Why am I having the urge to blog? Every once in a while I remember this space, and how dedicated I was to it back in the day. I started WOAW nine years ago, posting every other day, unashamed, not caring about whether my words would be judged, or if people would think I’m nuts. It was fun.
Writing was fun and I miss that. Now it feels like work sometimes. Don’t get me wrong–I love that since I’ve started this blog, I’ve been able to publish books. I love that my stories have resonated with a few people, and mostly, I love that I’ve met so many wonderful friends through writing and publishing.
Now, though, writing feels different. Like I’m supposed to be serious now, so I can’t blog about The Love Boat, or some dumb dream I may have had about The Rock and a baguette. Like any free time I have to write must have the publishing goal in mind. No more silliness. Instead I try to market and it’s exhausting.
But looking back on these stories–especially the posts about my kids and their antics when they were little–makes me so happy. My boys are 18 and 16 now, and I love having these little vignettes about the things they did in every day life that I would have surely forgotten had it not been for WOAW.
I’m on Facebook. I’m on Instagram. I’m on Twitter. I don’t share much there, though. Once in a while I’ll post a picture of the boys, but I don’t tell the stories that I used to tell. I don’t document my life the way I used to.
Not that my life is so exciting, because it’s not really. Finding things to blog about has been more and more of a challenge, as I put up this serious-publishing-author-person wall around me. There’s a filter on everything. But here, maybe if I tear down that wall a bit and go back to writing the nonsense of my every day life, the benefits will be twofold–first, I’ll get to write for fun, and second, I’ll continue creating something my boys can read someday .
We’ll see how it goes. There may be typos. There will definitely be grammar errors. But I’m going to try not to care and just enjoy.
Yeah, yeah so I know I’ve had this blog since January of 2013, and in six-plus years I should probably have more than 200 posts but I have excuses, okay? The two biggest ones are asleep upstairs as I type this.
Excuse 1 and Excuse 2
The third excuse is sitting next to me…
Kiri Dog Posing in her Patriotic wardrobe
Basically, I have 200 excuses for only having 200 blog posts over more than half a decade, but I’ll stop there. In fact, I’m not even sure that this IS my 200th post because behind-the-scenes WordPress looks all fancy these days, and I could be reading the dashboard incorrectly. But in the interest of curing writer’s block and because, hey, at least I’m showing up at the laptop tonight, I’m going to go for it.
My exciting post today is about nothing. Seinfeld did a whole series about nothing so I’m doing a post about nothing. Aren’t you glad you stopped by?
Remember Monopoly? $200 for passing Go. I wish a banker would give me $200 for every time I make it around my block, just sayin’.
Have you had bloodwork lately? According to Wikipedia, for a lower risk of heart disease your cholesterol should be under… wait for it… 200! Mine is 154 woop woop! (*drops mic and shows attitude, *pulls herself together and picks up mic, *carries on).
Any NASCAR Cup Series fans? Guess who won 200 races?
I’ll let you think for a second…
…
…
…
Answer: Richard Petty.
What’s that? You want more facts about the number 200? What about a motorcycle race in Northern Ireland called the North West 200? Or that there’s a 200 value euro note ($221 USD)?
For you math nerds, 200 appears in the “Padovan sequence,” is the “smallest base 10 unprimeable number,” and is a “Harshad number.” Have fun with that if you so wish. Simply typing that sentence gave me an eye twitch.
And now, I have to go amend the Wikipedia page to add that WOAW reached its 200th post on August 22, 2019! Kidding, I won’t do that. But thanks for hanging around with me. Here’s to 200 more!
Greetings, from “the editing cave” where I’m busy revising The Love Square. Here’s a list of some things I’ve learned:
I have a lot of “staring” happening. He stared at her, she stared at him, etc. etc. I’m working on it, people.
There’s no good word for a female half-laugh– “giggle” sounds too silly and “chuckled” sounds like something an old man would do. “Stifled a laugh” works sometimes. “Scoffed” seems weird. Hopefully you can help me out with this. Anyone?
