It must be Tuesday...

So I've been to camp. And now I'm home. Three days early. Oh, my.

I shall tell this tale with headings that really encapsulate the microcosm that each day was. It all started Sunday... *insert flashback music/wavery image here*

HARD DAY'S NIGHT

We worked from noon to midnight setting up for camp. I unloaded ALL THE KAYAKS EVER from the trailers (since I am the kayaking instructor), and set up the lake. Granted, I took some liberties and went for a nice long paddle all alone on the quiet lake, but I swear, the rest of the day was basically an extended exercise in endurance labor. I built six wigwams from plumbing parts, helped set up the kitchen, helped check in all the staffers, and moved seven ancient (and heavy) camp bunk beds into a new cabin after the first one flooded in a huge rain storm, and built the camp store twice (it also blew over in the storm).  By the time I got to bed around 2 am, I was thoroughly pack-muled out.

It was hard work, but essentially uneventful (plus, remember the nice peaceful paddle).

This brings us to MONDAY. I DON'T HAVE ANY FUN-DAY.

Monday morning started out with a bang. One of the counselors woke up having been sick during the night, and didn't want to tell anyone. She kept it secret because the previous night at the counselor meeting, one of the directors announced not to eat too much candy, because candy makes you puke, and pukers get sent home. It's just her funny way of warning the kids off eating too much junk and making themselves sick. Well, this girl went to FUCKING GREAT LENGTHS to hide her illness, not realizing she'd basically contaminated the entire camp with GODFORSAKEN ROTAVIRUS. So we had Typhoid Mary walking around all day, leaving her germity germs of death EVERYWHERE. When we realized she was sick Monday afternoon and sent her home, we were worried, but not too worried. We should have been...

This brings us right up to today: TUESDAY, also known as IN MY TIME OF DYING, and I COMPLETELY OFFERED TO EXORCISE THE CAMP SUNDAY AFTER SOMEONE DIDN"T FEEL WELL, AND THEY BRUSHED IT OFF LIKE I WAS JOKING, AND THEY'RE SORRY ABOUT IT NOW.

The dominos began to fall. We had a few girls get sick by lunch time. Then a few more. By the time my kid succumbed at 7:30 this evening, there were 15 sick girls, and a few more who looked green around the gills. In the span of an hour, we went from a fully functional camp to a CDC quarantine zone. For crying out loud. So we had to shut down camp. I brought my little puker home, and I've been rewarded with not having thrown up, and by having access to the internet. At least until tomorrow night. If they decide to reopen for the final two days of camp, I'll go back, but I think the kid is done.

I taught exactly three kayaking classes. I was supposed to teach fifteen. Oh, well. Maybe next year.

So I'm home, and now I can get back to work, because editing is all but impossible at camp when you're surrounded by 75 girls who all need your attention RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. Read a sentence, change some punctuation, THEN HERE'S ANOTHER EMERGENCY HANDLE IT NOW. It's not even worth turning on the computer. So I'm secretly thrilled that my kid's sick. How awful of a human being does that make me?

In fact, the poor thing's curled up on the bathroom floor with a pillow and her kindle. :(

So hopefully the rest of the week is an improvement. I'm done.

Bully for you

When Lulu was in kindergarten, she came home from school one day with a Blue Slip. Blue Slips were filled out for disciplinary actions, and were just about the worst thing a kid could get before they started calling parents in for conferences and handing out detentions/suspensions. Needless to say, I was shocked and horrified. MY CHILD?! A behavior problem? Surely not. There must be some mistake.

Turns out, a little boy on the playground took a swing at her, so she used her kung fu training (she came to class with me four times a week), and delivered a textbook mountain punch to the kid's gut. I asked if she was okay, was she hurt when the kid punched her, and she said, "Of course not. I ducked."

It took all my Supermommy power to keep from cracking up at her response. She'd obviously been paying more attention than I'd thought in kung fu. We talked about how it's not okay to hit someone, even if they tried to hit you first. We talked about appropriate responses to anyone who hurt you, whether with words or actions or physical violence. I thought we had this covered. I was wrong.

Lulu's in 7th grade now, and she barely even remembers the incident with Punchy McSluggerton way back in kindergarten. Until yesterday, I thought she'd at least remember the lessons we talked about back then, and over the years in between. It seems that every year the school sends home letters about bullying, how the school has a zero tolerance policy for dealing with bullies, and how they are having assemblies to deal with the topic, and class time dedicated to talking about it. It sounded to me like the teachers were all over this issue, looking to nip any sort of aggressive behavior in the bud. Once again, I was wrong.

She'd been a straight-A student, especially excelling in English class. This year her honors level class only has 16 students (which is a near miracle when most of her other classes have upwards of 30 students each). So you can imagine my surprise when she's bringing home consistent C's. I thought she must not like her teacher. Maybe she didn't care for the poetry assignments (always my own least favorite English class unit). I couldn't fault her for that. But then she was getting dinged for not turning in classwork. She'd been in class, so why didn't she turn in the work? She'd done it perfectly. I couldn't understand, and I was beginning to think she might have some sort of problem with her memory. I was considering taking her to the doctor to ensure she hadn't sustained some sort of head injury. I couldn't think of any other way to explain her sudden memory lapses, her refusal to talk to me about why she wasn't turning things in, and why she wasn't able to focus in class.

Yesterday she reached her breaking point, and finally told us what was bothering her. Or, more specifically, WHO was bothering her.

Let me be clear, I am an involved parent. I volunteer with her Girl Scout troop on a near-continuous basis. I know half the kids at her school, and most of them know me. I am The Library Lady, and everyone from her old elementary school knows me. I have asked her on numerous occasions if she's seen any incidences of bullying at school, and she's told me about a few things she's seen happening with other kids. I thought we had this covered. But we really didn't.

After she told me everything that had been going on, essentially since the beginning of school back in August, I was heartbroken. "Why didn't you tell us about this? Why would you let this go on so long?"

