fifty shades of me

So, I released a book called Shadows Gray. At the same time, some woman released a book called 50 Shades of Gray. I sold like, two copies. She sold like, six squillion and counting.

Sometimes someone buys my book and promptly returns it for a refund. I can just picture them yelling,

hey! what the heck! where's all the naughty bits? boy, cousin Tilly has the worst taste ever in erotica. that's the last time I listen to her; she probably gets all hot and bothered over Sweet Valley Twins.

Anyway, I have a few friends who read it, and a few friends who would NEVER read it, and a few friends who don't read anything, so they're out of the equation. 

I didn't have any interest in reading it, per se, but I had just gotten my Kindle and I was getting the hang of downloading free books.

Free kindle books. This could be a blog post all its own. And it will be soon, I think. I shall title it The Warrior's Werewolf and His Submissive Amish Zombie Lover; the Novella, Part 4. 

For a time, amazon was offering the first couple of chapters of 50 Shades for free. So, I downloaded it out of curiosity. Now, I'm not just saying this out of petty jealousy for a woman who became a squillionaire for being a smut writer, but it was pretty boring, badly written stuff. 

Rolling my eyes, I felt dumb for having it on my kindle.

Then, I realized: I had it on my kindle.

The kindle that my kids played Angry Birds on. The kindle that my husband peruses when everyone else has the remote control. That kindle.

I didn't want them to see 50 Shades on that kindle! 

Feverishly, I went to get it off. But getting rid of kindle books is nothing like dropping off your unwanted paperbacks anonymously at the Goodwill! I had just gotten this kindle, remember, and I'm about as tech-y as your average garden gnome. I can barely cut and paste. 

I start tapping the touch screen of the blasted device in various patterns. Perhaps if I touch the right spot, it will give me the option to "delete forever from this device and your memory" but alas. I played the opening lines of the theme to the Young and the Restless, which was the only piano song I ever learned, but no. It was still there, mocking me. I could almost hear the Church Ladies marching up my step. They were going to burst into my bedroom! They were going to pray for my wayward soul (again. So awkward).  I'd be fired from my job with children! I'd be left by my husband who thought he married a Good Girl! 

The tapping wasn't working, so I tried to find the owner's manual. Evidently, the owner's manual is IN the kindle, but I didn't know that at the time. Well played, amazon, well played.

I decide to ask google. I fire up the trusty laptop and type deleting mommy porn from an ereader before anyone finds out.

The laptop FREEZES. I repeat, IT FREEZES WITH THAT OH-SO CRIMINAL SENTENCE IN THE SEARCH ENGINE. It won't minimize the page, it won't close, the laptop won't even turn off. I am going to hell in a hand basket.

The church ladies are getting closer: I can hear them singing Follow the Fold and Stray No More. They are nearly on my lawn! I swear, I have ten heart attacks. I have to get this off my kindle.

I go through the rigmarole of  waiting for the laptop to mysteriously stop freezing, which takes about 3 weeks. In the meantime, my kids have grown up without a mother and my husband leaves me for Sarah Brown and the Mission Band. One time, a small child enters my room and I toss the kindle like a Frisbee under my bed. I feel like a teen caught with Playboy. Or a mom caught with 50 Shades of Gray. 

Eventually, once the laptop stops teasing me I find what I'm looking for. To delete a book from your kindle, you simply touch the screen a bit longer and the option magically appears. What a relief. 

I'm so relieved I eat a pint of ice cream and go to bed in my flannel pjs and team building exercise tshirt and fuzzy socks. I've heard an urban legend that reading 50 Shades of Gray ignited fiery passion in the bedrooms of house wives everywhere, but I certainly don't see how. 

Those women are so weird, I swear.  

I Sleep in a Salad Bar

Or at least, it feels like one.

We have a television in our bedroom.

We have kids.

They snack. 

You do the math.

Sometimes when I roll over, popcorn kernels - you know, the old maids - go flying across the room and pitter patter across the hardwood floor with alarming noise.

