Where's the plot twist?

Last night I was watching Sherlock with the family, and I was thinking about how sublimely perfect the show is.  I really think they've done a marvelous job both in the writing and the casting of that show.  I mean, how can someone as pasty and odd-looking as Benedict Cumberbatch be so utterly compelling?

(Yes, I know there's some pot-kettle action in me calling anyone pasty.)

Oh, have you not seen Sherlock?  Then by all means hit the couch and watch it.  The first season, three 90-minute episodes, is available on Netflix, and the second season I was able to check out from the library.  They are relatively clean.  I felt okay with Isaac watching them, and Mindy just ignores it or runs away in protest of television in general.

The third season of Sherlock starts filming in January.  It's going to be a long wait.  I may have to start watching Dr. Who.

One of the strengths of Sherlock - of any mystery - is the plot twists.  How I wish I could write mysteries or at least throw some decent plot twists into my novels.  Even as I fell asleep last night I was wracking my brain, hunting for a plot twist for Ravenswood.  Nope.  Nothing there.

Then this morning at breakfast we were discussing the novel Divergent by Veronica Roth.  We've all read the novel.  Jacob had anticipated the first major plot twist, while Isaac and I had both been appropriately surprised.  We discussed the clues the author had given that Jacob had caught.

(Yes, our family does discuss novels over breakfast.  Don't you?)

As we were cleaning the kitchen Jacob brought up Ravenswood.  "I know you want me to give you some specific advice, but I don't have any ideas.  There is something that's missing, though.  You need a good plot twist."

Yep.  There it was.  Even though I didn't anticipate what Caleb was going to do at the beginning of Divergent, I did totally see Jacob's comment coming.  I bet you did, too.

"You're just too honest," Jacob went on.  "You don't lie enough and your characters don't, either."

Who knew that being such an open person would rub off on my characters?  So now I've got to figure out how to be more devious and deceitful.  I'm assuming sneaking three Oreos and then admitting it on my blog a few minutes later doesn't count.

If only I could just throw in some ninja pirates.

So if you find that I'm being sneaky and dishonest, you'll know that I'm just trying to come up with ideas for how to strengthen my novel.  It's nothing personal.

Now go watch some Sherlock.  It's way more interesting than me.

Taking a break from torture

Some of you are probably wondering how the torture of Piper is going in Ravenswood.

What?  Is this a food blog?  No, but isn't that
 the prettiest breakfast you've seen in a while?

Well . . .

Um . . .

I haven't been working on Ravenswood!

>ducks as virtual rotten tomatoes are thrown at her<

See, I was torturing her, and doing a great job of it.  Then I rescued her from the worst of it and now she's sitting in a motel room, freshly showered and looking forward to a nap.  I think she deserves the rest, so I'm letting her have it.

Mindy watering the geraniums.

Okay, that's only half of the truth.  The other half is that I don't know how to end the book.  I emailed my latest draft to Isaac and Jacob and begged them to help me.  Isaac the Speed-Reading Demon finished it in a few minutes and his main input was that I didn't torture Piper enough.

I've raised a very bloodthirsty boy.

So what have I been doing with my time if I'm not working on Ravenswood?  I obviously haven't been posting to my blog for a few days (sorry about that).  I haven't returned to work since I still have healing to do.

Mindy showing off the kale in her secret garden.

What I am doing is having fun with my family.   Mindy and I sewed together a quilt top out of old jeans and together we built a lattice for our Cinderella pumpkins.  She and Isaac both have helped me make at least twenty pints of strawberry jam. Today the whole family sat around and tied the jean quilt together.

So no great novel is being written at the moment.  However, I'm taking long walks with my family on sunny days and listening to the rain on dark days.  We're having french toast for breakfast and home-grown kale chips at dinner.  Bread is being baked, quilts are being assembled, pumpkins are growing, and hopefully my kids are building some memories and learning a little bit from mom while she's home with too much time on her hands.

