Cherry red desk

We went to Ikea and bought a small red desk. I love the absurdity of its ridiculous maraschino red. Ikea was celebrating its 20th birthday, so we also got birthday cake. And the icing on the cake matched the desk colours. Perfect.

My desk fits neatly in the alcove between the sofa and the kitchen table. And somehow I fit my writing in between all my other activities and it brightens my days. It has wheels, so theoretically I could wheel my computer around and write all around the house. qqqqqq122222222222222222223v Here Special K sat down and interjected her thoughts. That's one of the disadvantages of having this new ergonomic set up. My old chair was a bar stool. She still managed to climb up, but it was harder.

After Ikea we failed to go a friend's games party, which was sad, because Special K crashed and fell asleep. Though it turned out to be a good thing, because she's remained healthy...so far. (knock on wood)

The day after we went to a lovely fondue party, which Owlmoose blogged about. Unfortunately C was very tired and fell asleep, because Little T was up a lot....getting sick.

At the party I had a parent moment. You know one of those moments where a non-parent stares at you in utter bemusement. Little T urped all over himself and me. He was quite cheerful about it, so I just calmly set about changing him and trying to wipe myself down with a paper towel. I know before I had children, the thought would fill me with horror. But now it's the screaming I can't stand. And I know it can get a lot grosser and I was thankful it wasn't.

Unfortunately my gratitude was short-lived. We're now into day two of screaming and explosions from every orifice. My nanny is here. He's finally gone to sleep. And I'm thinking sweet cherry red thoughts. I'm also taking a couple days off from writing. My writing is back in the NICU days, and I start to worry too much about his illness, even though he just has a stomach bug. At least I hope so. Knock on sweet cherry red desk.

Training Dumb machinery

Little T. is sick. I'm trying to dictate to my word document and it's making a total mess of what I'm saying. Kerensa is crying in the background. not sure what she's crying about exactly, but she's sitting on the floor crying. It has been a very long weekend. We had a delightful time last night at the fondue party, but that's now distant memory

Here's what Microsoft made of it:

Little tea is set and trying to dictate to mind word document and is making a total amounts of what I'm saying Kerensa is crying in the background not sure what she's crying about exactly what she's sitting on the floor crime has been a very long weekends we had a delightful time last night's at the forum to 40 that's now distant memory

Mediamonkey makes me happy

My mediamonkey playlist got me back in the writing groove. I'm up to 18,690 words. I'm 60 words away from rewriting my book proposal.

Pulling up

It's been an odd couple days

C's friend has calmed down, but nothing has fundamentally changed, so I feel the situation is only just waiting to explode again.

I read and critiqued a friend's novel that was wonderful, but also heart-wrenching.

I just joined a study that might actually help me with my dystonia. I'm scared to hope, but I can feel hope pressing against my chest.

Little T has started pulling up on everything. For weeks he would only lean up on the leather couch and haul himself up that way. He tried other places but couldn't quite do it and would cry at me to help. I tried to help and he'd scream at me more. On Tuesday Special K and I were doing puzzles on the coffee table, Little T had to pull and see. With huge effort, he pulled up all on his own. Now he pulls up as he never had any problems and he's working on cruising. All of this involves a lot of fussing and crying as he gets frustrated. He wants me to pick him up. I have a sprained ankle. I shouldn't pick up a 19lb boy especially one who's arching backwards. I relent more than I should. By about 6pm my patience has worn thin. C doesn't get home until 7:30. I try not to go crazy before then. Some days I succeed.

I got no writing done yesterday as I was so worn out with dealing with Little T that I slept through most of the time the respite care worker was here. C really doesn't understand how draining the constant crying is. Today I wrote about 300 words. I'm behind. I must borrow my quota from other days.

What I've been doing instead over the past couple days is to put together over 20 hours of music that makes me happy. We can play music on our Tivo, but without a playlist after a while, it mysteriously kicks back to Live TV. During the daytime that's a lot of bad tv. Now I have music for parties too. I feel a real sense of accomplishment. I made the playlist using MediaMonkey, which also makes me happy -- the name of the program that is.

Depressed?

Last night we went to a singing party with some friends where we sang songs, eat dinner and the kids ran around. I loved sitting with Little T on my lap and singing with him.

C says I'm depressed. He thinks I'm more sad about missing this writing workshop than I should be. I dunno. I always worry about missing opportunities. I don't really have a good way to evaluate what I really need right now.

What I do know is that I keep writing. My non-fiction book is up to 17,808 words. I'm behind on my 500 word count today, but I'm more than ahead from other days.

Both Special K and Little T are wearing one sock.