Sometimes, I swear, I have croutons in body places there should not be croutons.

Wrappers between my toes, and gummies between my...well, never mind.

And someone's five year old (I'm looking at you, Mike Williams) colored with a highlighter on my bedspread. With his mother sitting right there, coloring her Megamind page and not even noticing! Can you believe it. Some people's parenting skills. So, now I have orange highlighter all over my bedspread, which is covered nicely by a Lightening McQueen blanket (romantic, I know. I should probably get a photo and pin it on Pinterest so you too can have the sexy getaway we call our boudoir) and food in the sheets.

Ah well. I like to think of the cracker crumbs as an exfoliating scrub that some women would pay upteen dollars for. And the hot cocoa scented pillow cases? Moisturizing and better smelling than the Axe body spray I bought Gianni for Christmas, which I had to hide posthaste because my eyes were bleeding from the odor emitting from his neck, like Pepe le Pew.

Speaking of Christmas, my eldest has inherited my holiday depression: sadness that all this merry making is over which starts around 2 days BEFORE Christmas. We started in with our depression last Saturday, and drank our weight in eggnog as we cried into our cheese ball. We perked up slightly by the sight of our gifts - well, she did anyway. She got a Kindle and I haven't seen her in 3 days now. I hope she's eating. I can just picture her emerging from her bedroom with a Rip Van Winkle beard, a withered old crone. Yes, a crone with a beard! Use your imagination.

In other news, the girls are enjoying school, though of course, they're off right now. In all the sold out theater for Les Mis, Anna was the only kid. I don't know whether other parents feel it was not appropriate for children (I covered her eyes during the prostitute scene) or if kids these days are uncultured ignoramuses. Good think I spelled ignoramuses correctly the first time, or I would have had to delete that whole ironic sentence. Anyway, she was enthralled since she's known every lyric since she was eight. The sequel to Shadows Gray will be out momentarily so naturally, I feel like throwing up. It's like giving birth, except - 

nah, it's nothing like giving birth, never mind.

But I am nervous. I hope you'll read it. 

I'll leave you with a quote from the G-ster:

Said to his father: "I love you more than Christmas and tacos."

Cora pipes up: "What about me?"

G, thinking hard: "I love you more than ... geckos."

(He only has a slight love for geckos, so no one knows if this is a compliment or an insult). 

And looky, looky, what Santa bought me!! A camera!!

" Thank you, baby Jesus, for being born so that I can risk burning down an entire church once a year in your memory." - The prayer of Gianni. Kinda like the Prayer of Jabez, except not.

 I love technology...but not as much as you, you see...No, I really love technology more.

What? Chocolate reindeer butts before 7 am? Why, don't mind if I do, old chap!

Back to school shopping

Normally, I avoid blogs that yak on and on about homeschool curricula. It's probably just me, because those kinds of blogs are uber popular, but they just annoy me somehow. I also throw away homeschool catalogues due to intense insecurities that I don't OWN EVERYTHING. But in case you're not like me, and you'd like to know what we are planning on doing this year, here it is:

Cora has gone through nearly all the Apologia Exploring Creation books, and since she wants to be a marine biologist, she should really eat this one up.

 Last year and the year before we chose Teaching Textbooks for math (pictured below). I absolutely adore them, but we're doing a cheaper route this year. Life of Fred. They are hilarious and well written, and practically a novel, so they aren't your typical dry textbook. Cora had a tough time with fractions this year, so we're starting there, then we'll move on to Pre-Algebra.

I just discovered these Drive Thru History dvds. They look like they will be right up my kid's ally! We also learn a lot of history through novels, but these look really fun, AND I can get them through Netflix. Win, win!

This is Teaching Textbooks, and I'm their biggest fan. I hardly ever have to "teach" math with these, and that's a good thing. Both for me and for my kids.  


This is me, on math:

There you have it. 
Wish I did.
Have it, I mean.

books with pages

Available now in paperback!


https://www.createspace.com/3879889

And baby makes four!

