The Things Children Say

On the way to dropping our 7 year-old daughter off at a friend's birthday party, held at a dance studio, I went through some safety precautions. "Stay in the studio after the party until we get there. Don't go outside. Be safe. Etc. Etc." Somehow we got on the subject of noticing your surroundings if you are ever lost or someone takes you. "Make sure you look around. If there is a McDonald's on the corner or a library down the street. See what's around you."
"So noticing a trash can probably won't work?" she asked.
"Um, probably not," I said.

Once In Awhile You Get a Break

Several months ago, we realized our 16 year-old cat, Tigger, was losing weight. He wasn't eating and he was becoming a skeleton. The doctor told us we could either try some anti-inflammatory medicine to see if it changed or do a quick exploratory surgery. I've had Tigger since he was born in 1996 and ever since then (almost every night) he has slept on my arm at night. He is the one that seeks me out when I come home. He is like my little buddy. I was pretty upset.

Now you may say, "What do you expect at 16 years-old?" But when it comes to a loved one, human or animal, it always, always hurts. And you grasp at straws so to speak.

We decided to do the exploratory surgery which wasn't as bad as it sounds. We never did it with our other cat, Ghost, and it turned out to be a mistake because we never knew what was wrong with him when we died. I am glad we did this with Tigger. The doctor found that the connective vessels connecting some of his vital organs are damaged. He doesn't know if it is cancer or what because he can't do a biopsy or mess with them since they are so delicate and small, like the size of a strand of hair. He said it would probably be only a few weeks to a few months he would live.

But! And there is good information here if you are a pet owner. He put Tigger on an anti-inflammatory (Prednisolone), hopefully, to take down the inflammation of the connective vessels. He put him on an appetite stimulant which is actually a human anti-depressant to increase his appetite (Mirtazapine) and we gave him NutriCal, a vitamin supplement for pets from Pet Smart which has had a lot of good reviews. He also has dry food at all times and three times a day we fed him a little (or as much as he would eat) Prescription Diet CD wet food to try and get some food in him any way we could. Guess what? Since the operation several months ago, he has gained 2 pounds and looks normal. Mind you, who knows what is going to happen with the damaged connective tissue. But at least! At least! He has quality of life and is back to his old self. I am telling you about all of these (somewhat boring) medications because again, as in other posts, it is good to know if you have a pet.

I am very happy! I have more time regardless of what happens. And after all the death around us lately, it is a blessing no matter how you look at it. Daisy, our dog, died in November. So I clung to Emmy (our other dog) and gave her extra attention. A month later, Chewie almost died under anesthesia, so I gave him extra attention. Then a few months later, Tigger was going to die so I paid extra attention to him. It has been a roller coaster!! In any case, I am thankful for a brief reprieve and will take what I can get. Thank you God or life, for giving us a little hope.

Changing Generations

by Norman Rockwell depicting Bridges as she goes to school

Last week, my six-year-old daughter said she wanted to be an African-American mermaid. It was a little funny, she just announced it as if it was the most normal thing in the world but I also felt pride that I have taught her well.

You see, I have worked long and hard to shelter my daughter from bigotry. I want her to be part of a better generation where people are just people and although she is aware of what it is, it doesn't really exist in her world. This is how it should be, in a perfect world of course.

Yesterday, she brought home two books from the school library, Black Heroes and Ruby Bridges. Since Black History is in February, I know they have talked about it at school. She was so proud of finding those two books in that little library at her school. We saw a display about Ruby Bridges, Ryan White, and Anne Frank at the Indianapolis Children's Museum this past summer. It is a wonderful museum to take your children.

The bottom line is we should always try to teach our children to be better than we are. It's not easy, believe me. But if we get 80% of it right, I think we are doing pretty well. A large part of this starts at home with what we say and to explain right from wrong, not just to tell them. Last Thursday, I took my daughter to her Hip Hop dance lesson (she loves Lady Gaga and it's hilarious to see little girls dance this way) and these two boys got on the elevator saying F this and F that. Pretty much every other word. They were about eight and ten-years-old. All of the mothers looked at each other. So it starts at home, first. Bottom line.

