Dan? Who’s Dan?

“Son, what do you want to be for Halloween?”

“Dan.”

“Dan?”

“Dan.”

“Who’s Dan?”

“Dan! He’s a Bakugan Battle Brawler.”

“Oh.”

Amazingly enough, Tara found a Dan costume. 

“Lily-buggy, what do you want to be for Halloween?”

“A pineapple.”

I had no trouble understanding what a pineapple was, but I struggled big time on the why. Tara and I asked several times in the weeks following and her answer never varied. Not once.

Until we went shopping, that is. Hard to believe we found a “Dan” costume, but not one pineapple. However, when she saw the Super Girl costume, it was love at first sight.

On Halloween day we did the requisite family visits, first Grandma Jan’s, then Uncle Dale’s, then Fun Margie. Tomorrow we’ll do brunch with the rest of the aunties and uncles and show off the kids and their fabulous costumes some more.

On a whim we stopped  one block over from our house and turned the kids loose on the neighborhood. What was intended to be a short, 5-house jaunt turned into several blocks and far more candy than any two children should ever consume. Three houses in, Wyatt was hooked. He ran down the sidewalk after collecting his candy and declared, “This is the best day ever!”

When we finally made it back to our house, I expected Wyatt to be sad because the trick o’ treating was at an end. On the contrary, he stood at the end of the driveway and handed out candy to the kids who came to our house. He said that was almost as much fun as getting candy.

Still not sure how I feel about a holiday where we dress up our kids and send them out to beg for candy, but all in all I’d call this year a success.

Word Prompts: Seeds, Fire, and Juice

Not feeling very creative today, she here goes with the writing exercise to push me in the right direction.

 

“Mom, I’m going to go do my homework now.” Justine, our youngest, tried to bluff her way from the front door to her room without the traditional after school briefing that my wife insisted on. Every one of our three kids had been forced to suffer through the daily inquisition. Justine was no exception.

Roni arched her eyebrow and smiled. “You want this one or should I take it?”

I sipped my juice. “Go ahead.” 

Ralphie and Grace, the oldest and middle child respectively sat a the breakfast bar and tucked into their snack. Celery and peanut butter, with a side of oj for good nutritional measure. Yesterday I’d made carrots and sunflower seeds. They didn’t like it nearly as much.

“She failed her spelling test.” Ralphie smiled knowingly and devoured another piece of celery. He enjoyed being the oldest child far too much.

“It’s not her fault,” Grace defended her baby sister. “You remember how Ms. Honeycutt is, she gets all preachy, going on and on about brimstone and hell fire. Next thing you know, you’ve got five minutes of class left and she drops the assignment you were supposed to do in class, along with the homework on you. It totally sucks.” Grace never passed on an opportunity to complain about the fact that as the daughter of two lesbians she shouldn’t be required to attend Catholic school.

Word count: 249

Time: 11 minutes

Calamity Central

Last Sunday was a string of calamities at our house. It started much in the way of every other Sunday, we bundled the kids up and headed off on our designated weekend adventure. Tara had the kids, I had a bag of trash. Don’t ask me how that happened. I hate taking out the trash. I go to extremes to avoid it, but nonetheless, there I was taking out the trash. Front door closes behind us, Tara heads to the car with the kids, me to the giant garbage can.

She stands at the car, pats her pockets and says, “I hope you grabbed your keys, because I forgot mine.”

I go through the ritual of checking my pockets even though I know it’s pointless. I always grab my keys, but that day I was distracted by a giant bag of trash. “Nope, I didn’t. You sure the door is locked?”

She looks at me like I’m nutso, and I kinda understand that since the doors lock automatically. Still, I have to check. Yep, locked as expected. We then check both sliding glass doors in the back, one upstairs and one down, and the garage door. You guessed it, all locked. Again, we knew they would be. Tara is off the charts paranoid about things like that. No chance the sliding glass door is just going to slide open. Unless, of course, I was the last one through it. Even then the odds are slim because she runs around behind me checking locks to make sure her fortress is secure. I’m just glad she lets me in when I get home at night.

