Wow – I’ve been so busy I forgot to post yesterday.  Probably won’t be much of a post today either.

This is why.

Ms. Surly

A whole bunch of updates on me and various other things I pretend you all care about…

The Bandit went to the doctor today and it turns out he has the same crud the rest of the world has plus an ear infection.  Don’t kids ALWAYS get an ear infection?  At least the infection is something we can give medicine to cure.  I know he feels better because we had a good gigglefest while we worked on some of the school work he’s missed.  That’s the first time he’s really been silly since this whole thing started last Thursday.  Come hell or high water, the boy is going to school tomorrow.

BECAUSE I have taken the rest of the week plus Monday off from the soul-sucking day job to deal with the Tucson Festival of Books this weekend.  Not only am I the co-chair of the romance committee which has an amazing showing of 40 authors speaking this year, but I’m speaking on two panels, moderating two more, and tackling any number of insane organizational tasks.  We are all really, really proud of the festival – this is only the third year and already we are the fourth largest book festival in the country. 

I plan to be tweeting like a mad person through this whole weekend.  I’ve promised myself I’ll tweet every inane, amusing or snarky thing I can think of.  If you’re interested (God help you) then follow me @amylynnbright. 

I did tweet something this evening.  Sassy said, “We’re like the family of coolness!”  What prompted this exciting declaration you ask?  Do you remember doing cat’s craddle games when you were a kid?  You know, the game where you made complicated and intricate designs with a knotted string?  She has learned a few of them in school and she was dully impressed when I showed her a really complex one I can still remember (with my eyes closed) from the 4th grade.  That’s 32 years ago, people.  Sassy is absurdly impressed with all the stupid crap I know.  I’m going to revel in it now because it’s only a matter of time before I become the stupidest person on the planet.

I saved the best thing for last.  Some of you may know I’ve been having some problems with my current publisher.  I haven’t mentioned it on this site up till now in any detail at all because I was making a very concerted effort to be the mature one throughout all the dealings.  I petitioned for my rights back using the procedure as defined in my contract and was refused. 

*(&^$@@$%^&*^$@#$^%^%#$#&^^#@%^&&*%##

The above line is not a typo, it’s me editing myself.  This whole thing has been a real test to that bullshit idea that I’m trying to be more Buddhist.  The reason for the refusal was insane.  INSANE.  I got my fabulous agent involved who got nowhere.  I got my local and national representatives of Romance Writers of America involved who wrote a very sternly worded letter to the publisher promising sanctions if they didn’t comply.  Honestly, I didn’t think it would work and that I’d end up employing the lawyers that work for the Author’s Guild.  They are the wunderkind that successfully sued Google for author’s rights.  I was prepared to go all the way to court.  But, with a huge sigh of relief, everything worked out and today all my rights were reverted to me.

YEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After the festival winds down this weekend, I’ll send those two novellas off to my agent who plans to send them to the big name e-pubs.  Ones with accurate accounting of royalties and who employ grown-ups.  That was little nod to snark.  I didn’t say I was a successfully practicing Buddhist.

Anyway, stay tuned…..  I promise to have stories of me going fan-girl on my favorite authors and trying not to vomit during my public speaking engagements.  How’s that for enticing?

Poor little Bandit.  He’s really pitiful.  This cold of his has been waxing and waning since Thursday last week.  Friday he stayed home from school, missing a field trip and everything.  He didn’t have a fever this morning so, mean mother that I am, I made him go to school, even though he was just pitiful and weepy.  I even had to peel him off me when I left him at kindergarten. 

At 11:30, the school nurse called and said the teacher dropped him off with her because he couldn’t stop crying.  Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve heard today?  I went to pick him up and the nurse agreed that he was just pathetic.  He still didn’t have a temperature, but it was obvious he wasn’t well.  You could see it in his eyes, the unshed tears waiting to spill over.  He looked very small sitting on her couch, his Transformer backpack on the floor next to his dangling feet. 