Not really, but I had to get your attention somehow and nothing does that like new babies.

Mine is a bouncing baby book and it's available now!  I'm gonna cuddle it and squeeze it and name it George.

Do you have your eReader ready?  Well, do you?  If not, I'll wait.  How about now?  Are you ready to spend $2.99 to support your little bloggy friend?

Here's the link to buy it on Amazon, my sweet minions:  http://www.amazon.com/Shadows-Gray-ebook/dp/B007NC8DN4/ref=sr_1_8?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1332429562&sr=1-8

Don't have a Kindle or a Nook or an IPad?  You can still download free reading software right here and read it on your PC.  How neat is that?

Have a Nook?  Here you go:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/shadows-gray-melyssa-williams/1109657823?ean=2940014275897

I hope you like it.  I'm going to go throw up now.  That's what you do after going through the birthing process, dontcha know.  After I'm done with that I'm going to email you, call you, text message you, Facebook message you, I.M. you, and send carrier pigeons to you.  Then I'll do it all again tomorrow.  Pretty soon you will be sick of me but please bear with me; this is the only way I know how to market this thing.

Don't forget the other part of your slave labor volunteer position:

Put the links up on your blogs, Facebook walls, and tweet them.  I don't know how to tweet.  Or twit.  Or whatever it's called.  I may have to learn but until that fearful day, the twitching is all up to you.  I figure I have about 5 friends and you have about 6 friends so if we really put our heads together and work hard I can probably sell about 4 copies.

That is all.  I have to go be violently ill and make up worse case scenarios of my first terrible review now.

Shadows Gray: summary

Sonnet Gray has problems, and not just those of a typical 18 year old.  Her family is one of the Lost; time travelers who have no power over their journeys.  Hopelessly old fashioned and yet more modern than most girls, Sonnet speaks several languages and takes care of her motley crue back home by working in a coffee shop and playing guitar.  Over time, the Lost leave behind those they love and pick up new characters along the way.  In twenty-first century America, Sonnet meets Emme, a Lost young woman with a questionable line of work, Luke, a mysterious photographer, and Israel, a young doctor .  But no one can take the place of Sonnet's sister, Rose, who was left behind as a baby in the fifteenth century.  The ghost of her beckons from each time and place; but what's real and what isn't? Is Rose Gray trying to contact her before it's too late?

A ghost story with a sci-fi, Gothic romance twist, Shadow's Gray will keep you up at night, wondering: is the redemptive power of love enough to change history? 

Available for download this week.

Shadows Gray

This is my cover art.

I think it's smashing.

It's coming.
I've nearly hit Publish.
I'm almost ready.
But I'm skeered.

Soon my little minions (that's YOU) come into play.  I need your help marketing and selling and buying.  You don't have to buy anything processed or sold, or sell anything processed or bought, or process anything sold...bought... Sorry, Lloyd Dobler occasionally takes up residence in my noggin.  He's gone now.  Back to the topic at hand.

I can't sell anything.  I couldn't sell a glass of water to a burning man.  Why is he burning?  I don't know.  I would probably spill the glass while asking him about it.  He'd burn to death while I dilly dallyed talking to him about his day.  In any case I would ultimately convince him he wasn't really thirsty and my glass of water was too expensive and wouldn't he really rather have milk and fire looks good on him.

I sold Mary Kay once.  For like, ten minutes.  Everyone took advantage of my niceness and wrote me checks that bounced and took off with all my samples.  I was not successful.

I even get nervous and clammy hosting those scam parties where someone else does the selling of the tupperware or candles or stoneware or whathaveyou.  I'm not even the one doing the selling and I'll mess it up.

So I  need you guys.  I wrote the book.  You sell it for me?  Puhleeze? Word of mouth is everything in this business (or so I've heard).   Here's how to help:

1.  Buy it and write a little review.  You know, nothing over the top, just something like this was the best book I ever read!  Shakespeare could learn a little something from this amazing new author!  Tolstoy was a hack next to Ms Williams!  You know.  Something simple like that.

