Drugging my children and proud of it…

Anyone here ever had to drug a baby? Show of hands, please?

My daughter got her first ear infection at three months. Armed with a prescription for Amoxicillin, I prepared to dose her twice a day for ten days. I held her gently in my arms, and inserted the medicine syringe.

Daughter: What is this crap? Are you kidding me? Do you really think I’m going to swallow that garbage?
Me: Hold still. Drink it.
Daughter: Oh, hell no. ::squirm, fuss::
Me: (prying her mouth open and putting her in a headlock). Drink it, damn it! You have to!
Daughter: Nanananana…no I don’t! And you can’t make me!
Me: Wanna bet? (squirts the syringe into her cheeks, holding her upside down)
Daughter: (gives me an evil eye and spits the medicine in my face).

Repeat for 10 days. Need I say more? The child didn’t get the required dose, we ended up back in the pediatrician’s office, and she got a Rocephin shot.

3 months later:
Doctor: She’s got an ear infection. I’ll give you a prescription.
Me: Give her a shot.
Doctor: Well, for insurance purposes, we have to try the antibiotics first.
Me: She won’t take it.
Doctor: You just have to hold her down and force the medicine.
Me: (hysterical laughter)

My son is polar opposite. He thinks drugs are candy. If he could have medicine every day, he’d be thrilled. As for my daughter? She thinks it’s rat poison…

He could wrap his legs behind his head . . .

My husband is a human pretzel. This is likely because at the tender age of three, his older brothers and sisters (five of them) would gang up on him and put his ankles behind his head. When I met him, he could put both ankles behind his head, balance on his palms, and walk around the room. It was quite the party trick, I must say.

Then there’s me. I have the flexibility of a concrete slab. I had dreams of being the next Shannon Miller or the Nadia Comaneche (sp.?). At the age of seven, I was turning cartwheels and trying my best to do the splits. I think my legs managed to get twelve inches apart, at best. After two years of trying to stretch and learn the splits, practicing every night, I gave up. My hips just don’t go that way. :hissyfit:But, I loved every minute of it, even though I ran into the vault and landed upside down on my head. Yes, I was very coordinated. A natural.

(A natural klutz, that is).

This actually factored into the naming of our children. We decided that we could never name our daughter Grace because of my er…delicate sense of balance. “Way to go, Grace,” would be a sarcastic remark, should she inherit my genes.

So imagine my shock when my son when to a birthday party and was asked to straddle his legs to warm up. The other children had their legs in a neat triangle position. And my boy was doing the middle splits.

You watch. My poor daughter will have Olympic aspirations and be unable to do the splits. And my son will wrap his legs around his head.

Classrooms and Reunions

I’m about to venture back into my classroom today. This past weekend I attended the 25th anniversary of the Notre Dame Folk Choir. It was fun meeting up with old, familiar faces. We were nicknamed the “OC” by the current college kids. At first, we thought they meant we were like the young, hip actors on the television show by the same name.

Uh, no. That would be “OC” as in Old Choir.

Sigh.

As any teacher might tell you, going back to your classroom after a sub is a bit like entering a war zone when the battle is over. You wonder which children showed their evil side, which children were good, and how many papers are waiting to be graded. Of course, the kids will demand, “Why didn’t you grade my paper?” Me: Uh, because I just got it five minutes ago?
Kid: But I want to know my grade!
Me: That’s nice. Sit down.

Sometimes I fantasize about a job with Flex time where I could actually leave the work at the office and pick up where I left off when I return. Do those exist, I wonder?

In any case, it’s good to be back home. I’ll be blog-hopping like mad later today, catching up on everyone’s news.

Historic Recipes

I love old recipes. Here’s an easy one from the 1885 Boston Cookbook, for Milk Bread.

1 pint milk, scalded and cooled.
1 Tbsp butter, melted in the hot milk
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1/2 cup yeast
6 or 7 cups flour.

Measure the milk after scalding and put in the mixing bowl; add the butter, sugar, and salt. When cool, add the yeast and stir in the flour, adding it gradually after five cups are in, that it may not be too stiff; use just enough to knead it. Knead till smooth and elastic. Cover; let it rise till light; cut it down; divide into four parts; shape into loaves or biscuit. Let it rise again in the pans. Bake forty or fifty minutes.

