MotherReader

March has been an anxious month waiting for college acceptances to arrive, and I suppose I don't write when I'm anxious. I can't say what else I was doing, besides churning over the same college information and cleaning out the computer/storage room. Oh, and shoveling snow, which was flippin' weird in March.

But the results are in, and they are good for the Teen. She didn't quite make her reach school Columbia, but was admitted to its sister school Barnard. She swept our Virginia colleges with acceptances from University of Virginia, University of Richmond, and William & Mary, along with UNC at Chapel Hill. A last minute addition of George Washington University is looking promising with an admittance to a selective honors program and a large scholarship.

With such a variety of good schools to consider and such a big decision to make, I can't say how present I'll be online this month either. Though there is a significant difference in the tension of not being able to move forward because you have no idea what to decide among, and the tension of having many good choices to decide among. If it's any indication, this nagging lower back pain I've had for weeks is suddenly gone.

If you have anything to share about the schools, I'd love to hear. Especially about GWU or Barnard, where I don't have any insider view. William & Mary is safely covered by its two alumni in this very house - which is probably killing Teen's view of it - and Richmond is too expensive.

All right, I'm going to move on because I could write for hours comparing what we know of those schools and how they fit my daughter and what that could eventually mean for her future and if any will affect her potential as President...

Oh, yeah everything else is fine. The Kid is on a chorus trip to DisneyWorld and auditioned for a summer theatre program of Legally Blonde, which should be fun. My mom is doing fine from her recent follow-up appointment and got a new kitty friend. The husband and I are coming up on our twentieth year anniversary, and will likely have to pretend that it is actually occurring at a more convenient time to celebrate. Like 2016.

If you're reading this, thanks for staying around. I haven't been a great citizen of the KidLitosphere, but I love my friends in it too much to disappear entirely. Just sometimes, for odd stretches of time. Be well!

Ahhhhhhhhhhh! That is the sound of me relaxing for the first time in... I want to say... years?

Maybe it just feels that way, and certainly everything in my life hasn't reached a positive plateau. However, two big things are squared away. My senior was basically accepted into an excellent, affordable college, and while she hasn't decided on William & Mary, it's a relief to know that it's there as an extremely attractive option. She also just got the part of Cleopatra - the role she's been wanting and working towards, in a way since she starting acting. She's put a lot of time into this theater department and has truly earned this part with both performance skills and hard work.

Also the kid - who is really a teen - is settling into high school quite nicely. She's finding her own place in theater and chorus with parts and solos, both well-deserved. She's really shined in Unplugged with an original song and a beautiful cover, and that venue has given her incentive to keep working on her guitar. We watch American Idol together with an analytical approach to what she should do when she auditions.

And they get good grades, have friends, enjoy each other, and still hang out with me.

I've hit the parenting jackpot, and I'm so proud and happy.

So, time to breathe and figure out what is next.

A What Happens on Wednesdays, Stays on Wednesdays edition to continue last week's post.

We spent five days learning the elevator. This is frustrating nature of what a stroke can do. My mom can call Medicare and discuss her benefits, but can't remember which button to push in a hotel elevator. She stays calm while bolted to a machine that beams radiation into her brain, but gets flustered when asked if she wants the combo meal at the downstairs cafe.

My week with her was supposed to establish routines so she could manage a daily schedule, but it wasn't enough to overcome the cognitive deficits that the stroke caused two years ago. She is fine at home with her own schedules, activities, routes, and interactions. However, in a completely different environment, in a highly charged, stressful situation, incorporating new things is extremely difficult. Even things as simple as the elevator.

My brother is there this week, while I work a full time schedule to make up for my time off last week. I am grateful for the arrangement given that I didn't have any sick leave to use at my new job, but I'm also exhausted. Not from work itself, but from being the point person for all of this at the same time. Mom already had a fall on Monday that involved the hotel managers, the doctors at Johns Hopkins, and a dentist today. She can't be on her own - not because of the treatment itself, but because her anxiety and the stroke are working against her.

Now we're looking at a home health aide for the transportation to radiation therapy, and I'm saying room lockdown for her when someone else isn't there. She's going to love that phrasing, though her recent fall might make it an easier sell. It's also possible that I'll miss my week in New York while the rest of my family goes to get Erin to her Broadway program. Given that it's my one week of actual vacation that isn't also an obligation to someone else, in a city I love, helping my daughter with our mutual passion for music and theatre... I'm finding that plan hard to take.

