The Seven Page Novel

Latest Session, the first since November. Sad, says this lonely and rather preturbed blog. Very, very sad indeed.

Stop pestering, Blog. I know. I haven’t kept up with my part in the blogosphere. Or my writing in general. Laundry. Haven’t kept up with laundry either, but you don't see the dryer complaining. Actually, that's not true. It whined when I turned it on the other day and an odd smell spouted from its innards. I think it was trying to tell me something.

Well today, I have mustered some time, energy and inspiration to write...Beginning with my blog, inspired by my children...

On our way home from recent parent teacher interviews, report cards in hand, it seemed the Kid-Goobers were in need of practice in the subject of writing--spelling, grammar, editing, spacing, punctuation, indenting, you name it. Not an easy task, to assign "parent" homework on top of what the teacher already sends on a regular basis, so we conjured the idea of buying each of them a notebook to write over the weeks to follow, topic and format of their choice whether it be a diary entry, fiction story, or a retelling.

My daughter decided on a novel.

Our son has yet to pick up a pen. But the notebook is cool, the pen matches and it's a clicky one, so the important stuff is covered. Now, weeks since, he has been “forced” to write a story in practice for PATs and reluctantly formed a few pages that in turn melted my heart.

I won’t say that I am envisioning them as talented, famous, creative writers of the future, but in the last few weeks they’ve been dipping quills of their own into that proverbial ink and stories from the mouths of babes are flowing. I remember writing stories in school, assignments based on each kids’ version of a famous authors book or poem. They were fun, I am sure our mother’s were proud, and I have shared those moments as well from the other side. But this seemed to come from another place entirely, an idea that just seemed to flow from a need to come out. Much like my own inspirations, I saw that light in my daughter’s eyes, the frustration with moments of writer’s block in my son's. Even before the pencil touched paper.

They have begun and I can only imagine what the future holds. My writer's soul within has it's fingers crossed, that much is inevitable, but for now I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs with my face in the wind and share with the world how perfectly awesome they are. (Titanic not available, so I have resorted to this verbal gush of motherly pride.)

Of course, I asked for permission to publish the words of each author.

From the girlie, the rights to the first few lines were granted.

The little man, however…well, he is our strong willed boy who walks the line of his life as if it had been created the moment he was born; drawn by him, governed by him, and he simply said, “no” with a look that said, “not on your frickin' life, Mom.” I can’t deny a bit of pride in his strength of character alone. (Even though that same strength has tested this mother from his wee age of at least 18 months.)

Nonetheless, I am soaring.

I will leave you with a short excerpt entirely in her words from the “novel” (which includes prologue, character drawings and notes, and the first four chapters. Page count? Seven. That’s right. Seven. I can’t help but find this both endearing and amusing.)

The Crystal Of Shadow Island

Prologue

Eyes in the Dark

Firecry lay awake, unable to sleep. Two hours already had passed, but he felt as if someone was watching him. He looked at the entrance of the White Tail Forest and saw a huge, blazing pair of yellow eyes.

1

[picture of paw print here]

Scar

"I need to find that fool!" Scar yelled. “Koda! Bring me my rock. NOW!”

Koda, the River Otter, scurried across the rocky den. As he ran, he looked around. He saw old, wet vines hanging above him and moss and lichen growing on rocks and boulders.

I can only say that upon reading these first few lines, I was pulled into her world. And I can’t wait to read more. I hope to be granted permission from my son in future. For now, I will wait with baited breath, hoping in the least for better grades from the Goobers.

The World Keeps On Turning...And Fast

Latest Session

So it's been a while. I've neglected my blog, my writing, even my reading, and am feeling out of touch so-to-speak with all of my worlds. I can't keep up. So here is a speed-of-light self-reflection with the hopes of finding stable ground by the end.

Deep breath.

And begin.

Report cards, interviews, Ben crying over a "really bad day and I can't do patterns in math". Teacher says he is doing great!! Great. I think. Still crying. Bullying not gone but at least not physical and school is actually, get this, working on our side! Imagine that. K8 has a B...a B...in math, up two grades. Hooray!!

Work...crashing patients, disgruntled patients and families over crap that is the fault of the system and the "ass" at the head of our Health Board (much thanks Mr. Duckett. Going to trash your house when I find out where you live) chaos, pulling out hair and wondering, why in the hell did I choose this career? Right. Helping people and all that crap. Need to focus on writing, moving my fantasy 'career life' to reality.

Ugh.

Christmas. CHRISTMAS! Shopping, decorating, baking, music. Oh, I love it all, I really do. But this year began with the annual argument.....

Me: can we please hang lights on the house this year?
Hubby: Bah humbug. (He actually says this.)
Me: come on! The kids want them sooooo bad.
K8: Doesn't matter to me.
Ben: Whatever.
Me: Are you freakin' kidding me???

This year, however, I won!! Candy cane lights ready to line garage, reindeer for my lawn, so many plans....then it snowed, minus 40 with the windchill and once again, decorating is crapped on until a break in weather comes. (Might hunt down the damn weather man.)