I figure at that point we are stuck until our oldest shows up with her spare key. Yes, we locked the keys in the house, but we both remembered our cell phones. Talk about messed up priorities. Luckily, Tara’s a little quicker on her feet than I am and she grabbed the ladder, propped it up against the house, and up I climbed to check out bedroom window.

Now, I’m short, fat, and have poor coordination. Hanging off a ladder is not the safest of things for me to be doing. There’s a reason I left my job at the railroad (BNSF, but that’s another story for another day). The kids are standing at the base of the ladder saying, “Mom, I climb with you.” I’m trying to get through the window, not fall, and not get mud all over our bed which is directly below the window. I was successful, but it was not pretty. Bless Tara for loving me anyway.

The water level is usually almost up to the bridge

Keys in hand, we head off on our adventure. One of our favorite places to take the kids is Lacamas lake in Camas. This fall they drained the lake, something to do with bad algae or something. Anyway, we went there, camera in hand eager to see how it looked sans water. There is an area called The Potholes (yes, believe it or not, that’s the official name). It’s a series of waterfalls formed over rocks created by lava flow. We don’t normally go that way because it’s a bit off the regular trail that circles the lake. This time, however, we wanted to see that section. Shouldn’t have been a problem since the trails all circle back to the main one if you do it right.

We didn’t.

Lily checking the map

Ultimately, we ended up on the opposite side of town, miles from our car. It was a really nice walk, and I love that trail a lot. Tara and I hadn’t been on it in years, and Wyatt and Lily never had. Still, slight dilemma on how to get back to the car. Fortunately, the trail head came out not too far from where Tara’s mom lives and she graciously gave me a ride back to our car, but not without teasing to make sure I had my keys with me. Well deserved given the circumstances.

Later that night, I went to pick up pasta at a pizza place not too far from our house. Seemed like a good idea, right? It was except the restaurant is closed on Sundays. But that’s okay, I’ll just pick up some teriyaki at this other little place by our house. Strike two. Also closed on Sundays. I didn’t even try for a strike three, just went home and pulled something together from the cupboard.

Then I decided it was time to post my first video blog. After all, plenty had happened for me to talk about, so why not. So I recorded the thing, only to discover that the software had stopped recording about 10 seconds in.

At that point, I gave up. 

Tomorrow (Sunday again), we are going on the AIDS walk in the morning, then a pumpkin patch in the afternoon. I’m hoping for good weather and smooth sailing.

Boulders, Anyone?

Next the meandering highway that runs from Battleground to Yacolt, runs a meandering river (Lewis). Round about the midway point, you’ll find Moulton Falls. Tara and I have taken the kids hiking there several times this summer and decided to visit one last time before the weather makes it impossible. This past Sunday we took a different approach to our family outing. We went later in the day, and didn’t take our portable barbeque. With only a couple of Capri Suns for the kids, a bottle of water for us to share, a few fruit snacks, and a mostly consumed box of Wheat Thins (Tomato Basil. They were amazing.), we set out.

We started the same way we always do, walking along the gravel path that runs parallel to the river. It’s set far above the water and the view is spectacular. We explored some side trails that we’d avoided previously, and turned back before we normally would. 

Back at the parking lot, we took the stone steps down to the river. This section of the river is made up of some amazing volcanic rock formations. Once upon a time, about a bajillion years ago (give or take a millennium), there was a lava flow where the river now is. This makes for some fabulous boulders to climb over. And we did. We worked our way down the edge of the river, climbing over, around, behind, but not under, a series of water-worn boulders.

I learned some important things on this outing:

1. My kids are fearless.
2. My knees do not like it when I jump off boulders. I’m too old to be doing that crap anymore.
3. Tara will put herself in some pretty stupid positions for the perfect picture.