So Piper can have a break from being tortured.  I'll eventually figure out what to do with her.  In the meantime, I don't feel the least bit guilty for taking some time to focus on my family because I think my kids are the best novels I could write.

The family gathered around to tie Mindy's new quilt.

A Lesson in Humility

Isaac watching the aliens land . . . or something.

Anyone who has children knows that they are one big, long lesson in humility.  No matter how much we know about children in general - from training or practice - our knowledge is useless with our own.

The main reason for this is because kids are not like a souffle or even like a puppy.  They are all completely different.  No matter how skilled you are at dealing with one child, you are guaranteed to be thoroughly inept at dealing with the next one.

My son is a blond, blue-eyed, corn-fed Nebraska boy who slept through the night at two weeks of age (because he had a stomach the size of a two-year-old).  As a baby, he was cheerful and fun and a little kooky.  He loved to make noise and bang his head against things.

It's not a coincidence that Jacob looks exhausted.

So my husband and I thought, this is easy!  Let's have another!  I still looked six months pregnant, anyway.  Why not go ahead and get the second child over with?

What we didn't realize was that Isaac had been born to give us a false sense of security.  As soon as my morning sickness returned, my son became a different boy.  He learned to throw tantrums, and that strong, solid boy had strong, solid lungs.  He screamed like he was being disemboweled, and I was frankly too tired to care.  My second pregnancy had made me the size of a small RV.

Then my daughter finally arrived.  She was beautiful, with luminous dark eyes and shiny, dark curls.  The first night I was so amazed at her perfection that I didn't sleep at all.

I still wish I'd slept that night.

Isn't she gorgeous?  So cute, and yet so evil.

Because I certainly didn't sleep after that.  She screamed nearly non-stop for the next twelve months.  She refused to take a bottle, so I couldn't be separated from her for more than an hour or so.  It didn't matter.  No one wanted to babysit her because she'd scream the entire time.   

She refused to eat any food until one day we were having dinner at a nice restaurant, at which point she became famished.  She refused to take a single step (or let her feet touch the ground) until she was about seventeen months old, and then we found that she was a wanderer that required constant supervision or she'd just leave the premises.

Nothing that had worked with her brother worked with her.  Telling her no made her laugh.  There was no use in pushing her or punishing her.  To this day she has the strongest personality of anyone I have ever met.

My kids are nine and ten now, and they're great.  I love my kids.  Other people even love my kids (Mindy stopped screaming).  They get good grades and are thoughtful and diligent.  Okay, so Mindy gets sent to the principal's office a lot, but she reminds me that it's definitely less often than it used to be.

However, this is just the calm before the storm.  How do I know that?  Because I used to teach high school and I have worked with teenagers for years.  I feel pretty confident in my ability to relate to young people.

And if there's one thing I've learned from parenting, it's that pride comes before a fall.

Childhood adventures

This morning at breakfast we were talking about our earliest memories.  The kids were completely unimpressed with mine.  I was standing next to a bed, and there was a baby on the bed.  That's it.  So, yeah, they were right to be unimpressed.  I think I'm only about two years old, though, based on the height of the bed and such.

Jacob's earliest memories are awesome.  He remembers sitting in a high chair obliterating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while his dad played guitar a few feet away.  I was teasing him about his parents keeping him in a high chair until he was six, but he also remembers being handed off into his grandmother's arms, so I think Jacob wins for having the earliest memories.  My memories of being carried are all me begging and being told, "No, Amy, you're too big to pick up."  I was a rather sturdy child, but more on that later.

Mindy's earliest memories are from preschool, also at three or four years old.  She remembers having to take naps and being bored out of her mind.  She remembers playing quietly in the corner while the other kids learned words she already knew.  She also remembers having to remind the teacher that a universe is bigger than a galaxy.  Ah, nerd memories!