Also my daughters are in a summer arts program that requires transportation every day that often conflicts with the work schedule I didn't know I was going to have at the time they signed up for the school. And Erin has rehearsals for her musical most weeknights, which is another drive. Oh, and just to clinch it, my hamster is dying - really slowly, a little weaker each day. Which is a little bit how I feel now.

All right, that was pure venting. Sorry. But it felt good to get it out. If I could, I'd toast now to "things getting better," for the sentiment and also so I could drink to it. Repeatedly.

I had hoped that I'd be able to tap into my Reader side this week, but the Mother part of me is crowding out everything else mentally. The difference this time is that it is being the mother to my mother.

So again, we have another personal post instead of anything to do with books, reading, or libraries. (Though to be fair to myself, it is my personal stories day.) I had thought I'd sit her in the business center room of the Radisson and tidy up some notes into a review or two. But instead there's a steady flow of Muzak that may be damaging my psyche and all I can think about is my own experience, right now.

I wouldn't talk about this openly if my mom read my blog, but she doesn't understand the Internet. Honestly though there's nothing that we haven't talked about anyway. Especially now that we're here in Baltimore beginning her treatments at Johns Hopkins. I never thought it would be easy, but I didn't think it would be this hard.

I couldn't have predicted the heat wave that makes it impossible to go outside for any length of time, nor could I have planned for a nearby water main break that has shut down some of the local eateries I was counting on. Maybe I should have been more realistic about my mom's strength in being able to walk a few blocks, and I could have been less optimistic about the side effects of treatment. I know I've been too hopeful about her ability to handle more on her own, and that worries me.

I have faith in the radiation therapy done with the best doctors in the best hospital in the country. But the fact that she's not feeling good or strong now, at the very beginning, is not a promising look at the next month. I feel bad for her, certainly, but I kind of feel bad for myself. (And feel guilty for feeling that way.) It's hard taking charge, making decisions, missing work, and leaving my kids behind to manage all this in another city. Talking among my friends, I know I'm not alone in the sandwich generation - taking care of kids and aging parents simultaneously - but haven't figured out how to manage it. Except, perhaps, one day at a time.

I have talked about my mom’s stroke and the subsequent finding of a large, benign tumor in her brain. She is recovering from the stroke quite nicely, although when she is anxious or tired, her symptoms of confusion and impaired cognitive functioning become more pronounced. The problem now is a large tumor that is encasing one of her optic nerves and pressing on the other. Along with being in a pretty inaccessible section of the brain, this is a situation that requires extreme specialization.

Like the kind you’d find at Johns Hopkins Hospital.

Where we were yesterday.

At the time of the shooting.

If I’m counting my blessings, I will say that the standoff occurred in the hospital, not the outpatient center we were visiting. I will also express relief that the doctor who was shot is likely to recover from his injuries.

But for me, personally? Oh, come on! Is all of this not hard enough for me and my mom? We haven’t had one visit to Johns Hopkins that’s gone smoothly. All of our drives there have taken twice as long as they should — by which I mean over two hours instead of one — which has been exhausting. The first day we were late, but they were able to see us. But the doctor was also late, so we ended up spending all day in the office. Leaving us with perfect timing to encounter a huge storm on the Beltway, giving us a three hour drive home. Totals were seven hours spent for a forty-minute appointment.

The next visit we stayed in a hotel overnight in Baltimore to be sure to be at the early appointment, but there was a mix-up with the hotel calling our cab, so we made it there just on time. Following protocol we had been chastised about before, we took a number and didn’t check in until they called our number. That’s when they told us that the time we arrived was the time scheduled for the MRI, and so by waiting to be called, my mom had missed her slot. They thought they might be able to fit us in late afternoon. I almost cried. There was a bit of luck when another appointment was suddenly canceled as we sat there, but it was too late for my anxiety level, which was already through the roof. We had another terribly long drive home.

So for this visit, we did everything right. We left super early, counting on a two-hour drive. We double-checked the appointment and the map. We arrived at the outpatient center at 11:25 a.m., where I dropped off my mom to wait inside while I parked the car. By the time I walked back at 11:30 a.m., they were putting the Center on lockdown and wouldn’t let me in. I finally was able to convince a guard to walk me in to find my mother, but they wouldn’t let us proceed to the fifth floor for her appointments. No, we had to go outside and wait for ninety minutes where we heard reports of the situation from the other patients and visitors. The police helicopters overheard also clued us in to something really big going down.