Seems like a good time to do this meme:

Name 10 small things for which you're grateful

1. My sprained ankle is slowly healing, so I can walk around the house now.
2. The top of Little T's shoulder is now normal and not tumor.
3. Special K is over her cold.
4. Little T can wear little boy pants
5. Eating ripe organic bananas
6. Special K shuts the door to the bathroom so Little T can't go exploring there.
   
7. A nice hot cup of tea
8. Little T has started to look at books on his own just like big sis Special K
9. C has been getting together with some old friends.
10. After several "web site is down", I can finally pay my American Express card bill online.
    

I hate tagging people, but please carry on the meme if you feel so moved.

Waning moon

It's a waning moon and very bad stuff is going down with a friend of C's. C is helping as best he can and he can't take the kids along. So I can't be gone for hours and hours next weekend. My ankle's slowly getting better, but not better enough to navigate the extensive walking needed for public transportation. I can't drive that far. It also turns out that none of the other participants is coming down from the peninsula, so I can't get a ride. Bottom line: I can't go to the writing workshop next week. I'm really bummed about it, but it wasn't meant to be right now. One bad thing happening, okay? But three things are coinciding to make this not happen. There will be other workshops. This is a fiction workshop. And my current obssession is my non-fiction book.

I could sort of it see it coming when I sprained my ankle. I figured that sweetie that he is, C would drive me if it came down it. But it just felt a chain of events had been set in motion. Don't get me wrong. I do believe in free will. But I also believe in chaos theory. I believe a butterfly's wing can change the pattern of the weather in the amazon three thousand miles away.

Number of the beast

I got spam today. For the pet who has everything, now you can get it a cell phone.

My nonfiction book is now at 16,666. Well a little over.

Lame

We had company over which was lovely. My friends had a nice lunch in my garden while the CCS social worker did her session with Little T inside. She showed me why Little T will pull up in certain places, but not others. It made perfect sense when she explained it, but I'd have to think about on my own. I don't think very well spatially.

I wrote 500 words today up to 15,325. I'm totally obssessed with my non-fiction book. But after having a good talk with Jenny last night, I know I'm in a down phase. I really hate spraining my ankle. Bad stuff from my childhood. I feel it's a moral failing. I'm literally and figuratively lame. It's okay to be disabled as long as I'm not limping around. It's okay to be disabled as long it's partially hidden. It's worse and better that my ankles are hyperflexible because of my disability. At least I know it's not just because I'm a total klutz.

I hate having to literally have to count each step I make. I started to tell her it was the writing that was killing me. Guilt about that coming out. But actually I was feeling pretty good before I sprained my ankle. I was getting stray projects done like getting rid of books. As she kept telling me, I was getting my groove back. It's hard to groove when you're lame.

But after I said some stuff that out loud to her and blogging more stuff here, I feel a bit more free. I don't want to pass on this crud on to Little T. I sprain my ankle about once a year. Last year I was 8 months pregnant with Little T, so it's a lot easier this time around. Maybe this time I'll do my exercises better or something and I'll avoid it for longer. But I just have to face up to the fact that at least for the foreseeable future, it's part of who I am. It's part of the me that jerks. It's part of me that can't drive on the highway. I just do the best I can with the body I've got.

Special K seems largely unaffected by my lameness. She can now dress herself, get her own food, go to the bathroom, and play. She does need some help, but it's not like last year where she was frustrated and hobbled by my injury. Little T is too young to care. He just wants to be picked up. But I'm asking for more help this time. Next year will be better too. Little T will be able to do more. Special K too. I'm not sure what it is about this time of year that causes ankle sprains. I'll have to think about that. Got any ideas?

Lost

I wrote 1000 words today so my non-fiction book is up to 14,800 words.

I'm enjoying Season 1 of "Lost" on DVD. I just got a membership with Blockbuster Online. At the store, Blockhead has a one-month trial membership for $9.99, 3 DVDs out a time, unlimited DVDS. Membership includes coupons for two free in-store rentals a month. Pretty good deal, at least for a month.

However "Lost" gets a little repetitive. Stop now if you don't want Season 1 spoilers. For example, we learn that Sawyer's dad killed his mother and then killed himself after a grifter swindled Sawyer's mother. Then a few episodes later, we actually see the scene. Gratuitous. We already know that it made Sawyer very very sad. Similarly we see several scenes in which we learn that Jin beats up people for Sun's dad the mafia boss and he hates it. Also weird things happen that surprise me, but so far the characters themselves haven't surprised me. Now in the "Sopranos", the characters themselves do things that surprise me while still acting entirely in character. Now that's really really cool. I hope I write like that.

