Feeling Grinch-y

Oh, woe is my parenting life these past weeks. I'm talking about wound up boys with stashes of holiday candies and cookies, Christmas cards that I'm studiously avoiding, Santa visits at the mall that just won't happen this year, and unfinished shopping while time swirls away from me.

My one salvation this past week--books. Never mind how exhausted I was yesterday, recovering from a late night holiday party Saturday night. I was up until after midnight completely absorbed in an awesome book I recommend to any woman--The Friday Night Knitting Club. How nice was it to lose my own identity and get sucked in to the dramas and triumphs of these women? I read while my husband slept through boring television shows and my boys terrorized the house with their army of plastic trucks. I read while bathing the monster twins and after I collapsed into bed with all intentions of falling asleep to face today.

But then I couldn't put the book down. There is something to be said about books like this one and another phenomenal book, The Wednesday Sisters, that follows a group narrative. I love that switch of viewpoints, how some key scenes are played out from different perspectives. That is the book I would love to write. I'm sure any aspiring writer would like to craft that compelling of a story.

So, Grinch, I still feel...except for those stolen hours when I allowed myself a guilt-free escape from the holidays.

Extravagance

There was an awesome essay by Brett Paesel, author of the book Mommies Who Drink, in the December issue of Parent's Press about reconciling the materialistic nature of the holidays with our own inborn guilt. She argued that if anything, and especially in these crazy economic times, the holidays call for extravagance. She hailed December as the one month out of the year where we allow ourselves and our children to indulge--in wishes, in food and drink.



It was a great perspective because I am the ultimate guilt carrier and feel like I'm constantly donating canned foods, toys for tots, money to churches and shelters to ease the burden of those less fortunate in the holiday season. Then I feel like a jerk if I secretly wish for a piece of jewelry or if I debate about splurging on a Nintendo Wii for my family. (people, I have serious Wii envy...my husband and kids could probably care less about owning one.)



It's a little late this year, but she suggested forgoing the little indulgences throughout the year...lunches and lattes, for example, and banking the fun money into a Christmas account. Then, we have all year to look forward to some Christmas magic.

Though I am sticking to a budget (somewhat), I can't help picking up an extra present or two for the boys. Of course, it seems like on the very day I do indulge in some extra Christmas magic for the little boogers, those are the days they act up, Shane has his high decibal meltdown in public and Bobby stubbornly refuses some mundane request.

Go figure.

Maybe I should just indulge myself instead. I think I need to check out Paesel's book, for one!

What I Haven't Written About

It has been a long time since I made a stop over at my own blog. Why? Life at home (and at work) has been bursting with stories just waiting to be shared.

But I haven't written about the week-long escapade that was Halloween this season. I didn't write about the two school parties, the downtown trick or treating, or the half-ass costume party I had on Halloween night where I dressed up as a shabby looking princess and forced my husband to paint his face like Frankenstein. I definitely didn't write about (or post, until now) my mom and stepdad's scary show of humor dressing him up as Mom in the sixties. Notice the orange cheerleading sweater her husband wears. Yah, can't believe that hasn't made it onto the blog yet. In fact, I think I need to borrow that sweater myself.

I haven't written about how I had barely a weekend to catch my breath from Halloween to launch into Shane's 4th birthday week, including a birthday dinner at Chevy's where he refused to wear the sombrero when they sang to him; the preschool party at school where he protested the spooky rice krispy spiders I made to top his cupcakes; nor did I write about the 'real' party that next weekend at John's Incredible Pizza--which was, let's just say, not so incredible in my opinion.

I could go on about Bobby's first teacher conference for kindergarten, goony school portraits and the general malaise of bracing myself for the holidays, but I must save some material for the future.

But I promise, I'll try to post on a regular basis again. Thanks for reading!

Life Without Training Wheels

I don't even know what is considered normal about taking the training wheels off, which is pretty crazy considering the amount of time I spend reading parenting articles.

Bobby's training wheel literally broke off last week so the boys helped their dad fix up both bikes, air up the tires, add a little elbow grease and Bobby assured us he was ready for the next step.

I remember when my parents removed the training wheels off my hot pink Barbie bike that had those really cool plastic streamers on the handle bars. I think I was a little older than Bobby and I wobbled up and down the sidewalk, crashing right into our neighbors Buick (?) on the street.

I'm not sure what I was expecting when Bobby tried out his bike. Fear, because Robbie said we should have him try in the backyard which you'll observe has a whole wall of hea- splitting retaining wall rocks. Bobby leaned a lot on his feet and cautiously started circling, crashing a few times into our house (no broken windows, thank goodness), into Shane who thought it was a race that he was miraculously winning for once, and into a bush.

Other than that, the transition was really anticlimactic. He had the riding down in less than ten minutes and my video taping resulted in some boring laps around the grass. Maybe we waited too long to take the training wheels off?

Most likely, I didn't want to see him grow out of them. It's already been a huge year with kindergarten starting and I don't know how much of my boys growing out of certain phases I can take.

Oh, The Horrors

Quite the night of frights in our household last night....

Let me explain. Other than the normal Manic Mondays, I had my niece and nephew over after school until after dinner time. Their oh so lucky parents flew home from New Orleans last night...how I wish we could have traded places.

As the kids played in the back, finished homework and watched the Disney channel, I busied myself in throwing together a kid friendly dinner (Impossibly Easy Cheeseburger Pie anyone?) I shoved the casserole in the oven and started on chopping veggies for a quick salad.