Before submitting my manuscript for publishing, I went through and took out all of my seemingly unnecessary commas. However, my editor has been adding many of the deleted commas back in. I’m never going to understand commas. Still, love, them, though, and, don’t, care.
I could spend the rest of my life editing this manuscript. In the beginning, I found myself re-starting at page one every night and finding something to change or add or subtract each time. I had to cut myself off and keep the wheels moving forward.
I like editing. It’s nice to get lost in your story and your characters in such an in-depth way. During NaNo and while writing that first draft, I tend to spit out the words just to get them on the page. With editing, the real writing tools come out and you can apply things you’ve learned. Every sentence receives your undivided attention.
So that’s where I am. Muddling through, hoping to make it better with each pass. Is it Hemingway? No. Is it the best book I’m ever going to write? Probably not. I hope to learn more and more as I progress down this path. Still, I’m confident it’s a good contemporary love story that’s worth the reader’s time.
Onto something irrelevantly relevant. Who remembers Fraggle Rock?
Ah, the Fraggles! Weren’t they the greatest? My kids have the first season on DVD. The coolest thing about the DVD set is that it comes with a replica of Jim Henson’s notebook, dated April 3, 1981, with his thoughts while developing Fraggle Rock.
This discovery (we’ve had the DVD set for years and I had no idea the replica notebook was included) made me so freaking happy. Look at some sample pics:
It’s his actual notes!
Now, look at all those scribbles. Back in ’81 before the days of Word, this was how editing was done, I guess. I love that he used a notebook like this to scribble his “concept for an international children’s television show” called: “The Woozle Show or Woozle World or The World of Woozles or Woozle-Woozle!”
In the notebook he describes his idea for Doc (“the old codger is warm and lovable but you probably wouldn’t call him bright”), Sprocket the dog (“The Dog, whose name is George, is of course a Muppet . . . the Woozles drive him crazy”), and obviously, the “Woozles” (“Woozles are pretty wacky, have a lot of energy, and when all else fails, somebody shouts “Let’s sing about it!” and they do”).
But I think the best part of the notebook is when JH describes the meaning of the show:
Our first job is to make this world a lot of fun to visit. It is a high energy raucous musical romp. It’s a lot of silliness. It’s wonderful.
However, the second thing that we’re doing with this show is saying something. The show has a direction and a point of view. This will be beneath the surface, and if anybody becomes very aware of it, we will have missed.
What the show is really about is people getting along with people, and understanding the delicate balances of the natural world . . . . We will make the point that everything affects everything else, and that there is a beauty and harmony of life to be appreciated.
I just love that– “A beauty and harmony of life to be appreciated.”
I also appreciated reading the notes in Jim Henson’s handwriting, with scribbled out words and added carets and other editing marks. For example, in the quote above when he writes “we will have missed,” originally his notes said, “we will have failed.” He crossed out the “failed” and opted for “missed.” I think that says a lot, don’t you?
As for Fraggle Rock , in my opinion, it succeeded in its mission. I enjoy watching it now as much as I did as a kid. It transcends generations for exactly the reasons that JH contemplated–on the surface it’s funny and high energy, but underneath are subtle undertones that resonate without overwhelming the viewer.
While Fraggles are lovable and silly and fun, unfortunately there’s an opposite end of that spectrum. His name is Eugene Peppermint and HE’S BACK:
He’s creepy and weird and not one bit of fun. He is the anti-Fraggle (I do think he’s happy to be free of my underwear drawer though).
Of course I forgot he was supposed to come out yesterday. I thought maybe the kids wouldn’t care. After all, last year we had a conversation about how parents move the elf with Christmas magic.
No such luck. Either the kids forgot about that conversation, didn’t understand what we were saying, or chose to ignore it in light of the miracle of the holidays. Meh. Here’s to hoping this year is Eugene’s last hurrah. In the meantime, I’ll suffer through another season of the dumbest thing ever invented. 🙂
And that’s the news from my camp here in NJ. Next up on WOAW: Answers to Friends trivia! As always, thank you for reading and enjoy the rest of your November.
