letter to the military man sitting at my table last night

dear mr. military-man-who-dresses-in-his-fatigues-at-starbucks-cafe-and-asks-to-share-a-table-with-me:

although i was too polite to tell you to go sit somewhere else, i worked hard all day to fit these two interrupted hours of writing time into my schedule before meeting my writer's group. i agreed to have you share a table with me, not talk nonstop for two hours.

contrary to what you thought, i would venture to guess that the young adult book genre contains thousands of stories that are brilliantly written and not about vampires.

everyone has story ideas. thinking of ideas is not the difficult part of writing that "makes you rich". the work is the writing. so no, i don't think i will write your idea like you suggested and "make millions" with you.

i did not really care that you have been in the military for 13 years and are taking a nuclear physics class and can drink 4 pots of coffee a day and still "sleep like a baby".

nor did i want to know about the black lesbian couple or the sexual fantasies that the men serving in your unit in iraq had about them.

also, i really didn't want to hear about the cross dresser in your unit who got beat up but was a "sharp shooting sniper".

it was good to hear that you would support local authors, but you'll have to forgive me for not giving you my full name. you scared me just a little bit.

and just so you know, i'm pretty sure you won't find rand mcnally in the list of "big publishers" for novels. so no, i won't be contacting them when my book is finished, unless i do some drastic editing to my medieval fairy tale and add in a lot of racy driving directions.

remember when you said: "it looked like you were really involved in your writing a few seconds ago, so you probably just missed my eyes drooping and my head nodding."? well, those "few seconds" were the only writing i got done with you at my table. i was trying to give you a subtle hint, but i guess you didn't quite catch on.

so of course, i have no choice but to mock you publicly on my blog. sorry about that. because i really do think you are a hero in some ways.

just not last night.

love,

rachel

Refuge

The kids and I took a trip to Zion National Park for Memorial Day weekend. We swam at the pool, ate pizza in our hotel, drove through the tunnels, hiked to waterfalls, and discovered a perfect picnic spot: hidden from the road, tucked in between two towering sandstone cliffs, a floor of fine, cool, white sand.

A refuge.

In this quiet spot I felt an overwhelming sense that this was a tender mercy from a loving Heavenly Father who knew about the burdens and heartache in my life. A time to refresh my spirit and reconnect with my Creator.

And then Micah threw a bloody stump of a lizard tail at me. I laughed more in those three days than I have the last three months.

If you are planning a trip, do stop at the Springdale Fruit Company. They offer sandwiches on focaccia bread, organic produce, and a porch swing.

Skip the Zion Canyon Giant Screen Theater.

Everyone should take a trip to a crowded public place with a three-year-old at least once. And they should ride public transportation. Announcements like: Mom, I just farted! take on another meaning when you are on a crowded shuttle bus with 50 strangers.

It was a great trip. I fell in love with my kids and being a mother all over again. A girl we met at the pool kept telling me how she admired me for "doing it alone with four kids." I smiled but thought to myself: you don't know my kids.

race recap

i ran my first half marathon of the year on saturday. also, the first since my toe nerves declared war on me.

it was hard. it rained, hailed and snowed the whole time. i was cold. i bled all over my shoes. i got my worst time yet. the battery on my nike+sensor died. after the race my 11-year-old said to me, "mom, you look like lady gaga."

also, it was fun. i met someone during the race who said, "hey, are you a melzer?" isn't that great? she went to school with my sister and somehow recognized me. we ran together for awhile before i had to slow down. nice to meet you, christy owens.

so, after all that, i've come to realize something: there are two types of people in the world. those that would pay $30 extra to choose their own combo of colors on their running shoes and those that would not. i know what type i am. what type are you?

NanoWriMo

Conversation overheard last night during Family Night while carving pumpkins:

Me: I have some exciting news to share with you guys.

Mr. Coleman: What? [pupils dilate, swallows dryly]

Micah: You're pregnant! [points at me and giggles]

Casey: You're having another baby?

Me: Uh, no. Did you know that November is National Novel Month?

Everybody else: [blank stares, eyes blink slowly]

Me: So, I signed up for this challenge to write a novel in a month. It's called "NanoWriMo". I'm starting November 1st and I set a goal to write 50 thousand words in one month.

Everybody else:

Me: I just want you to not expect as much from me the next month. And I'll be expecting you guys to help me out around here.

Micah: What do we have to do?

Me: Cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing.

Mr. Coleman: So it will be just like normal.