All in all, we had a fabulous time and I give it an enthusiastic two thumbs up to anyone who might be considering a similar outing.

Wyatt & His Belly Button

It Gets Away

The week is gone and I don’t even remember it starting. Yes, there were days, and I was aware of their individual passing, but I had no idea they were going to gang up on me and fly by without so much as a hello-goodbye. With that in mind, here’s a little update. Sorry if it feels more like a drive-by than a few shared moments among friends.

I have to find a new title for my current mss, Under My Skin. There is another book already on the Bold Strokes line up that is very similar (Under Her Skin). Major bummer since the title inspired the story for me, not the other way around. Now I’m struggling to find the right substitute, but so far everything I can think of sounds like the second choice to me. I’ll keep y’all posted on that.

Under My Skin (I’m refusing to give up the name until I have something better) is intended for the Matinee line. That’ll be my second book in that sub-category (Split the Aces was the first). One of the main stipulations for Matinees is target word count of 50,000. I’m currently at 34,000 and not at all convinced I can wrap the story up in 16,000 words. I may end up submitting it ultimately for a different line. Or Shelley will have to get out her editing scissors and trim the crap out of it. 

Chaps is scheduled for release December 2009. I got the file back from Stacia earlier this week and now I’m working through copy edits. Seriously folks, editors are complete goddesses. They deserve to be worshipped.

I mentioned in my previous blog that Tara and I bought a treadmill and an elliptical machine. I put the treadmill together last night and Tara, bless her, rearranged the furniture so that all of the machines can be plugged in without the use of an extension cord. Today I did the elliptical and it kicked my ass. I concede defeat for the moment, but vow to conquer it soon.

Tara and I have different parenting styles. It makes me happy to watch my children play and I will clap if they do something wonderful, but I don’t really play with them. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll make the occasional monster noise and chase them half way down the hall, but that’s about it. Tara, on the other hand, engages fully in play time. She rolls around on the floor, plays tag, talks to imaginary friends, and sips imaginary tea. If there’s a game to be played, she’s playing it right along with our children.

I tried to remember a time when my parents played with me. I mean really played. I cannot think of a single time. There was this one time when my dad sat in the swing, cigarette held high above my head so I wouldn’t get burned, and we all raced around the back yard to get to him. That’s my one and only playing memory. I couldn’t have been much more than 3 at that point, so what happened to all the subsequent playing? Did my mom not feel like playing after my dad died? Is my memory faulty and I just don’t remember? Did I learn my hands off parenting style from their example?

What about the rest of you? Do you play with your kids or watch from a safe distance?

Okay, back to Chaps. Those edits won’t approve themselves.

The Stubborn Six

I made a bet. Admittedly, it was a stupid bet, but it didn’t feel like it when I made it. Now, when I realize I’m losing, it’s definitely stupid. The bet? 30 pounds and a hundred bucks. Specifically, I need to lose 30 pounds before my oldest, Michelle, does or I lose $100 to her. So far she’s lost 15 pounds. Myself, I’ve lost and gained the same six pounds several times.

I’ve learned quite a bit about myself in the process. For example, my energy level is linked even more closely to the seasons than I realized. I take a daily Vitamin D supplement, but my body is still screaming for sleep as soon as the sun goes down. Since it’s officially fall, the days are shorter, and so is my level of productivity.

Second, I hate my gym. That’s not really news either. I’ve known that I hate the place forever, but combined with the increased need for sleep, it’s damn near impossible to convince myself to go after work.

Third, two miles a day is impossible to do reliably with a two-year-old along for the walk. Yes, I could do it on the treadmill at the gym, but notice the above paragraph about how much I hate the gym.

Solutions! Today I bought a elliptical machine and a treadmill. I figure that way I can walk or…what the hell do you do on an elliptical machine? Ellipt? At any rate, two miles in the morning before work should be a piece of cake now. I’ll let y’all know how that works out after a week or two.

Here’s a picture of the elliptical machine. The treadmill is still in the box. I’ll put it together this weekend.