Oh, I cringe even at the memory of this. Hold on while I pull it together here...

Okay. As I chopped away, a little friend darted across the top of my countertop and along the backsplash of the oven. Yes, a member of the mouse family that we've been waging war against the past couple weeks decided to come out and check out the dinner action. So, during this endless battle against the rodents from hell, I've realized that my fear of mice is borderline psychological phobia. What once my family, especially my husband, found endearing. Oh how funny, Kelly almost twisted her ankle when the mouse landed on her foot while taking out the garbage. Oh, chuckle chuckle, Kelly locked herself in the bathroom when the cat caught a mouse and batted it around the hallway while the kids slept unaware.... Now, it's just an annoyance. Now, it's more like, Kelly do something.

Well, my friends, I certainly cannot because the terror of these micro-monsters is really too much to take. Luckily, the very sharp knife I used to chop carrots was not in my hand at the time of my mouse trauma. I shrieked and ran down the hall. The kids came running in. I choked back the tears and took some deep yoga breaths.

And I did have my niece and nephew here to save the evening. (7th grader and sophomore). Clearly, I was worthless to this mouse escapade. But the poor baby mouse was trapped on the counter terrified and hiding behind my fruit bowl and cannister set. (Oh yuck--you better believe the disinfecting that went down later).

The kids (including my very thrilled sons who thought the baby mouse was so adorable and worthy of Pollard pet status) rigged up a box with a slice of cheese. Guiding the thing with a broom handle and trapping it with various kitchen gadgets, they somehow trapped him.

But what next? They wouldn't kill it; I wouldn't go near it. They definitely weren't keeping it no matter how freakin adorable it was to them. So, they released it on the fenceline. Yah, not the greatest solution. I'm sure he'll find his way back to his little mouse clan causing a ruckus in my attic.

And when my darling husband wandered in from work a bit later, his response: I guess we should put out some mouse traps.

Yah think?????

And my bad karma (maybe) for forcing the kids to let the mouse out near the neighbors house....

Shane broke the window in my office less than an our later with one firm swing of his plastic pumpkin.

For the record:

-this is the second major mouse incident this month, not counting the nightly rustling that tortures me while trying to read a book
-this is the second window Shane has broken this year--and lucky (?) us, at least it was the same window.

Rethinking Groceries

Okay, the economy is kinda freaking me out. Add to that, my own writing income has gone way down as I've waded through the new world of grade school and the boys' very opposite school schedules these past weeks. The holidays lurk on the horizon, Halloween being the one I'm most concerned about and the extra money just isn't there this year.

So what do I do?

I sat down and listed all our expenses for a week. I knew this intrinsically, but gee, I drop a lot of dinero for groceries. And when my sis-in-law told me how she is boycotting our normal grocery store in favor of one across town due to way cheaper prices, my ears perked up. (Can ears perk?) I know I can do better and save, diligently clipping coupons and logging on to the various web sites that coordinate weekly coupons with sales...because, you know, I have a ton of free time and my boys just love getting dragged all around town to chase down a discount.

Ha.

On a whim, I dropped into a so-called discount grocery store in town that I usually avoid. This is usually robbed at gunpoint a couple times a year, so no, you won't find me there at night time. But curiosity and the need to live a more frugal life lured me to that side of town with Shane in tow.

First lesson: do not bring the boys.
This should go for all types of grocery trips, but especially this store, where the stock rotates and you must retrace steps and navigate the skinny aisles with eyes peeled for the brands you trust.

And why is it so discounted anyway? Sure, a simple internet search may have the answers, and I could spend even more time on that, but why? Another reason to fly solo was my eagle eye decoding of expiration dates...all good. Shane wasn't so patient by the time we reached aisle three.

All that matters to me (besides the logic of armed robbers holding up a discount grocer of all places), when we walked in, I saw our favorite brand of bread on display for 99 cents. Score!

My razor refills that I've been out of for longer than I'll ever admit, under $2.

Each aisle revealed a new discovery. A bag of softening avocados perfect for a dip; the boys yogurt drink, again, 99 cents. The milk and eggs weren't significantly cheaper, but the canned goods, box dinners and random cereal boxes certainly were.

I left with a full cart under 40 bucks, opposed to over 100 dollars at my 'other' store.

A New Favorite Blog

I stumbled on this one through the YPulse newsletter that pops up in my inbox and distracts me from my writing (and cleaning) five days a week.

What Claudia Wore is really a genius blog topic. The writer plucks out some pretty hideous and hilarious outfits from the Ann Martin series The Babysitters Club. I think I owned over fifty of these books at one point. Kristy annoyed me, I related most to the quiet Mary Ann, Dawn was probably my favorite though it was cooler to like the 'hip' Claudia and boy crazy Stacey. Why did I get rid of these books? Please tell me I didn't dress the same way as these poor characters that I so idolized!

Why I Didn't Write

The ants overtaking the kitchen pantry and waging ant wars inside the dishwasher...

The new routine on the road between schools...

CWC newsletter deadline looming...

Parenting article deadline come and gone...but I made it

The new Wii headache, that is to say, my sorry search for a Wii Fit for my sister's birthday. This game is proving more difficult to find than the Wii game console was last year at Christmas, but this, my friends, is material for another post.