2.  Tell your friends.  Family.  Random strangers.  Snakes on a plane.  Etc.

3.  Join places like goodreads.com and listopia.  Write up a quick "List of My Favorite Books" and put Shadows Gray on it.  It only takes a minute.

4.  If you have a blog, will you feature the book?  Write a review or interview me?  Comment or email me and let me know if you are willing.

5.  Share the links and picture on your Facebook wall.  Once or twice.  Or every Thursday for the rest of your life.  Three times on weekends and every holiday.  Other than that, I won't take up too much of your wall.

6.  Leave comments and reviews on places like Amazon and Barnes and Noble (where it will be sold).


If none of that works and we only sell four copies (three to my mommy) it's okay.  I still had fun writing it and I greatly appreciate all of you cheering me on and telling me I could do it.  That's worth its weight in gold (and royalties).

Stay tuned this week for all the links to the published book!  Follow them and buy one (or eleven) if you would!

You're the best minions ever and I love you ever so much.

Top Ten: Book Edition

In no particular order...and only at this moment, of course.   Keep in mind that this list took me .34 seconds to come up with so it's hardly extensive.  Yes, others should be here.  I know.  I'll think of so many other books that have changed my life as soon as I hit Publish.  But these are the ones that sprang to mind instantly.  These are the ones I'll never forget.   Like a song perhaps, they bring to mind a certain time in my life - maybe that's why I love them so.  Maybe it's because they're great literature.  But maybe not...  

Outlander.  Not for the faint of heart.  Not for people who will panic at the fact that it's only the first in a series of gigantic, enormous novels.  Words, words, words.  Also not for people who can't handle a huge amount of violence and sex.  But if you are over 18...oh my, these books are addicting.  They're like a guilty pleasure with the heft of a Tolstoy novel.

I love Sara Donati.  Probably because they take place in my favorite time period.  These books take up where The Last of the Mohicans ended.  They're yummy.

My favorite book as a teen (next to Jane Eyre) was Jamaica Inn.  Daphne du Maurier is lovely and genuine and smart and dark and creepy.  I loved the tragic scariness of this book and used to read it in the dead of night with a flashlight... so very good.

My favorite book of the last few years.  When will she write another, for crying out loud???  Come on, Diane, you're killin' me!

It's been a while since I've read Francine Rivers and some of her books are only sorta okay, but this one...oh boy, this one just got under my skin.  I heard they made a movie but I missed it.

When I was about 12 or so my mom told me to read up on the Civil War.  This was my textbook.

Sometimes you just gotta read for fun, you know?  I mean, you don't come to this blog for the philosophical theories, right?  You come for the silliness and to laugh a little.  That's when I crack open a Pat McManus.  No one else can make slide to the floor in breathless giggles.  He's our go-to campfire read and he will quite possibly make you pee your pants.  Consider yourself warned.

Ahhh, Jane...how I love thee...let me count the ways:  creepiness...romance...thought provoking story lines...orphans...nasty relatives...crazy wife hiding in the attic...  Except for the middle section with boring ol' Whatshisnamepreacherman, this book is perfect.  Flawless.  I will always think of little Liz Taylor as poor dying Helen.  There are forty-eleven movie versions and it's hard to pick a favorite... they're all pretty dang good... I liked the one from just a few years back...and the William Hurt one (because he's the best actor in the known universe and I would follow him to the ends of that said universe) and the Mia Aliceinwonderland one was okay but left out Grace Poole which was ridiculous and - oh dear, the Jane Eyre movie debate is probably a whole 'nother blog.

What a crazy amazing, good book this is.  Beautiful and flawless.  That's really all I can say. 