The office called me to reschedule, but I told them that we were outside, my mom had come from Virginia Beach for this appointment, and if that building opened before 5:00 p.m., we were coming in. With the specter of keeping my mom with me for another week to wait for another set of Thursday appointments, I pretty much would have scaled the walls with my mom on my back to get us in to see those doctors.

Once we did get in, we had a pretty easy time of the scheduling as they had told most of their afternoon patients not to come. However, we did not get the information we needed to start on our treatment plan, because our main doctor didn’t compare the old MRI with the new one before we came, and then didn’t have the right files by the time he saw us at 4:00 p.m. And he was kind of cranky about it, too. So, after all of that, we left with little more information than we had coming in. Oh, and since we stayed in the hospital for a quick dinner — Baja Fresh! — before driving home, our total time in the parking garage went thirty minutes over six hours, for which our fee went from $6.00 to $11.00. Just a final indignity to the visit.

But not that final, because we also had a two-and-a-half-hour drive home, as we seemed to be hitting rush hour traffic still at 8:00 p.m.

Clearly I have in some way offended the Universe, and would like to make amends. If anyone has suggestions on how to do so, I’m open to them.

For now, I’m taking the rest of the day off after this vent. And then taking my mom back to Virginia Beach tomorrow — along with my ninth grade Girl Scout troop — because I don’t do anything the easy way. God, give me strength.

I didn’t announce a summer blog break, though I pretty much took one. It’s actually just one in a series of “I didn’t” statements for the summer. A series that is weighing me down, and holding back my return to blogging.

I didn’t review the summer books I intended to cover. I didn’t really read many books, for that matter. I didn’t talk about my week in New York, even though it was wonderful. I didn’t talk about the end of PBS Booklights, even though it was terrible. I didn’t use the time to format my strategy for this blog or KidLitosphere Central. I didn’t work to get my picture book manuscript published. I didn’t announce the call for Cybils judges, even though I’m the organizer again for Fiction Picture Books. I didn’t promote KidLit Con 2010, even though I plan to go and hopefully to speak. I didn’t answer many emails or participate in many discussions. I didn’t read Mockingjay until yesterday.

I didn’t get my house in order — literally or figuratively. And to be honest, I didn’t do all that much for my mom over these months. I mean, I talked to her a lot on the phone. Visited a few times. Arranged a few medical appointments, five of which are in the next ten days at Johns Hopkins Hospital. But it’s not like I was on dedicated family medical leave.

Knowing “I didn’t” has made it harder to get back to blogging. Maybe in the same way an ice cream binge ruins a dieter’s progress or an injury derails a newbie’s exercise program. But the longer I break from writing, the harder it is to start again. And I don’t feel better for not blogging, but less tethered to the commitment of it.

As it turns out, I’m not at my best untethered. So I’ll do as the dieters, exercisers, and rehabbers do and take it one day at a time. One post at a time. As my teen and tween head back to the work of the school year, I’m getting back to the work of blogging. Because the truth for all of us is that the work is easily countered by the time hanging out with friends — whether at recess, in the halls, or online. As they headed back to school today, groaning about waking up early and anticipated homework, they also put on their coolest clothes and talked about friends. I’m doing the same with my coolest clothes (have you seen my newish template?) and talking about you, my friends. Back to blogging we go.

I’ve been back home for more than a week and I haven’t felt like writing. Well, that’s not exactly it, but trying to clarify has made me write this particular sentence over and over again. Which is a good example of why I didn’t feel like writing. Maybe I should back up.

I did get back from a wonderful trip to New York City. We didn’t get to do everything we wanted to do in the city, nor did we create an overnight Broadway star in my tween. We did have an fantastic time and she had an excellent experience, and I’ll try to write a fuller report later.

Right after we got home, I found that an important medical consultation for my mom was going to be pushed back two weeks — unless we could make it in two days instead. That wouldn’t be a problem, except that she lives in Virginia Beach and the appointment was at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. So instead of a week of rest following our fun-but-exhausting trip, I was getting the house ready and then hosting guests.

I had a nice visit with my brother, who needed to drive my mom up to my place. My niece was a ray of sunshine. My mom was... okay. It was an overwhelming experience for her — from dropping everything to come north, to the bad luck surrounding her appointment which put in five hours of driving time for an hour’s consultation, to processing the visit with the specialist, and so on. Her stroke makes it hard for her to understand complicated things anyway, and we’ve got tough things to talk through — as many times as it takes.

We have many appointments and tests to go before I can really share more, but I can say that it wasn’t an easy week and I didn’t feel like writing. The problem is that the more I don’t blog, the harder it is to get started again. Like, at all. So I’m dumping this all out here in the hopes of clearing the cobwebs from my brain and getting going again online.

