Road Trip!

Happy Fourth of July to those of you who celebrate the holiday! We’re off on a road trip to my father-in-law’s, down in Raleigh. Should be a fun little getaway if the traffic’s not too bad.

Last night, we finally watched the last Pirates of the Caribbean (and may I just say that the movie was entirely too long and the ending romance needed some serious work? ). After getting to bed at almost midnight, I started making my Road Trip Packing List. Because when you travel with a baby, holy cow, do you have some serious packing to do! One time I tried not making a list.

I arrived without diapers. Yeah, not so good. And on another time, I forgot to pack my three-year-old son some underwear. So I am definitely a person who needs a list.

I started writing it, and I think I’m at about thirty items now. It just staggers me that I truly do need this many things. For example, baby food. Formula. Baby spoons. Baby Tylenol (because you KNOW they always get sick when you don’t have any on hand). Pacifiers.

Now I’m also struggling to figure out what to do with him, sleeping-wise. He’s outgrown his Moses basket (bassinette) and the Pack n’ Play that we have is godawful when it comes to a sleeping place. The bottom of it is as hard as a rock. I wouldn’t put a pet in there to sleep. Should I go with an air mattress on the floor and hope for the best? Should I take his crib mattress with us?

Of course, his favorite all time sleeping place is in my arms. That’s so not going to happen.

In any event, wishing all of you a very Happy Independence Day!

Revising a Book

So, today I’m going to ramble on about my writing process a little. Hope this doesn’t bore anyone!

I’m within 80 pages of finishing my line edits on Wedded to the Enemy, and I’m excited about sending that off to my editor. Usually I go through about 6 drafts on a book. Drafts 1-3 are blended together. I write the raw draft and the second time I open the file, I start to layer in character emotions. The third layer is usually the details, setting, and so on. Each time I write, there’s a need to revisit what I did the day before. Call it warming up, call it what you will, but it ends up being a process of multi-layers.

When the book is finished, sometimes I’ll think of scenes I forgot to add. Or other times, I’ll start back at the beginning, and layer some more. I’ll write the missing scenes and often I’ll reach a point in the book where I come to a stop. Something pulls me out of the story, and I often find that it’s because the emotions are off. I’ll try to fix the scene first, but often the scene will get cut. Knowing which scenes to cut can be tricky, and I can never do it at the beginning of a book. I have to wait until later because it’s much easier to knock out 10 pages when you have 390 than when you only have 20 pages total. But I’ll layer that rough spot in the book until I can read it back with no pacing problems. It’s a matter of gut instinct, and I have a great deal of trust in my inner critic when it comes to this revision draft.

Yesterday, I hit a spot where my instincts were firing off, telling me–”Get rid of that scene. That character would never do that. Take it out!” But I needed the scene for other reasons. I ended up taking that character out of the scene, and it worked. I’m feeling so much better about that segment.

I also double-check all the historical facts. Yesterday I was ploughing through my costume books, looking for information on shoes and boots. I’ve found that this is an area often neglected. I ended up trying to find museum websites that had photographs of antique shoes and old shopping catalogues. (I’ll admit, this is a great time-waster and you can spend so much time on the Internet looking at fun stuff. Here’s a really fun Victorian site: www.mrsbeeton.com.

Yesterday, I was on the phone with a psychologist, asking her to help me check my medical facts about amnesia. It turned out that she needed to consult another doctor, and she called a friend who’s a neurologist. I’m hoping to include the right medical symptoms to accompany my hero’s memory problems. Between the three of us, we should get it right.

The last thing I’m doing is adding recipes to my book. The heroine loves to cook (like me), and I’m including a few of my own family recipes in the novel. Whether or not the editors will let me keep these remains to be seen. If not, I’ll put them in the Extra Features section.

So, there you go. More than you ever wanted to know about what goes into book revisions. If you have any questions, ask away!

Her First Birthday Party

Here’s my little girl, all dressed up to go to a birthday party. This was the first party she was invited to, and we had to get her ready with her party dress and little braids.