Ghost of blogs past

From akienm:
1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

From Grief and not eating "Intellectually I know that he's actually getting all the nutrition he needs via tube and he has large reserves of fat." He's still getting most of his nutrition via tube and most of his fat reserves are gone. Yet he continues to grow. He gets stronger every day.

But to be honest, I still struggle with his eating issues. It doesn't loom as large as it did in May. I no longer fear that he wants to die. "But I still mourn the fact that he no longer breastfeeds." That's still true. But gradually my mourning became less constant. Like any type of loss, I became reminded less often.

And right now he's forcibly telling me that he's fiercely attached to me as he demands that I hold him while he goes to sleep. Gimpy as I am, I oblige. Though no standing and rocking today.

16 years ago, Now lame and sick

Sixteen years ago, I was at Bryn Mawr College during the Loma Prieta earthquake. A lot of kind people asked if my parents were okay. My parents live 100 miles away, so they were fine. I was touched by people's kindness and also amused by their ignorance of just how big California is.

I sprained my ankle on Saturday night. We were rushing to see Wallace and Gromit. I stepped too quickly off the step to the garage and slipped and fell. I have hyperflexible ankles due to my disability. But mostly I was rushing too much. I also should have asked C to get my ankle brace before going to the movie. He did get me an ice pack. But shoulda-coulda-woulda. I'm trying to let go of useless recriminations. It's a hard habit to break.

My cold has also worn me down. Special K asks every few hours "Mommy, are you still sick?" "Yes, I'm afraid so." I answer. C told me "You've been sick, lame or sleep-deprived for over a year." It made me feel sad at first. Then I realised it's basically true, yet I still carry on. I wrote 300 words yesterday on the Road to Mandalay. I wrote 1200 words today on my non-fiction book, which is now 13,820. Still keeping up with my quota.

Writer's liberation

I found more words of wisdom from Jenny Crusie about writer's liberation. She compares getting published to getting married. It really resonated for me. It's not supposed to be a goal and it's not an end in itself. Marriage is delightful. I'm sure being published is also. But getting published also means you have more work and more criticism. And instead of rejection letters that you receive privately in your email or mailbox, the criticism is public. That's why I held off submitting my writing until I was ready.

One of the best decisions I made was choosing my husband. But I did work a lot on myself first. And I continue to work on myself as a writer, to make myself a good match for an agent. I read books and blogs about how it's supposed to be. That great relationship. Except I'm not even looking yet. I look at personals now and then. My non-fiction book is now at 12,600 words.

Writing and Doctor Atomic

Yesterday I wrote 1000 words today up to 11,775 on my non-fiction book. I thought I had chased away my cold with Vitamin C, echinacea and goldenseal, but it's back. Or maybe it's a different cold. I'll try these remedies again.

There seems to be a rivalry between Agentoo7 and Miss Snark, so I should say I read both.

The opera Doctor Atomic promised a big bang but ended with a whimper. I even heard a woman say "That was nothing." The bomb was still there at the end of the show! The music attempted modern cacophony, but it never varied in its deviation from the norm. So after a while it became too familiar. Though at times the sound effects were interesting. The composer said he wasn't familar with opera and sadly it showed.

The singing was frankly quite boring. Lots and lots of narrative singing. A couple of arias. No duets. Lot of words that explained the history. No rhyming. No couplets. No poetry. It was more like a recitation of a history lesson. I was moved a couple times by the music and the image of the atomic bomb hanging over the crib. I was never transported. You'd think with such a gripping subject as the building of a nuclear bomb, he could do better. I was disappointed, even with the low expectations I had.

Brother and sister laughing, bills, more writing

The kids are laughing together at some joke known only to themselves. Little T doesn't cry when he falls down and his head hits marble if his big sister is there to watch. It amazes me how well they get along. I remember that my younger brother regarded me with adoration when we were kids, but I also thought he was rather a pain until he was sent away to boarding school. Special K seems to really enjoy entertaining her little brother. And bossing him around. Now that part I did enjoy. "Here's your baby shark that you must play with." And of course he does. Then they both laugh again.

C sent me this article just after wrangling with T's medical bills: Treated for Illness then lost in a labryinth of medical bills.
It spurred me on to write more.

I wrote 1000 words today of my non-fiction book. It gradually coalesces into a sleek shape all its own at 10,778 words.

Drop-off class & Finding an agent

I managed to write 550 words somehow today. I took Special K to gymnastics and to a ballet/tap class. The ballet/tap class is her first truly drop-off class. You drop off your kid and go away. The sign explicitly says parents aren't welcome. It's another milestone for us. I'm not there with her in gym class, but I can watch and most times I do.