Thanks for listening.

Three months ago my mother had a stroke. She was lucky in that her impairment wasn’t severe, and physically she recovered quickly. To be more accurate, her body excluding her brain recovered quickly. Her brain relearned some things within a week; many other things are still behind a locked door. She struggles to read and comprehend more than a paragraph. She mixes up numbers, can’t do any math, and forgets the time. She can get confused in new situations, and in those times her speech also loses some coherence. There remain a number of surprises as we learn some new, discrete impairment.

This weekend offered one of those moments. My mom came up to see my tween in her summer musical theatre performance, where she was featured in several numbers and had the Maria solo in “I Feel Pretty.” The logistics of the travel arrangements weren’t easy, but it was very important to my mom that she make it to this show, so we made it happen. My daughter gave a wonderful performance, both in dancing for songs from Hairspray and in her solo. I wasn’t sitting next to my mom, but she seemed to be enjoying the show. It wasn’t until the end that she shared that she hadn’t recognized her granddaughter during her solo. She was light about it, but it broke my heart. She came all the way here to see my daughter perform, and then didn’t realize that was what she was seeing. I tried to make sense of it — because certainly she recognizes us — and came to the conclusion that with the costumes, and without the context of a familiar setting, her stroke-impaired brain couldn’t make the connection between the lovely singer and her own granddaughter.

These are the times when I understand how much has been lost, and how surprising some of the losses are. Also that I began to worry about what is still in store. One of the findings from all the brain scans was a benign tumor that is pressing on her optic nerve and other sensitive areas. Surgery looks likely, but is tricky and possibly dangerous. One of the hardest parts is that it may fall to me to make or at least to finalize some of the decisions, because this kind of problem solving is exactly where my mom struggles. It’s scary.

I’ve found some help and comfort in My Stroke of Insight, by Jill Bolte Taylor, Ph.D., and am talking about the book in a separate post for NonFiction Monday here.

Lately, I seem to have writer’s block. For my blog. Pathetic. Add that to the whole getting-back-to-normal thing going on at home, where I try to make up for days of not being around and a weekend of movie-making, and I find myself drifting. I want to get back on track here, but I’m not feeling it. I’m thinking I’ll do some catch-up stuff now and really kick off next week. Sound good?

I’ve set the date for the 48 Hour Book Challenge as the weekend of June 4th and will put up the official sign-up post with rules on Monday. I’m way behind in trolling prize package items, so if you could help me out by donating signed books, crafty ventures, illustrator sketches, reading paraphernalia, etc., I’d really appreciate it. You can email me at MotherReader AT gmail DOT com.

I’m planning on going to Book Expo America and the Book Blogger Convention, but have made no plans as to my transportation or accommodations. That was my April project, but my mind was elsewhere. I’d love to know who is going from the KidLitosphere, so let’s see some comments below.

Tonight our latest short film screens at 7:00 p.m. at the AFI Silver Theatre in Silver Spring, Maryland. We drew “horror” as our genre, and had quite a time writing it with Robin Brande and filming it with our stellar cast and crew. And actually editing it was a challenge too, as we needed to keep the movie under seven minutes and yet leave enough time to build tension. I’m hoping to join the Tohubohu team tonight, but I have some logistics to work through. Tomorrow I’ll write about the making of the film and hopefully be able to share a link to it.

I don’t have any more updates on my mom, other than that she would seem to the outside observer to be doing extremely well. It’s only by being with her that I see the huge gaps in her cognitive processing. And I don’t know how much better they are going to get or when or even how. Plus there are still medical issues ahead. For now though, my brother has taken some leave to cover her care, so I have a bit of a reprieve.

I’ve barely been able to keep up with KidLitosphere happenings, but I did note the latest uproar over how fake-nice women book bloggers are — which Liz is covering most splendidly at Tea Cozy. My first reaction was that writing without research on YA/KidLit or book blogging is usually a New York Times thing, so I wonder if they’ll be contracting out to The Huffington Post. Honestly that article alone would have been enough online excitement for weeks, but then we got one from The Horn Book that suggests “if you love children’s literature, you cannot kill animals just because they taste good on a bun.” I’m here to say that actually you can and I’m curious where I’ll find full-out argument with the thesis — which I am so not up to. But for now you can comment on the topic at Read Roger.

Hey, look at that. My writer’s block is over.