Isaac remembers his first night sleeping in a big bed instead of a toddler bed.  He was probably three or four years old.  He says he woke up when he rolled out and hit his head.  "There was some blood, but only a little bit."  I have no recollection of this at all, so here's yet more evidence of my lousy mothering skills.

Speaking of mothers not knowing what their kids are up to . . .

I've always been a fan of eating, and when I was a kid I sneaked a lot of food.  I'm assuming my mom is well aware of this since every bag of cookies always had just one left in it.  (I couldn't finish the whole bag.  Then people would KNOW.)

When I was eight years old I tried to make a cupcake.  I put a reduced amount of the ingredients from the Betty Crocker cookbook into a cupcake liner and mixed it up as best I could.  There was still a lot of egg yolk and such, but it's hard to mix well in a paper liner.  Then I stuck it into the microwave.  It didn't work well, and the smell was awful.  I threw away the "cupcake" in the garbage outside and sprayed the house liberally with Lysol, but when mom came home a few minutes later I had to 'fess up.

However, one time when I was home alone I decided I wanted to make donuts and pulled out the trusty Betty Crocker cookbook.  I managed to heat up a pan full of oil and make up some dough, but they didn't turn out right and the oil popped like crazy.  Somehow I managed to clean up all the evidence, or so I thought.  The next day my mom asked what the burns were from on my arms.  I, of course, feigned ignorance, so to this day she probably thinks one of my friends' parents was putting out cigarettes on my arms.  No, Mom, I'd just gotten marginally smarter since the cupcake incident.

Making Compromises

Mindy is upstairs weeping right now, and it's my fault.

Today is the Bible Challenge.  This is Isaac's second year competing, and it's his first year having put any real effort into preparing for it. I know he's going to do a wonderful job, and I really, really want to be there to see it.  However, I am kidding myself if I think my body can handle not only an hour round-trip in the car to get there, but hours of waiting while the competition is going on.  I'm hoping to take my last oxycodone this weekend, not start popping them every three hours again.

So I came up with a compromise.  Isaac will hitch a ride with his cousin, then we'll go this afternoon to watch the individual competition and see the awards ceremony.  What a great solution, right?  It'll still be rough on my body, but hopefully not too much to handle.  It's also better for Jacob, who has several commitments all afternoon and evening.

But Mindy is heartbroken.  She wants to go and hang out with the older kids like she did last year.  She wants to watch all the games and questions and pretend she's a part of it.

I made my daughter cry, just like I've had to so many other times.  They should tell you that before you have kids.  They should say, "You're about to have a little person that looks exactly like you.  You will love them in a way you've never imagined, and you are going to have to disappoint them and watch them cry, knowing it's your fault."

It is in this mood I share with you a link to a song off of Brandi Carlile's new album Bear Creek (via Paste Magazine).  The song is "That Wasn't Me," and it's beautiful and heart-wrenching, like most of her music.

Maybe that's what I can tell Mindy: when I make you cry, that wasn't me.

It's going to be okay, anyway.  I can hear her giggling in her room upstairs with her dad.

The Ticking Time Bomb

The other day I was chatting with my mom, and the subject of investing came up.  My mom said, "At least your kids have college funds."  Awkward silence while I let the waves of guilt crash over me.

"Mom, only Isaac has a college fund, and he doesn't even have enough for a semester."

To be fair, we've only recently gotten our financial house in order, so to speak.  We had a money pit of a house in Portland that was heavily mortgaged.  We finally sold it for a pittance two years ago, and only paid off the loan on that house last summer.  I finally paid off the last of my student loans last fall.

However, Isaac will be eleven in August, and Mindy is hot on his heels.  2019 looms in front of me like financial Armageddon, but even though one of my favorite hobbies is financial forecasting (I am a CPA, remember), I don't spend much time thinking about college funding.  I don't know if it's just boring to me or if I'm in such a blind panic that it's better not to think about it.  College funding has the same effect on me as when Jacob talks about his IT work.  My eyes glaze over and my brain shuts down and I wake up a few minutes later not knowing quite what's going on.