I love Dean Koontz.  Really.  I do.  He's fanfreakintabulous.  So stick that in your literary pipe and smoke it.  Some of his books may be a little forgettable...but then there are some others that just are not.  You won't forget them.  You won't forget Odd.  I promise.  Unless you are my dad who keeps getting this novel as a gift and still hasn't made it past the first chapter.  I think he's trying to kill me.  He now owns several copies because I keep sending them to him.  The movie is coming out and I am sooooo not taking him, the ungrateful ingrate.

new blog launch

Hello, my peeps.  I began a new blog, this one dedicated to children's books.

Will you pop over and say hi?

If you have a children's book for me to review (or just gush over), let me know.

I think this could be fun.  You?

http://chocolateandpages.blogspot.com/

In The Night Kitchen

I'm a big fan of books.  Yes, you know.  I'm walking on a cloud these days because we unpacked my LAST BOX OF BOOKS in two years, thanks to a home that is ours (so to speak) and not a corporation who would panic and call a meeting if I so much as moved a salt and pepper shaker, much less stack my books the wrong way.  My luvah bought me a huge craigslist bookshelf that was appallingly ugly until we put all the books in it and now, hopefully, the books are all you see.  


I like my books somewhat willy nilly.  I'll never alphabetize them for the following reasons:  1. No one would replace the title correctly  and 2. They look better grouped according to genre  and 3. The ones belonging to itty-bitties go on the bottom where their jam sticky hands can access them better and the grown up ones with questionable love scenes or random acts of violence go up top where my jam sticky hands can access them better.  


About a year or two ago, I made a resolution.  I don't make resolutions so this was nifty for me.  You ready for it?  Here it is: I will never say no to a child who asks me to read to him/her.  Even if I'm doing twenty eleventy things and my  hair is on fire, I will say yes and crack open that book.  I'm hoping this will reverse the rest of the bad mommying I've done over the years...you think?


So...we bring you a favorite around these parts (not as beloved as Socks For Supper, the last book we shared with you here) that was recently rescued from its life of captivity and exile in a brown box:


In The Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak.

Being good ol' Maurice (ha!  Beauty and the Beast! ahem. Sorry.  I digressed into Disney for a minute) it is very similar in style to Where the Wild Things Are.  A boy goes to bed and has a strange adventure, only Mickey's makes Max's look tame and domesticated.

Oh look.  Some of my pictures did a head stand.  How odd.  Well, frankly it'd be much easier for me if you'd just turn your head ever so slightly than it would be to make me actually take these off now and start over.  Believe me.

So, anyway, Mickey falls through some kind of space and time continuum and runs into some fat and happy bakers who end up baking him into cake.

Mostly Moose goes for this book cuz there's a lot of gratuitous nudity.  And anytime there's nekkedness involved, a small manchild is gonna be there.

I love the red nosed bakers.

He escaped a run in with a loaf of bread.
Whew.

Then he falls in some milk.  And naturally his clothes fall off again.  Cuz that's what happens fourteen times per day when you are a small manchild.

Don't think about a boy being in milk that will later be used to bake something.  We all know what little boys do in the bath water that involves the golden arches and making a homemade jacuzzi.

Eventually, Mickey gets out of that strange dream land, shakes off his bread crumbs and hollers COCK*A*DOODLEDOO!  We don't know why.  Again, boys.


It's a classic.  Read to your poppets and muppets and small menchild.  You'll be glad you did.


P.S.  Can we all sing a rousing verse of Reading Rainbow now?  Puhleeze?  You know you want to...


Butterfly in the sky...
...I can go twice as high...
Are butterflies big readers?  Don't know.  But if PBS and the exuberant man with the funny headband on his eyes says yes, then who I am to disagree?

Wanted: Editor

Wanted:  Editor for what will most likely be a poorly written, smallish novel, to be self published by author and PubIT! Barnes and Noble's ultra cool ebook publishing company.


Qualifications: Good speller, good with grammar, knows when to use then and when to use than, excellent with punctuation.  Ruthless, but not too ruthless.  Honest.  


Applicants who have either:  watched me grow up from a close distance, seen me give birth, know my whole family's birthdays, know my middle name and maiden name, know my sister's natural hair color, need two hands and two feet to count the number of years we've known each other, can't say anything that might hurt my feelings, etc, need not apply.  