Picking up books to read rather than working on my own (currently on my nightstand: The Historian and The Poet's Companion--both I highly recommend)

Fear of failure, more rejection...general creative doubt.

And remains of Shane's double ear infection that makes him sense the moment I sit at my computer to write and start shrieking for Mama cuddles.

So these are my excuses. I spent more time writing my excuses here than any creative writing time all week. This is troubling.

Sketch Musings

My kids are a constant source of amazement to me. My newest fascination is the passion Bobby suddenly has for drawing. The kid goes through stacks of paper, sketching elaborate robots, dinosaurs, monsters and hot rods. Just months ago, in his preschool class, he was often forced to sit down to do the art projects. Now, I can't get him to play outside because he's too busy working on his latest 'book' of drawings.

Naturally, this poses a tiny problem with the vast amount of paper scattered about. As if it's not bad enough that I'm a writer and my office can barely contain my notes, outlines, drafts and files. It seems Mr. Bobby needs his own office at the rate he's going.

This drawing above is a few weeks old, but I marvel at it every time I find it in the stacks of paper shoved under the coffee table, in boxes or piled high on his desk in the playroom. How many of these drawings will disappear under the chaos of the boys' destruction? To me, this image is like poetry, like a record of Bobby's sudden learning curve in the art of creating.

And Week Four Begins

The boys with Buzzy the Bee from Bobby's class

He got to take Buzzy home last week for good bee-havior

First of all, I've posted after a little hiatus on Eric Maisel's Creativity Central Blog.

So now, the Pollard household sets forth on week four of our new school year. I have to say that it's been a rough road with the boys in different schools and opposite schedules. Go carpool mommy! Today was our first day of dropping Shane off at preschool without him having his body-thrashing, please-leave-brother-here, meltdown.

Sheesh, after four weeks, I think we finally have some semblance of control over the school situation.

Why I Love the Valley

Sometimes in the suburban sprawl of my everyday life, I long for a home surrounded by acres of forest in walking distance of a sparkling body of water. I curse the 580 traffic. Clench my fingers into my palms on the stop and go city commute to the boys' respective schools.

But as with most things in life, once I take a step back, or in this case, hundreds of steps up the (free!!) trails of Brushy Peak in Livermore, I see what I have from a rosier perspective.

Kindergarten!

Bobby has been counting down to this day since he turned five back in April. He has been so pumped about starting school since I bought him his stylin 'Z-Strap' Sketchers and some new school clothes. I honestly didn't know how I'd react to this day. Surprisingly, no tears for me or Bobby. Shane, on the other hand, had a very tough time letting his brother go to a new school without him.

Shane cried so much that a lot of the parents thought he was the one starting kindergarten. It doesn't help that Shane is a giant. Well, we left Bobby to his very nice new teacher and one friend from his T-ball team last spring. After a few hours, and much prompting from Shane, we came back to get the beloved brother Bobby.

When Wishing Backfires

I've been on a whirlwind reading frenzy the last few weeks. Just take a peak at my iReads icon on my facebook page. I'm juggling way to many books at one, then picking up new ones before I have a chance to finish the ones I'm halfway through.

On Monday, I blogged about Noelle Oxenhandler's new memoir "A Wishing Year" here (just scroll down to my post called Musing in the Valley Vineyards: On Wishing and Writing--not tech savvy enough yet to post the exact url!). The book jolted me back to that land of dreaming big. Oxenhandler had the courage to do it, so dammit, so can I!

A few nights after finishing her book, I spent a few minutes really articulating a few wishes. No, I'm not going to list them all here for the blogosphere to read. Somehow, they feel private. But it's no joke that I write and that I want to publish a book; that my manuscript is in a couple busy agents' hands and that I'm now plowing through a new historical-crossover-YA book using the Book In A Month workbook as a guide. Obviously one of my wishes is to get published, so I wrote it down in a specific way, as well as wishing for focus in my writing practice.

I don't know what it was, but I really have been focused. The last two mornings, I've packed up my laptop,i-pod and notes after dropping the boys off at preschool and have written twenty pages in two days. This is not normal for me. Most days I can squeeze out four, maybe five pages if the creative gods shine on my overcrowded head.

Last night I was feeling pretty sassy for my ten page writing streak that morning. With Robbie away playing hockey and the boys exhausted from swim lessons and nodding off at dinnertime, I rushed to clean up dinner and chill some beers in the freezer to lounge while watching the So You Think You Can Dance finale. (I know, my taste in television can be questionable but hey, it's summer programming!) Shane passed out at 7pm and Bobby was close behind him. As I finished my chores and opened a beer, what should happens.

POWER OUTAGE!!!!

I was calm and cool. I had 45 minutes til showtime and even if I didn't get the power back right away, the show lasts two hours so I was guarenteed to get my fill of dancing drama. I put the boys to sleep and read as the light faded outside, peeked out the window to make sure my house wasn't the only house on the street without lights shining through cracked blinds. It wasn't.

Night fell. Another half hour, then another. I lit candles and pulled out my laptop, with a near dead battery, by the way, and began the slow-going process of charting my scenes so far to check for the 'domino effect', assuring there are no holes or unnecessary scenes. Another half hour goes by. Now I'm starting to get pissed. This was supposed to be my night to lounge with my smut tv, without my husband home to glower that the A's game wasn't on instead, with the boys not wired from unspent energy.