I got him a Happy Meal, the Lego car and the chocolate milk the only thing he was interested in, and took him to my

Like my very own Mini Al Bundy - complete with his hands down his pants

office to wrap a few things up.  I brought a desk chair from one of the empty cubicles and placed it next to mine, where he promptly fell asleep.

By the time I got him home to a pair of comfy jammies and some cartoons, his temperature was up to 103. 

We’ve been bribing him with popcicles and Sponge Bob Square Pants chicken noodle soup to get fluids in him.  He’s got a doctor appointment in the morning and Daddy is taking the day off work to keep him home. 

Looks like I have a cartoon reprieve – at least until I get home at 5:30.

The Bandit is already telling me what he wants for his birthday.  It’s coming up in May.  I already know about the puppy.  If you recall, he

Oh dear, look what just wandered into the yard.

 desperately wanted a puppy from Santa this Christmas and that didn’t work out.  I’ll guess he figured he’d give it six months and try again.  But in all honesty, the campaign has never really ended.  I almost had his daddy convinced that Roscoe the Idiot Dog really needed a friend.  I still think that, and not just because I really want another dog.  I’ve never, as an adult, only had one dog.  I’m a dog person.  My Honey acknowledges this.

“If I let you have your way, you’d be running a kennel,” he tells me. 

I’ve done everything I can to help the boy out, but he constantly shoots himself in the foot and ruins all my subversive campaigning by refusing to feed the dog we do have.  Stupid boy.

In the last several weeks, though, he’s been coming to me with something else he’d like just as much.  What do you suppose a five year old boy would like for his birthday just as much as a real-live puppy?  You’re thinking horse, right?  Yeah, he wants a horse, too, but that’s not it.  Hold on to your socks.

He wants a jackhammer.  Yes, a jackhammer.  Don’t ask me what he thinks he’s going to do with a jackhammer, but he really wants one.  He’s brought it up to me no less than seven times.  I asked him if he knew for sure what a jackhammer was, and he demonstrated, with sound effects and everything, exactly the right thing.

Maybe he’s more conniving than I give him credit for.  Perhaps he’s picked something completely ludacris and out of the question so that the puppy

Oh crap! Look what I just found on the Internet

 seems completely feasible.

I tell you, he’s working the wrong parent.  His dad is more likely to find a “Your First Jackhammer” on Ebay or something.

Every once in a while I’ll come across a blog that amuses me so much I must share it with you.  Last time it was Jenny at www.bloggess.com.  She remains one of my favorite places to waste time.

I’ve encountered yet another one.  Holy Moly – this site is so funny.  My favorite so far is The Ducks in the Bathroom are Not Mine.

Go check him out.  He is a very amusing Australian.  Click on his different posts on the left.  Enjoy.

You’re welcome.

The Bandit has started riding in the third row seat of our Durango all by himself.  This has been going on for a couple of weeks now.  I suspect he got tired of his sister torturing him in the seat next to him.  God I wish there had been a third row seat when I was growing up, but we never had station wagons. 

From way back in the back of the car, I hear his little voice.  I turned down the radio so I could hear him.  “Mom, are you and Daddy going to have any more babies?”

I snorted.  “No.”

“Why not?” he asked.

I looked at him in the rearview mirror.  “Because we have you and Sassy.  Two is plenty enough babies for me and Daddy.”

“Two is for quitters, Mom!” he hollered.  “You’re a quitter!”

I barked out a laugh at how adamant he was.  Honestly, this was the first conversation we’d had of this kind.  He’d never asked about more brothers or sisters, consequently, I had no idea of his strong feelings on the matter.

At dinner I told his father about the earlier conversation.  The Bandit again expressed a desire for a younger sibling.

My Honey began to inform the boy of all the things he would have to give up if we had a new baby.  As far as I am concerned, all of this conversation is a moot point.  The baby factory is closed.  I’m too old and too selfish and too desirous of never having another nine months of torture to go through that again.  I’ve successfully made two miracles, I have no need to tempt fate again.  But The Bandit doesn’t know any of this history, so his daddy hit on all the things that would matter to a five year old boy.