Applicants who have backgrounds in English, creative writing, education, or just someone who just loves to read books and is one of those people who is constantly correcting people's grammar, will be considered.


This is a volunteer position.  That's right, no dough involved.  I have no income, people!  If I become, like my husband dreams, the next JK Rowling, I will most certainly buy my editor a country home in Europe.  Or a cabana in Fiji. Or an igloo in Alaska.  Whatever floats their boat.  Otherwise...yeah.  There's really nothing in it for you.  


Art work is being done by the lovely and talented Genesis Kohler.


Oh.  The book - which is a whole three pages at this point - is well...hmm...a genre for you...YA/Teen fantasy/gothic suspense?  Something like that?


All kidding aside, I do need someone I can email chunks to who will indulgently delete excess comas and tell me I have three characters named Bob.  Or no characters named Bob and a character named Bob is needed.  Those kind of things.  I'm a pretty good speller, but I tend to throw in extra punctuation in the defense that it's like chocolate;  if a little is good, more must be better.  


Also I need that someone to tell me I am terrible and to take up underwater basket weaving immediately.


In fact, I think I'll just tell myself that and save you the trouble.  This whole book idea is silly.  Nevermind.


No, wait!  Nevermind the nevermind.


I need someone to tell me that never mind is actually two words.  I'm desperate without you, o editor mine.


And if no one volunteers I have several people in mind, so don't make me actually have to ask you personally and get shot down.  Let's save the rejection for when the thing is actually published, OK? OK.


I'm too scared to hit the Publish Post button.  You all are gonna keep me accountable for this whole novel thing, aren't you?

Books

I unpacked a few boxes of books, thanks to wearing down my boss who really loves it when I pester him for a bookshelf until he gives in, and to P.J.s and his friend for hauling it across the frozen tundra that is my driveway.

Here's a gem that I've had since I was little, and is now Gianni's favorite bedtime story:

Socks For Supper, by Jack Kent.

Published 1978, which incidentally was an excellent year both for the written word and for short, fluffy, brunettes named Melyssa.

It still has my handwritten name in the front cover.

It's about a poor turnip farmer and his wife.  They only eat turnips because they're so poor.  But one day they decide to trade a pair of socks for some milk and cheese from their neighbor who has a cow.  I love the cheese in this picture.  So round and plump, and it totally makes me want some Gouda.

So, they become quite addicted to cheese and milk, but they don't have any more socks to trade.  So his wife unravels part of his sweater to knit some more.  This goes on until he doesn't have any sweater left.

I adore his little round belly and his need for a man-sseire.

Poor farmer. Traipsing through snow and blizzards half nekked, in his quest for a little Gorgonzola.  A bit of Cheddar.  A taste of bleu.  A true cheese lover would do no less.  They must have cheese!

I can relate.

In an ironic twist of fate, the cow farmer's wife had been UNRAVELING the socks in order to knit a sweater for HER husband!

I know.  Didn't exactly see that plot thicken, didja?

But the sweater doesn't fit the svelte cow farmer.

So, she gives it to the old man.  Because she had noticed, he didn't have one.

And of course, it fits perfectly.

The end.

I love this book.

Books make me happy.

Also, I want cheese.

Me and Facebook

According to a quiz on Facebook (ahhh, Facebook, I love you, I hate you. Nothing brings me more worried filled nights than wondering why some friend I had ten years ago won't confirm my friendship. Really, I don't need that kind of anxiety. And yet, I persist on going back for more rejection. What's even worse is finding someone you are so totally excited to find and you make a moron of yourself, but when they do respond they are just really, really over you and aren't at all as thrilled as you just told them you were) I am a terribly mysterious person. I think that's funny. Either you people are more obtuse than I am, which is saying something, or I really am an enigma wrapped in a mystery shrouded in a conundrum. So, here are the answers my so-called best pals got wrong, plus a few more.