My son goes to college in just over 7 years.

I was thinking that Pepperdine University would be such a nice place for the kids to go.  It's a Christian school with a very good reputation in a nice location there on the beach in Malibu.  What a nice campus to visit, and the kids could go away to school and only be a thousand miles away!  So I went to their website.

Did you know that the annual cost of attending Pepperdine is more than $50,000 per year, and they haven't updated their cost estimator since 2009?!?!

Blind panic.

Okay, so perhaps Pepperdine is a bad idea.  Who wants to go to LA, anyway?

I looked at the cost of attending my alma mater, Harding University.  It's more than 2,000 miles away and the location is, well, Arkansas, but the annual cost is less than half of Pepperdine.  Okay, so maybe it's not the best campus to visit.  There's no sunny Pacific Ocean, no bustling metropolis, no sterling reputation.  But it's affordable.


Then there's Portland State University, where I did my post-baccalaureate accounting studies.  It's about $10,000 a year for tuition, and the kids could live at home.  Admittedly, it's not as cool as living in Malibu, but through the lenses of cost PSU starts looking downright shiny, doesn't it?

Or they could go to Clackamas Community College and ride their bikes to class every day.  I hope it doesn't come to this, but thank heavens for community colleges, right?  Jacob and I have both taken classes at community colleges and the modest expense is a life-saver.

I know that there is financial aid available.  Hopefully my kids will keep their grades up and get lots of scholarships, but I doubt they'll qualify for need-based financial aid.  I thought about retiring early so we're broke when the kids go to college, but considering I'll be barely forty, I can't see that being a wise option.

The most common methods of college savings (other than pretending it's not going to happen) are 529 plans and educational savings accounts.  529 plans behave a lot like a Roth IRA.  The money is put in after taxes, the growth and income are tax-free, and the money can be withdrawn tax-free as long as the distributions are used for qualified educational expenses (college).  One of the nicest things about a 529 plan is that the money in the plan still belongs to the person who invested it (me).  If your kid turns out to not be college material, you stick their younger sibling's name on the account and pretend it was theirs all along.

Educational savings accounts are a lot like 529s, but they lost their shininess after 529 plans came along, mostly because the contribution limits have been pretty low and the money in the plan belongs to the beneficiary.  However, at least the way the law stands right this minute (I think), you can use the distributions for educational expenses even before college: private school tuition, for example.

So, how am I going to save for my kids' college education?

Uh . . . . . .

. . .

. . .

Huh?  What?  Sorry.  I must have blacked out for a minute there.  What were we talking about?

A few of life's mysteries

Here are a few questions on my mind today.  Feel free to respond if you have any theories.

Why do people use tanning beds?  Seriously.  Why?  Tanning causes cancer and makes your skin wrinkled and leathery.  If you overdo it, you end up looking pretty scary.  I just don't get it.

You know those silly web surveys like the ones they have on msn.com every day?  Today it is asking for reader's opinions on some teen's rather tasteless faked suicide.  Your choices are that a) you think her video raises awareness of bullying, b) her project was "unsettling," or c) you have no opinion.  My question: is it really necessary to have an option for people who have no opinion?  Couldn't they simply not participate in the survey?  Where they need a "no opinion" option is on voter's ballots.  I've been known to occasionally do some eenie-meenie-miney-moe.

Aren't they angelic?

Why do children spend so much time and effort driving their parents insane?  Do they enjoy being yelled at?  Get a kick out of punishment?  Like the idea of having crazy parents?  Are they simply addicted to drama?  How can the sweet child who cuddles you before bedtime be the same one who gets called to the principal's office?  A few minutes ago I came stomping out of my room because Mindy was playing the same note over and over and over and over on her ukulele.  She was also singing along (same note) with words something like "Isaac is a big jerk.  I hate Isaac.  Isaac is a stupid head."