Sometimes being mom to a daughter is like having a live Barbie doll. I know that in a few years, she’ll never let me dress her up, but for now, I’m going to just enjoy it. Here she is again, ready to go have fun.

We saw the dinosaur exhibit at the museum (it was a dinosaur themed birthday party) and she got to pet a snake and a turtle. We also went outside to look at the animals. We saw wolves, deer, and here’s my favorite thing we saw:

It always amazes me how huge bald eagles are! Almost the same size as my girl, hunched over. But we had a fun mother-daughter day. She was all business, moving from one animal to the next. The exhibit that caught her attention the most was the dinosaur dig, where kids could “discover” bones by brushing away the sand. She kept exclaiming, “Mom! Look what I’ve found!”

And I had to remind myself that these are the times when you just smile and enjoy it. Because they grow up so fast…

Getting Your Child to do Chores

My six-year-old is reaching that stage when he’s “forgetting” to do his chores. I know it’s genetic; he got that from me. There were plenty of times when I was growing up when I “forgot” to do the things my mother told me to do.

Payback’s a pain in the tuckus.

My mother had this idea of a Job Jar. Half of the slips of paper were jobs while the other half were rewards. You had a fifty-fifty chance of choosing a job or a reward. Great idea, right? Except she didn’t realize that 12-year-olds have mastered the art of sabotage. One day when she wasn’t around, I took out all the jobs and crumpled up the slips into little balls while the rewards remained smooth. The next few times I drew out of the job jar, magically they were all rewards. Huh. How’d that happen? Mom wised up and the Job Jar went away. But I had a few weeks of going out to dinner, the movies, and fishing, in the meantime.

Now, I’m at that point where I have to train my own children to help out around the house. I’m a big old meanie because I believe that as a member of the family, you’re expected to help out and pull your weight. If you make the mess, you clean it up. I believe that if I give you clean clothes, you should be expected to put them away. I’m not making them scrub toilets or anything, but there are some basic responsibilities that I make my kids do (put their dishes in the dishwasher, make their own beds, put their toys away, put clean and dirty clothes away, etc.). Beyond that, I just ask for their help. Or if they are wanting to do something special, maybe they’ll volunteer.

A mom can dream, can’t she?

Anyway, a friend send me this link that makes a customized job chart. You can even add Scooby Doo, Sponge Bob, or Dora the Explorer on the chart. How cool is that? So this morning I set up the days of the week and a list of daily expectations my son needed to do. He really liked it, and I didn’t have to boss him around all morning. I am loving that.

It may not work for an extended period of time, but I’m going to give it a shot. Maybe I’ll take him out for ice cream or do a reward of some sort when he’s completed the chart. I definitely won’t fall into the trap of–if you do this, you’ll get this. I’m more of a–you’re EXPECTED to do this, and maybe once in a while happy surprise rewards will happen.

So now I’m wondering about the whole allowance thing. I was given a weekly allowance and I used it to save up for things I wanted. My husband isn’t really into that. What have you guys done for your kids? Or if you don’t have kids, did you have an allowance?

My new baby

My old gas grill bit the dust the other day. I didn’t really want a new grill, but I was on the verge of catching myself on fire or blowing myself up, neither of which was really a good idea. I think I had a backdraft or something of that nature because my grill melted the plastic controller knobs. You know, the ones that turn the burners on and off? Yeah, those were pretty much melted and fused so that you couldn’t actually turn the grill off anymore. One burner could still ignite, so my process of cooking was to turn the gas on, ignite the one burner whose control still worked, and then wait for the other two to automatically light.

Danger is my middle name. Or recklessness.

I also had trouble during an earlier meal when I reached for the handle of the grill to lift it up, and yow! Was it ever hot. That was when I noticed that the handle was um…kind of on fire. Okay, well, a fire was burning beneath the handle, but you get the idea.

That grill was one big accident, waiting to happen. Ironically, the burners have a ten year warranty and the grill is only three years old. I called the company up, but they were going to charge me exorbitant shipping costs. I also needed to pretty much replace the entire interior. After the control knobs melted, I decided it probably wasn’t worth it.