I pulled two interesting essays about it's all about you about defining yourself as a writer and Impossible Dream: finding the right agent by Jennifer Crusie from Miss Snark. I agreed with the first essay. I think it's my MBA showing, because it's all about setting a career plan. The second essay also reflects me as well, because it talks about chemistry, although it doesn't actually use that California fru-fru word. After years of working, I know chemistry really is important.

I also think it's funny that Miss Snark writes "I don't agree you "hire" a agent." She's technically correct, of course. To hire means that you engage the services of the person for a fee. With a agent you engage their services for a percentage of the royalties you earn. However I think Jennifer's connotation was that she's the one bringing in the money.

Salmon

On Sunday we drove up to the Salmon Festival. Special K loved feeding the rainbow trout fry. Little T loved watching her and everything else.

We gazed down at some ambitious salmon who were trying to gather early to spawn, but the gate to the fish ladder wasn't open yet. We talked to a park official who said the water wasn't cold enough yet. The salmon were immature. The eggs were unripe. In some ways I feel like those salmon. I'm not ready. The gate hasn't been opened yet. And even after the gate is opened, I'll still have to jump up. One of my friends wrote a poem about salmon leaping up the salmon run and law school.

I'm still an immature salmon who has 9250 words of her 75k non-fiction book written. I wrote 850 words today. I'll write a lot more and have a solid book proposal before I send it off to agents. I think I'm about a month away. That's about how far the salmon are too. It amuses me.

I talked to my sister more about her former life as a literary agent. I've also been reading Miss Snark's blog. I thought it was interesting that she wrote she wasn't one of the most powerful agents in town. On the Internet no-one knows if you're a dog. And I laughed when she told people to stop querying her. I can't imagine querying someone whose work I know nothing about. Of course I need someone who believes my non-fiction book is wonderful. But I'd also prefer an agent who's already sold a book similar to mine.

I also revised my personal essay about my struggles with breastfeeding to send to another parenting magazine.

Pancakes and Rodelinda

On Saturday we went to the first annual FireFighter's Pancake Breakfast. It reminded me of the pancake breakfasts I went to in my youth. Special K had a great time wearing a plastic firefighter hat and climbing fire engines. Little T loved scooting about on the straw and rolling a small pumpkin about.

On Saturday C and I had a lovely dinner at Jardinere with my dad. Then we all attended the opera Rodelinda which was done by the same people as Alcina. Alcina was memorably awful. It featured folks in leather costumes writhing around on the floor. Rodelinda ended almost every scene with a man on the floor. The first act no-one could sing an aria without at least three other people doing something else completely unrelated in the background. I guess they feared we might get bored. I found it distracting. I did like the 1940's noir set, but I disliked the Mussolini references.

I also hate when a producer blatantly ignored the libretto. If someone sings "I embrace you." Then she should be embracing someone literally or figuratively. But the second and third act are much darker and the ethos of the production seemed to be that it was okay to let the singer just sing if they were singing something sad.

I wrote 600 words on my nonfiction book today. It's up to 8400 words now. I think it'll be 85k. 79.1k to go. I also revised "Cascade".

Got my 500 words in after all

Woohoo! Special K and C took a nap while Little T was content to explore the living room, so I wrote 500 words on my non-fiction book.

Word, Singing and spam

Word ate my cover letter to Lee & Low, so I finally decided to install Microsoft Office 2003. After a lot of painful waiting and restarting I installed it and Service Pack 2. I think singing "Go service pack, go" helps the process, but it only worked the third time after I sang it throughout.

The new word wasn't able to open the cover letter either, but the new help was more helpful, so I was able to retrieve a backup copy from this strange directory I was vaguely aware that existed back when I was a sysadmin.

So I feel okay about more $$ to the man. Or rather to my sister-in-law who works there. I think one of my exbfs still does too. Both them are nice folks.

Speaking of word, I'm turning on word verification here, because I'm getting spam about....no not penis enhancement or Viagra, but speech therapy of all things. I did mention it a couple times in my blog, but to comment "I found a lot of useful info about speech therapy on your blog" is stretching it a lot. Hope you actual commenters don't mind too much. Please let me know if it's too much of pain.

I didn't actually write anything today, so I have to borrow from yesterday's count.

Please Petition Your Hospital

One of Little T's life-threatening infections was probably caught from the hospital, so this issue is personal for me. Please please sign this petition and Consumers Union will deliver it to each hospital in your area. The petition asks the hospital to publish its hospital-acquired infection rates.