Now I’m left with the problem of strength training. In the past I’ve always done weights at the gym. I’m thinking I’ll trade it in for twenty minutes of yoga in the morning, but I’m still mulling that one over.

Status for the 30 pound weight loss goal? Still at six pounds. Dammit.

Two Dykes and a Ferry

This past weekend, we spent some time in Bremerton with my cousin and her children. My kids loved it because they got to spend time with their cousins, Olivia and Alexander. We loved it because the kids loved it and we’re easy that way.

We drove up Saturday evening and arrived around 7:30-ish. For those who might be thinking about making the same trip, I strongly recommend not taking SR16 (which turns into SR3) at sunset. Driving into the sun? Not so much with the fun. Nothing like the tension building good times of not being able to see where you’re going because you are blinded by the light. Good song, bad experience.

Saturday evening was pretty much just a hang out and relax kind of time. The kids played with…everything. Oh my god, toys freaking every where. They had fun. The adults (yes, that includes me) played a game called Catch Phrase. Tara and I had never played before, but plan to pick up our own copy at the next opportunity. Ridiculously fun, that game. It’s kind of like a combination of Charades and Trivial Pursuit. Factor in some generous swearing on my part and you have a winner.

Sunday morning we got up early, scratch that. Sunday morning we were supposed to get up early, but we all slept in. Eventually we got up and took the ferry across to Seattle. That was was my first ride on a ferry, and I’d have to rate the experience as unfulfilling. Big boat. Lots of people. Floating takes place. I really wanted more fanfare. 

The ferry dropped us along on the pier in Seattle (imagine that). We walked along the waterfront, easier said than done with three adults, four children, and one difficult to maneuver stroller. We stopped for whatever little thing took our fancy. There was a fabulous sculpture of a fisherman (the kind that looks like he belongs on a Gorton’s box) feeding the seagulls. Lily loved that because the birds were big enough to sit on.

Eventually we ended up at Pike Place Market. Some day, when I’m not worried about losing track of an overly adventurous 2 year old, I’d like to go back and explore. As it was, the experience was just overwhelming. Sensory overload combined with active parenting. It made my head hurt. Tara did pick up a jar of pickled asparagus one of her all time favorite treats, a couple of bunches of fresh grapes for the kids to munch on, and a gorgeous bouquet of dalias because she loves me.

The we went up the hill to the mall. We’d planned to take the monorail to the Children’s Museum, but never quite made it that far. On the way to the mall, however, there was a nifty water feature that had a water fall that started around 10 feet in the air and fell into a pool below street level. There was a walkway that started on one side, then went through the middle of it, running parallel to the falls, and came out the other side. Wyatt, Lily and I ran through once. Then Wyatt and I went through another two times just for good measure. We were soaked at the end. 

As we were leaving the mall, I saw the best store ever called Lush. Well, I think it was the best store ever. I can’t actually confirm this since I didn’t get to go in. I pointed it out to Tara and said, “I’d love to spend some time in there when I’m not fighting with an over tired two year old.” Tara looked at the store and took off. “I’ll be right back.” She said it over her shoulder with Wyatt chasing along behind her trying like hell to keep up. Let me recap:

1) I wanted to go in.

2) I told Tara I wanted to go in.

3) Tara ditched my ass and went into the store I found and left me in the courtyard with a fussy Lily.

About 20 minutes later, Tara and Wyatt emerged from the store. Wyatt ran up to me, his hands held out, palms up. “Smell my hands.” Have to tell you, folks, my five year old son smelled like a pretty woman and was proud of it. “You smell great, son.” I glared at Tara over his head. Or I tried to. She looked just as happy as Wyatt did. “You should see this place, it’s wonderful.” I smiled, didn’t point out how much I wanted to see the place, and took her bag. We resumed our journey back to the pier.