An update is in order, but it’s been hard to write it. Less because of my stress level, or even my general busyness, than because my head seems too full to manage writing. I hope to get better about that soon.

So, strokes are weird. My mother can make a pot of noodles for our dinner without asking one question along the way, but couldn’t figure out how to open her shampoo. We’ve had intelligent, thoughtful discussions about the stupid Arizona immigration law, but she can’t understand the concept of “next month.” She could identify her preferred food brands at the grocery store and discuss why she liked them, but couldn’t remember how to use the credit card scanner.

Overall, I’m impressed with her progress. Physically, she’s coordinated and competent. Her speech is understandable almost all of the time, and her memory is good. She works hard to stay upbeat and challenges herself to learn new things. Or rather, to relearn old things. At the same time, I can see how far she has to go in regaining competence for tasks that were once familiar and recognition for words that were once easy. It’s a bit daunting.

I’m not sure what’s next, exactly. I’m going home tomorrow and trying to figure out how and when I can get back. And we’re not done, either in this particular recovery or the one to come, when the doctors investigate the very likely possibility of brain surgery. The only way we can deal with that prospect is to not deal with it at all right now.

Anyway, I’m hoping to get back on blog next week, because I think that I need that distraction and routine. It’s also time to look at the 48 Hour Book Challenge and Book Expo America and the Book Blogger Convention. Oh, and normal life — whatever that is. I wrote down this quote from the speech therapist’s office, and am keeping it at the top of my calendar for May: “Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.”

Hello, Spring 2010? Watch my samba.

When I talked to members of Mid-Atlantic chapter of SCBWI on Wednesday about blogging, I weighed in on the need to have a blog be personal, but not too personal. People want to read about the writer or illustrator or blogger as a real person. Someone who worries about her plants or lets his hamster scamper on his drawing. Those little views into your world are gold, without exploiting your privacy or your family’s privacy.

And today I’m breaking with that entirely, because I’ve known you all for a while and because I feel the need to share and because what’s going on in my personal life may affect my blogging presence and because maybe I’ll get some advice that will help me with this step.

This week my mother had a small stroke. Small in that she is completely in control of her physical self and her thoughts and mostly in control of her speech. In fact, in talking to her over the phone (my brother is there with her), I had a more optimistic picture of her than was probably accurate. She is talking well, with occasional struggles to get out the right word. What I didn’t realize until yesterday is that she can’t read or write at all, because she can’t make that translation back to her brain. She also mentioned that she went to brush her teeth, and couldn’t figure out the toothpaste. She knew what to do, but couldn’t signal her hands to comply. She’s laughing about it and staying upbeat, which is good. She’s also on track for a therapy program to help her build new pathways in her brain to replace the broken ones.

But this is more serious than I originally thought, and I’m going to be making some back-and-forth trips to Virginia Beach to help out. We may also be making some hard decisions about where she is going to stay — maybe even about where she is going to live. They will be particularly difficult given the economy and the housing market and the connections that we have with two cities, two families, two hundred miles apart.

So I’m not sure what I’ll be doing here online. Things may not change much, as I may have just as much free time to dash off a post here and there. I still plan on going to BEA and the Book Blogger Convention at the end of May. I hope to see some of you there. I still plan on doing the 48 Hour Book Challenge over the June 4th weekend. I have any number of kid, scouts, and family obligations that I plan to meet. But things could be different for a while.

Personally, I’m feeling mostly... okay. I have a kind of peaceful sense that we will all just do what we need to do as we figure out what that is. I guess I didn’t really need to say anything here, but I wanted to tell you because it felt like I was holding back something otherwise. In a way, it comes back to the presentation that I gave at the SCBWI session. I talked about not looking at your blog as something you need to do for promotional purposes, but seeing it as an opportunity to share of yourself, and in doing so building relationships and connecting with people. So here I am, sharing, and I’m glad to have you there to listen. Thanks.

For weeks now I’ve had a lump in my throat like the kind you get when you’re about to cry. But this one would come at seemingly random times — as I was washing the dishes, sitting by the pool, trying to fall asleep. In those breaks from my hectic life, I’d be forced to remember, “Oh yeah, I’m losing my job at the end of June.”

It would fit my ironic existence that I moved to an exempt job — no, fought for the reduced-hours position — and then that category of job was slated for elimination for the first time in twenty years. This isn’t the fault of My Fair County, but of my own unlucky choices. I’ve known since October when the economy tanked that my position would be cut. Since February I’ve been sure that there wouldn’t be another position for me to take since all jobs were frozen. Since April’s budget decision, it’s been a matter of time.