Catching up on old times

If you could go back and relive your life during your college years, what would you do differently? I loved my years at Notre Dame, but there are some thing I would have changed.

1. I wouldn’t have graduated in three years. I graduated at age 20 and I wasn’t prepared to go into the working world. The extra year would have given me more maturity and a double-major.

2. I would have picked up a second major in computer systems or some field like that. The Internet was brand new at the time, and though I’ve taught myself a lot of things, I’d love to know more (plus, the pay is much better than teaching!).

3. I would have spent part of the year learning abroad. I could have taken classes in Ireland, in London, or in Germany.

4. I would have taken a class in drawing or painting. I’ve always wanted to learn that. Oh, and photography, too.

What would you do differently if you could go back?

Men, babies, and duct-taped diapers

There are many women who don’t trust their husbands alone with the children. They’re afraid that he’ll forget to change the diaper, forget to feed the child, or lose the baby somewhere.

I am of a different opinion. I think men are perfectly capable of caring for the children. But it’ll definitely be different from your method. And that’s okay.

Once, I came home to find my husband holding the baby in the bathtub, running warm water from the faucet over our son’s bare bottom. Apparently he’d had an anti-gravity diaper, and short of hosing him off outside, this was the best my hubby could do.

Another time, I came home to find all the lights off, and Star Wars blaring at full volume. My son was in the swing full-speed, his little eyes wide open while light sabers dueled and laser beams shot across the screen. He was entranced. And better, not screaming.

Would I have ever considered these methods? Probably not. And that’s why men do just fine with the kids when we trust them.

What’s the most bizarre thing your husband has done to the kids?

Historic trivia: To make your own yeast, you use flour, salt, and boiling hop water. Add potatoes, sugar, and sometimes ginger. The potato is the best form of starch for the growth of yeast. (From the Boston Cook Book 1885)

Which comes first, the character or the plot?

Quick quiz–Name a few of your favorite movies (ones that you’ll watch over and over). Mine are: Gladiator, Braveheart, Last of the Mohicans, the Karate Kid, and the Star Wars movies.

Now list what they have in common.

For mine–several have a tormented hero. Two of my favorite heroes have lost their wives and this motivates them toward revenge. In LotM, the hero offers to sacrifice his own life for the heroine. In the Karate Kid, Daniel is the victim of bullying. In the Star Wars movies, the hero has to grow and learn before he can vanguish the enemy.

From the movies you listed, do you keep watching them for the characters or for the plot?

I watch for the characters, and I think that makes me a character-driven author. The books on my shelves, my keepers, all center on particular characters. The movies I watch again and again, I watch in order to experience the hero’s torment and their own personal struggle to become a stronger force against evil.

But accomplishing this in my own work is another matter. (Sometimes I think it involves fairy dust.) One of my favorite minor characters in His Chosen Bride is a gawky teenage boy who isn’t a warrior. He can’t fight, and he’s embarrassed by it. Watching him grow and change throughout the book was just magical. I was like a proud mom, seeing her boy grow up.

Tormented, sexy heroes are my favorites. Give them a load of emotional baggage, a woman they loved and lost, and you have me at Once Upon a Time. I don’t particularly care about the plot if you emotionally invest me in his story. Funny, but the heroine is always secondary to me. I’m trying to make her more of a central focus in my new book, but I find that it’s harder to do.

So which comes first for you, the character or the plot?

Power Writing Rituals, Theme Songs, and Bugs

Do you have any Powerrrrr Writing Rituals? Some people light scented candles. Others play certain music. Some people print their last page, delete it from the screen, and retype it to get their head back in the story.

I’ve found that there are days when the scene is just smokin’, that something is clicking. The pages whizz from my fingertips and I haven’t the faintest notion how they got there. On other days, each comma or word is excruciating. That’s a big clue that I’ve gone in the wrong direction.

When I write a love scene, I have to have Braveheart music on. You know which song I’m talking about–the love scene song. I play it on repeat mode, and it sucks me right into the mood. It’s perfect.

For action scenes, I listen to either Last of the Mohicans or Gladiator. I’m a music lover, and I have soundtracks for just about any kind of writing. Legends of the Fall was good when I wrote Westerns. And what’s most interesting to me is that, occasionally, there will be a Theme Song for my book. And it’s not always a love song.