1. I am scared of bridges. My personal hell would be living in Astoria. I don't understand how or why they stay up the way they do. And they sometimes collapse. You can tell me they don't, but they do. It isn't that I'm afraid of heights, I'm not, but their structure makes no sense. Am I the only one to notice there isn't anything under them keeping them aloft?

2. I don't like cucumbers. Well, it isn't that I don't like them, perse, but they give me instant and severe nausea as soon as I take a bite. I find this weird indeed and if anyone can explain that to me, please do leave me a comment. But don't worry about me, if one is hidden under a Ranch laded crouton, I will be ok.

3. I wanted to be an archaeologist as a child. I only changed my mind when someone told me very few get to dig up mummies, most sit around in a library doing research all the time. Which really shouldn't have discouraged me because I would love to sit around in a library all day. So maybe I will be an archaeologist when I grow up after all.

4. I cook to relax. I love cooking and baking, especially if the kids are right outside the window playing outside where I can hear their chatter and something wonderful is playing in my under-the-counter cd player (lately the Los Lonely Boys). I love the ritual of it, the cookbooks, the smells, even the cleaning as I go which is a strange thing to love, but I do. Baking however is rather trying in Wyoming elevation: adjustments must be made and my cakes still fall flat. But my cinnamon oatmeal bread turned out yummy yesterday.

5. I hate sweet pickles. 'Nuff said. They're disgusting and not just because I can't eat cucumbers. I love the dill variety.

6. The nickname I dislike is Missy. Hated it ever since I was a kid. I think it may go back to my brother dating some chic named Missy and she was snotty. And they were always kissing around me, which was simply revolting. No little girl wants to see a close up of her brother's tongue; I need counseling just thinking about it. It's closely followed by "hey, aren't you Laryssa's Sister?"

7. My favorite musical is Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. It's simply the best.

8. I started my homeschooling journey in second grade for this reason: we were learning how to alphabetize and I couldn't understand it. I was not accustomed to not understanding things and I was not appreciating the feeling this gave me. The girl who finished her page first got to help the others who were lagging behind. The girl who finished first was a twerp (Aerie, think redhead...oh yeah, you know who I mean) and when I humbled out and asked her for help she gave me a sly smile and walked away. Now since my mother had been telling me she would be happy to homeschool me if I was ever so inclined, I decided oh boy were they all going to be sorry when I never came back. And so I didn't ever go back. I can't promise you anyone was sorry though.

9. I don't how I could exist without books. I know, seems dramatic, but I am serious as a heart attack. I am a ferocious reader and libraries are my favorite places. I read more books by the time I was 13 than most people probably read in their whole lives. I love the characters and the plots and the suspense and the smell of books. I love the look of books, especially antique ones. I love wondering who else has read the words I am reading. I love the legacy the writers leave behind. I love the stories that stay with you forever and change the way you think of things and the way those characters have a tendency to show up in the middle of your day or night like a drunk caller, 'hey, remember me? I love you, man!' I love laughing out loud when I am the only one in the room or getting misty over something. I stopped reading one time in my life: after the girls were both born. For probably three years I didn't read. I read a lot of parenting books, but reading about some stranger's opinion on the care and rearing of the children you gave birth to is more trouble than it's worth. To this day if I see a copy of "Parenting" magazine or hear something that reminds me of Growing Kids God's Way, I want to hide under the couch with a chocolate bar until the bad memories are stuffed back where they belong. I watched a lot of television since that is easier to do when nursing youngsters and folding laundry. But I didn't read. When I picked up something after those years, I think it was the Mark of the Lion series, I devoured it like a starving woman and haven't stopped since. Now that I think about it, I had a lot of post partum depression symptoms after having Anna... coincidence? You make the call.