Through this school year of waiting, I’ve been pretty much okay. My salary is helpful for future savings, but not absolutely necessary. For months I’ve looked at the end of my job as a sabbatical where I could finally take a break, enjoy my family, write the book, and focus on KidLitosphere business. But today is my last day of work, and all I can feel is the loss.

It doesn’t help that I had found the perfect branch. It was built a year ago, and features huge windows overlooking the trees, thousands of freshly ordered books, and that new library smell. The library is fairly quiet, but my programs were always full. My position put me low on status, but my opinions were respected. The staff was wonderful, the five-minute commute amazing, and the pace perfect. And while I love the idea of not working in the summer, I’ll deeply miss the chance to give kids great books when they finally have time to ask me for suggestions.

Also, it’s hitting me that however much I’ve talked about going back to the library when jobs open up, it may not happen. The current staffing norm for new employees wouldn’t allow me to take a job unless I’d work every weekend. I’ve grown too attached to my branch to really consider another. Even the idea that jobs will open up is optimistic when an article in today’s paper shows the county will probably face an additional seven percent budget loss in this fiscal year. I’m realizing that I may not be able to go back.

Of course, there’s also the possibility that my situation will change. Maybe my writing will find a publishing home. Maybe I’ll contract out my services for a newsletter or expand my involvement in PBS or coordinate conferences for cash. Maybe my recycled jewelry hobby can turn a little profit in the holiday season. Maybe I can devote the time to my talented daughters who have missed opportunities with my mixed-up schedule. I may not want to go back.

Right now it doesn’t matter if I am not able to go back or don’t want to go back or even if eventually I can go back. Today it’s about losing something. A job, certainly, but also a refuge from a busy home life and an identity of what I do. It almost makes me cry, and it’s the almost that’s leaving the lump in my throat. I’m ready to lose that lump too.

Tomorrow I’m heading to the beach with my girls to see family and sit by the shore. I need to clear my head in the ocean breeze and let the salty sea absorb any tears. I need to have fun and sunshine. I need to reflect and regroup. I’ll read email, but otherwise will be offline for the week. That’s what I’m going to do for me.

When I get back, I’ll be getting KidLitosphere Central updated as it suffered from my Three Months of Busyness. I want those of you going to ALA to feel good about promoting it as a way to access our thriving community. I’ll also be pouring my energy into the sessions and registration for the KidLitosphere Conference. If you already know you’re coming, I’d encourage you to make reservations at the Sheraton in Crystal City. I can basically tell you that the conference fee will be about $100 and will include the conference sessions, along with breakfast and the nice dinner on Saturday, October 17th. I’ll be working on pulling together the sessions and presenters, but last year’s conference will give you an idea of what to expect. I’m thinking about a Library of Congress field trip on that Friday, for those who’d be interested. I’m looking at Politics and Prose for something on Sunday. Both of those outings are optional. Honestly, the specific sessions and field trips are almost irrelevant, as you should come to the conference if you are looking for an opportunity to meet/reconnect/network with the kidlitosphere bloggers/authors/publishers you know online while using some of the time to learn/collaborate/discuss issues.

Why am I giving you a preview of that conference information when I just said that I’m going to tackle it next week? Well, for two reasons. First, I want to end this post on a positive, forward-thinking note. Second, I know you, my blogging friends, may want to do something to help me feel better and nothing would be more helpful than getting the ball rolling for the conference. So mark your calendar, make reservations, and let me know you’re coming. One door closes, another opens.

So, what did you do for Earth Day?

Did you, for instance, agree to chaperone a seventh grade field trip to a local nature park, only to find out that instead of leisurely strolling through the woods while trained experts pointed out trees, you would be running eight twenty-minute sessions on an experiment about run-off that involved a city and country scenario with sponges as plant life and food dye as pollution and plastic animals to stand in for real animals who make pollution in the form of poo, which you would either have to encourage these seventh graders to realize on their own or to say it for them despite the giggles and/or the studied looks of disinterest that middle schoolers do so well, and all the while you are sitting on a damp fallen tree as the temperature drops to darn near chilly and the instructor keeps coming by with severe weather instructions, you know, just in case?

Did you do anything like that for Earth Day? No?

Then I win.

Every storm passes by eventually.

Well, unless it’s one of those little cartoon clouds which hover above an unfortunate woman as she tries to dodge the storm. She escapes briefly into the first beautiful day of this spring, and then BAM! Lightning strikes in the form of water dripping down the side of the house while the dishwasher is running. Like that’s not going to be a huge problem.