I worked over an hour on my scene tracking just as the laptop faded to black. Just as I pulled out a notebook to scribble about the irony of the universe forcing me to work on my book instead of watch a tv show I've been looking forward to since, well since it was on last Thursday, the lights blinked back on. At 9:55 pm. By the time my satellite signal found my television, the show was summarizing the four dancers and their various routines. I missed every single dance routine.

But I got what I wished for. I found the holes in my novel and did this tedious task last night, rather than this morning where I instead started fresh on more new pages of the book. Wishes are strange beings.

Bisquick Adventures, Part 1

I really wasn't joking about my new cooking adventure. Chatting with a (kid-free) woman in my tennis class last week, she told me she had baked a pecan pie. My mouth watered, eyes blazed with jealousy. I used to be her before the boys came into my world. How I loved perfecting the homemade pie crust, sending the screw-ups to Robbie's work to be devoured by his co-workers.

As each boy tumbled into the world, there was less room for the time spent flinging flour across the kitchen counter. Sure, I have my yearly attempt to create an awesome birthday cake, that normally results in a chaotic rendition of the boys' latest obsessions, be it trains or Scooby Doo. But baking for no occasion at all--not happening so much.

Last week I poked around the pantry to come up with something that would pass as a dinner for the family. I found the Bisquik and immediately remembered going to an aunt's house for the night and waking up to her rolling out homemade biscuits which she baked then set out with a flourish along with her own canned jams. How hard could it be?

It turns out, not so hard after all! It really is 'quik' to throw together the three ingredients. Kneading and rolling it out so much easier than the tempermental pie crusts of my past. The only problem being that I rolled out the dough a bit too thin, resulting in most of the finished products resembling hockey pucks or sugar cookies.

And how did the family react to my breakfast for dinner?

Bobby gobbled down three biscuits layered with butter, jam and honey. Shane insisted he only wanted peanut butter on a spoon for dinner and humored me briefly when I snapped shots of him preparing to take a bite. He never even tasted it.

So a mixed review. The boys still have yet to sample the bisquik chicken fingers, strawberry shortcakes and waffles. Stay tuned.

Cross-Bloggination

Why not?

What better excuse not to work on the new manuscript but to journal online?

I am now among the many fabulous artists that contribute to Eric Maisel's Creativity Central blogs. Although I only committed to posting on alternating weeks, I plan to post more often. Which means I will also have to post more here to keep it fair. My brand for the Maisel blog is Musings Among Valley Vineyards, and will mainly have posts about the creative process, writing life, blocks and tiny victories. The Pollard boys will steal the show on this blog, so come by both blogs often and tell me what you think!

Look for my new series of posts later this week about my adventures with recipes on the back of the Bisquik box.

And no, I'm really not joking about that....

Of Mice and Little-Rebel Men

The Pollard household is in chaos.



I blame the heat. The dog refuses to eat until late afternoon, the boys refuse to listen. There is the constant echo of name calling (Bobby, you a doodle-brain! Shane-y, you a poop!) And so my days roll out in endless heated waves behind me.



The boys thrash the house faster than I can pick up. I've confiscated full Lego sets and hot wheel racetracks, television time and superhero costumes. All because they refuse to put them where they belong. And of course, they don't even care! See the smoke blowing out of my overheated ears.



The climax of my all-time summer low came a couple days ago. After hours of playing referee and clean up, I finally jumped on much needed chores. Wiping down bathrooms and stripping beds, clearing out toys so I could run the vacumn. As I reached under the kitchen cabinet to combine the bathroom garbage with the kitchen's, a lethal mouse the size of a small dill pickle leaped onto my foot and scrambled in terror around in circles.



Of course, I didn't see where he disappeared to. You see, I was to busy screaming at the top of my lungs, knocking over the garbage can, running toward the back door, and losing my balance, slamming my knee and twisting my foot on the unforgiving cement floor.



The boys were amused.



I was crying and shaking. Who knew how terrified I was of a tiny little mouse. I did play Cinderella in a middle school play after all. I sang the Dream song to fake mice on stage, for goodness sake! Yet, we've had mouse issues before here in Pollardville. One noted example was after I put the boys to bed. Robbie was gone at a hockey game (do the mice plan on freaking me out by waiting for the man of the house to be gone????) As I walked down the hall with a load of laundry, our black cat came bounding in with a baby mouse in his vice grip teeth.



Luckily, I was close to the bathroom and did the only smart thing: I locked myself in there, hyperventilating and resting my forehead on the cool walls. I ventured a look out the door and the cat sat in the middle of the hall with a satisfied smirk, no remnants of the mouse remaining.



The rest of my night was spent dodging the cat, terrified of his mouse breath. Do I overreact a bit? Perhaps.



An old friend I message every once in awhile on facebook commiserated with me then sent me this link, saying at least this didn't happen:


http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,378142,00.html


I couldn't agree more.



Now, I make Robbie deal with the garbage if at all possible. And if he doesn't, the kitchen cabinet gets a firm kick every time I go to toss something in the garbage, to give the little mouse time to escape into the wall before I open the door.



P.S. Don't suggest mouse traps. Yes, Robbie does set them and we even catch mice occasionally. Yet the sheer terror of hearing the tell-tale snap of a trap pushes me over the edge as well. I'd rather the mice family just stay hidden in the walls, but that's just me.

How Far We've Come

Another milestone moment to open the month of July:

Just weeks after Bobby's very moving preschool graduation, complete with diplomas and gowns, we lived through another, more dreaded milestone...the five year old physical.