Two years ago, I wrote a blog post on Halloween night discussing whether I should take part in NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month. I did do NaNo that year and “won,” meaning I wrote 50,000 words in the month of November.
That first draft sucked. But for the next year and a half I worked on it. Not straight through–there were months when I didn’t touch it–but by mid-2015 I had a decent draft that had been edited a million times by me, and once by a professional editor. Now, two years later, that book is completely different from the book that “won” NaNo. As you may recall, it’s called She Laughs in Pink and will be published in May by BookFish Books.
And here we are… another November. This month, I’m working on Book Three of that series. It’s sort of a NaNo Cheat, since I already have about 30K words written, but my goal is to have a complete first draft by the end of the month.
Also this month, I’ll be “hiding in the editing cave” (writers seem to like that phrase so I’ll borrow it here) with The Love Square, which will be published on January 12, 2016 by Limitless Publishing. I expect to hear from my editor by November 24th, and I’ll have a little over a week to rewrite.
Did I mention I’m starting a day job, too? Yep. Tomorrow. As in this tomorrow, November 2nd. I’m honored to be working for the State of New Jersey and happy I’ll have income, but yeah, it’s going to throw a wrench in the whole system.
I’m not scared though. Okay, maybe I’m a little scared. But I learned from Thomas the Tank Engine recently that “you can be scared and still be brave.” So I’d say I’m scared and brave. I’m scared about the writing and publishing, I’m scared about the new job, and I’m scared about keeping up my family responsibilities and staying in touch with my friends.
But mostly I’m brave, because I’m going to try my hardest to do it all. Everything that’s happening this month is difficult and good and so worth the effort. This month encompasses all the things I want to do forever–of course I’m going to try to make it work! Fear and stress can knock on the door all they want, but I ain’t gonna answer. I’m going to cover my ears and say, “La la la,” until they back off.
Will I drop a few balls as I juggle November? I’m certain I will. But I’ll just bend down and pick them back up.
November (Photo credit: my husband, Joe).
Join me in NaNo? I’m on the NaNo website as Jessica Calla. Come find me!
Today a couple of things happened that made me think I’m perhaps losing my mind.
First, I left the van windows open all night (yes, the van The Rock tried to fit his extra long baguette into). Admittedly, it’s not the first time that happened, but now JC can add “damp, mildewy, and dank” to the adjectives he uses to describe the Jalopy.
Okay, whatever. No big deal.
Next, I did some “writerly” things (a term panned by Angela, who hereby sneaks her way into another post) and decided to reward myself by watching the premiere of Empire, which aired earlier in the week. I turned it on and they started with “Previously on Empire” and I’m trying to play along but I have no idea what any of the clips mean.
Then it hits me. I NEVER WATCHED THE FINALE!
Wuh?
I know! I have a vague recollection of it not recording, or maybe we switched cable boxes and the DVR cleared itself and I never got to see it. Somewhere there’s a thought drifting around my head that I was supposed to watch it On Demand. Maybe I thought that happened, but it didn’t?
So of course I have no idea what’s happening. Lucious is in prison with Chris Rock, Marisa Tomei is a lesbian, Jamal is the head of the company and is a meanie. WHAT IS GOING ON?
I did enjoy the commercial with Taraji P. Henson, Kerry Washington, and Mary J. Blige making a mix tape on their computer (don’t ask me details- it’s all fuzzy). Why I was watching the commercials for a DVR recorded show is also of concern.
Next, I wrote a friend a birthday card and on the way to pick up JC, I slid it into the mail slot in our post box. I then get to JC’s school and park, and like all good parents who try their best to be anti-social, I reach for my phone.
Except it’s not there. Now I’m nervous because I don’t go anywhere without my phone and I was sure I had it in the van with me. I was convinced I mailed it with the birthday card. I debated with myself if this was possible, as I sat in the Jalopy and waited for JC.