It’s possible I’ve even infected other members of my family. How else to explain my seventh-grade daughter’s Improv group’s first Theatresports competition? Her school has had two practices, compared with the other ten teams that have run year-long. In the first round, her team went second, so she didn’t have any time to get a sense of the action. In the third round, her team went first — in a game that they didn’t even know. Now that’s real improv. My daughter actually did pretty well in that scene, taking control and committing to the role. But come on — ten teams, three rounds, and her team goes second and first in two of them? Am I wearing some kind of metaphysical “kick me” sign?

But then there are moments when your white cat rolls around in the dust on the sidewalk — except this particular dust happens to be chalk dust...


And all seems right with the world, however briefly.

I’m not in the mood for a Nonfiction Monday posting today. It seems I’ve got some plumbing issues to address. But I’ll point you to host Mommy’s Favorite Children’s Books for some great books of the nonfiction kind.

Why aren’t there picture books set in Las Vegas? I mean, New York toddlers have tons to choose from about their city. I think it’s time for a Vegas Baby or Baby Needs a New Pair of Shoes. (Hey, that is actually is a book.) With those huge, fanciful buildings, Vegas makes a great book setting. The porn cards on the sidewalks don’t need to be featured.

Yeah, I have Vegas on the mind after coming back from my trip. We had a fantastic time. But I’m having trouble with my short-version recap. I’ve done the full story — with photos — that you tell to people who care or who have to pretend to care. I’ve got that down. The mini-response, of course, is any near synonym of great. But then there is the difficult short version, for people who ask you when they have two minutes to spare, and you say, “It was great/fantastic/wild/surreal. We went/saw/did/stayed/learned/found ______, _____, and _______.”

I don’t know what to use for the blanks. So here are some highlights of our trip, and perhaps you can vote in the comments for your favorite three.

1. We stayed at the five-star Bellagio hotel for $109 a night, so this recession thing may be real.
   
2. We went to and lost money in pretty much every fancy casino on the Strip. (But not a lot of money.)
   
3. We learned that the places look much closer together on the map, and I have the blisters to prove it.
   
4. We saw the dolphin and lion habitat at the Mirage, but the exhibit was greatly enhanced by being able to sit down.
   
5. I did play blackjack at three casinos, and ended $15 down at the really scuzzy one, which kinda figures.
   
6. We found that the Strip is to Downtown as Whitney Houston is to Britney Spears (before Whitney got druggie).
   
7. We went to a comedy club, a magic show, and Blue Man Group with discount tickets — not that it was easy.
   
8. I found that if you argue long enough with the timeshare people, they will call security.
   
9. We learned that if you try sometimes, you just might find that you get what you need — and a comped lunch.
   
10. We did take the red-eye back, were delayed in NYC, and I went to work two hours after we landed.

Vote for your favorite three and that will be my new short-version Vegas story. It’s all in your hands now.

I had planned to do a “Farewell to Summer” post yesterday, but I was too busy faring well. Or farewelling. Or both. Anyway. I’m glad that I didn’t set summer goals because I think it’s safe to say that I wouldn’t have met them. Well, unless my goals involved increasing the household disorder and eating a lot of takeout, in which case I did pretty darn good.

My mantra of the year — Create, Connect, Comment — also went out the window. I didn’t create anything except mess as my writing was on hold. I only connected with my family, to whom I’m already well-connected. I didn’t comment on blogs, though I was able to make some snarky verbal comments about McCain — but I don’t think that counts.

In fact, on the commenting, I feel like I owe my blog-friends an apology and/or an explanation. At work, I can read book blogs — so I have been reading — but it pushes the limits to submit comments. I swear to myself each work day that I will go home and comment then, but I also swear to myself that I’ll resist the Call of the Oreos and that never pans out either. I’m hoping with the structure of the school year that I’ll get a better system going for this commenting thing. Stay tuned.

So I didn’t meet any particular goals, but I think we did all right for ourselves this summer.

• Six pairs of jeans purchased at discount at Ross
  
• Five nieces and nephews tickled and kissed
  
• Four trips to Virginia Beach, including lots o’ niece time
  
• Four weeks of the teen library play for seventh grader
  
• Four meetings of Girl Scouts summer book club
  
• Three nylon Prada handbags purchased on eBay
  
• Two weeks of drama camp for both girls
  
• Two yard sales for charity
  
• Two long bike rides in the park
  
• One Obama meeting, and hand-shaking
  
• One stunning fireworks display at the beach
  
• One trip to Lake Anna, including a trial run of the kayak
  
• One huge yard sale haul of designer clothes at $2 a bag
  
• One expedition to Six Flags, including water park experience
  
• One fish pedicure with bonus daughter bonding
  
• One exploration of Willoughby Bay, Norfolk, Virginia
  

There was also lots of reading, pool visits, and grilled steak. And of course, my new job at my brand-new library kept the summer interesting. (“Do we have a public phone? Hmmm. Let me find out.”)