“You’d have to give up your room and half your toys and move in with Sassy.  All those vacations to Disneyland would stop.  Santa Claus couldn’t bring you as many presents…”  The list went on and on.

Still The Bandit wasn’t deterred in his opinion that his father and I were quitters and he deserved a younger sibling.

But I hit on just the thing to make him see the light.  “You know, Bandit, there’s no guarantee the baby would be a boy.  You might end up with another sister instead of a brother.  Then what would you do?”

“Yeah,” My Honey agreed.  “Then you’d be doomed!”

That did it.  The conversation is off the table.  Apparently, he’s not a gambler.

This evening Sassy snuggled up next to me on the couch, shoved her feet by mine under the throw blanket, and began sketching on a chalk board.

“Do you want to see the wedding dress Ella is going to have?”

I smiled.  Oh to be seven and thinking of weddings already.  I was such a tomboy at her age, I don’t remember planning my wedding already, but I knew girls that did.  I will admit that in high school I had names picked out for my children.  I am embarrassed to admit that Scarlett and Rhett topped that list.  Whatever.  I was in high school.  High school kids are morons.

Back to the wedding plans.

Sassy and her friends have drawn up sketches of their dresses, veils and tiaras, and even earrings.  These girls are serious.  The sketches are specific about lace and trimming, how long the veils will be and what stones will be in the earrings.

I know these dresses and the wedding plans will take on many different incarnations over the coming years but, right now, they are heavily into the princess themes.  I can tell already this is going to cost her father and I a pretty penny.

We went for a bike ride today.  I know that those of you who know me well, won’t believe me, but I have a series of photographic proof.  Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

To be honest, I have no idea how I came to be riding a bike (???) at all, much less on a day so cold it snowed the night before.  You’ve probably surmised by all my posts over the years, outside is not my favorite place.  And no one is more shocked than me when I found myself having fun.  I’d forgotten how much fun bike riding could be.  When I was Sassy’s age, I was only off my bike when I was sleeping.  I learned to ride when I was five or six – without the benefit of

In the morning, the snow was all the way down the foothills

 training wheels.  My father didn’t believe in them.

As I said, it was very cold last night.  Ava says there was at least an inch of snow up the hill where she lives.  There was none down in the city where my house is, but the mountains were gorgeous. 

I especially love the hangdog expression when I told him to go change

We finally got the kids dressed and ready to go around 1:00.  This is the outfit The Bandit chose for bike riding on a day when it snowed.

Please note the soccer shorts, his shirt is on backwards though you can’t see in the picture, jean’s jacket with Buzz Lightyear on the back and, the piece de resistance, cowboy boots with spurs.  I have some concerns that the boy is going to end up as a contestant on Project Runway someday, not that I won’t be proud of him no matter who he ends up, but lets just say, his ability to chose appropriate clothing gives me pause.

We got to the park and unloaded the bikes and The Bandit was off and

More appropriately attired and perpetually giggly

 running or pedaling as the case may be.  Sassy on the other hand immediately launched into hysterical crying – tears, hiccuping, gasping breaths of agony over her fear of riding her bike.  A bike, I might add, has training wheels so she can’t fall over.

Her father dealt with her for about a half an hour, coaking and talking and prodding her along.  I rode around with Bandit while he giggled wildly, enjoying the freedom that riding down hills and skidding to stops brings.

Finally, I’d had enough.  I relieved her father and sent him after the boy who was easily pedaling madly more than 100 yards away.  I don’t know why or how I became Drill Sargent Mom, but somehow I did.

“Put your butt on the seat and your feet on the pedals,” I told her. 

“I’m scaaaaaaaared.”  She could hardly speak, the blubbering was so out of control.

I told her to calm down, “No one can ride a bike when they are hysterical.”  I showed her how to push off with one foot and advised her to keep pedaling to avoid tipping.  I told her to ride the bike or we’d go sit in the car and wait for everyone else to have fun.  Eventually, she surprised only herself when she actually rode the stupid bike.  I hate to be so demanding, but I refuse to allow her to be afraid of everything.

