times. I'm so glad I have him. And (!) as a side note, my duct unplugged, even without a $675 vacuum. TODAY... was back to school night. My son is actually happy about going to school. HAPPY. Happy. This is the son I had to throw on the bus precisely whe...

Day 3 The day began with an unsupervised food fight using the ammunition/sausage the kids said they wanted to eat. I didn't want to make sausage in the first place, so I didn't have any. I was starving. I was trapped upstairs nursing the baby with my plugged duct. I was sooooooooo mad. The middle of the day had me all scheduled to teach yoga next week to a tongan church group. I don't know anyone in the tongan church group. I am not a yoga teacher, either. The end of the day had better include some sort of fantastic "this is all worth it" prize. I am sure when it arrives I will blog all about it. I am now going to sit by the door and wait.

Day 2 Oh my GOSH. I am in such pain. I am nursing and have a plugged milk duct. WHERE ARE THOSE KIRBY GUYS when you need them? I'm SURE they have an attachment for this!!!

Day 1 As I shoved an old armchair out my front door today, a guy ran up to give me free air freshener. "I'm not buying anything," I said. "You don't have to buy anything, we just need your opinion." "I don't want any," I said. "Just keep the air freshener, we just want your opinion." "No seriously, I know you're selling something." "I promise, I'm not. See those spots on your stairs?" (Ouch, I was just going to rent a carpet cleaner to take care of those). "We'll clean them for free and you just tell us what you thought." "This is nice air freshener." He ran back to the van. "David, she's not buying anything, so you just get her opinion, okay?" I knew it. I KNEW it. They were Kirby vacuum guys--you know, the $2000 vacuum with the 1 and a half hour long sales pitch? Well, David was fantastic and he really entertained the children. He showed us the filters, the blowers, t...

Okay, the tenth thing I learned is a very funny story about my sister calling long distance to a university to find this guy she's obsessed with. She's got guts, particularly for an autistic girl. She's the most social autistic person you'll ever meet. Anyway, while talking to who-knows-who at the university looking for this guy she mentioned that my dad was going to kill her. I know what she means, I made a few long distance calls myself in that house. Well, the university people were sufficiently worried that they called the cops. My dad came home to find my sister trying to shoo a couple of city officers off our porch. I laughed SO hard.

My dad butters his hot dogs. My mom washes towels. All the time. There are some washing right now. I'm not kidding. She washes towels ALL THE TIME. When I'm in the shower. In the morning. At night. She washes towels. My cousin does not like the word "buttocks." My 5-year-old says the word "buttocks" makes her uncomfortable and she will leave if I say it any more. This could come in handy. Curiously, I have no problem with the word "buttocks." It may be that my aunt is helping with the whole towel hysteria. I will update you on this as more information becomes available. Grandma's word on the matter trumps Mom's word on the matter in some families. I don't think I like that whole idea. Even if you have the most number of people in a bedroom, if you arrive at the cabin last, you get the smallest room. Baby, I kid you not, has been sleeping in the closet. People don't care so much when you throw away your griddle. Try to throw away 4 f...

I have caused my very young second cousin once removed (or something or other) to say "buttocks" just once too often. I can't help it!! She says it so funny (like "buh-TALKS") I get the giggles. Amazing how motivated kids are by laughter. NOTE TO SELF: make chore time much more hilarious.

Characters Dad--Nearing 60 years old. Fairly dictatorial. Apparently ordering people around makes one nearly helpless. Mom (Silver)--Dad's wife. Very nice. Misty--Their daughter who didn't eat her sandwich. Jared--Their son-in-law. Audience--Feverishly taking notes while gawking at the whole scene. Dad: Did anyone make me a sandwich? Mom: No, sorry. You can have Misty's, though. She didn't want it. Dad (inspecting sandwich): Did someone heat this up? The bread's wet. Mom: I didn't heat the bread. I just heated the turkey and cheese. Dad: Well the bread's still wet. Mom: You can take out the turkey and cheese and get new bread for it. Audience (Thinks to self, how do you heat turkey and cheese for a sandwich without the bread? Wow.) Dad: Nah. Too much work. (Rummages in fridge) Where are the hot dogs? No response. Dad: (Rummaging in fridge) Where are the hot dogs? No response. Dad: (Rummaging in fridge) Where are the hot dogs? Audience: Try the fridge. No res...