10. I am not a confident person. All my life people think I am, to the point of even being intimidated by me which I find laughable, but it's all a show I put on. I am sincerely blown away when I act like I am supremely confident and IT WORKS. It's only in the past decade that I feel like I'm not such a disapointment to myself and I can stop pretending to be someone that I'm not. I think it's just part of the growing up process, and if that's what comes with being in your 30s I am excited to be here. I don't like everything about myself and I have plenty of insecurites, like my weight and my hair and my clothes and speaking in a group and making small talk and my house and not having a career and everything else that I think everyone else is whispering about but no one really is, but at this point I can honestly say I give up the need to apologize for it. There are lots of things you can not like about me, but I think I'll be ok. Unless you never confirm me on Facebook, which will leave me a quivering mass of unanswered questions, curled up in the fetal posistion sucking my thumb and despairing all night.

"The cure for boredom is curiousity.
There is no cure for curiousity."
That quote was on my tea bag. I forget who said it but I thought it was apt for these little monkeys. Man, those tea bag writers are sage!

Cora's first swim meet! She took first in both her events: butterfly and free style!

I know, we need to feed her some cheeseburgers, right?

Gianni got his stitches out this morning. He seems a little bummed probably due to the fact that those bright blue threads in his head got him a lot of attention from pretty girls! Daddy tried to tell him chicks dig scars and it was a shame it was on the back of his head where his (invisible) hair will someday cover it. But at the rate this little gremlin is going, he will have plenty of scars to impress the ladies.

He's also quite the bookworm lately. His two faves are "Goodnight, Gorilla" and "Moo, Baa, LaLaLa." The latter was also Cora's favorite at this age although she prefered the 'sheep says baa' page as opposed to his favorite, 'cats and kittens say meow.' All the animals in Luigi's opinion should say 'meow' in a long, drawn out, high pitched squeal. We have also perfected Pavlov's theory: everytime you say the word 'gorilla' he lets out a snore because that's how the last page of "Goodnight, Gorilla" ends. You could hide it in a sentence like, "Will you go put (Gorilla) your napkin in the trash" and he will interrupt you to snort a "Zzzzzz" sound. Very cute. What's not so cute was trying to sneak in a shower this morning with him pulling away the curtain and trying to crawl in with me, completely clothed. Silly me thinking I could do that with anything less than the aftermath of a small hurricane to clean up afterwards. Didn't even get to wash my locks (once a week whether I need it or not). Remember those days, Mommies everywhere, when we used to deep condition our hair for 5 - 10 minutes, exfoliate with apricot scrub, shave our legs without leaving behind a racing stripe accidently because of being in a hurry, and just, imagine that, stay in until the water gets cold? Now the water is cold to begin with because we're the last to shower in the house and you had to run the dishwasher that's overflowing with filth and you streaked through the house in your skivvies to the washing machine to dump in a load of much needed under-roos because you just realized your children are bare-tushed and possibly enjoying it too much and your spouse is resorting to turning his inside out for another day of wear and let's face it, you have to launder those in Hot so there goes the last of the water, and the hubby got his shower first because he snuck to it faster, and by the time you get there, it's like, lunch time and you haven't had breakfast yet, and you're wondering if microwaving the same cup of coffee 6-8 times per cup, per morning, for the past 8 (insert your eldest child's age here) years will give you some form of hideous cancer. And now the toddler won't stop flushing the toilet over and over and the last sliver of soap squished down the drain when you dropped it and you're thinking those people from a few hundred years ago knew what they were doing when they only bathed once a year, obviously they had children and weren't as stupid as us modern americans. Or is this just me?

Cora's first swim meet was lots of fun, both for her and for her 'stage parents.' I don't know what to call the swim equivelent to the 'stage mother' I always dealt with in my 20+ years of ballet. At least we aren't screaming at the coach and threatening our daughter with bodily harm for anything less than first place. Which she totally got. Oh yeah. Didn't even have to threaten. She smoked 'em. This is good, because the only way she's getting to college is through some neat form of scholarship. Or a sponser. Anyone? The other two rugrats need to find a hobby/talent also and stat: their college fund wouldn't fund The Tooth Fairy Fund at this sad, sad point. I guess I don't need to think so pessimistically though. Maybe they won't be college material! Problem solved.