I devised a master plan to stand next to the mailbox and use JC’s phone to call my phone, and see if the mailbox started ringing. I envisioned having to get through the automated Post Office phone system to speak to a human and ask whether there exists a lost and found. Surely, people mistakenly mail things all the time? Then I decided there simply was no way I could have mailed my iPhone. It’s a giant 6 Plus!
Could I have mailed my phone? Maybe! Ugh.
For the fifteen minutes I sat in the van alone, windows open enjoying the breeze, without my phone. Peaceful, yes, but I felt as if stranded on a deserted island, or that I time-traveled back to the 80’s. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel anxiously and created rap lyrics- I’m at the school/and I’m cool/and you see me and you drool/lost my phone/ain’t at home/so now I’m rapping up a poem – Lyrical genius, I am not.
The phone was not in the mailbox-it was in my kitchen. I may watch Empire again. I don’t know. Maybe I need a vacation. If this post had a point, obviously I’ve lost track of that, too.
A long, shrill, continuous beep . . . a flatline . . .
Get the cart! Plug in the paddles!
Rubs paddles together and places them on WOAW’s metaphorical chest . . .
All clear! Jess yells, as she shocks her blog alive.
A quick blip . . . then another . . . LIFE!
WOAW lives . . .
I needed that jolt! Phew, I feel so much better. There’s blogging life in me yet. I have to admit, as soon as I opened WordPress and saw my lovely little piece of the internet here, I got the warm and fuzzies and wanted to hug my computer.
I’ve missed you all and have so much to tell you! Where to begin?
Well, first, I am still unemployed. Meh. I’m interviewing but everything takes forever. I have mixed feelings about going back to work. Of course, money would be nice, but I have to admit that being home is nice, too. Now that I’m home, I don’t know how I ever worked. When I worked there were no noon doctor appointments or 4:30 Kids Zumba classes. Homework was never done by dinner time. I guess we all do what we have to do and if (when) I get a job, we’ll re-adjust.
The best part of interviewing was hitting up the Ann Taylor outlet for a new interview suit. I had tons of fun shopping, and I’m not much of a shopper. I even bought two pairs of cute work shoes at Aerosoles.
Haha, just kidding. These are my Docs and I love them.
These are my new shoes. Don’t worry, I wear them in matching sets, not mixed like this. 🙂
So where did the summer go? Well, I thought I’d have this wonderful summer being Supermom, but alas, that did not happen. Summer was fine, don’t get me wrong, but within a week of having the boys home I was like, “Who wants to go to camp?!?” I’d have taken out a loan to get them out of the house if it came down to it.
Trust me, they were happy to go. Camp had kids and pools and trips, and the boys had a great time. M. went to a YMCA sponsored camp for special needs kids which was awesome. JC spent his days at our town’s Rec Camp and Splash Camp at the YMCA pool. I seriously don’t think I could have handled them home all summer. They’re cute (usually) and fun (depending on your definition of “fun”), but not in large chunks of never-ending long, hot summer days. Just keeping it honest here, folks. We all survived and enjoyed. I even took JC to the top of the Empire State Building . . .
JC snapping pics from the Empire State Building, NYC
And M. to the supermarket . . .
Yes, he’s 10 and yes, I let him sit in the cart. I had just picked him up from camp and he was tired and dirty- it was ice cream day, but I’m not sure how stains ended up on the back of his swim shirt.
No, really. We did fun things. I swear. Now it’s back to school, my favorite time of the year. I’m already learning a lot in sixth grade. I had to google how to read a triple beam balance and how to do long division with decimals in the mix. I . . . I mean, JC . . . will be doing a science project involving popcorn, and one that will require mehim to make a model of an invertebrate. Go sixth grade! I don’t know why the kid complains. It’s nothing but fun times.
Besides the family stuff, this summer I made new friends and kept the old. I went back to yoga, then stopped again. I walked the dog a lot. Remember Kiri?
Kiri Dog (aka “Kirsten Louise,” “Weezy,” and/or “Pain in my Butt”)
Mostly, I’ve been writing and learning and asking questions about things. In the next week or so I hope to share more about my experiences with you, as well as some exciting news concerning my writing life.