So, I checked Consumer Reports, narrowed down the choices, and bought the grill today. My wonderful husband assembled it, and it’s now on our deck, waiting to be christened. Now here’s hoping I don’t set myself or the deck on fire.

Do you grill outdoors a lot?

If you give them an inch…

I think I mentioned that Sweet Baby hasn’t been sleeping through the night since he got sick. It started with him waking up at 4 a.m. instead of 5:30. He acted so hungry, I let him get by with it. And here’s what happens when you give a 7-month-old a chance to set his own body clock.

He started taking 2 1/2 hour morning naps again. This, of course, meant he wasn’t tired and didn’t take an afternoon nap. Not good. All of you mothers out there know what kind of crankiness ensues when a baby doesn’t have an afternoon nap. Their little heads spin around, their eyes glow red, and they make the most horrible whiny noise from dinnertime until they pass out at 7:00 p.m. It sounds like an ambulance siren, only more annoying.

THEN, If you wake them up at 9:00 p.m. to feed them, they’re too sleepy to eat, and of course, they wake up at 3:30 a.m. just DYING to eat.

Rinse, repeat.

I’ve been trying to break the cycle; I really have. This past week, I’ve been loading him up with food at dinnertime, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. Each day has gotten progressively worse. He would wake up at 4:10, then 3:30, and then last night he hit 2:45. That’s when I hit my breaking point. My little Sweet Baby did NOT need to eat. He needed to sleep and get rid of those morning naps. I went in after about 10 minutes of crying, and we had a discussion. My end of the discussion was casually explaining to him (while changing his wet diaper) that it was bedtime, not snacktime, and he needed to get a grip. His end of the discussion was hysterical screaming. I stuck a pacifier in his mouth and he shot me one of those puppy dog looks. Back to bed, pal.

At 3:05, silence. You know how you get those gut feelings, like–this is too easy. Yeah. I knew there was no way he was going to stay down for the night. No flipping way. The calm before the storm, that’s what it was. And sure enough, at 3:15, the screaming continued.

I think every parent hits their moment when they realize that the screaming really isn’t pain or hunger. It’s just a baby who is livid that his mother isn’t coming to feed him. He’s angry that here he is, ready to greet the day, and no one is going to play with him. And by God, he’s going to Make Them Suffer.

And I realized, that two hours of crying–in exchange for a better sleeping baby with healthier habits, was probably worth it. I have enough willpower to stand it. Last night, I was prepared to let him go as long as necessary. I went in at 3:35, put the pacifier back in his mouth, and let him hold my hand for a bit. Then I rubbed his head while he settled down. Last, I turned on his crib mobile music while he sent me accusing looks like: You don’t love me anymore. Why won’t you snuggle me? Don’t you know that I need you to go back to sleep?

I can’t remember what time I left his room. I think it might have been 3:45 or 4:00 a.m. But I didn’t feed him. And mercifully, that last time, he went back to sleep. Even at 5:15 when I woke him up to feed him, he was fairly sleepy and not 100% interested in nursing. In fact, after that, he wanted to sleep some more, so I put him back in the crib.

I think we’re on the right path. And though this last night was a doozy, I don’t regret letting him cry. Re-setting his body clock is far more important than a few tears, and in the end, having a happier kid is what it’s all about.

(gratuitous kid photo–why is it that 4-year-old girls have the rattiest hair ever? The stuff is impossible to tame!)

What’s This?

Okay, can somebody tell me the proper name for this silver covered dish? I’m writing a scene where the hero receives a covered dish like this one. But what’s the technical name for it? It’s not a chafing dish. I could call it a silver covered platter. But it’s dome-shaped, and I’d really like to use the correct terminology.

Anyone? Anyone?

I’m tempted to call it the silver dome-shaped cover thingie.

Running on Coffee

I am on a caffeine high this morning. I’ve been up since 4:10 a.m.

His Royal Highness, Mr. Must-Eat-Now, woke up then and demanded his breakfast. Normally I would have let him cry it out, but he’s been doing this strange eating pattern lately where he’s eating more solid foods and nursing less. In other words, it had been twelve hours since I last nursed him. Ouch. Yeah, I was about ready to go and wake him up myself.