Today I sent my seventh grader to, well... seventh grade at the scary middle school. Scary in that the school is huge. Bill and I hid behind my car to watch her get on the bus. It was like she was going to kindergarten for the first time except without the crying.

Okay, maybe I cried a little.

I’m totally doing this fish pedicure thing. I’m not kidding — I made an appointment for me and my seventh grader next week. It’s rare that you can do something that’s making national news, so when it’s in your backyard you’ve got to open up to the experience. Carp(e) diem!

Hah! I knew it wasn’t just me. Apparently I’m in the fifteen percent of the population that has trouble telling my left from my right. The Washington Post says so. Oh, I feel vindicated and so much less alone.

Maybe now when asked a directional question, I won’t worry about that downward glance I give to my hands to see which one forms an “L” with the thumb. The beginning of Pledge of Allegiance won’t send an anxious charge through my body as I worry which hand to place on my heart. I won’t need to tell people that I must have missed Left-Right Day in kindergarten. Because now I know that I have company, and that makes all the difference in the world.

I wanted to post here in the last couple of days, but I needed a little break. I wish I could convey the depth of chaos that has enveloped my last two weeks. A thirty-six hour power outage. Then two solid days without air conditioning in a brutal heat wave. Another power outage on Tuesday night until the wee hours of the morning. And all this while coordinating the 48 Hour Book Challenge, starting my job at my new branch (which is lovely), and finishing up the last week at school.

Some of this activity has been fun. I loved having tea with friends and watching my daughter enjoy her Brownie party. Some things have been stressful, like trying to finish my Girl Scout money report, realizing that I’ve made a big mistake in it somewhere and now need to dig — literally — through records to find out where the right paper is with the right number. Some things have been amusing. I’d say putting an ice pack in the hamster cage so Honey Bear doesn’t die of heat stroke falls in this category. My 8:00 a.m. call to a friend asking for anything for a Christopher Columbus costume for that very day was also a rather comic moment.

But in all of the chaos and activity and comedy, the thread running through it all is that my sixth grader is leaving elementary school today. It’s hard to believe. I remember that we made sure to move before kindergarten started so that she would have the same school the whole time. I remember taking her in that first day and looking around to find her little friends so that she wouldn’t be scared. One of the two girls we discovered that day is still her best friend now.

When I had a Bridging ceremony for my sixth grade Junior troop, they wanted a poem. Being that all of them forgot to find one, and being that I knew that they would forget, I brought my own. It’s one that I’ve seen a few times in Poetry Friday, but I want to share it on my own site today in honor of my daughter’s big move to middle school.

Our Deepest Fear
by Marianne Williamson

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.

We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us;
It’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we’re liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

Poetry Friday round-up is over at A Wrung Sponge today. I’ll be back next week with news, reviews, and interviews. Shine on.

Ohmigod, the hamster escaped. The hamster that my third grader has wanted for two years and was finally old enough to get. The hamster that made it through a brief bout of “the runs” that can be fatal for hamsters, but survived perhaps due to my sheer need for her to be okay. This morning we found that she had gotten out of a less-than-perfectly closed skycap viewing area. She must have worked and worked on unscrewing that thing. But, to reference Clemency Pogue and the Hobgoblin Proxy, “There was a principle at work here, an equal and opposite reaction for every action. The jar [top] was unscrewed, and Kenn [I] was quite the opposite.”

I’m physically sick about this. (Yes, Kelly, my stomach lurched and hasn’t stopped yet.) I’ve set out my hamster traps. I’ve prayed to Saint Anthony (“Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony, please come around. Something is lost that needs to be found.”) and I’m not even Catholic. I’m planning on staying up tonight when these little guys are active to see if I can catch her then. In the meantime, I’m fighting my anxiety and sicky stomach and cleaning up every place I can to search for a little sleeping Honey hamster. The problem is that the place is a mess, and therefore there are tons of places a little hamster could hide, and that fact is just making me feel sicker and more anxious.

Please send me your good hamster-finding energy. And if you have any good tricks, pass them along.