Instead of the Children’s Museum, we opted to go to the aquarium. It was on the way back to the ferry and who doesn’t like to look at fish? If you are ever in Seattle and thinking about visiting the aquarium, I challenge you to think of this. Do you like looking at fish $16.00 worth? I’m not sure I do. Or did. But we went and looked at fish nonetheless. There were cool things there, but the website sums it up far better than I ever could, so look here if you are interested: Seattle Aquarium.

We stopped for ice cream when we finished there, a fabulous little street vendor that hand dips. I got an enormous waffle cone with butter pecan ice cream which I promptly dropped on the ground. I took that as a sign that fate thinks I’m fat enough and decided not to replace it. My cousin said to hell with fate and bought me another one anyway. It was delicious.

The ride back to Bremerton was as uneventful as the ride to Seattle, only this time factor in four restless and cranky children. The booth behind us remained basically empty the entire ride. Someone would sit in that seat, remain for about five minutes, then leave. I wanted to go with them each and every time.

Along the waterfront in Bremerton there is a series of fountains that are interconnected and do their thing in concert with one another. Tara let the kids sit on the edge and put their feet in the water. It wasn’t long until Lily was laying in the water pretending to swim and Wyatt was standing under the downpour of water, squealing like a good smelling girl. My cousin’s daughter, Olivia, sat on the edge like she was told. She’s the good cousin. Alexander is only one, so the jury is still out on him. Maybe he’ll be deviant like my kids, but I doubt it.

That about sums up our trip, leaving out the boring drive to Seattle from Portland and back again. Next time, I’m leaving the kids at home. Or, better yet, the rest of Seattle can stay home and that way I can enjoy the attractions without worrying about losing my babies.

To Vlog?

Fellow author Carsen Taite does a video blog, or vlog, which she updates via YouTube on a regular basis (once a week-ish). In the past I’ve contemplated doing one myself, but have hesitated for several reasons.

First and foremost, I am inherently lazy. I don’t know how to do a vlog, so it would require research. Research, as some of you know, is my most hated enemy. Well, not as hated as sweeping the floor–I mean, come on, you’re not actually doing anything, just pushing dirt around to a new location. It’s very unfulfilling. And I hate cooked carrots more than research. And rush hour traffic. And ignorance. It’s that last one that compels me to do research in spite of the tedium. However, a vlog is not compulsory, so it’s research I can avoid. Maybe.

Second, I ramble. Tangent, you are my friend. My mother easily could have medicated me for ADD when I was a child except it was the seventies in rural Idaho, you just didn’t do things like that then, and she doesn’t believe in medicating anyone for any reason. Ever. It’s a god thing. At the end of the day, I’m left to question, does any one want to watch me verbally chase a ball a string rather than staying on topic?

Third, my house is a zoo. The second I turn on the webcam and hit record, one of my kids will scream, and the other will run to me and swear he/she didn’t do it. Or one of them will climb in my lap and start making faces at the camera. Or my wife will start making the aforementioned monkey noises in the background. I can barely live though it without going insane. Do I really want to subject anyone else to my life in unedited?

Well, should I? Or shouldn’t I?

Word Prompts: Lascivious, Putrid, and Machiavellian

Lynn was brazen with her lust. Her favorite past time, it seemed, was seeing exactly how red she could make my cheeks. It wasn’t enough for her to remove my clothes, she had to strip all my defenses, leaving me open for whatever she offered at the moment.

She was decadent and lush, like honeysuckle in the late summer sun, her scent drifting over me. Her smile was deviant and mischievous, daring me to do something naughty. But she was never naughty, no, she was lascivious, for it was all about excesses in her world.

Her intentions were telegraphed, never Machiavellian. She announced what she wanted as though it were gospel. “Shug,” she’d drawl in that slow, southern accent that melted me every time, “I want you naked. Now.” 

And when she left, I died, putrid and rotting inside, but forced to smile my way through the day. I wanted to chase after her, promise her forever, or even ten more minutes. Whatever she wanted. I wrote, begged, pleaded, let me come.

She did not reply.