Most moms remember this check up years after they have survived it. I even remember my own 5 year appointment because it is defined by the attack of the vaccines to ready the poor, unsuspecting child for kindergarten.

I struggled with whether to tell Bobby the truth about receiving shots. Plenty of parenting magazines throw out advice on this topic, most leaning toward not 'fessing up about the upcoming pokes. Although guilt racked my body, I erred on the fib. When Bobby asked if there would be shots, I kind of shrugged my shoulders and played dumb, warning him that 'I believed' all 5 year olds needed shots to be allowed into kindergarten, but we could ask the Tickle Doctor the rules. This seemed to satisfy Bobby, though he obsessed over the shots the whole afternoon. (Another word of advice: I didn't even tell him about the appointment until just hours before so he didn't have time to dwell like his poor mother did.)

Driving to the office, my mouth watered and I eyed my grown up boy sadly in the rearview mirror. Doctor visits of our past welled up in my mind, especially those milestone visits where he was still a helpless baby with pleading eyes, looking at me like "How could you let him do that??" after another series of vaccines.

We made it through the physical with flying colors. Bobby even peed in a cup on demand--probably his favorite part of the visit! Then it was the wait for the medical assistant with that clattering tray of pain. When he walked in, Bobby's eyes grew as wide as dinner plates when he saw six shiny needles rolling around among the debris of cotton swabs and rubber gloves.

In the next room, a fresh newborn squalled with terror. You know that distinct newborn cry, more resembling the pitch of an alien than a chubby baby? Tears stung my eyes as I remembered the day Bobby came into this same office for the dreaded circumcision.

But in the now, I held this stronger, verbal version of Bobby in my lap as he tried to bolt for the door. I hugged his arms to my chest like a straightjacket and watched each needle pierce his milky skin with tears in my eyes. We managed to survive all six pokes without major bodily injury to any involved, though I was sure Shane would get thrashed in the mix of all the chaos. Then we emerged, teary-eyed, to retrieve stickers and zoom over to the all-healing McDonald's for an early Happy Meal dinner.

Relief flooded my body as Bobby and Shane jumped around the McDonalds playground like nothing had happened. We've come so much further than that grumpy, underweight baby that survived this ritual years before.

Summer Highs, Writing Lows

June is the month of my rejection. Three rejections to be exact, with several more submissions drifting out in the abyss that is the world of publishing. It's common, since judging someone's writing and deciding if you are willing to take a risk is a pretty subjective experience. Not all of these were a rejection of the book, at least. One was a short story entered into a literary magazine contest, another a submission to a writing conference (no week-long writing escape for me this year!) and one was the first fifty pages of the novel, drenched in my blood-sweat-tears. Icing on the party cake was the shut-down of one of the regular magazines I wrote a column for.

No, this is not a pity party. This is more like a reckoning with my writing life. Am I strong enough to keep putting myself out there? Should I shelve the book and start a new one? Concentrate on magazines or newspapers? Get a (eek!) real job?

Of course this all happens a couple weeks after the boys' preschools have us send in what summer hours they will attend, if any. I kept them in for the same three half days a week, thinking it would be good to keep them in a routine and that I had a right to some sanity and writing time. Now dollar signs are flashing in my head.

It will be interesting to see where I find myself at summer's end...

Confessions of a Reformed Mommy

I turned into one of those moms that I secretly talked smack about while my boys were still cooing and crawling about in pools of their own drool. I became one of those moms that buckled in the name of convenience. Convenience over common sense.

Yes, for months, I had a television in the boys' room.

This was not a decision without resistance. My sister has had a tv in her daughters' room (complete with cable!) for years. We let the boys lay in our bed and watch tv on those nights when we have company and it's just easier to let them drift off to a nice movie instead of dealing with the constant requests for more milk and midnight snacks. My husband convinced me it would be temporary, we'd just put the tv in there for one particular weekend when we had a lot of company and older kids playing video games in our room while the adults watched some play off sports.

What the heck has happened to the former Santa Cruz student who believed tv was evil and went years without cable, instead favoring friends and radio music and board games?

Anyways, that weekend with the tv in the room stretched into months. I vowed to move the monstrosity into the playroom once we had the masses of toys organized. Ha! I vowed until I was out of breath, yet took no action.

Until this afternoon.

Since the tv in the room, the bedtimes have stretched later. The tv viewing times have stretched longer and the book reading has dwindled. I became someone I never thought I would be. The tv truly became my babysitter.

Last night when I got home from my tennis lesson (yes honestly, don't laugh about the tennis...that's another post in itself) past 9 pm the boys ran rampant demanding another two hour Scooby Doo movie. As if!

I finally got them corraled into bed and payed dearly this morning when I had to get them up for preschool. I literally dragged Bobby out of bed at 8:20. Mind you, school started at 8:30. A morning of orders barked, faces wiped and limbs shoved into clothing ensued. And the whole drive to school involved a breathless, pissy lecture about the evils of television before bedtime.

When I picked them up from school hours later, I had them help me clear out space in the playroom for the tv. We dusted and hooked up the various parts and said goodbye to nighty-night tv.

Thanks to my succumbing to the easy way out of bedtime, which turned out not to be so easy after all, I now have to retrain myself, my husband and my kids how to go to bed the right way.