Similarly, why do siblings fight so unceasingly?  I'll never forget a lovely game of Risk I played with my husband and two of his cousins back in college.  The cousins were pre-teen siblings, and not once did they attack anyone other than each other.  Jacob and I annihilated them.  It was so easy.  They didn't even notice because they were having such a blast attacking each other.

Why do I get the munchies?  I'm not talking about any side-effects from dope-smoking. I'm talking about when I suddenly am consumed with the insatiable need to eat absolutely everything.  I'm not actually hungry because it's not possible for my pathetic metabolism to require that kind of calorie load.  I'm not eating my feelings because emotionally I feel dandy.  The munchies often hit, oddly, at bedtime.  Usually I crave toast, specifically.  Even better if it is with a mug of hot cocoa.  I rarely get up and have the toast because it won't help.  The need for the toast is bottomless.

Any burning questions on your mind?

Unexpected in March

My daughter is throwing snowballs at my office window, and it's March 22nd.

The kids have a snow day today, which adds another day to their extremely lengthy spring break.  They already had their spring break extended by one day because the freeway is being shut down.  That was extending what had already become a two-week holiday due to budget reduction days.

My kids have twelve days of school off for spring break.  Twelve!  With weekends, that is eighteen days!

I weep for the future of our country.  Our kids barely go to school.

And climate change has turned out to be much colder than anticipated if we're getting several inches of snow for spring break.  Forecast for tomorrow: freezing fog.

Mindy posing with her lovely snowman. 

Am I rambling about the weather in a blog post?  Why, yes, I am.  I've been embarrassingly lax with my blog and haven't posted for a month.  Consequently, I have to post something, no matter how inane.  Let's see if I can make it more serious.

I told my son he had to build me a snowman, and he went outside and kicked snow around instead.

I weep for the future of our country.  Our kids don't want to build snowmen.

But fear not!  My daughter, in the footsteps of great women throughout history, braved the snow flying from her brother's boots and built a snowman on her own!  The nation will survive as long as plucky young women continue to fight against all odds to preserve our nation's greatness.

Did I manage to infuse this blog posting with real meaning and value to society?  Nope.  Still just me blogging because I said I would, regardless of whether I had something to say.

But isn't that really what blogging is all about?

Guest Blogger

Today I would like to welcome my brilliant daughter, Mindy, as my guest blogger.  She is in third grade and just turned nine years old.  The following is a bit of writing that she wrote for a school assignment:

Wire-Haired Werewolf from Rotten Island

By Mindy Moran

January 2012

Rotten Island is crawling with creepy creatures. The Wire-haired Werewolf’s head contains one torn-out eye, one good eye, a carnivorous mind, a bitten-off ear, and a black stripe down her nose. She loves her four short legs, despite the fact that they make her clumsy. Her lithe body would have been graceful, if she didn’t have such short legs, but she doesn’t care, she loves being as rotten-looking as possible. The Wire-haired Werewolf’s long fur is so long that her short legs keep on tripping over it.

Wire-hair likes to steal food from others, especially hard-working ones. When they don’t have any food she just eats them! She loves to climb trees, though her short legs and long fur makes it hard. Very near the long, long list of what she hates is cats. She doesn’t like them because instead of charging after prey like she does, they stalk silently.

The Wire-haired Werewolf is a horrible, predatory carnivore. Her favorite food is caribou or reindeer. She likes them because they’re hard to find and powerful. What she hates is fish, she’ll eat anything but it. Wire-hair hates fish because the (1) are slimy, (2) live in water, which she loathes, (3) because they have scales instead of fur or feather, (4) get water all over her when they thrash. I could go on and on…

A special thing that she can do is make anything wash up on the shore without being poisoned. She does this because sometimes she’s just not in the mood for fresh monster, and really in the mood for real prey. In the picture, The Wire-haired Werewolf has washed up a mouse and some nuts. When she does this, she waits to “invite it over for dinner” until it has finished the nuts. Wire-hair wishes you bad luck and a full night of nightmares. I think she likes you.

The End