Girl Guides. Volunteering is a great thing, don't get me wrong. But I already have a job and enough "life in general" that the hours put into Guiding has come to be an enormous pain in the ass.

Reminder to Self: Commitment made. Stick it out. Then K8 says one day, "Mom, I don't know if I want to keep going to Guides."

Don't get me started.

Kung Fu (where I don't volunteer) has turned out to be a nice one hour break where I have to do NOTHING! Except watch little Benny doing his kick ass moves on the big guys. Kayso, slight over exaggeration. He's only in week 6.

The Puppy!! LOVE her. So fun. So cute So pretty....peed on carpet, high energy spin cycle at two designated hours of the day, and my kitchen chair corners are forever chewed and slobbered on. Still, that Bella front toothed "smile"greeting you in the morning is pretty awesome.

And finally, my writing. I did manage to dedicate some time to fixing up my website and giving my book its very own page and blog. This, to me, is very exciting. So everyone else, get excited and pass it around so I can sell some more books already!!!!

So that only scratches the surface, but the deeper stuff will remain inward until un-designated time of self-explosion and nervous &/or mental breakdown occurs.

Until then, further plans for promoting self: At a standstill. As I said, my world is spinning too fast and I can't fit anything else into it. Fame and fortune, I will see you soon!! Just maybe not reeeaaal soon.

I wonder if Oprah, Ellen or Rachael Ray would like a copy of my book to peruse without any intention whatsoever of said author looking for a plug. (I am sure no one else has thought of it.)

A quote from K8:

"I think the people at the hospital wouldn't make you work all the time if they knew how much your family missed you."

Elephant Farts

Latest Session...

Yes. I said it. Elephant Farts. Sounds crazy, I know, and it all began with the weather.

You see, in this wonderful province of Alberta, Canada, we have been hit this summer with particularly frequent and damaging, pain-in-the-ass weather systems that haphazardly shift about in the atmosphere above our house.

Okay, so not only our house and the country much less the world has had it's share of crap. But I live here. And it's been quite the year as far as weather goes.

I have a personal vengence on the weather. It ate my garden. Twice. But that's another story, one involving salad cuttings splattering the entire two floors on the West side of our house and much less of it in the neat little garden rows which were reduced to sprigs and sticks and unrecognizable mulch.

Thank you Miracle Grow for bringing it back to life...twice.

No, this weather issue involves my daughter Kait. (Otherwise known as K8...you'll know her from most previous posts). You see, she has developed a fear of tornados, which--thank you ever so much stupid weather--has expanded to include a fear of thunder, lightening, wind, dark clouds and even the first splattering of gentle summer rain or if the sun just happens to move out of sight momentarily.

The wind as much whispers and we see a flash of our daughter, now 11, zoom through the house to the television, the channels flicking past to the weather network and Kait, eyes glued to the set, as she waits for the red "panic strip" to show itself across the bottom of the screen with warnings and watches and what to do if's.

The hail storms we've been through haven't helped; the deafening crash on the windows combined with what seemed a small funnel cloud running through the yard solidified any hope we had at "surviving". Nor has the Network's special report about Tornados that run on an loop every hour.

We move then to tears, panic, hiding under the blankets and crying out, "Mama, is it going to rain? Will there be thunder? You know how I get soooo scared." More tears. "And what about those other things....you know what I mean and I won't say the word or else I'll start freaking out!"

I've tried different tactics. We've reasoned that it's nothing, storms are natural. We've talked about the necessity of rain for the moisture. We even discussed a "Just in Case" Plan, my thinking being that if we are prepared, there'll be less to worry about. Didn't work. We try talking about it, explaining the rarity of tornados, the minimal danger behind thunderstorms short of standing in the field with a metal rod. I've tried joking, telling her that if she asks for a coat hanger to stand in the middle of the field, I'll most likely say "no".

Everything leads to settling her down until the next go round a day or two later when the sky threatens rain once more.

Today, it began after the sky darkened ever so slightly and the weather man--after Kait blurred across the living room--announced "Chance of trace rain this evening for the city."

New tactic. (This is where the elephants come in.)

We've all heard it before...

When it thunders, God is sneezing.

When it thunders, the Gods are arguing.

At our house, when it thunders, the elephants are bowling. (I'm not even sure how the elephants got up there in the first place. Only that they are loud, obnoxious and can throw a mean gutter ball.) We use humor a lot in our house. Usually, it works. This time it took a little more creativity than that.

Of course, the questions began...

"What about the lightening? What's the lightening then?"--Elephant toes in the light sockets. The elephants are not smart and do not follow the rules about staying away from danger. Unlike you, Kait, who would not stand in a field with a coathanger. Because that would be dangerous.

"Why is the thunder sometimes even louder?"--Those are the strikes. Think of Fred Flintstone with a "Steeeeee-rike!" (Pretty sure the raised eyebrows were indication she is beyond the years of the Flintstones.)

"And when they keep coming over and over and faster and faster?"--Another strike, then cheering. The other elephants are excited. Then, the hippos join in and things get way out of control. They're even worse than the elephants.

"So what about the clouds?"--Elephant farts. Very large, very unpredictable and they come in all different shapes, sizes and colors.