And yes, Shane is still up instead of in bed with his stack of books, riding his scooter around the house like a banshee.

It's going to be a long week...

Adventures in Poetry

In my quest of procrastination this week, I logged off from the net temporarily and picked up a stack of unread books on my shelf in order to expand my mind. I blew through The Alchemist, started The Travel Writer's Handbook and picked up a collection of poetry I bought at a writing event a few months back.

Once I picked it up, I couldn't put it down. I read through the entire 128 pages in one sitting and the images in the collection still won't leave me alone.

I'm talking about 'what is this thing called love' by Kim Addonizio. This is one cool chick, first of all. I met her at a workshop and she was so real and funny and honest. Her poetry isn't any different, just many layers deeper. After reading her collection, I honestly can't think of poetry the same way anymore.

I admit I am not a poet anymore. Oh, fear the day I scan some of my old poems from high school onto my facebook page! I studied the 'classics' in college but never ventured too far into modern poetry. Maybe that's why I'm so blown away by this little book. It turned everything I believed about the art on its head. Any poet that has a poem titled FUCK and actually pulls it off with an important message is one to pay attention to, in my opinion.

In the different sections, she touches upon love, dying and losing love, addictions and ghosts of the past. It's one of those collections I'll have to visit again to understand even the surface of what she puts out there. It is a collection that caused me to add more poetry collections to my list of requested books on bookmooch.com.

It is a collection that won't leave my head and let me work on my deadlines.

Taming the Monster

My name is Kelly and I will finally admit that I'm seriously addicted to the internet.

I had hours today to work on articles due this Friday, hours when the boys were in school, even after I picked up Shane from school and spent some quality time with him, I gained another hour of freedom until I have to pick up Bobby from his field trip.

Words written today: nada, unless you count the sentences above.

Phone calls to sources placed: 2 out of approx. 5 needed

Shower: nope

Dishes: Ha!

Car wash: yeah right

Bathing suit shopping: check

Hours spent online, pretending to research when really just browsing blogs, gossip on what the gals wore to the Sex and the City premiere, facebook, myspace and email: hmm, close to 3 if I added them up

Somebody please cut me off

On the job dangers

Sometimes it is just plain dangerous to be a writer. My Friday deadline has me immersed in the world of direct sales and home parties as a way to make a second or part-time income. For the last few hours, I have swam in web-copy about the potential earnings of consultants for Avon, Pampered Chef, Discovery Toys and PartyLite candles. I've researched the Direct Sellers Association and learned how to choose a company that will guide you to marketing success. I've learned about how to host a Passion Party and teach my friends and neighbors how to enhance their sexual enjoyment.

And Lord help me, it almost looks tempting. Wouldn't say I'm exactly cut out for the sex party hostessing, but the educational toys? Perhaps...

Preschooler Moons Teacher During Circle Time!

Honestly, why me?

I was not in the greatest frame of mind when I showed up at the boys' school to pick them up. I was feeling sickly and my morning writing session did not go well and am majorly blocked in an important subplot in the new novel (yeah, I know, the old novel isn't published yet...but that shouldn't stop me from working on a new one!)

Bobby's preschool teacher gave me the look, the 'I need a word with you' look.

"We had an incident today during circle time. Bobby got up in the middle of me talking and pulled down his pants and mooned me and the whole class [I'm envisioning him turning in circles like a little penguin to give all his girlfriends full view] and he was sent to the office [oooh!] and I expect you to talk to him about this behavior."

How embarassing! How horrible!

So freaking hilarious though.

I texted my friend Mel and she just laughed and basically intoned: gee, I wonder where the lad learns this kind of behavior?

Well! I don't know what she's trying to imply, by I'd never drop my drawers in the check out line at Safeway. I mean, really.

Then Shane, not to be outdone, walked straight into a birch tree trunk on the way into the library while I was giving Bobby 'the talk'.

"Now, you know why we can't pull down our shorts at school right?"

But Mommy, I did not know I could not do that. Andy told me to do it and if I didn't do it then Andy was going to yell real loud during circle time so I had to do it!

"So you were also talking and being disruptive while Ms. Paula was teaching?"

No, just whispering really quietly and I will never show my butt to Ms. Paula again...

SMACK!

Shane's forehead slams into tree-trunk,

That's something he definitely inherited from me...

Religious Orientation: Fill in the Blank

I had an a-ha moment of sorts late last night when I was playing with my new Facebook profile (I'm sure I'll comment more on that later). Like Myspace, which I joined sometime last year to keep an eye on my teenage niece, you create a profile where you list interests, favorite books, music, you post pictures, blogs and can search for old friends and leave comments. Facebook is the supposed 'more mature' networking site out there and a girlfriend encouraged me to check it out since she found a lot of old friends who must have thought Myspace too juvenile to join...

Wow, I guess I did make a long comment on facebook/myspace..

So as I filled out my profile, I came to the inevitable religious question. I didn't think much of it for my Myspace profile, but on facebook, it seems like every thing you fill out potentially connects you to a 'network'. The website will search your network for friends with the same interests and voila, you make even more friends, which I guess is the whole point of the social network. (duh there)

But my religion is complicated. Baptized Catholic with a smattering of church visits in my childhood, I eventually stopped the journey toward church-guided salvation before I hit my teens. Through college, I dabbled in various world religious texts. Yoga opened my mind to other ways to encompass spirituality, so let's just say, I can't be categorized. So i wrote: Open-Minded for my Orientation (religious and otherwise, I suppose). Alas, I belong to no network. I didn't want to write atheist, because I don't consider myself that. It just struck me late last night that I really don't have an affiliation and I'm kind of jealous to those that do have that group that embrace those same spiritual beliefs.