She looked me in the eye and told me she didn't say anything because what could we do? What the kid was doing to her was not bullying, so she couldn't do anything to stop it.

Go back now, reread that last sentence. I'll wait right here.

Done? Are you as shocked as I am? Everything she described to us, from him deliberately knocking things off her desk every time he walked past, to telling her to "shut up" on a daily basis, to making faces at her in class, to recruiting a group of girls to laugh at her, THESE ARE ALL THE THINGS SHE'S BEEN TAUGHT ARE BULLYING BEHAVIORS, AND SHE STILL DIDN'T THINK SHE WAS BEING BULLIED. SHE THOUGHT SHE JUST HAD TO DEAL WITH IT.

She knew teachers had seen this behavior, and because they did nothing to stop it, she assumed she just had to live with it. Despite all the talk about bullying at school and how to deal with it, despite her strong group of friends, despite all the Girl Power lectures, despite our repeated conversations at home about how she should never let anyone make her feel lesser, she thought this treatment was somehow either deserved or something she had no power to stop.

*pauses to sob*

This is what I'm having the hardest time understanding. My daughter knows what bullying is. She can tell you right away when she sees it happening to someone else. She supports her friends when they're going through frustrating situations like the one that's been bothering her. She has always been told that she should NEVER put up with anyone who makes her feel small in any way. In theory, she carries this knowledge with her all the time. I have no idea how to remind her of that when she's feeling alone, hurt, and defenseless, and I'm not there.

This is why we rely on the teachers we entrust our children to every day. I handed her over, in the hopes no teacher would permit any student to belittle another student in her class. I am so disappointed in this entire situation. Disappointed in myself for not pushing for more answers when I saw my child struggling with her grades. Disappointed in the teachers and school staff for not holding her tormentor accountable for his actions. Disappointed in the other kids, some of whom I know personally, for not only doing nothing to stop it, but sometimes participating in it and encouraging it. Disappointed in my kid, for not thinking she had the right to stand up for herself and seek help from any adult within shouting distance the moment another child said or did something that made her uncomfortable. And disappointed that despite all the training and speeches they give the kids at school, she STILL felt as if she were the one in the wrong for feeling upset by another child's abusive behavior.

I am at a complete loss. What could I have done differently? I know there's no way to shield someone 100% from bad feelings. There are always going to be jerks in the world. I just wish I knew how to give her the tools she can use to defend herself. Hopefully this will be a good practical learning experience. It's the best outcome I can hope for at this point.

I spoke to the guidance counselor at school this morning, and I'm waiting to hear back from her on how they intend to deal with this. I am at a complete loss. I don't know what more I can do, other than to constantly remind her that she is awesome, and that nobody is allowed to make her feel otherwise.

***UPDATE: Two sides to every story***

I heard back from the school today, and it turns out Lulu is just as responsible for the bad behavior as the kid who made her feel bad. And you know what, *I* might be partially responsible for it. Let me explain.

Lulu has a few words that really bug her. Pet peeve words. Apparently the boy who teases her has a favorite word, which is at the TOP of the list of Lulu's despised words. That word: Swag.

This kid is the king of swag. He loves the word, and applies it to himself regularly (as 13-year-old boys are wont to do). Every time Lulu hears it, she yells back "Yes, you are curtains." She's had it with swag, YOLO, and half a dozen other irritating catch phrase words, and she inherited a large dose of snark from both me and her father. Her friends think we're funny when we tease each other back and forth, but a kid who doesn't know she's just playing around, just trying to be silly, would likely take those comments the wrong way.

So we have a lovely opportunity to remind her that teasing someone for their word choices is also bullying. I might correct her usage and vocabulary at home, but that doesn't mean she's allowed to make fun of others for using words she doesn't like. Unless someone's words are derogatory or hurtful in some way, just let everyone else be.

So there you go. I feel like kind of a jerk for getting all bent out of shape yesterday, now that I know this whole situation started because of something she said herself. I'm not saying she's entirely to blame, but I know that she's at least 50% responsible for it. She's definitely responsible for letting it escalate to the point where it's interfering with her school work, for not saying anything sooner. There will be a big discussion tonight.

A Banner Day

Yes, so much has happened today, I feel I must recount the fabulosity.

First of all, I finally got a car wash. It only took two months after I was named "Dirtiest Car in the Lot" at a baseball game and won free car wash coupons. Little Red is all shiny and pretty again. The guys with the soap mops were impressed with the amount of dirt that could accumulate on a well-loved pick-up truck. I almost didn't recognize it now that it's clean. Good thing it's overcast today, because I would have needed sunglasses to look at it otherwise.

Just before the soap-mop guys started laughing at the quantity of dirt on my truck.

Second of all, Lulu went to a Girl Scout program about money management. My proudest moment was when she already knew how to balance a check book, and could explain how credit cards work. She won prizes for her superior financial knowledge. Huzzah!

So while she was learning about the importance of saving and budgeting, I was over at Office Depot doing the opposite. I finally replaced my wonky computer mouse. I feel like I've taken a technological leap backwards, because I've had cordless mice for eons, but I didn't want to pay $20 more for the identical mouse without a cord. So now I'm tethered again. We'll see if it would have been worth the extra money after I knock this one to the floor a few times and trip over the cord, potentially breaking my neck. Or possibly the laptop. Maybe I didn't think this through...

Finally, we made it to Starbucks at Lulu's request. The only kind of coffee she likes is the pumpkin spice latte, or as she now calls it, Ermehgerd, Permpkern Sperce Lerte! For the first time, I tried the salted caramel. I have heard people raving about salted caramel for months now, but I've been hesitant to try it. Now all I have to ask is, WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME? Salted caramel is officially my new favorite thing.

While we enjoyed our beverages, we perused all the pretty new cell phones. Our contract is up soon, and Lulu and I are already debating what kind we should get. Helper Monkey will use whatever phone we get him, so he leaves it up to us to make the decision. At least we have a few months to hash out our philosophical technological differences before we have to commit.