Until then, it’s nice to be here in my happy place. Thanks for reading and have a good night!
Two man-made lakes, landscaped with beautiful trees and flowers, sit in the middle of our development. As you can imagine, the mile-long paved pathway around the lakes is a magnet for dog walkers, joggers, bikers, strollers. It’s lovely to have the lakes in our neighborhood and to me, they are the shining point of our development.
That being said, I’m a nervous wreck when the boys are near the lakes.
Historically, my best bet for making it around the lakes with my sanity in check was to pull the boys in their two-seater wagon. At least they were contained and I had some control. But sooner than I’d hoped, they grew big enough that when they crammed into the wagon they were forced to rest their chins on their knees. Suddenly, I was pulling over a hundred pounds around the lake and we looked ridiculous. I had to retire the wagon and my semblance of control.
So if we wanted to walk the lakes, we had to do just that – walk. For a million reasons, I never enjoyed walking the boys around the lake. Mostly because a mile is a long way around with two little kids. We’d make it halfway and someone would be tired, hot, cold, hungry, bored, whatever. And they’d either be painfully sloooowww or way too fast. No leisurely strolls for us. Either I was running to catch them or dragging them behind me. Yelling was often involved. “Let’s go!” “Slow down!” “Wait for mommy!” “Don’t eat the dirt/snow/flowers!”
And the lakes? They’re full of water! With two little boys and only one me? What if they both fall in at the same time? What if they run off the path and I can’t catch them and they get to the street and get hit by a car? What if there’s a sexual predator lurking in the bushes? What are they wearing in case they get kidnapped? What if I drop dead, leaving the boys to cry and wander the lake on their own forever and ever? What if we pass out from heat exhaustion? Hypothermia? Did I bring water? Sunscreen? My phone? Bugs! Ticks! AHH! **
A few weeks ago, JC and I went for a walk and strolled the lakes. I had some thoughts and snapped this picture:
JC
When JC approached the water, my first instinct was to yell at him to get away from the edge. So I did. “Not too close!” I screamed. JC, being the feisty eleven-year-old he is, ignored me. Then I realized.
He knows how to swim. If he falls in, he’ll be okay.
He’s loud as all heck and he knows about stranger danger. If a predator jumps out of the bushes, he’ll scream and together, JC and I can fight.
He knows our neighborhood. If he wanders away, he’ll meet me back home.
He has a phone in his pocket. If he wanders away and manages to get lost, he can call.
If he’s hot, he’ll take off his fleece. If he’s cold, he’ll . . . well, be cold. He can deal with (some) things on his own.
I also realized that it’s nice to look out over the lake. I can take my eyes off him and check it out and he won’t disappear. He can be fifty feet away from me and I don’t have to panic.
Don’t get me wrong – I won’t necessarily relax. Maybe, being a parent, I’ll never truly relax again. But I don’t have to panic, either.
I’m slowly learning to give the boys a little freedom. They’re not going to be kids forever. It goes by quickly. JC is eleven! He’s been around more than a decade! If I keep panicking in his presence, I’ll screw him up. Every parent hopes they aren’t the ones to screw up their kids! Not only that, but I’ll miss out on enjoying him and, in some ways, my own life.
I don’t want to miss out on the good stuff, so I’ll try to contain my overprotectiveness. No promises that I won’t slip into panic mode now and again, but I’ll try not to make panicking the default.
That’s all I wanted to say. Tomorrow on Mother’s Day and every day after, I wish you all panic-free peace with your children. Thank you for reading and have an enjoyable weekend.
** These thoughts may sound crazy to some of you more laid-back parent people, but in my defense, JC did lose control of his bike a couple years back and ended up flying down the hill right into the lake! Thank god I wasn’t there because I’d probably have a heart attack on the spot. My husband fished him, and the bike, out of the water and everyone was fine. Slimey, wet, and miserable, but fine.