What if I want to just scrape a bit from the Buddhists, a dash of Judaism, extremely minimal amount of Christianity, some hinduism...then where does the whole new-agey New Earth/Secret/Law of Attraction propaganda fit in?
I'm so mixed up. And I'm extremely bummed I didn't find my own network. I guess it's back to facebook to browse the writer's networks.

That should be fun...

Pollard Favorites

I'm noticing us Pollards are turning quite stubborn in our tastes and habits this month. It's borderline ridiculous....



Shane's



*SOUP --breakfast, lunch and dinner if he could have his way. top ramen, chicken and stars, dora chicken and noodle, shrek or cars chicken and noodle, it could be 1000 degrees outside and the kid would still be screaming for hot soup! Any soup but the homemade variety, of course.

*TRUCKS-some things never change-monster trucks, pick-ups, tractors, hot rods, big rigs, fire trucks, tow trucks, truck books and movies and blah blah blah, why am I surrounded by so many boys that love trucks? Gee, you can't tell their father is a mechanic or anything.



Bobby's Faves



*TOYS-this is another ridiculous favorite. Coming off the birthday season, he seems to think every day warrants a trip to the store to spend birthday money (now looooong gone) on yet another toy: Transformers, trucks, cars, Pokemon, etc.

*HIS GARDEN-harvesting radishes, which he won't eat, as we speak. Eagerly waiting on tomatoes, carrots, cantelope, squash, lettuce, pumpkins, watermelon and whatever other seeds Bobby threw in the mix



My Faves



*NEUROTIC READING HABIT-my vow to not buy or check out any library books has turned me into quite the book nerd. I am determined to alternate genres with each book I finish, mostly from fiction to nonfiction, though that can change. Just finished Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen, which I flew through--makes me want to write a historical fiction novel, I was so swept away. Now I'm tackling Buddha Never Was a Parent, Jesus Never Drove a Carpool, recommended by a beauty of a yoga teacher who seems like she's the most centered mommy on earth. The author tackles a variety of religious ideas and incorporates them into her 'Parenting with Soul' philosophy. This book is killing me because I'm supposed to only read one chapter a week so I can incorporate a new practice weekly (this week, three deep breathes at those many moments when I want to explode--like when Shane colors his leg with a Sharpie for example...wait, that was last week, I actually did explode, but finally, the ink has washed off) I digress...so now I'm breaking my other neurotic reading rule, which is to only read one book at a time. So I just dove into a new YA novel and it feels deliciously sinful.



*2am OBSESSING-I think I'm trying to break some kind of record here. Usually, I am not one of those insomniac types that needs a warm milk and melatonin to drift off to sleep. Usually I don't wake up in the middle of the night, quietly obsessing over agent submissions, writers conferences, article deadlines or kindergarten registration. Usually it's the boys that interrupt my sleep. I believe I'm going on five days now of being exhausted from thinking way too much in the wee hours. What do I do???



Rob's Faves

(usually I don't write about the hubby since he actually knows how to read, unlike my boys, who I can still torture by telling their stories, but I'm sleep-deprived and really don't care!)



*HOCKEY--we are into the summer season, which means hockey games two nights a week for the lucky guy.

*OAKLAND A'S--note to self, must by baseball tickets for a nice father's day present for the guy.



See, I was nice to Rob. Isn't he lucky?

Surviving May

This is my month of chaos. Six birthdays in a matter of three weeks, including my mom's, son's and mine. Mother's Day. Over the top birthday planning for Bobby's big 5th birthday. One Transformer cake and a wooden play structure that took my husband and very generous brothers close to eight hours to build. Now I wake up refreshed this morning, the day after Mother's Day, total relief.

No more present shopping, no more lost birthday cards, no more urging my sons to sign yet another card, no really, just one more! The May madness is finally left behind. Usually I feel let down, usually my birthday and Mother's Day get kind of pushed together into one not-so-celebratory whole. This year, not really... I even had my own night, a night to toast a new year with my family. This year, I was at peace. This year will be my last in my twenties. This year my grandpa sent me a check urging me to buy red shoes to go with my red purse (thanks grandpa! still woefully behind on thank you cards obviously...)



Finally, I was able to wake up today and take a deep breath, knowing nothing was expected of me other than the everyday mother duties. Meals and scrubbing children and home clean. Today, we can sit out in the yard and enjoy the sunshine, the boys swinging away on their new playground, me chilling out with a new book. Yay!

Or me, urging Bobby and myself to pen some magnificently late thank you cards...

A New Earth...for Kelly

I must have struggled with Eckhart Tolle's book the most I have ever struggled through reading a piece. Usually, if it is that hard, I just close the book and pass it on to someone I think will appreciate it more. But all the hype about "A New Earth" kept dragging me back. FINALLY I finished the spiritual-new agey thing last night and here's my take:


1. I can see why Oprah loves this, why she's taken it on as her latest mission in spreading world peace, better for humanity kind of thing. Kind of like what she did with The Secret.


2. I don't think your average reader will be able to get through this on his own. The reading is very dense, very out there, yet also, very repetitive. Hence the reason it took me so long.


