I had a self-imposed deadline for being finished with the first draft of Dalton & Olivia’s book by June 1. 

Nope.

But, I’m close, really close.  If I had one more week off, I’d have it done, I think. 

Today I wrote a scene that was really disturbing.  MY AGENT had suggested I write this book darker, and this scene was definitely darker.  It’s written from the Point of View of the villain.  I really hope the scene is disturbing and it’s not just me that’s disturbed.

Kelli and Ava are chomping to get to read it.  Well actually, Ava’s “suggestions” are really more in the vein of nagging.

I’ll keep pecking away.  Some really bad things need to happen to our dear heroine before they can get better. I really feel bad for the poor girl.  She certainly didn’t ask for her life to be this jacked up.

Today was the first day of summer camp for Sassy and The Bandit.  There have been two very different schools of thought around the Bright Compound regarding summer camp this year. The children are going to a new school when classes start up again in the fall.  The summer camp they’re going to is sponsored by the new charter school they are enrolled in. Their father and I thought it would be good, for Sassy especially, to meet some of the kids they’ll be going to school with.

Poor Sassy has been fretting about this a great deal.  She had a bit of a problem with a girl that bullied her off and on for the last several years.  On one hand she is happy about leaving that person behind, but worries that there might be a new bully for her to contend with.  You know the scenario: the devil that you know….

I’ve been trying to counsel her wisely, but it’s one of the more difficult Mommy jobs.  We are dissimilar in some integral ways: she is much more reticent than I am and trying new things isn’t something that comes naturally to her. I tell her that I can’t promise there will never be another bully in her life.  I assure her that even at 42, I still encounter bullies.  The trick is learning to deal with them.  But this is heavy stuff when your eight.  Hell, this is heavy stuff when you’re 42.

Making friends was the other fear that kept her up at night.  That’s another thing Mommy’s can’t do for you.  The poor girl is just certain no one will want to be her friend.

I tell her the same thing over and over – in this order of importance.  “Sassy, you’re smart, nice, funny and pretty.  That’s everything anyone ever wants in a friend.”  Poor thing.  I feel her pain and I just want her to gain more confidence.

When we arrived at camp this morning, The Bandit bounded from the car all a quiver with excitement.  Three of his best friends from day care will be with him again at the new school.  Yes, God help us (the God of time-outs and visits to the principals office) the Four Toddlers of the Apocalypse are back together again.  As soon as he saw his crew he was off and running.  There were fist bumps and giggling and and shrieking with glee.

Sassy however clung to me like a barnacle.

I found her teacher, a handsome young man whom I can see her transferring her crush to from her former gym teacher.  I introduced her and told him she was having first day jitters.  He smiled at her with ridiculously blue eyes and assured her that everyone was nervous, and yet still she clung.

I glanced around the group and saw so many girls with the same posture: arms crossed, barely banked panic in their eyes.  I picked the closest one. 

“What’s your name?” I asked her.

Her eyes grew as round as an owl’s. “Karen,” she squeaked.

“Hi, Karen.  This is Sassy.  Sassy this is Karen.  Now you both know someone. Cool, huh?”

And then I’ll admit to you that Sassy’s craven mother fled the scene.  Once she unclenched from my leg, I ran.

This is another of my favorite blogs.  I share these other sites with you sometimes because they are brilliant or funny or whatever.  Consider it a public service this Sister does for her vigilant readers.

I’m just looking out for you.

You’re welcome.

This particular post is the exact reason why I so often refuse to have my picture taken.  Not only are the flashbulbs exquisitely painful to me due to my migraines, but I am always, always, ALWAYS appalled at how I look in them.  I gasp at the picture and wonder, “Dear God in Heaven (the God of photoshop) is that what I really look like?”  I can’t possibly be so troll like as that.  Maybe I’m that friend everyone keeps around so they will look better in comparison.

Whatever the reason, this blogger has nailed the experience for me.

Behold.  This is you standing with your friend.  This is how you feel when the picture is taken:

Then you see the picture and this is the cruel reality:

Right?  She’s nailed it hasn’t she?

Go to her blog, This is Not That Blog, and check out the entire funny post.  You won’t be sorry.  She’s brilliant.

You’re welcome.

In case you’re interested, these are the books I’ve reviewed lately.

Click on the covers to jump to my reviews.

Happy reading….

This is the world largest indoor photo.  It was amassed from 3,000 photos combined into 1 single image.  Believe it or not, the zoom allows you to zero in on individual book titles.  I’m sharing it with you because it’s a library!  Welcome to the 18th-century library of Prague’s Strahov Monastery. This photo is so clear you can almost feel the leather book spines and smell the pages.

click on the picture and follow the jump

Last evening the Bright combined families went to the theater.  We got the tickets for all the Mothers as a combined Mother’s Day present.  I don’t want you to think that we all got dressed up and went off to see a Shakespeare or Chekov production or anything. No, we put on clean t-shirts and went to see a melodrama.  You know the kind – where the audience does a lot of participation with the actors in the form of cheering for the hero and booing for the villain.  The current show, The Curse of the Pirate Gold, was everything you’d expect by way of general goofiness.