For those of you who don’t know, I was recently “restructured” out of a job. Remember my lovely job in downtown Trenton? (I posted about Trenton here and here). Well, it is no more.
On one hand, this is not terrible. I wasn’t thrilled with the job anyway and financially and emotionally, it made sense for me to walk away. No condolences necessary, please.
On the other hand, now I have to be concerned about money and making a life for myself, two things I never had to worry about during my thirteen years on the gravy train that is the federal government.
So here I am. Kicked off the train right onto my butt. It’s 9:30 on a Tuesday morning and I’m blogging. I’ve been home for a month now, taking it all in, and here’s what I’m ready to share:
It’s weird being home. I’ve worked since forever, besides taking a few short breaks for maternity leaves (if you could classify those as “breaks”) and for studying for the bar exam (which also shouldn’t be considered a “break” since I actually studied all summer).
Why is it weird?
I’m freaked out by the idea that I can use my time as I wish. I’ve never had that before. My time was always dedicated to something– morning hours were for getting the boys where they need to be, then I’d rush to work, then after work I had to get the boys from wherever they were and rush back. In the evening it was a juggling act with my husband over activities, homework, dinner, baths, etc. Finally, bedtime would arrive and I’d have about two hours to decide what I wanted to do.
Now though? I still dedicate the mornings to getting the boys out of the door. After that, until 2:30 when I have to get JC (no more After School Care for us), I have to decide what to do.
Um, yeah, I don’t know how to do that. It’s like when I tried to take “Self-Paced Logic” in college, and had to drop out after two weeks since I hadn’t yet bought the book. Now I’m trying to work out a “Self-Paced Life.” Hmm.
First off, let me give a shout out to all the stay at home moms. I get it now. There’s a lot to be done. But before, while working-for-pay, I didn’t feel the guilt of not doing it as much. I was literally imprisoned by my office, with no chance of parole prior to 5:30 p.m. Now? I sit here typing this blog post and feel the guilt creep up (I should be cleaning something, I should be calling someone, I should be doing something, anything, because I’m on the outside now!).
Of course there are a million things I want to do for the house and family. I’ve done about five of them so far (cleaned out the boys’ dressers, organized the kitchen cabinets, started a renovation project with a contractor, made about a hundred doctor appointments, signed the boys up for activities that we can now do with our new schedules).
There are also a million things I want to do for myself. I’ve done a couple of them (worked on my writing, sort of started a workout routine).
I’m still working out the details of how to actually get stuff done. My dad asked me yesterday, “What have you been doing?” (I think he missed my blog posts- Hi Dad!). The answer is, I’ve been busy, but I’m not sure what I’ve been doing.
I haven’t turned on the television during the day (… not much, anyway. I do enjoy Empire and started House of Cards again), so I’m not sitting here binge watching.
I’ve been working on my writing. I want to start the moving process for my projects- moving from draft to final, moving from the laptop to the world. I also joined an online writing group that takes some time, and I’m helping others with their projects.
I’ve been “cooking.” I use the term loosely. I hate doing it and think I’m terrible at it, although my husband claims I’m doing great (beggars can’t be choosers). I make a kick-ass loaf of bread though:
Kick-ass loaf of bread, from scratch, people.
I walk the dog, a task I dread but end up enjoying once I’m out there. Isn’t she cute:
Sleepy Time
Kiri Dog
I food shop during the day, which is probably the greatest luxury ever- working people cannot possibly understand the joy of food shopping on a Wednesday morning at the Shoprite. The difference between the Shoprite on a Saturday afternoon with two kids, and on a Wednesday morning solo, is like night and day.
I also spend some time looking for jobs, which freaks me out and makes me nervous. Dealing with unemployment in New Jersey freaks me out and makes me nervous, too. If you need a reason not to vote for Chris Christie if he runs for President in 2016, look to the New Jersey unemployment office. If he can’t make that work, how is he going to make a country work?
AND, I did this:
My hand (with a photo bomb by this blog post). No, I didn’t get remarried! Look at my nails, friends. The nails.
