Grateful

Today was a first. The first Turkey day in which all the kids ATE some of everything, the first time each kiddo had his/her own dish to make, and it was, of course, Rowdy's first ever Thanksgiving.

Mud pie made the cranberry sauce, Fish made a huge fruit salad, St. Nick set the table, glazed the ham, and learned how to make gravy. And as we ate, we talked about what we were grateful for.

I am grateful. For so much. For Rowdy and Fish and Pie and Nick. For Dr. D. For surviving these last few challenging years. I'm grateful, in a way, for these years and their challenges. Or for these years despite the challenges? A refining fire is hot, and being refined hurts like hell. But the glimmer is worth it.

The Same Dumb Mistake

What is with me/us? We keep making the same moronic decision year after year after ...

This morning Dr. D and I had the last of our hastily rescheduled parent-teacher conferences. Today, St. Nick. Overall a glowing report. He's smart, creative, a good kid. But in eerie similarity to Fish's conference last week, St. Nick is distracted, unfocussed, rushes through his work without attending to detail. Fish, in addition, talks obsessively and in great detail about Minecraft.

Minecraft. Ah. Ugh. Mine-crap, we've come to call it (with a German accent, of course - Mein Crap!).

In many ways it's a fabulous game. Not even a game. A creative universe. I mean, I've played the pocket edition a couple of times. I dug a tunnel through a mountain and marked the entrances with torches and made a staircase to the mountain top where I started on a house before I got bored. If I had patience/coordination/unlimited TIME to waste, I could easily spend hours and hours and hours creating all sorts of cool places. And I don't even know how to spawn or make a crafting table! St. Nick has won awards of some sort for his skins and other designs. Fish talks on the phone with his school chum while they both play on the same server. I hear little shrieks of, "No, no! He got my pickaxe! It was a diamond pickaxe!" Jillions of parents rave about and defend the game, saying it's educational and creative and encourages all the right things.

Oh yeah, I'm a Hip Mama!

What's the best thing about being a writer? The fame? The fortune? Ok, yes, those are wonderful (ahem). But one of the unsung pleasures is The Mail.

I'm not talking fan mail. Though we all love fan mail (Hint Hint!). Rather, I'm thinking of the surprising things that show up, like royalty checks or issues of Hip Mama with, would you believe it, one of your very own poems published in it! Double fun when you've forgotten All About the upcoming publication.

Oh, Yeah. I'm hip.

Dum Dum DONE!

At long last the Rug That Would Never Be Finished is all grown up!

It only took a year. And a half. Less time, interestingly, than it took to conceive, bake, birth and grow Little Miss Rowdy to her Rowdilicious 11th month!

Here she is helping Mama sort the wool. More like grabbing fistfulls of wool and crawling away at top speed.