Me:

Mr. Coleman: And WHY are you doing this?

Me: You'll just have to read my blog post about it.

So to answer Mr. Coleman's questions, I am doing this because I needed some extra motivation to finish what I started, and to complete one of my goals for 2009. Also, on the NanoWriMo website there is this perfect explanation:

"Art for art's sake does wonderful things to you. It makes you laugh. It makes you cry. It makes you want to take naps and go places wearing funny pants. Doing something just for the hell of it is a wonderful antidote to all the chores and "must-dos" of daily life. Writing a novel in a month is both exhilarating and stupid, and we would all do well to invite a little more spontaneous stupidity into our lives."

I am so excited to bust the rest of this story out. I plan on sharing excerpts from it on Fridays. Scary for me, but I think I am ready. I write longhand during the day, and then at night I type it in Word. I won't be working on this project on Sundays, so my goal is 2,000 words a day, for 25 days. Just typing that increased my heart rate.

So, November should be productive for me, but don't expect a lot from me next month, 'kay?

Photo is of my pretty red notebook where I jot down name ideas, take notes on the plants and climate of my world, and flesh out characters. It's where the magic happens.

My baby is three. Here is the recent transcript from an interview with said three-year-old:

Me: Lucas, did you have a birthday?

Lucas: Ya 

**singing "happy birthday to you"**

Me: What did you do for your birthday?

Lucas: I didn't do anything. Mom, look at these letters. Big huge circle.

**drawing on paper**

Me: Tell me what it's like to be three.

Lucas: I'm gonna color you, your face. I'm gonna kill you, mom. 

**takes a drink of root beer, then starts singing "happy birthday" again.**

Well, that about sums up Lucas. 

Also, if you make cupcakes and find that they have spread all over the pan and created a ginormous mess, just double the frosting and hope that no one notices. It worked for us.

sensitive soul

INCIDENT NUMBER ONE:

Earlier this week Micah and I went on a date to Mimi's Cafe. He was using up the last of his Valentine coupons and also a Free Kids Meal that he had earned from school for being Student of the Month. [We are so proud]. He ordered a hamburger and fries. During the course of our meal I heard him say things like, 

"This hamburger is so gross," and "this food is making my stomach hurt," while clutching his middle and leaning over.

So I was surprised when our waiter came and asked if we needed any boxes and Micah said, "Yes, I do."

After our waiter walked away, I asked Micah why he wanted a box if he disliked his food so much.

"Well," he responded, "I didn't want him to feel bad. I didn't want him to know his food is disgusting."

INCIDENT NUMBER TWO:

This morning we are preparing our house for company to arrive. Which means I am using the timer to motivate my kids with threats of extra jobs and endless summer days of groundation if they do not finish cleaning before the timer beeps. Emma is feeling a bit pesty today and has been teasing the other kids relentlessly.

She grabs a stuffed monkey from Micah's room, races into her room and tosses it on her bed while yelling, "This monkey feels good in my room!"

Micah comes into rescue it and says, "Emma, this Monkey doesn't like it in your room. My room has a jungle theme and yours has a cotton candy theme."

***

Is this typical for an 8 year old boy? I am so glad he is developing a sense of empathy, even for waiters. Emma has pink walls in her room. I guess that's where the cotton candy thought came from. And as far as using words like "theme", perhaps I have spent too much time watching Divine Design. 

plot holes

Me: [upon inspecting the Saturday wash-job of the van] The driver's side is still all dirty. It looks like you missed this whole side.

Micah: I was hoping you wouldn't notice.

Me: When you grow up and get a real job, if you give a half effort and hope your boss won't notice you may get fired.

Micah: Then why don't you just fire me?

Still working on fixing those holes in my plot.

 

a spoon full of yogurt

Did you know we have all been sick? We are recovering now, but it has been a rocky road including burst ear drums, staff infections, Influenza-A, sore throats, missed work, canceled piano lessons and sinus infections. It appeared Lucas would fight me for 10 days every time he had to take his medicine. Then I had a flash of inspiration. Read and learn, folks:

Me: Lucas come and take your medicine.

Lucas: No!

Me: Okay, well how about this yogurt medicine?

Lucas: Okay. [Gulp. Smile.]

Forgive the lack of pictures and comments on your own blogs. I am choosing to not spend much time on the computer until the end of tax season. Some updates will be posted after April 15th. [Just think of this notice as me filing an extension for blog posting/reading.]