This year our annual camping trip has been kicked up a notch. We are renting a...well, it's a cabin I guess you'd call it, but it's a 1.5 million dollar cabin, making it nicer than my house. Usually I'm grateful to see my home after camping, now I'm going to have to re-carpet and possibly paint the ceiling just to feel it meets the barest requirements of civilization. So, okay, we're not really "camping." My family's basically hanging out in someone's summer house with my parents, my sister, my aunt, my cousin and her kids. Despite the nice decorations, I can tell you right now, this place isn't big enough for the thirteen of us, because when you are hanging in a "cabin" who wants to go outside? The pool table beckons, the 4 televisions and the 85 million cushy couches. Of course there are some campy features, like the two-story wall of windows letting in all the morning sun and so waking up the little ones bright and early. That...

My mom sent me a list of 20 things I said I learned in college--not really academic things, just life things. Considering I don't know what several of them are even referring to, apparently I've regressed although I'm SURE all my academic knowledge is still intact. These are my favorites from the list. 1. Spray starch will not clean an oven. I got on the bad side of several roommates over this. I heard two of them cleaning the oven and talking about how nothing was coming clean but it sure smelled good. As the lemony fresh scent wafted my way, I knew it couldn't be oven cleaner. It was spray starch--like what you iron clothes with. I rolled on the floor with laughter. Didn't have many friends in the apartment that year. 2. The little quizzes will get you before the big exams do. This applies to tests in life or tests in school--at least for me. 3. Nothing requires 10 cups of sugar. For whatever reason, my PE teacher gave a roommate and me a recipe for chocolate souf...

When my oldest child was still very young and suddenly frightened of monsters, I told her the truth. "We can't afford a monster. Sorry. If you want me to save up and get one at Wal-mart, it will take a while, but we can probably manage it." She gave me a puzzled look. "Really," I said. "We don't have one. Do you want one?" She shook her head and never worried about monsters again. Unfortunately, I didn't tell my neighbors this little tidbit and they ended up with a monster frightening their two year old. To make sure it cooperates, they have to poke it with a hanger every night. I have to admit, that way sounds kind of fun, too.

More deep thoughts from my children: If everything is opposite of what it is, it will be the same. This is how they explain. "If you're supposed to do everything opposite, then you would have dessert first for dinner. But desserts wouldn't be desserts, they'd be healthy food. And then you would have dinner, which would be dessert food. See, then everything would just stay the same." Honestly. I think they need to watch more TV or something.

My son was bored today. Very, very bored. He was mopey and whiny and I was scrambling to get his mind off of it. "What did you learn in church today?" He perked up a little but then quickly remembered that they played bingo and that there wasn't any more boring game in the world to play than bingo and how he'd rather have a really LONG lesson than play bingo. "Didn't you have a lesson?" I asked. "Oh yeah. A SHORT lesson. It was about repentance. If you don't repent, you are like a dirty cloth. If you repent you are like a clean cloth." "So what kind of cloth do you feel like?" I asked. He paused for a couple seconds and then started pouting again. "A BORED cloth," he said.

I was informed by my children today that I should never say "never, never." Because, apparently, when you say "never, never" it means you will. Let me demonstrate. "I will never never eat another oyster" means that I will eat an oyster some time because I will never NEVER eat another oyster. Those capital letters are important. My head hurts just trying to understand what "never never never" means. All I know is that that in the end if anyone comes at me with an oyster, I would rather chop off my jawbone than eat it.

I was challenged by a friend to come up with seven books that I would be happy carting around in a backpack in case the government was after me and keeping tabs on my library card or something. It's good to be prepared, after all. Now, please know that while doing this exercise herself, this friend COMPLETELY cheated and included the entire works of Shakespeare, a trilogy, a quartet and other books (holy cow). My friend actually reads a lot, whereas I read sort of a regular amount. Anyway, I digress because I am stalling. Let me go peruse my shelves (no religious works allowed in the seven). 1. The Life of Pi because I've been wanting to read it again and I haven't yet. I rarely read a book more than once but I loved his take on religion in the beginning and I love survival books. Plus, if the government is after me, it would be nice to think, "well, at least I'm not stranded on a tiny boat in the middle of an ocean with a tiger." 2. Marcus Aurelius' Medi...