Also, still making progress on the revision/rewrite/WIP. Friday Night Write Club has helped this week. If you're on the tweeties, follow @FriNightWrites and the hash tag #WriteClub for support, encouragement, and camaraderie. Go on, I'll wait while you click over and follow them.

Without further ado, here's the Progress-o-Meter:

Words: 55,503
Pages: 173
Edit Page: 128 (Chapter 11!!!)

And now, I'm debating watching Iron Man 2 or going back to work. Ah, heck, it's Saturday. I'm going to have some fun. Work it is! :D

Gratuitous Fun from the Maryland Renaissance Festival

We had a blast today in 1514. We saw Macbeth performed in 19 minutes (with an under 20 minute guarantee), hysterical performers dueling with swords, and an elephant! I never did get that glass of mead, but they make it at the winery near my house, so it's not like I'm never going to get any ever again. They had every type of food you can imagine served on a stick. Except soup, but that was served in an edible bowl made from bread. Cheesecake on a stick! Omnomnomnom!

So here's a little peek at our day. Enjoy!

Henry the VIII and Catherine of Aragon. Lovely.

I covet this hat. This is Helper Monkey's arms. He was a very helpful monkey today.

See, this hat is perfect for me.

This is a t-shirt that I was going to buy for Helper Monkey. He must have this. I was out of cash by that point, and I wasn't about to wait in a 50-person-deep line to use the ATM. If anyone knows where I can buy this shirt, I will love you forever. Thank you!

Lulu perusing the selection of Dragon Snot. Seriously, that's what the sign says. Note her fez, because fezzes are cool.

Speaking of cool, I wore my TARDIS t-shirt, and had about a thousand compliments. I've never gotten more than one or two remarks in a day on it anywhere else. This proves once and for all that I am truly a geek, and at home amongst the nerdiest people. I'm pleased. We're a nice bunch, if a little odd.

The main event is the jousting. For those who didn't know, jousting is Maryland's official state sport. Weird, huh.

The main culinary event. Best. Food. Ever. So not kidding.

So there you have it, the highlights of our day. :) Hope y'all had a nice weekend, too!

Research + Family Field Trip = Psycho Squirrels FTW

The Helper Monkey was offered a week's vacation from work. He jumped at the chance to chill for a week at home, and decided we needed to play a little home-town tourist. I also needed to do a final bit of research for the novel I just finished editing (again), and wanted to make sure my memories of a few DC locales was accurate. It wouldn't do to screw up references to the National Archives or the National Gallery of Art! So we took the Metro downtown yesterday and had a Grand Outing.

For the most part we had gorgeous weather. Needless to say, we're sore from walking. Here's our itinerary (and a good excuse to use a lot of pictures):

Metro to Union Station.

Walk across the Capitol Grounds, check out the Grotto (and get a drink at the water fountain).

Dodge the Crazy Ranting Guy on First Street by detouring a block out of our way.

Hike to the National Museum of the American Indian. It was our first visit there, despite having walked past it a dozen or more times. Helper Monkey had been wanting to go since it opened. His Great Grandmother (about whom we know almost nothing) was a full-blooded Cherokee, and he's part Mohawk on his father's side. It was a wonderful experience for him to share that part of her heritage with Lulu.

In the gift shop, we found these adorable little skeletons. We had a lot of fun in gift shops.

 We ate lunch in the Mitsitam Cafe at the American Indian museum. May I say, FABULOUS FOOD! We had buffalo chili. Yum.

After lunch, we decided to take care of my business, and head over to the National Archives. We took a last minute detour through the National Gallery to look at the DaVinci and some of the Dutch Masters. I particularly liked this tiny detail in one of the paintings:

In case you can't tell from the picture, it's the inside of a building (a church?) and depicts a gray dog raising its hind leg against a pillar. Those crazy Dutch Masters!

We crossed the street to the Archives, but weren't allowed in. They were experiencing a power outage, of all things! After seeing National Treasure, I suspected someone was actually trying to steal the Declaration of Independence. My conspiracy theories and I had some time to kill, so we went over to the Sculpture Garden to make sure I didn't mess up any of the details in my book. And no, I got everything right.

For anyone who has read Running Down The Dragon, these pictures are for you:

The Gate where Thalia parks at the end is on the left behind the silver cars. The building on the right is the Archives.

headless zombie statues. Imagine what they'd look like in the dark, illuminated only by police car lights.

The Fountain.

Me, with the Rabbit version of the Thinker.

By the time we got back to the Archives, they were letting folks in again. Out of all the metal detectors and security guards we had to walk through yesterday, the hardest to get through was at the Archives. And the guards weren't very polite. Just saying. Unfortunately, they don't allow photography inside, but it was just about the most interesting exhibit we saw. Absolutely fascinating.

After the Archives, Lulu expressed an interest in visiting the American History museum (she loves the Star Spangled Banner and Abe Lincoln's hat). While on the way there, we walked past the Natural History museum, and detoured inside because Helper Monkey hadn't been there since the animal halls were updated. I had him take a picture of me with the Okapi. It's a strange yet adorable animal. It's the closest living relative of the giraffe. I call it Sexy Pants.

Me and Sexy Pants

We also got to touch a piece of Mars!

We resisted imitating the Curiosity Rover and shooting this rock with lasers. Pew Pew!

After the animals (and a visit to the Hope Diamond), we finally arrived at the Star Spangled Banner. We saw Lincoln's hat. Unfortunately, the Ruby Slippers were not in their usual display hall, which was being renovated. We saw a lot of other interesting things. And then headed outside for the long walk down to the Vietnam Memorial. It was warm and sunny all morning. Not a cloud in the sky. Of course, the moment we stepped outside for the outdoor portion of our day, it began POURING RAIN. We huddled under a tree. It proved to be an ineffective canopy.