So my daughter announced yesterday she no longer wants to be an African-American mermaid but a werewolf African-American mermaid. Is that even possible?? I told her she can be anything she wants to be in life, so long as she loves doing it. Every child, whether they are black or white, an American citizen or here illegally, rich or on food stamps should have the hope they can be anything they want to be in life. As adults, we may figure out it's not so easy, but as children, their dreams should be limitless.
  

You Just Never Know

For Christmas, Santa gave my daughter a belly dancing scarf and a belly dancing DVD. Now, you may be wondering, this for a 6 year-old? But my daughter loves to dance and if it encourages her to do something other than to watch Scooby Doo, I'm all for it.

But what she said when the tape was playing is priceless. She was reading the warnings at the beginning of the DVD which are in all exercise videos. "Consult your doctor if you are pregnant or think you are pregnant . . ." My husband said, "You're not pregnant are you?" She said, "Are you crazy! I'm too young to have a bladder."

I remember telling her awhile back in a very vague way a baby doesn't actually grow in the stomach and left it at that. But how she changed it over to the bladder, I'm not sure. Hopefully, this will not last to the 8th grade when they teach it in Health class or she might be in for a big surprise.

Taking Care of Business

I have about five new posts I've been wanting to do but I haven't had the time to write them. If you have young children, you know the drill. They come first.

Just yesterday, I fell asleep in the recliner holding Noah (14 months) while he was sitting in my lap watching The Pajanimals on television. I also had a bowl of cheerios next to him to keep him content for about twenty minutes. I woke up with a bra full of Cheerios. He was dropping them down the front of my shirt. He's a boy alright!

I am going to look up ways to teach him more things today. I have noticed he is still not saying any words. He understands a lot of them (when he wants to) but it is hard to get him to say an actual word. I have a firm belief this has to do with him not going to daycare or not having a time set aside to really get into teaching him words. Also, I know what he wants without him saying anything so he doesn't have to work for it.

My husband brought up the fact in an educational daycare, like the one my daughter went to when I worked, is geared around lesson plans. The babies are exposed to more children/circumstances while stay-at-home mothers (although they do play and teach them) have other things they have to do as well like housework, dinner, etc. Who knows? But it is always good if we as parents help them along. Now if I can just convince my daughter homework is not boring. She's 6. I have a long road ahead of me. (Drawing mermaids and fairies, loves it! Spending thirty minutes on a book report, not so much.)

Writers Are An Eclectic Bunch

Go to any writers conference and you will see a true mix of humanity: from the high brow literary professor or businessman in a suit who has dreams of being the next best selling author; to a young adult male dressed up as Star Trek's Spock, who believes it is a clever gimmick to pitch his science fiction novel to every agent with an introduction of, "Live long and prosper". And of course, he too, has dreams of being the next best selling author.

Words Can Change You



I remember the first writers conference I went to. I didn't have any idea of what to expect. I had on my blue interview suit and pantyhose (which I frickin hate), packed my satchel with a leather binder and gold pen and went off with my little hopes and dreams.  



The conference was broken down into about four sessions where you went to a classroom in the building to learn about writing, marketing, agents, publishers. Topics like how to write your first novel, how to get the attention of an agent, the do's and don't of writing, etc. (I don't remember what they were actually called.)





I barely remember any of it. (I mean, I loved it and I learned a lot but I don't remember exactly what I learned that day.) But if you know me or you have been reading my blog, you know I DO notice the crazy stuff that happens or the strange people which may meander on by.

During one of the breaks, I went to the bookstore in the building and bought one of the book's written by a presenter at the conference. I was now in line for the author's signature. (The funny thing is, I had no idea who this presenter/author was but he was speaking at the conference so I thought, he had to be someone, right? Five years later and I don't think I opened the book, ever. I think it was a book on Vietnam or something.)