There are no pictures of Sassy riding her bike because she spent the entire time crying.  The. Entire. Time.  I didn’t

Me! A bike! Who knew?

bother to take a picture of it.  I’m quite certain I won’t need a photograph to remember what she looks like glaring at me.  After all, she does it all the time. 

I do, however have a pic of me.   This is my hand after the dye in my riding gloves

I look like a bruised Smurf

 colored the palms of my hands.  I can’t get it off with any soap known to man.  It looks like a giant bruise.  Do you suppose it would work as a viable reason to call in sick?

Also, and I can’t believe I forgot to mention this, but it snowed on us off and on while we rode (or cried).  I couldn’t believe it, big fluffy flakes that covered my black jacket.  It was surreal.  Sassy cried about it.  Sigh.

The Sisters are tired.  Or more aptly, as Bill Cosby pointed out the distinction, we are sick and tired.  The day job is soul suckingly horrible.  I’m usually pretty good with descriptions, I am a writer after all, but I can’t even put it more simply than that.  The entire profession is sucking me dry and Ava is coming right along with me. 

In fact, I told my mom today, when she asked if there was something specific I’d rather be doing than work, I’d rather be in jail than at my office.  Ava said she looked decent in orange.  When we met for lunch, Kelli said the idea sounded wonderful.

Later tonight, when I was telling Kelli about how awful my kids were this evening, how I had to put The Bandit to bed, screaming, kicking, biting, and professing his undying hatred of me, in a bed with no sheets, I was reminded about the idea of jail.  I wondered, not idly, if I could arrange for solitary confinement.

Seriously, lets talk about jail for a few minutes.  Except for the prison rape part, the whole idea has some appeal.  They let you read all you want in prison.  They would let me finish my book.  They would let me sleep, uninterrupted, for hours and hours and hours.

That’s when Kelli and I decided, if we win the lottery, we’re building a prison hotel.  Now follow along:  Small comfortable rooms.  Only a TV if you want one.  You may have as much or as little social interaction with other humans as you want.  There would be a discreet knock on the door and, when you opened it, there would be a tray of food.  If you chose to go to a public area and mingle with humans you may do so, however, you are forbidden from asking people what they’re reading or chat with them in any way unless it is obvious they wish to engage in conversation with you.

In the Prison Hotel, if you choose to check in and not talk to another living soul for a month, that’s your call.  When you feel your psyche has healed enough and you are ready to reenter the human race, you may check out.  There is no need to comb your hair, wear make up or even clean clothes.

Of course, the Prison Hotel will be on Greece because we’re still looking into purchasing the island.  You may want to look into booking a cell now.  The minute this goes live, you won’t be able to get in.

It’s going to be huge.

Sassy is finally home.  I was beginning to wonder if she was ever coming back.  She had a sleepover at a friend’s house that started at 8:15 Tuesday morning and ended today around 3:30.  That’s about thirty-one hours I left my baby in someone else’s hands.

As I left her that morning, I begged her not to embarass me.  The other mother laughed and assured me nothing she could do would offend them.  Nevertheless, I reminded my daughter to use a fork when eating and to make an effort to control her gas.

I received one call around 1:00 that afternoon.  She’d fallen off the monkey bars and scrapped up her chin pretty badly.  I kissed her over the phone and gave her butt a virtual pat and sent her on her way. 

I did expect a good night call, but I got nothing.  Sigh.

Then this morning, the plan was for her to be delivered to me at work and I’d take her to her grandmother’s where her brother had spent the last two days without her.  The boy’s been lonely.  Yesterday, Grandma called at about 4:45 to ask if Daddy was on his way to pick him up.  Apparently, The Bandit was done at Grandma’s and he was ready to go.  For two children who fight as much as they do, he was surprisingly lonely without her. 

Anyway, I received a call asking if Sassy could hang out with her friend the rest of the day so The Bandit spent another day without her.

Sassy had a wonderful time.  From what I understand she was a model guest.  I’m certain that means she’s used up all of her allotment of good behavior for the rest of the month.

The Bandit has his sleepover on Friday night.  I’m almost more excited then he is.  I can’t wait to hear the stories!