"Like pink ones." This from Ben, her little brother, totally getting how hilarious and brilliantly funny his mother is.--At different times of day, the farts change color. Elephant farts are pink at sunset and orange at sunrise and when they're really big huge ones...that's when the wind comes.

So now you know.

Just don't go around plugging your nose when the wind comes up. You might offend the elephants.

A quote from our sarcastic K8, after wondering how those weather people know so far ahead what's coming. My answer: technology is better, they broadcast on TV, we have TV now and...we don't live in caves anymore.:

"So if you live in a house with no TV and no windows and no doors, I know how you can tell...go outside."

Like, duh.

My Very Own, Soon-to-be Karate Kid

So this one isn't about writing, but a session--biggest therapy one to date--a soapbox and I am, after all, writing it.

So it counts.

Though this subject is not a fond one for me. Rather, it makes my stomach knot and my angry-mother-yielding-weapons side rear itself. Not that I want any of those other parents holding the "weapons" bit against me, but my teeth are flaring.

My son, age 8, was slapped by another kid in the playground last week. I know, boys will be boys, lighten up, etcetera etcetera. I would, except that it isn't the first time. No, he's also been kicked, knocked down, pushed off his bus seat, yelled at, sworn at, teased and chased around the playground. These are things he has reluctantly told me about and I hate to thing of what else lingers in the recess's of his innocent mind.

Innocent mind. Yes, I know. It sounds as if I'm putting him on a pedestal and he is always on the good side of good vs evil, "evil" being the little bastard on the bus and in the playground, but we've been down that road many times, fight your own battles, takes two to tangle, so here's some perspective:

Stomach pains, nausea, constant missed school days, led to ultrasounds which led to blood work which led to 2 hours of needles for lactose tolerance tests and a few sit downs in the doctors office, all in the name of, "what in the hell is causing my kid so much physical upset?"

And do you know what the answer was?

Stress.

That's right. Stress. 7 years old when it started, and he is so stressed he's having adult sized symptoms. He's missed school, I've been called to pick up my "green looking child" numerous times, and finally, I start to get a few admissions from his mouth stating E---- (bleeped to save the little bugger's identity) has made him afraid of recess, afraid of taking the bus.

My son has friends, a wide variety of them. He doesn't sit alone in a corner and all the bullies pick on just him. He doesn't wear glasses that get tossed on the ground and they don't call him four-eyes. And he isn't chased home by the town bully throwing spit balls. He's an average kid, getting picked on by a kid smaller than he is because my son has been taught right from wrong, morals and has mastered the best stone face, expressionless stare down because he is smart enough to know the kid only wants the attention that my son won't give him. That, by the way, is what got him slapped in the first place last week.

I would think the teachers, principal, supervisors etc. would get the picture clear enough...

Hint one that something is out of place: "Mom," says my son, frustrated tone, piss spittin' mad, "E--- is so bad in class he is ruining the rest of the classes chance at our education." He's eight, remember?

Hint two: Whilst on a field trip as a parent volunteer, the teacher says, "E--- is in your group. Sorry in advance, and let me know if he acts out; he likely will." And guess who spent the rest of the day with the teacher, alone?

Multitude of Incidents + Same Kid = Problem. Eureka!

How in the hell it comes to this in a school that preaches Zero Tolerance on Bullying I'll never know. They even ran a program beginning of the year including exercises, skits for the kids and an assembly with the head of our school's Bully Program  herself, Miss I-Don't-Actually-Give-A-Crap-Even-Though-I'm-Putting-On-A-Great-Freaking-Song-and-Dance, who apparently heads this Theatrical display meant to look like they're protecting our children. We even signed a parents student contract. I wonder if they remember what that looked like?

I cringe at the thought of what has been done to help on the end of the school:

1. Bully yelled at by teacher

2. All grade two classes lose computer privileges for a week

3. Bully and my son sit in the office while bully in question cries, lies and is sent out without punishment and mine is left feeling rejected with a, "his word against yours. Too bad."

4. Bully is moved from one classroom to another so that what began on the bus has filtered to rest of the school day.

5. A thousand (at least) "E---, stop that. Now you're in big trouble" 's

6....Nope. No number 6. That's about it.

Sad thing is, 8 year old bullies are not bullies because they are evil, devil children born from Medusa mating with the Red Horned Demon himself. They act for attention, good or bad, lacking something in another place, at home, or dealing with extraneous circumstances that we can't likely begin to understand. Does it excuse them? No. But it certainly doesn't excuse the schools who don't act at all.

When my son asks "what should I do?", having exhausted all reasonable attempts (walk away, tell them to leave you alone, tell the supervisor, let me talk to them with my diplomatic mommy face on, let me talk to them next with threatening phone calls) I have only one thing left to say...

Punch him back. Hard.

He starts Karate in September.

A quote from K8, during a very intense mommy pissed off moment:

"So, mama, if you worked at the school, what would you do to fix it?"

Me: "To the office. Three chances and you're out. Done. You wouldn't be welcome at our school when you pick on other kids."

K8: "Yeah. That would be awesome if you just go and yell at them."