After that, he was in a cheerful mood and ready to stay up for the day. At 4:30.

Since I usually get my daughter off to preschool at 6:15 with her dad (they keep early hours), there wasn’t much point in trying to convince the baby to go back to sleep. So, early morning for me. I’m hoping that I can still get some good writing in this morning without my fingers shaking all over the keyboard from the tank of coffee I’ll be consuming.

Last night, my boy went out bike riding with his dad. He was watching his front wheel instead of the road and hit a parked truck. Poor boy got scrapes and bruises, but that’s all part of learning to ride. My husband was incredulous. “How do you hit a parked truck? How is that possible?”

Genetics, my dear husband. Yes, I, too, hit stationary objects when I was learning to ride. A large green dumpster comes to mind. And no, I don’t have any explanation for how I managed that one, except perhaps a gross lack of coordination. Let’s just say that the Tour de France was never in my future.

Did you ever hit any unmoving targets when you were learning to ride a bike?

Ashes to Ashes

After his first day at vacation Bible school, my boy informed me, “Mom, did you know that we’re made of dirt?”

It took me a moment to realize that he was referring to God creating mankind from the earth. I guess they modified the story a bit to help first graders understand it. “In a manner of speaking,” I told him, not really wanting to get into cells and tissue, etc.

He lost his second tooth today and when we were discussing the Important Topic of what the tooth fairy would bring him, he pondered a moment. “You know. I never realized that God made the tooth fairy, too,” he said. “Do you suppose she’s made of dirt?”

Just Like Riding a Bike

Since my 6-year-old learned to ride a bike without training wheels last week, my husband has gone bike riding with him every night. It’s a nice time for them to go out together and bond. My hubby also bought a pretty sweet bike of his own and suggested that I go out with our boy during the day to keep practicing. Now that I’m writing full-time (yay!), I have to make a concerted effort to exercise every day. I have about 7 pounds to go on baby weight, and though I (mostly) fit into my old clothes, I want to get rid of those last few. If I’m really motivated, I’d like to lose 12 pounds. But beggars can’t be choosers. Unless I’m willing to surrender all sweets and Cokes, it ain’t gonna happen. And I’ll admit that there are definitely days when a cold Dr. Pepper is quite inspirational when it comes to writing a scene.

So, after revising about sixty pages today, I decided to attempt to ride my husband’s bike, which shall hereafter be known as the Wheels of Death. Now, it’s not that big of a deal to ride a bike that’s taller. As long as you can get on it, you’d figure that getting off isn’t that bad. Heck, when I was a kid, I rode my mother’s bike, and I had my own way of dismounting: coast to a slower speed, swing both legs to the side, and throw your body off while the bike is still moving.

I tried the Extremely Dangerous Braking Technique on hubby’s bike and nearly took out a plum tree in the garden. Oh. My. Goodness. While it’s a very nice bike, the thing is enormous. I decided that death wasn’t worth it, so I pulled out the Ancient-Bike-That’s-Older-Than-Me from the shed. The seat wobbles, it has no leather on the metal handlebars, and it also is rather scary for braking. On the bright side, it’s about six inches shorter.

Then I had to borrow hubby’s helmet. Remember when nobody wore helmets? Heck, I remember when we rode on each other’s bike handlebars and seatbelts were optional in cars. Car seats? I never rode in one. Lordy, it’s a wonder we made it to adulthood.

Anyhoo, I’ll admit, I was a little peeved because the darned bike helmet didn’t fit, even though it’s adjustable. The thing wasn’t exactly stable on my head. Part of me wanted to ditch it entirely, but sadly, parents must be role models. Safety first.

So, it was with a bit of trepidation that I ventured forth into the neighborhood. I convinced myself that you never forget how to ride a bike. At least, that’s what they say. And since I haven’t ridden a bike in, oh, 13 years, I was hoping this would be the case. Thankfully, I didn’t crash into any cars, scrape my knees, or take down my six-year-old.

There’s always tomorrow.

So what about you? When was the last time you went bike riding?