The rain let up, so we walked past the Washington Monument, at which point it began pouring again. By the time we arrived at the WWII memorial, we were soaked. We kept going, and passed this bizarre sight: A squirrel wrestling with a tree branch.

The squirrel was also being watched by a duck. Duck just stood there staring, until he saw us watching him, at which point he HEADED STRAIGHT FOR US! Gah! We ran for it. I don't want to mess with crazy ducks. Crazy squirrels, sure, but ducks? No thank you.

Then we had a long walk back to the Farragut West metro station. We would have had an easier trip home if we could have managed the additional couple of blocks to the Farragut North station, but we were about to drop dead by that point.

If you managed to get all the way through this post, you'll realize that there wasn't much to the whole day. It was a lot of fun, with a couple hours of research thrown in. The moral of the story is that I get to write off the whole trip as a business expense, because I took some photos, confirmed some plot lines as being plausible, and made sure the climactic scenes of the story worked as I wrote them. It was absolutely necessary for me to check, and the only way to get information about the inside of the National Archives is to actually go there.

I also got a few ideas for an upcoming contest related to RDTD. Oh, and a great idea for a logo that I should have designed a long time ago for the characters who work for the shifter division of the U.S. Government. Wheee!

So, have any of you managed to get a fun day out with the family and accomplish this much research all at the same time?

What I have to look forward to

I've been thinking about a brief twitter exchange I participated in last night. There are some fantastic teen writers on twitter, and I'm grateful for all the useful information they have shared with us during such events as the now-weekly YA writers Ask A Teen sessions. (Look for the #YAWritersAAT hashtag for more info).

Not only am I tossing an idea around for a YA novel, but my own YA is officially going to be a teenager in less than a year. I've been following along with whatever these lovely teen writers have to tell us. I know it will all be useful to me very soon, in a very personal way.

Back to the tweets from last night. @MeganWhitmer asked when the Mean Girls stuff started in school. I reassured her that it wasn't in Kindergarten, but @ABoredAuthor chimed in with his own experience. 7th Grade, he assured us, was when he noticed the beginnings of the cliquish, snarky meanness amongst his female classmates.

I was floored.

Lulu starts 7th grade in little more than a week. I was never concerned about her not fitting in before. She has a, let's call it unique, sense of style. She has her own ideas when it comes to colors matching, patterns clashing, and what constitutes an outfit that works together. If we're going somewhere with a definite dress code, I'll make her change. Otherwise, I don't want to limit her fashion sense. What's the point? I'd rather she was happy and felt like she could make her own choices than force her to wear what I think she should wear.

One of Lulu's more eclectic fashion choices. She didn't leave the house like this, at least.

I worried about how the "in girls" would react to her clothes. She doesn't dress like any of them, and this is the age where girls tend to get judgy about what all the other girls are wearing, how they style their hair, do their makeup, and everything else.

I should not have worried.

I asked Lulu about this. She just didn't care. Her attitude is that she makes friends for who they are, not for what they wear. If someone doesn't want to be her friend because she wore purple argyle socks, that's their loss. And you know what? If it doesn't bother her, I'm not going to let it bother me.

I think I know where she gets it. I routinely get mistaken for Mary Poppins. Today at the grocery store, someone thought I was going to audition for Alice in Wonderland. Okay. At least they noticed I made an effort to look nice in public. Lulu has seen me reply to these kinds of comments for years. I think she realizes that dressing differently might garner some attention, and not all of that attention is negative. She knows that I will keep dressing however I want to, and I don't even let the negative comments get me down or change my behavior. If it makes me happy to look like Mary Poppins, then that's good enough reason to keep doing it.

Mean girls will always exist. I'm just grateful my daughter doesn't want to be one of them. At least, not yet. We'll see how things go once she goes back to school.

Gratuitous Vacation Pictures

I had to do it. Here is a post filled with my favorite pictures from our trip to Savannah. Just so you know, traveling on a bus for ten hours with a bunch of teenaged girls isn't as bad as it sounds. Especially when they are the awesome girls of my Girl Scout service unit. :)

The girls participated in a Muster at Fort Jackson, and learned how to fire a cannon. The picture is blurry because the cannon made a HUGE BOOM

These turtle statues populated Tybee Island.

Here's Lulu with the turtle at the Tybee Island Marine Science Center. She lost those glasses in the surf just a few hours later. :(

Creepy Statue on our Ghost Walk. Supposedly, you can't photograph it without difficulty unless you're a Methodist. Maybe Mr. Wesley doesn't mind lapsed Buddhists taking his picture either?

The whole reason we went to Savannah in the first place, a visit to Juliette Low's Birthplace.

Lulu learning about Victorian era clothing, and how difficult it is to sit when you're wearing a bustle.

Dolphin Magic! They chased our boat for several miles up the Savannah River. It was amazing.

Writerly note: This is Flannery O'Connor's Birthplace. :) It wasn't hard to find...

My Birthday Girl. Lulu's 12th birthday just happened to be the day we went to the Juliette Low house, and to Lady and Sons for dinner. (Not to mention the Ghost Walk after dinner!) The ENTIRE RESTAURANT sang Happy Birthday!

So thank you to the lovely people of Savannah. You might do everything a little slow for us Yankees, and you seem to fry everything in butter, but your city is gorgeous. We had a wonderful time, and are planning a return visit for a family vacation. Not on a bus.

A little CONTEST! With Prizes! Travel-related amnesia.

Today is my last day at home until Sunday night. At least this time I'll be staying at a proper hotel, with a real bed, an en suite bathroom, and air conditioning. The air conditioning is a huge plus, since the hotel is in Savannah, Georgia. In July. I can feel the melting coming on already.