For my last book, His Chosen Bride, the Theme Song was “Bring Me to Life” by Evanescence. Very weird. But for whatever reason, the words completely summarized the book’s purpose—of a hero who had lost his wife and didn’t know how to love…of a heroine who had only suffered and couldn’t trust anyone.

I haven’t found the Theme Song for my new book. But when I do, that’s when I can start tying up the little pieces, to make each scene point to the overall message. Hope I find it soon!

Historic trivia: In the 1960s, the US ambassador working in Czechoslovakia ordered shoes through the mail. His package was intercepted by the Czech intelligence service, who planted an eavesdropping system in the heel. The system was activated by the ambassador’s valet whenever the ambassador attended secret meetings.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

The scene: A parent conference. Mom is armed with a vicious temper. Dad is breathing air and looking comatose. The teachers are gathered.

Me: Thanks for coming. I’d like to discuss Bob**(Names have been changed to protect the guilty)’s behavior in class. (Translation–your son is a homicidal maniac in the making :rambo:)
Mom: I’d like to discuss why Mrs. X wouldn’t let Bob call me on Friday. When he finally did call, he was crying so hard he could hardly breathe.
Mrs. X: Who let him use the phone?
Mom: See? That’s exactly what I mean. You won’t let him call me when he’s upset. I’m his mother, and by God, he has the right to call me any time he wants.
Mrs. X: Not in the middle of math, he doesn’t.
Mom: Yes, he does! See, you’re always yelling at him, always picking on him.
Me: Could we get back to discussing a solution for Bob’s behavior?
Mom: No. I didn’t want to meet with the other teachers. Just her. The problem’s with her.
(Mom goes on to rant about how no one understand her little homicidal maniac. Yes, of course he lies. He lies all the time at home. She talks to him about this.)
Me: What do you think would help Bob to focus better in class and avoid distractions?
Mom: I fought for our country. People were dying all around me. I don’t worry about the little details. I look at the bigger picture. Bob is like me. He sees the bigger picture of what’s really happening. Have you noticed that he never calls other kids names?
***At this point, I’m ready to start screaming, Moron! That’s what parenting is! The little details! When Bob screws up, you nail his butt to the wall! You don’t ignore it. He lies to you because he wants your attention! He never calls the other kids names because he’s too busy stealing their stuff and hacking up loogies in the trash. And what the heck does fighting for your country have to do with your kid’s behavior???***
Me: I’ve noticed. Now about the dance the other night–
Mom: Yes, I know he was on social probation and wasn’t allowed to go. That’s why I dropped him off. So he’d be embarrassed in front of the other kids and would have to be sent home.
Me: Why would you inconvenience administrators and teachers like that? He had to wait in the principal’s office while they tried to call you.
Mom: Yes, and I came to pick him up right away. I was waiting outside.
Me: A woman claiming to be his aunt picked him up.
Mom: Yes, it was his aunt.
**Me, thinking, okay, now…apparently lying runs in the family….**
Dad: (stares and breathes. Says nothing.)

This, ladies and gentlemen, is why teachers aren’t paid enough.:banghead:

Historic trivia: Early motte and bailey wooden castles were often painted white (whitewashed) to make it appear like stone from a distance. This would often discourage enemies from attacking.

Goals for May!

It’s May! Time to set new goals and gear up for the summer.

For me, I want to reach page 200 on this new manuscript. I also want to revise a synopsis and 3 chapters for Blaze. I’m debating whether to enter the next American Title contest. I have two full manuscripts, both historical, but I don’t know if they’re “grabby” enough.

Sometimes there are favorite books on the shelf that don’t start with a grabber line. They start quietly, building up until they have me by the throat. But on the subject of catchy first lines, I did like Teresa Medeiros’ novel where the first line involved the Regency heroine in her coming out. She was coming out of her dress, dangling out of the window. Cute book.

Historical trivia: Early gas masks during WWI were nothing more than handkerchiefs soaked in pee. The ammonia in the urine would counteract chlorine gas and neutralize it. Later, when they made them into a mask, they still had to pee on them to create the ammonia. The soldiers nicknamed them “Stinky Ducks” because of the smell and the duck-shaped mask.