So I was in line and I kept hearing this thumpety thump thump behind me. I turn around and look down and this man is thumping his big white florescent tennis shoe against the floor, obviously impatient about the long line. I look up and smile, more of a gesture of please stop rather than a greeting, but I must have gotten the look wrong because it elicited a huge conversation, and to this day, I have no idea what the point of it was. The man behind me held up his self-published book with a black Labrador on the cover and said, "Do you want to buy a book about my dog." I was like oh man and being the nice person I am, I got sucked into a conversation which made no sense.

A few years ago, I went to another writers conference. I finally decided I was going to take a chance, put myself out there, and let an agent see the intro to Finding Hope. The problem is my beginning to Finding Hope was and still is the hardest part to get right. And even a non-writer knows, if the reader isn't interested in the first few pages, it's unlikely to be read. So I geared myself up.

The New York agent, we'll call him Mr. X, which was going to be holding the pitch sessions was someone I had been reading about for the past year in the writers magazines. (A pitch session is where you go in to a room where an agent is sitting usually at a table and you have about fifteen minutes to "pitch" your story. They read a few pages and tell you briefly, what they think.) My husband and I drove through the night so I could be at the conference the next morning. At 2:00 a.m. I was delivering my rehearsed lines of what my story was about to my sleep deprived driving husband.

At the conference the next day, I attended a few sessions about writing (like the other conference) and I went to the agent's room at the scheduled time I was given. I remember sitting outside of the room in a chair ready to hyperventilate. So when it's my turn I go into the room with the agent and I light up like a Christmas tree, I'm so excited. Mr. X was the star of the agent world to me. He was laid back, easy-going, professional, personable, a true book lover. And  . . . I looked like an obsessed fan.

I started rattling off about how great he is and everything I knew about him. (I knew a lot just because I have a great memory when it came to past articles about him.) He said, "You're not a stalker are you?"  Oh crap, I came back to reality, I just screwed up. I redeemed myself by saying something he laughed about but it was not the experience I had planned. (I think a crazed fan possessed my body like Annie Wilkes from the movie Misery, but surely that person who acted that way was not me.) 

He read my first few pages and he said, "You have the concept but it's not ready to be published yet." Somewhat positive, right? It left me paralyzed. Fear of failure, fear of success, or maybe still blown over that I met The God of Agents. (Okay, I have to stop that. I am not a stalker. I am not a stalker. :o)

What is this all for? What is the point? (I think I've lost it somewhere.) Oh yes, if you want to be a writer, go for it. I attend a writers group once a month and the teacher said that everything really is a story about people and we read fiction to find someone to relate to. It is true. We try to understand people and the world when we open a book; whether it is to learn something, feel better, or just to be entertained. It's all about understanding life and somehow, our place in it.

Or, if you don't think you are good enough to be a writer, or have the background I should say, think again. Here is an appropriate quote from one of my stories, The Writers Resort, when the main character (who believes she has it all together) attends the resort with other hopeful writers and tells the owner the residents are not exactly how she thought they would be.

"I just don't think these are the type of people I expected here. I thought real writers were professional and half-way normal. All I see here are people with problems."

"Imagine that, people writing because they have a problem with life," Mary Alice laughed. "Honey, you don't know the first thing about writers. Creativity and crazy go hand-in-hand. Welcome to the club."

So if you truly want to be a writer, I believe, you need a little bit of craziness in you. Because most writers don't exactly understand the world, but they want to. And they want to take you along with them.

After the last writers conference, I learned it takes all kinds of people to be writers. Some are very professional and seem to have it all together and others, are two steps away from crazy. And I guess I fit right in there due to my "I'm your biggest fan" episode with Mr. X, The God of Agents.  I walked away that day with my blue suit, leather binder, gold pen and God forsaken pantyhose knowing a writer doesn't have to be anyone but who they are because in their stories, they can only write about what is meaningful to them.

I also walked away with a book I'll never read about Vietnam but the good news is; I didn't walk away with a book about a guy's dog.