I originally thought to bring my typical wardrobe of Goth-Meets-Southern-Belle-Commando, but after seeing the extent of our walking tours (basically 9 am to 9 pm every day, all around town), I've reduced myself to Tourist Clothing, including the loud, inappropriate socks. It's just too hot to be parading around town in petticoats, even knee-length varieties. I did get a new pair of sneakers, so at least my feet will be happy. Happier than they would have been in my Disney World-tested Fluevog heels. I swear, I wore these for a week, and never felt pain. At DISNEY WORLD, PEOPLE! But I'm not sure how well-paved Savannah is, and the Vogs just don't perform in off-road environments. So, new Chucks, it is.

Fluevogs of Happiness, pretty much the most comfortable shoes ever. I have them in pink, too.

Old Chucks, done in by working at baseball games, and New Chucks, so bright and shiny they practically glow.

Screw it. I'm bringing the Vogs, too.

The other nice thing about this trip compared to our usual Girl Scout trips, we're taking chartered buses, which sounds horrible at first, but then I realized I wouldn't have to drive, or haul all our luggage in my truck like I do when we camp. I can bring a proper suitcase, and I don't have to pack a tent or a sleeping bag, or any other camp stuff! I have SPACE IN MY LUGGAGE FOR ALL THE THINGS!

Ooh, another nice thing. Savannah is a city. Cities have cell phone service! Our hotel has free WiFi! I won't be cut off from the beautiful internets! In fact, after 12 hours hiking around town in the sweltering heat with 85 other people, I'll be grateful to escape into the internets for a little while.

I'm taking my computer with me. Even after bringing it to camp and then never even opening it up (not even once!), I've deluded myself into thinking I might actually get some editing done while I'm there. I'm a night owl, and I don't sleep much. I have to have something to do between 11 pm (lights out, noises off), and 2 am when I normally start to get sleepy. We'll see how that goes. Probably better than camp did. At least with WiFi, I'll have the internet to keep me company if I can't get to the editing...

The only problem I'm having is that Friday is Lulu's real birthday. We celebrated her fake birthday today, so we wouldn't deprive the Helper Monkey of cake. Friday I need to find a bakery in Savannah where I can get a cake to feed about 30 people. It's only fair she gets to have cake on her actual birthday, too! If anyone knows a good bakery in Savannah, let me know. Otherwise, I'll probably ask for directions to the nearest grocery store and buy cupcakes. :)

Now I have to get packing. There's only 13 1/2 hours left before I have to wake up. I hate that. Remember, I'm a night owl. I am definitely not a morning person. I don't think I'll like 4:30 am as an alarm clock setting.

There we go. I think that's everything for this post. My head contains a whirling tornado of to-do lists and anxiety. I'm finally coming to terms with my basic problem with travel: I always forget one thing. It might be small and easy to replace (toothbrush), or strange (I once forgot to pack a single pair of underwear for the Helper Monkey. I blame him for not setting them out with his clothes). Nevertheless, I usually forget something. It used to cause panic, but I've started seeing the fun in discovering what vital thing I left at home.

Let's play a game! Everyone take a guess. What will be the one thing I absolutely need on this trip that I will leave at home? Put your answer down in the comment section (U.S. and Canada only), and I'll buy the lucky winner a souvenir from Savannah.

For Bonus Points, why don't you also vote on what the souvenir should be? Hint, it should be something small, easily shipped, and rather generic. Suggesting I buy a shot glass or a snow globe is on the right track. Suggesting I buy a life-sized stuffed tiger wearing a pink t-shirt from Fort Jackson is a little over the top, no?

Just to be fair, I won't read these comments until AFTER I leave for Savannah, and therefore won't be able to dash around stuffing numerous forgotten items into my suitcase, obviating the need for this contest in the first place! :) I'll hold the drawing Sunday night when I get home, so you have until then to enter.

GOOD LUCK TO US ALL!

Brain, 1; Forgetting the name of that song, 0

A few weeks ago, the Helper Monkey was watching something on tv. I was happily sitting in my comfy chair writing, or editing, or reading. Whatever. What I was doing doesn't really matter. The point is, I heard a song I recognized. It was a bit of classical music that I knew I'd played at some point in my life, and for the life of me I couldn't remember what it was called. I blanked.

I SHOULD have known what it was. I mean, I could PLAY it for you, but I couldn't NAME it. At least I was sure it was composed by Bach. The arrangement used in the background of the tv show was a string quintet (two violins, viola, cello, and guitar). I was pretty damn sure I did not play that particular arrangement (since I've never played with a classical guitarist), but other than that, I could not place the music.

I put my computer down, stomped over to the sofa, and hit the record button on the remote. Now at least I'd be able to listen to the song on constant repeat until I remembered what it was.

Fast forward a few weeks. Between summer camps, editing, and catching up on everything else, I'd completely forgotten about the song. Last night I was clearing off the TiVo (read: watching a lot of tv). At the bottom of the list of recorded shows was the show with That Song. I watched it again. I listed REALLY CAREFULLY. And then I dove head-first into google searches.

Long story short: I FOUND THE DAMNED SONG!

And I'm humiliated to admit the title now. It's only one of Bach's most famous snippets of music. And I played it when I was in high school. The Third Brandenburg Concerto's final movement.




Victory is MINE!

In other news:  Lulu comes home from Girls Rock camp today. I'm leaving for the airport in just a bit. I can't wait to see her! We've only got two full days at home before we're off again, but I'll be glad enough for two days of normality before we go.

You'd think I'd be glad to have a quiet house for a week, but no. Every year when she goes, I fall under the delusion that I'll get so much done while she's away. I'll clean out the closets in the guest room! I'll reorganize the garage! I'll write fifty thousand words in a week! I WILL DO ALL THE THINGS!

What do I get done every year? A lot of moping. To be fair, I worked at five baseball games this week, so that took up a lot of my free time. Then I got sick. Then it was Helper Monkey's day off, and we had a nice morning out together. Then I spent most of last night on the insane musical quest, and watching lots of tv. At least the TiVo's empty now. One thing accomplished.

 And now, TO THE AIRPORT! Wheeee!