I painted my nails blue. This is significant because (a) I’ve been biting my nails for the past two years from stress with the crap going on at work and now that I’m home they are growing, (2) I had time to paint them and let them dry, and (3) that’s Wonder Woman nail polish that I bought from MAC years ago and never had a chance to enjoy. I bought the blue (awesomely called “Spirit of Truth”) and the red (amazingly called “Obey Me”) solely because of the marketing. What employed person with money to spend could resist this:
Where am I going with this post? I forgot. I seem to have drifted into my favorite relevantly irrelevant-ness arena, so I’ll just end it with a quote:
“Time is an illusion.”
(Albert Einstein)
Have a great day, whether you are at work or at home, whether you are in survival mode or self-pacing. It’s all an illusion, enjoy what you can.
Your home is on fire. Grab five items (assume all people and animals are safe). What did you grab?
My MacBook (wouldn’t want it to melt with my masterpieces living inside).
My cell phone (to call 911 and so kids can watch Netflix at shelter/hotel).
Our coats (it’s friggin cold out).
My car keys (Duh).
My wallet (for access to credit cards and driver’s license).
Wouldn’t that just make sense? I hope my light switch did not cause this fire.
And speaking of fires, after I brilliantly installed the light switch, I almost DID set the house on fire. I dropped a waffle through the grate of the toaster oven onto the heating element. The waffle caught and started to FLAME, people! Orange flames, like bursting and crackling! In the house! Scared me to death.
The kids played in another room, completely oblivious. The dog came to my immediate assistance to growl at the fire and try to trip me. I blew on the waffle, like I was trying to put out birthday candles. Probably not the best idea to give an oxygen supply to a flaming breakfast treat, but sadly, this was instinctual. At least I didn’t throw water on it?
In seconds, the flames were out and I’d successfully fought my first fire. I blame the entire incident on a design flaw in the toaster oven. The heating element is unprotected and exposed (my toaster oven at work has a metal grate that covers the element, this one does not). I’m wondering if I should email Cuisinart?
The Toaster Oven involved in the Incident. Notice the unprotected heating elements.
The Delicious Waffles involved in the Incident.
Close-up of Directions: “Toasting Should be Supervised”- I’m a living testament to that directive. You never know when a waffle will tumble to the bottom of the toaster oven (or accidentally be pushed through the grates by an impatient mother).
Ah, the exciting life I lead! The adventure never ends.
Time it takes to find appropriate clothing for two boys on blizzard days: 45 minutes.
Two boys= 2 sets of underwear, 4 pairs of socks, 2 sets of thermals, 4 shirts, 2 pairs of pants, 1 snowsuit, 1 snowpants, 2 coats, 4 gloves, 2 hats, 2 scarves, 2 pairs of boots, and a partridge in a pear tree.
Amount of time spent putting said clothes on boys: 15 minutes.
Size of snowsuit that you are cramming your nine-year-old into: 6/7.
Time it takes for little one to decide he has to pee after said clothes are in place: 1 minute. Time it takes him to unwrap and actually pee: 5 minutes.
Time spent arguing with eleven-year-old over which pair of gloves he will wear: 3 minutes.
Time spent outside in 24 degree weather: 20 minutes.
JC and M, adventures in the snow.
Number of times you open the sliding glass door to yell at children: no less than 20. (Do you care? No, because at least you are inside.)
Number of times husband complains that you are letting the cold air in: no less than 20. (Do you care? No, because at least you are inside.)
Number of times you yell at children for throwing snow at each other and dog: no less than 10.
Time spent undressing freezing cold, suddenly starving children: 10 minutes.
Time for various layers of clothing to dry: 2 hours.
Portion of kitchen covered in wet clothing: 50%.
The Aftermath
Time between stripping children and first cries of “I’m bored” : less than 5 minutes.
Time it takes for parents to pop the cork on the wine as soon as kids hit the sack: 30 seconds.
Kiri Dog Posing in her Patriotic wardrobe
Waiting on a Word 
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