3. That said, I totally believe in the message Mr. Tolle is trying to spread. Using texts from Christianity (a lot of Jesus quotes), Buddhism, Taoism, Judaism, he basically says all world religions really carry the same underlying message: if you are totally present and conscious during the moment, the transformation within will be spectacular. If you transform, you in turn, will transform the world.


4. So I loved the last 40 or so pages where he really gets to the meat of what he's saying. We must be present, live only for the moment--not the future, definitely not for the past. How do we do this? By our attitude toward the present moment. If it is a difficult moment, we feel acceptance. Because each moment is fleeting. If the moment is mundane (i.e., folding six loads of laundry while your sons' try doing body slams into the mountains of clean clothes with their greasy bodies), you 'enjoy' the moment. Because this moment is beautiful and fleeting--soon they will be too old, they will be out of the house, you won't even be doing the laundry anymore... Then Tolle zones in on the highest level of presence: enthusiasm:

"Enthusiasm means there is deep enjoyment in what you do plus the added element of a goal or a vision that you work toward."



Then he goes on (and on and on, man this guy can ramble and repeat sometimes) that although you are working toward something, it's so important to remain in the present moment, not looking forward to something in the far off future.



Of course this makes sense to me as a writer/aspiring novelist. The goal and vision is there: to see my name on the spine of an awesome book. The road toward that goal is perpetually endless. (How many agents have I submitted to already?) But if I take Mr. Tolle's advice, I wouldn't focus on the future, but on the actual moment when I am writing or editing or submitting or waiting ENDLESSLY for a response from another so-called dream agent. If I am present in the moment of all this, my energy will be enthusiastic and positive which will shine in that finished product.



Ah, easier said than done.



So that's just my take on the Tolle book. Now I shall head over to the Oprah website to see what the girl has to say about it...

I'm Seeing Red

What is it with me and all things red?

First, there is my tendency to blush or flush at inopportune moments.

Then my love affair with my newer red vacumn that I bought last year at an actual 'vacumn store', how housewifey is that?

Now I have the purse, the purse that instigated the first argument with my husband in a very long time.

It all started on a day of pampering when I visited my girlfriend's salon in Rockridge to get my hair colored and cut. I had an upcoming deadline to find cool products for my 'Let's Pamper Mom' column for the May issue of a local magazine. Kate promised to show me some shops in the area where I might find products to feature.


The first shop was called "Who's Your Betty?" on College Avenue. It featured funky purses and jewelry, accessories and such, most hand crafted. I fell in love with a purse way out of my price range. Red and sparkling, with silver studs lining the outside and a soft leopard print lining on the inside, handstitched by the owner of the store. Of course I had forgotten my camera. I was in a what-the-hell kind of mood, and with Kate's encouragement, I bought the purse way out of my price range.


I didn't tell my husband about it, though I showed it off to my sisters and peeked into the shopping bag where it hid through the weekend. Then hubby found it, complete with the $90 pricetag. And he found it Easter morning as I rushed to get ready and get the boys ready to go to the in-laws for the morning. I heard him ranting about something in the front room...I knew I was totally busted.


But more than ranting, he 'ordered' me to return the purse. I stewed in my quiet way to his parents house and he continued to bitch. Eventually we told the in-laws who told me to stand up for myself (something I need to work on, for sure) and that I earned money and I deserved to treat myself.


The purse stayed in the bag another few days.


Then, I took it out. Carefully transferred the cell phone, business cards, wallet and lipglosses into its leopard printed depths.


"I guess you decided to keep the purse," he mumbled later that night when we were out at my sister's house.


I smiled and patted the soft vinyl sparkles. My family teases me that it looks like Dorothy's ruby slippers, its so sparkly. Kate told me I needed matching red shoes to compliment the rogue purse. I'm thinking it's time for a nicer wallet...

Beauty of Change

Changes have been fast and furious in this chaotic Pollard household. How do I count thy ways?

1. The Contra Costa Times stopped publishing the sections I wrote for the past year, leaving me scrambling to find new markets to at least support that hefty preschool bill for the two boys.

2. Tee-ball! Bobby joined the Livermore Diamondbacks, the very youngest t-baller on the team and so adorable to boot. If only he could figure out that you are supposed to run to first base (not third!) when he makes those power hits.

3. Kindergarten registration! Yes, Bobby will be charging into a new school this fall. I'm excited and anxious and trying to control myself from joining the PTA...like I have the time for that...

4. Squaw Valley Writers: I've made the decision to apply for this week-long, highly regarded (and waaay out of my budget, though I have the most supportive husband a girl could wish for) writer's conference. They only accept 96 fiction writers based solely on the 20-odd pages of unpublished writing you submit. If accepted, I get to spend a week in Tahoe mingling with some of my writing idols (hello Anne Lamott and Amy Tan!) while sharpening my writing skill and hopefully finishing my second book. Which means...I need to dive into the new book. The first young adult novel is sitting in nice stacks in my office as I await feedback from a couple friends before I do final revisions and really, truly start submitting to agents again.

5. Shane. Okay, I feel guilty because I really have nothing to report that's majorly changed in his world. He still drives his trucks and tractors in the dirt...therefore loves the teeball fields. He's hit the Terrible Tantrum-Infused Threes full force and is lucky he is so darn adorable.

I'll try to keep you all updated on the fun and fabulous adventures of the Pollard family.