Parental Nerves Run Amok, or Sunday Afternoon

The house is very quiet tonight. And dark. The little person who normally runs around leaving lights and TVs on in every room is away this week. I loaded her on an airplane all by herself yesterday afternoon and sent her off to my sister's house for a week. It was a tiny airplane. She loved it.

Tiny plane.

We almost didn't make it to the airport. I'd spent the last week thinking her flight was at 2:35. Yesterday morning around 9 am, I printed out her boarding pass. I'm glad I decided to do it when I did, instead of waiting for the last possible minute to take care of it. Her flight was at 12:22.

I spent the next 15 minutes panicking. Luckily I made her pack the night before, and she only had to throw a few last minute items into her backpack. We both got dressed (I think the TSA would have frowned on us arriving in our pajamas), and bolted for the airport.

The last half a dozen or so times I've flown, I've used National Airport. This was the first time I've had to use Dulles since they installed the underground trains between terminals. First, I want to say how much I miss the old jetway busses that raised and lowered to the height of the plane. They were repurposed as shuttles between the main terminal and the newer terminals, but now they've been almost entirely replaced by the new train. Which is probably the least efficient airport transport system I've ever seen. Ever.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with the train itself, but the security lines that bottlenecked us twice before we could join the labyrinth of escalators and hallways beyond the screening point leaves a lot to be desired. There are about a dozen different lines you're randomly assigned to, and then the lines are randomly shut down  from time to time.

Once you finally make it through the boarding pass/ID confirmation point, you're shuffled into one of half a dozen other randomly moving lines to go through screening. Luckily, the kid didn't have to go through the backscatter machine, so neither did I. Those things creep me out.

There were so many escalators beyond this point that they could speed them all up and call it an amusement park. I haven't been up and down that much since I rode the Tower of Terror at Disney last summer. I considered going back and taking a picture of each one, but I try not to act suspicious at airports.

I tried to take this picture in the least suspicious manner possible.

Just so you know I have nothing against the trains, I rode in the front car on my return journey to the main terminal. Nice view.

After the kid was safely airborne, I had to get to work at the Keys game. It was so difficult to work when the kid was sending me messages on my phone, and I'm not technically allowed to have my phone while I'm working. So sue me. I cheated yesterday.

She's having a great time at Girls Rock Camp this week. Her band formed today. They assign girls to bands based on their musical tastes and preferences, so hopefully she'll have a great experience. In case I haven't mentioned it before, she's the drummer.

They did team building activities today, including writing an advertizing jingle for Orange Aliens. She promised to write the lyrics down for me, and assured me it's hilarious. I'll keep you updated as they write their actual song this week. They get to perform in a real concert on Saturday. Fingers crossed for her.

Now that all that's out of the way, I used the unusual quietude around her today to finish the edits from the Magnificent Crit Partner of Magnificence. I can't think of anything else I want to change. Now I'm trying to convince myself that Running Down the Dragon is ready to meet the world. I'd hate to send it out in public only to find out its skirt was tucked into the back of its pantyhose or something.

I think I'll wait until the thought of showing it to agents and editors no longer causes respiratory failure. Yeah. That might happen. Or maybe I'll just wait one more day.

My New Favorite Character Shopping Mall

As a writer, I pick up interesting details about people see in daily life and later find them showing up in characters I make up. It's probably a common problem with writers.I don't really see it as a problem. It's more of an interesting quirk I've noticed about myself when I create a new character. I pull details from nowhere, and later on during edits I'll realize those details actually came from somewhere specific in real life.

I finally had a conscious moment of character shopping the other day. It was the first time I ever thought about characters while I was just sitting there observing people. Then again, I didn't really have much else to do at the moment.

Lulu is flying by herself in a little more than a week, and I wanted to make sure she had a proper ID card. This is the first time she'll be going through airport security without me. Even though United swears up and down she doesn't need an ID card since she's still under sixteen, it would suck rabid donkeys if they didn't allow her to fly because of it. With my luck, she'd be stuck in an airport somewhere with no way to get home.

I took her to the MVA (for those of you who don't live in Maryland, that translates to the DMV) and we waited. And waited. In the middle of all that waiting, I started noticing the interesting folks around me. I came to a startling conclusion.

When people go to get their driver's license, they do everything in their power to ensure the picture does not suck.

Despite the fact that the little picture on a license doesn't show more than the collar of the shirt you wear, I saw people dressed to the nines from head to foot. Not only did a lot of people dress nicely, they seemed to distill the essence of their personality and sense of style into a single outfit. And don't misunderstand. Not everyone looked like they were dressed to go to a wedding. For some people, dressing to the nines means something very different.

There was tattooed-arm-lady, who wore a revealing set of layered tank tops to show off her artwork to best effect. Her matching purple and black hair was coiffed to perfection. There was the guy who looked like he worked for a Colombian drug cartel back in the 80's, with his shiny alligator boots, silver belt buckle and matching necklace, and slicked-back hair. There was a teenaged girl who clearly was getting her first license ever. I think her mom took her to the hair salon before coming by for the picture.

Granted, not everyone put that much care into how they'd look on a piece of plastic they have to carry with them for the next five years. There was also the small group of folks who barely managed to dress themselves at all. There was one older gentleman who looked like he interrupted his busy day repairing a tractor to pop over and renew his license. Not everyone gives a damn. And you know what? They're great characters, too.

I had to restrain myself from taking pictures of a lot of these folks. I think the state government would frown on me loitering in one of their waiting rooms taking covert photos. Yeah. That could have consequences...

This rambling story does have a moral. Next time I'm having trouble inventing people for my stories, I'm going to pack a lunchbox and head over to the MVA.

Third Post of the Day (I know, but this is worth it)

Okay, okay. Y'all are sick to death of me. But this is a riot. Well, this first part isn't that funny. Just delicious. Our raspberry bushes are finally fruiting! YAY! Now, on to the funny.

We went bowling today, and you must see Lulu's divine technique.

For a kid with dry spaghetti for arms, she makes it work.