An old friend looked me up the other day and said ANOTHER old friend wanted to see a photo. Well how embarrassing is that after my last post? So, here I am. I'm sure Julia Roberts' kids are saying, "Look Mom, another picture of you on the Internet." And she's saying, "No, that's not me, that's Ginger Churchill. She wrote that book about scabs you like so much." VenZ and Rana--this is for you. It was taken on Easter weekend this year a few months after my baby was born so cut me some slack ;)

One of my daughters was looking over my shoulder the other day. "Mom, you're on the Internet?" she asked. "Um, you mean this picture of Orrin Hatch?" "No, not that one." I hit the 'back' button. "This?" I said, pointing to a picture of Julia Roberts. "That's you, right?" she said. I beamed and patted her sweet little head. Of course my son came quickly over to see. "THAT'S not MOM!" he said in an all-knowing disgusted tone. Oh well. But still, it makes me wonder who Julia's kids think she looks like. Probably not Orrin Hatch.

My son asked me the other day how geodes are formed--you know, those ugly rocks that you crack open to reveal a big hole with gorgeous crystals inside. I tried to remember back to my fossil loving days. "I think it's something to do with volcanoes and air bubbles or something," I said. "We'll look it up later on the internet." For some reason, it always makes my children leave me alone when I say we'll look it up on the internet. Someday they're going to realize that I have never once looked up anything of this nature for them. But it works for now. When they get out the list of things I've got to track down for them though, geodes will be crossed off because one of my daughters actually made some today. I'm not sure what she did exactly, but it was close to this: 1. Tell Mom you're bored. 2. Get out the month old bag of flour, sugar and macadamia nuts all mixed up--the one that's supposed to be a cookie mix. 3. Get out recipe involvi...

Since I am now apparently psychic (see the previous two posts) I am wondering what good it is. If I'd had a dream where the main character said, "Your credit card is in the IKEA lost and found," now that would be useful. Or a feeling like "take bread to church." But no. I guess being psychic is just kind of eerie. Who knew?

In the last minute before church I wandered aimlessly around the kitchen. I need something here to take to church. I know it! What am I forgetting? I went over the list of things I had already packed--pencils, crayons, scriptures, blanket, the baby. I knew I had everything. As I rushed out to the van I heard the phone ringing. It was my husband asking if I could bring a loaf of bread for the sacrament. So I had to go back to the kitchen to get that one thing. Weird.

This morning I awoke from a dream involving a guy named Isaac. Isaac is a complete figment of my imagination. I don't usually dream about strangers in such detail, and if I do, they don't have names, but the focus of this dream was Isaac's name for whatever reason. So in my half-awake state this morning I was pondering Isaacs. Like the bartender on Loveboat. Like Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. And I fell back asleep trying to remember if Isaac was the one with the two sisters as wives or what. Upon awakening I was getting ready to go to IKEA, as I often do, and I realized my credit card was missing. I became more and more alarmed until a friend helped me realize that it probably was at IKEA (as if I needed even more incentive to go there). I got to go up some IKEA Staff Only stairs and check out how they use cool furniture in their own offices before a nice lady gave me back my credit card. "Who turned it in?" I asked, wondering if I could thank someone. "It doesn...

My dad is a policeman. No matter that he's retired--once a policeman, always a policeman. I remember as a girl knowing that he could handle any cop-type emergency. When the very slow train we were riding hit a car (no one was hurt) my dad took charge. When my cousin broke her arm showing off with a pool stick, he splinted it with a magazine and duct tape. When I got called into the principal's office, my dad would come in full uniform to chit chat with him or her. He was always on my side, too. Good old dad. I grew up thinking I too would be the boss of any emergency that came my way. I am a writer and I'm proud to announce that I've had my first writing emergency. There I was walking into Zuka Juice. "How do you spell somersault?" I heard a juicemaker plead. I glanced around. No one seemed to know. "Uh, somersault is s-o-m-e-r-s-a-u-l-t," I offered. "Really?" she said. Her eyes wide. "Are you like an english teacher or somet...

Smack: Based on a True Story Lauren loved recess. She loved to jump rope. She loved to play tag. She loved to do somersaults. Cole loved recess, too. He loved to swing. He loved to climb. And he loved to kiss Lauren smack on the mouth. “Cole won’t stop kissing me,” Lauren told her friend Carrie. “Just stay away from him,” Lauren said. “I’ll hide you.” Carrie buried Lauren in wood chips. Cole found her. Carrie hid Lauren in the twisty slide. Cole found her. Carrie hid Lauren by a lunchlady. Cole found her and kissed her smack on the mouth. Lauren didn’t love recess anymore. “Cole won’t stop kissing me,” Lauren told her teacher. “Just watch out for him while you’re playing,” her teacher said. “You’ll be fine.” At recess, Lauren played jump rope. She kept tripping while watching for Cole. Lauren played tag. She kept getting caught while looking for Cole. Lauren somersaulted all around the swings. She bumped, smack, right into Cole. He kissed her. Lauren hated recess. “Cole won’t stop kis...