We sat right up front, or as my sister-in-law called it, the “spit zone.” I easily spent as much time watching my children watching the play as I did the actors on the stage.  Sassy was captivated by the costumes and The Bandit wide-eyed over the silliness of the pirates and their goofy songs.  One of the pirates even reached down and grabbed some of Bandit’s popcorn and threw it at him. 

Much to the kid’s delight, at one point, one of the pretty actresses came down and sang a torch song to My Honey and rubbed his head.  They giggled about that memory all morning. However, Sassy did express some concern that the actors kept giggling during their lines.  She didn’t find the professionalism all that impressive. 

I think my kid needs to lighten up. 

Although, I don’t think the answer is to be more like her brother.  His answer to everything is nudity. 

The kids have spent this week between when school ended and camp begins at their Grandmother’s house.  Much of their days are spent swimming.  They were a little sunburned yesterday, so this morning I suggested they not swim to give their skin a break.  At lunch, Sassy phoned and begged me to bring a swim shirt so the swimming could continue anyway.

When I knocked on Grandma’s door, no one answered.  I knocked again and finally heard someone wrestling with the knob from the inside.  The giant front door swung open and a stark-naked Bandit, face covered in pizza, smiled from the other side.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?” I screeched.

“Going to the bathroom,” he answered like nothing was amiss.

“Honey, we put on pants when we open the door!”  That’s item #76 to add to the Things I Never Thought I’d Have to Say Out Loud list.  “Where is your grandmother?”

“Outside.” He snatched his sister’s shirt and sprinted for the back yard, willie flapping along. 

Indeed, his sister and grandmother were outside eating lunch.  Of course Grandma’s immediate reaction was to say, “Go put your pants on!”

Chris Rock says you’re a success as a parent if you can keep your daughter off the pole.  I don’t think that’s going to be a problem with Sassy (are you listening, Universe?), but I sincerely fear my son will be on the nightly news as The Streaker!

And just think, you’ll be able to say you knew him when…

Once a month the Sisters attend a meeting of our local chapter of Romance Writers of America.  It’s great fun and we’ve learned so much about the craft of writing and getting agents and talking to editors.  We love these meetings and look forward to them with great anticipation.  It’s the only time I get to be something other than an employee, a wife or someone’s mom. 

This month my cell phone kept ringing like crazy.  It was on vibrate and I ignored the calls from my mom and dad, but when the first call came from home I answered it. My Honey wouldn’t bother me unless it was important.

I excused myself from the meeting and answered the phone in the hallway. It was Sassy.

“When are you coming home?” she asked, whining.

“Later, why?” There was nothing gentle in my tone. 

“Daddy’s being mean and yelling at us,” she told me.

“I’m certain there is a good reason.  What did you do?” I asked her, anxious to get back.

“He says we’re screwing around and not doing our chores.”

I tell her very sternly that I’ll be home in a couple of hours and she needs to listen to her father.

God help me, but the phone rang again about an hour later.  This time it came from My Honey’s cell phone. I don’t know what possessed me, but I answered it again.

This time it was The Bandit and I had a very similar conversation with him.

Call number three – again from the cell phone – and I answered it fully planning to verbally slay the person on the other end. 

It was Sassy. “When are you coming home?  We miss you and we’re worried about you.”

I didn’t believe this crap even for a minute. “Trust me, you don’t want me to come home right now.”

“Oh, we do, Mommy, we do.”

I told her I’d be home in a matter of minutes and they would be sorry.

When I burst through the front door and threw my stuff on the table, I found My Honey, sitting in his chair and nonchalantly playing video games.  The children were nowhere to be seen.

“Why did you let the kids call me three times today?” I demanded, hands on hips, eyes narrowed in fury.

“What?” He genuinely looked confused. “I didn’t call you today.”

“Well the kids did,” I insisted, “from the house phone and twice from your cell phone.”

“I’ve had my cell phone in my pocket all day,” he swore like the ex-Boy Scout he is and patted a pocket of his cargo shorts. Suddenly, his face showed an epiphany. “Oh… wait.  That explains all the hugging.”

“Are you trying to tell me our children pick-pocketed you for your cell phone?” I say this with a great deal of you’ve-got-to-be-shitting-me evident in my voice.

“Yeah, I am.” My Honey is dead serious. As his luck would have it, Sassy wandered in at that very moment.  When her father confronted her with the charges against her, she did her absolute best to lie but she really sucks at it.