At the end I show the scoreboard. She's Lulu, Helper Monkey is "Monky" because they only let you have five characters in your name, and I'm "Miten". Lulu spent the entire game calling me Might-en, and her father Mawn-key. Gotta love it.

The scoring table we were at was directly under the A/C vent, so it was the perfect way to prevent melting today. I hope everyone else out there is having a cool evening (in every sense of the word).

The Long and Winding Road, or how my 11-year-old knows more Beatles songs than I do

The Helper Monkey found this cool graphic online this morning.

by Viktor Hurtz

And yes, it's worth blowing up to gigantic proportions like this. Each image is the title of a Beatles song. How many can you guess?

Well, today I learned that my kid can guess more of them than I can. She's 11. Which makes me proud, and a little sad. I stink with names/titles/etc. I can sing the tune that goes with most of the images, but getting the title right escapes me sometimes. But I knew Lulu would be a champ at this. She's in her room right now, in fact, listening to the Beatles. They're her favorite band of all time. Well, them and U2. I will accept your congratulations on this fact right now. No Justin Bieber in this house! :)

After five minutes on research into this image, though, I discovered the artist is running a Funded by Me campaign to get his posters printed. If you have $30 to spare and a love of good music, please check them out. They are amazing! He has different bands to pick from, everything from Elvis to Iggy Pop. He's only raised $610 of his $3500 goal, so go check it out. If I didn't already blow this month's budget by fixing Helper Monkey's Jeep, and blow next month's budget shopping for a new TV, I'd sign up for one of these in a hot second. (also, Lulu's birthday is next month, so for friends and family scratching their heads, this might be a great gift idea, wink wink nudge nudge. Oh, she also wants a Fez, because "Fezzes are cool," according to Doctor Who.)

Sunburned Feet and the Insidious Blisters (my next band name)

I've had a full day to recover from Girl Scouts Rock the Mall, and all I have left are blisters. The sunburn on the tops of my feet (I changed into flip flops when my shoes started hurting, but forgot to sunscreen my feet) is fading. The bruises on my right hand from repeatedly putting on and taking off a heavy backpack are fading. Just the blisters remain. Unfortunately they are on the BOTTOMS of my feet, right up by my toes. How does this even happen? My feet are so callused I can use them as a pin cushion, but I still manage to get blisters?

Firemen hosing us off to keep us cool. They kept this up for hours. Note: Lincoln Memorial and WWII memorial in background. I love this city.

A closer-in shot:

And me, post-drenching:

And a small (incredibly tiny) part of the crowd:

Frankly, the best part of the whole event was running under the fire hoses. There were two guys at the top of the bucket truck all afternoon, and they delighted in soaking us with a misting hose, and then surprising us with a blast from the cold fire hose set to full blast. Well, probably not full blast, but you know, really strong compared to the misting. I tried to get a shot of their faces, but I couldn't get close enough without soaking my camera, so I wanted to make sure everyone knew I don't think they stopped grinning all afternoon. Thanks, DCFD!

We're also officially part of a Guinness World Record, for largest sing-along. We had over 250,000 people all singing at once. It's probably the only thing I could have managed to do to get into the Guinness Book, since I can't fit a berjillion straws in my mouth, or shoot milk out my eye for distance, or anything else cool like that. Which is probably a good thing.

Anyhoo, I've been hobbling around the house for the last two days, avoiding touching my feet at all for fear they'll explode like two little bombs. That's how they feel, anyway. But things are looking up. I have to put shoes on in a few minutes to drive Lulu to a friend's house for a sleepover. This is both good, and bad, and good again.

Good, because she's going to be away so I'll have a lot of time to write tonight. Bad because putting on shoes sounds like torture. And good, because I promised to take her and her friend out for ice cream. Mainly so I'd have a good enough reason to put shoes on. Ice cream is good enough today.

So, out to ice cream, and de-kid-ification, and then back home to write! Whoo hoo!

I hope it's a good writing night.

Last and First (and 100th)

It's the last day of school here, and the first day of summer. The last day of 6th grade for my daughter, the first day of being a 7th grader. I feel so old. I can't believe the tiny little bundle that once made me cry because she wouldn't stop crying long enough for me to eat dinner is half way through her standard education. Yikes!

With that note of nostalgia, on with the updates.

Last night we went bowling for Family Night. We haven't been tenpin bowling in years. For those who are unfamiliar with the bowling habits of the Mid-Atlantic Region, we have something called "Duck Pin Bowling" here, which is a lot more fun, in my opinion, than regular old bowling. Duckpins are shorter, fatter, and bouncier than tenpins, and the ball is the size of a large grapefruit. You also get three balls per frame, and a strike is exceedingly rare. It's a game of spares. A fantastic duckpin average, like for the top players in the country, is in the neighborhood of 145. So I don't feel as bad that I can't break 100 as I do when I bowl tenpins. In fact, no one has ever, in history, bowled a perfect game of duckpins.

I also think that Wii Bowling has completely ruined my form. But that's another matter entirely. Excuses, excuses. (My fingernail broke! I'm tired from donating blood still! My shoes are too slippery! Whaaa!) I was so bad, the kid nearly beat me, and she doesn't weigh much more than the ball.

Anyway, on the way home last night, we drove through some strange weather. A narrow line of horrible storms passed overhead, and quickly rinsed the whole world down in our path. We chased the clouds most of the way home, and were treated to some lovely views of the brightest rainbow I've seen in a long time.

Tomorrow is a big day for us. We're going down to the National Mall to celebrate Girl Scouts Rock the Mall, along with about 200,000 other people from around the world. It's the 100th anniversary of Girl Scouting this year, and the Guinness Book of Records people are going to be there. We're going to try to set a record for the most number of people participating in a sing-along. It should be fun.