As much as I wish my first book were something fascinating like Life of Pi , or gripping like Twilight , or genius like Ender's Game , it is what it is: Carmen's Sticky Scab . And I have to admit, I quite like it. So, in honor of Carmen, here are is a list of my most memorable scabs. 1. Bitten by a dog that reportedly "never bit anyone." I still have the scar on my right index finger. 2. Falling on my bike for the 642nd time as a child. I had scabs on scabs. I still have scars but they've mostly blended in with the wrinkles. 3. I got mad at the hose and yanked it across the yard (naughty hose was never obeying). The hose came off the faucet and I landed on my elbow. Still have that scar too. Lesson learned: yanking as hard as you can on a hose does not make it longer. 4. A curling iron burn gone bad on my neck. I had that thing for weeks. A scab on my neck! Nasty. 5. Full facial scab from falling when I was about five. My mother gave me falling lessons afterward. ...

I cannot cook. At least that’s what my family thinks. Personally, I like when I fry up onion/mushroom/spinach burritos. Can I help it if they have no taste? (My family, not the burritos.) Whenever I host a family party, my mother, aunts and grandma offer to give me money for deli meat and rolls. They also offer to bring potato salad, green salad, pasta salad, chips, pop and a professionally decorated cake (thanks to professional cake decorater, Aunt Denise). And when I offer to bring salads or other goodies to their get-togethers, the reply is a kind, “No thanks.” Like I would really bring something with mushrooms! Anyway, the annual Easter party is always at my house. Since all the food is so lovingly provided, I am always left wondering what to do. This year, Aunt Sindi (whose name I am never sure how to spell) thought it would be nice to decorate Easter eggs with the children/grandchildren/stray cats. I boiled 6 dozen eggs. Aunt Sindi brought two dozen just in case my egg boiling di...

OH. MY. GOSH. My brain has shrunk. No, really. I'm not just using that as a random excuse this time. According to somebody the average woman's brain shrinks 6% when pregnant and doesn't bounce back until at least 6 months later. And the problem is, when have I ever been average? I'm sure mine has shrunk at least 25%. The problem is two of my neighbors pointed this out to me because they think so, too. Maybe all my intelligence is just concentrated. Like orange juice. And that's why I feel I need to drink so much water, or... Okay, I'll go whine about this some place else. This baby had better be worth it. Maybe that's why actually going into labor sounds like a good thing at this point--because I have less brain. I'm going to go ponder that awhile. As best I can.

Yesterday, my four year old came to me bleeding. She was hopping around with one foot in her hand crying huge drops that actually splashed as they fell. I expected a trail of blood to be stained into the carpet behind her. No. It took me a good thirty seconds to see the pinprick of blood once she was pointing it out. The point of all her dramatics? A Band-Aid. "Please, oh please, can I have a Band-Aid?" And not just any Band-Aid. "A pink Barbie one with purple flowers and yellow hearts. NO, not the purple one with blue flowers. GOSH!" Apparently, Band-Aids are a coveted fashion statement--something my four year old makes herself bleed to get (she picks her scabs). "Don't pick it, you'll bleed!" I tell her. "I wrote a book about this, as you might recall." She just keeps crying until I get her the right Band-Aid. I also occasionally find the baby with Barbie Band-Aids stuck to his belly button. If this four year old ever becomes a nurse wa...

The other day my daughter and son came home and, as usual, reported on their day. "I got kicked off my football team," Son said. "I made a touchdown...for the other guys." "Ahhhh, don't worry about it," Daughter replied. "Tomorrow, today's mistakes will be yesterday's gossip." Wow, I thought, and this from a 4th grader. I was so proud. "Yeah, they'll let you back on the team tomorow for sure," she added with a smile. And then she clenched her fist. "And if they don't, tell them your sister will beat them up." Now that's advice.

One of my writing friends recently asked what scares me. Apparently, this was one her children's school assignments--to ask adults this question. First of all, school assignments are a lot more interesting than I remember them to be. My instinctual answers to this question were your average: haunted things, big sweaty men with beady eyes, robot spiders... But then my children wanted to help by offering what they thought my fears were: The baby in your tummy is going to get so big you explode. Checkers that turn into monsters and eat people. Cleaning supplies running low. And, what they think I believe would be most terrifying--me turning into a nostril.