I honestly can’t believe my children even knew how to pickpocket. Sassy tried to lay it on her brother and that I can believe.  I’m certain she came up with the idea and her brother knew how to implement it.  That still doesn’t explain how they knew my cell phone number to call from the house phone. 

There had always been those rumors of pickpocket schools in places like Brazil or somewhere, but I didn’t think they’d opened a satellite campus at the private school my kids attend.  I have no idea when they have the time to practice either, but they’re clearly pretty good at it.  It’s very sad that now their displays of love are completely suspect.

So now, if you stop by my house and my children run to hug you and show a great deal of affection, I would check your wallet if I was you.

The kids wandered in while I was folding laundry and watching King Kong on our big HD TV.  It was the 2005 version directed by Peter Jackson with the absolutely gorgeous special effects.  Its a film full of truly outstanding visual delights. 

Anyway, I was enjoying the film and trouble in the name of questions wandered in.

“Who is that?” Sassy asked.

“King Kong,” I answered and added underwear to a folded pile.

“Why are the people all screaming like that?” She blinks at the television.

“Because he’s a giant gorilla.” Duh.

“Oh.” She says. Seconds tick by.  I fold three shirts before her next question.  “Why are they all running away?”

“Because he’s a giant gorilla.”

Silence.  Shorts and pajamas.  “Well, why does he seem so angry?”

“BECAUSE he’s a giant gorilla.”  Sigh. Another shirt.

“Why does he want to eat her?”

“BECAUSE HE’S A GIANT GORILLA.” Holy shit!

“But I don’t get why she keeps running and screaming like that.”

“BECAUSE. HE. IS. A. GIANT. GORILLA.”

“Oh.” She seems placated, for now.

Now My Honey appears from the kitchen.  “What is that guy’s problem?” He’s smirking.

“What guy?” I ask.

“That one.” He gestures to the television.  “Is it because he’s a giant gorilla?”  He returns to the kitchen, cackling. Jerk.

 “Alright, I get that she’s afraid, but why are the other people all running and screaming.”

I throw the mostly folded pants from my hand into the laundry basket in a snit. “Forget it, I’m turning it off.”

I am so totally instituting Ava’s new Questions Policy.

I have an annoying tendency to answer the questions that other people ask me.  You might think that is what’s expected when you are asked a question but it’s not – it really depends on who is doing the asking and what they really want to know.

Here’s an example we all know requires only one answer:

Does this outfit make my butt look big?

It doesn’t matter who you ask this of or where you are when you ask or whether you think you want the truth – the answers is always NO.  (For you men out there, I have just provided you with all you need to know to have a successful relationship with a woman. No need to read any books.  You’re welcome.)

Because I am frequently asked questions by people who don’t really want a truthful answer or who are looking for a specific answer  – I now charge $5.00 (cash) to answer any and all questions.  And, since I fully admit I am missing a senstivity gene, I will refund a $1.00 (check) if I don’t give you the answer you really wanted and I should have known it or if I hurt your feelings – which, in my case, is usually the same as the first – and than you get $2.00 back.  This is really a ploy on my part to stop answering dumb, annoying questions. 

Today, someone asked me if I thought an outfit they had selected for a job interview was appropriate.  I explained my new rule and requested the $5.00.  I received a blank stare.  I assured them that I was not kidding.  $5.00 was not forth coming and neither was an answer.  I did receive a text later saying that I was nuts. 

Next!

The girl who lives at my house – “Why don’t you like snakes?”

(Background – we have a snake visiting for the summer.  I call it “The Accessory” because it would make a beautiful belt, wallet, or pair of shoes.   This annoys the boy that lives at my house.  He insists that I call it by it’s name.  I never do . . .)

Me – “I’ll need $5.00.”

Her – “Why? I’m not giving you $5.00”

Me – “I no longer answer questions for free.”

Her – “You’re nuts.”

Me – “That’s already been pointed out to me today.”

Her – “Here!”

To my astonishment, she handed me a roll of nickels.  Maybe charging was going to work out after all.  Visions of riches danced through my head. I saw vacation villas, yachts and . . . an annoying voice breaking into my thoughts.

Her – “Well.”

Me – “I just don’t like them.  Most people don’t.”

Her – “I paid $5.00 for that?  That’s your answer?  That’s it?”

This wasn’t going well.  It seems that when you charge for something some people believe they should get their monies worth.  clearly, the girl who lives at my house wasn’t feeling that way.

Me – “I could give you your money back.” 

Her – “You’d better or I’m calling the better business bureau and turn you in!”  

Me – “Maybe you should be more careful about what you spend your money on.”

At this point, she took her nickels back and started to walk away.  “I’m going to tell Dad on you.”

“Tell him if he has any questions, the answers are $5.00.”

I heard her from down the hall – “Your wife is nuts, you’ll never believe what she is up to now.”

I feel confident that my question answering days are about to end.