This is also my first trip into the city in a couple of months. Last time, I wanted to go into the National Archives, but we ran out of time. I don't care what happens this time, darn it, I'm going in there. Sure, it's awesome to see the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, but part of the novel I'm querying right now takes place inside the building, and I'm eager to double-check that my memory of the place isn't faulty. It's been a couple of years since I was inside, and I just hope I wrote everything accurately. I'm pretty sure I did, but it's still something that's been bugging me. It will be a relief to just walk through the parts of the building I wrote about.

I have one more day of alarm clocks, and then I'm free for four whole weeks before I have to set another alarm. I'm very pleased about this. I am NOT a morning person. In fact, most of my writing is done late at night, and I'm really looking forward to getting a lot more done on my WIP once I don't have to wake up early every morning.

 So I suppose that's all for now. I've been so busy with the boring necessities of life for the last few days that I haven't been writing. This is probably starting to sound old. More excuses.

I think part of my problem stems from the fact that I'm now working on the third novel in a series. I'm querying the first, but the Helper Monkey thinks the second book is actually better than the first. Still, writing something than may never see the light of day is a little disheartening.  Granted, I've only sent out a few queries in the last couple of months, what with revisions, contest entries, and other things making me hold off on querying. Now so many agents are closing to submissions for the summer, I feel like I should just keep writing now, and then go back and maybe edit the whole series again when I'm done.

More circular work lies ahead.

So for now, I'll just keep writing. I don't know how to do anything else. Even if it never gets published, it's still what keeps me going. And it still makes me happy. In the end, that's what I started writing for in the first place. I never intended it to do anything else. I never wrote a single word for another person. Every last keystroke has been for my own sake, not for anyone else. If anyone decides it's worthy of publication, more power to it. Until then, I'll keep my sanity and just keep writing.

Blood and other necessasry things

Every 112 days, I'm eligible to donate blood. I'm tall enough, heavy enough, and A-negative enough to qualify to donate Double Red cells. This is not a regular blood donation. It's the super robot high tech blood donation. And it makes me LOOPY. I apologize in advance if this blog entry is less-than-sane.

They hook me up to an apheresis machine, which sucks out a regular unit of blood, spins out all the red blood cells, mixes the leftover bits (plasma, white cells, etc.) with some bizarro chemical, and then shoots the liquidy bits back into me. Then it repeats the entire process (draw out a unit of blood, spin, mix, return the dregs). It takes about an hour, makes my lips and nose tingle (that bizarro chemical's reaction), drops the body temperature (it's COLD in the Red Cross, and having two pints of 60-degree plasma shot into you in under an hour is chilling), and makes me woozy for a few days.

I hate feeling short of breath from climbing a single flight of stairs. I'm not fond of the lethargy. But then again, the person or people who benefit from my blood probably aren't fond of being in a hospital fighting for their lives. I figure my day or two of wooziness is a fair trade for someone's life. Especially knowing that my blood is usually used for premature babies and infants with chronic illnesses. Definitely worth the wooziness. And I got free cookies!

So if you aren't a regular blood donor, please think about going out this week to give a pint. It takes less than an hour, and you'll get free cookies. Oh, and you might save someone's life.

Only 5% of the eligible population actually donates regularly, and the donor center I went to today was deserted. It kind of makes me nervous to think if my life were on the line, there might not be any blood for me. My blood type is rare enough that I do worry about it once in a while... So if you're one of the rarer blood types, especially, please think about making donation a regular part of your life.

Plus, doesn't this look awesome? (squeamish people, please hit "page down" a couple of times right now)

Going Out

Coming back

Thanks for listening, or reading. Whatever. Loopy, remember?
END PSA.

So I finally managed to buy a ton of food that pleases both the Helper Monkey and Lulu. I was all set to put a roast in the crock pot this morning before going off to get loopy. But apparently I started out pre-loopified this morning, and I totally forgot. So, tomorrow we have the roast. Last night we had salmon steaks, corn on the cob, and taters. Starch city, but it was good.

Tonight, I was absolutely too whacked to cook, so we had pizza. The loopy continued, with Mr. Happy Sriracha Sauce Pizza Face Man.

Doesn't he look happy? He did, until I ate his face. Tasty!

Okay, where was I? Right. I've been Writing Actual New Words! Hooray! I hope they're not as kooky as I feel, but they actually exist, which is more than I can say about most of the week's writing progress.

Helper Monkey now has a new alert function: The Warning Siren of Distraction. Next time someone offers me a lovely gift that will clearly become an obsession, he's supposed to slap me on the back of the head like Gibbs on NCIS. Hopefully this tactic will work.

I'm not sure if it's a function of the bipolar disorder, or if I'm just a smidge OCD as well, but when I'm presented with a project that has a definite structure (such as a scarf to crochet, or a book to read), I tend to drop EVERYTHING ELSE, nearly to the point of forgetting to eat and sleep, until said project is complete. It's a Bad Thing. It's probably the Worst Thing, in fact. Anything that keeps me from writing regularly causes a backlog of the kinds of obsessive mental problems writing helps me deal with every day.

As much fun as it was to do something different for a few days, I'm suffering all around for not writing. But now I'm back at it. And oddly, I have a new idea for a new book, completely unrelated to the series I'm working on right now. We'll have to see if it goes anywhere, and I really have to get the first draft of the WIP done before I start anything new. Otherwise, I'll be stuck in a much larger version of the cycle of distraction I was trapped in for most of the week. Finish one project, then start the next. It's the only way I can work.

I'm completely envious of people who can work on two separate novels at the same time, but I just can't handle it.

Does anyone out there currently have two Works in Progress? I'd love to know how you juggle them both, or if you have a schedule for writing two works at a time. How do you balance it? How do you keep everything straight in your head? Just wondering. If you have a good strategy for managing it all, I'd be willing to give it a try... *frantic scanning of the room, waiting for the Gibbs Head Slap*

So that's it. Back to work! And it's now far enough out from the blood donation that I'm allowed A Happy-Ass Drink.

Progress-O-Meter:

Words: 52,458
Pages: 174