Declaring my own WeNoFinMo!

Novel writing isn't exactly like completing a puzzle. When I put together a puzzle, I can leave the puzzle pieces off to the side for quite a while and merely pick up the endeavor for five minutes here or there, as time allows. If I go downstairs and think that I can sneak a few, I might set a limited goal of putting 5 to 10 pieces in place. Nothing doing ... no problems (well, that is, if small boys aren't off chucking salt out of the water softener).

However, I have found that when I attempt to snag a half hour or two for working on my novel, it doesn't work. I spend the entire first 30 minutes reminding myself where I am in the process. It is like the picture on the front of the puzzle box fades if I walk away from it and then determining where the pieces go becomes far more of a challenge.

When I participated in NaNoWriMo, back in November, I merely dedicated myself to sit down with the novel every evening until I had completed the 50,000 words of my goal. Most nights, all I re-read was the previous sentence or paragraph. Now, I have to remind myself of where I was at and where I was going.

So, I have decided that the best course of action is to throw myself in to NaNo mode again. Thus, I am declaring the month of May as my own "Wendy's Novel Finishing Month!"

I received this clever, amusing letter from the NaNoWriMo people back in December:

Dear Writer,

I ran into your 2009 NaNoWriMo novel yesterday, and it said that you two are currently "taking a break." I offered my condolences and mentioned that I'd probably be seeing you today. It quickly scribbled out a note for me to give you. The note seemed kind of personal, so I didn't read it. Here it is!

"Hi! Come back to me. I'll be better this time, I promise!"


Okay, so I accidentally read it. Wowza! That book loves you! And this is really none of my business, but if it were my business, I would tell you that you've been smart to let things cool down this month. November was a wild, tumultuous time, filled with expectations and hopes---some met, others unfulfilled. Before any of us had a chance to work out exactly where things stood with our books, the clock ran out and we were swept back into the flow of our busy lives. Our books, meanwhile, have been working themselves into a funk over their plummeting standing on our "recently accessed documents" list.

No pressure, though! You've got a lot on your plate right now, and you can't be expected to drop everything and rush back into the arms of some moony novel you just met last month.

I would, however, love to see you guys get back together in January.

I chuckled, but that was about as far as it went. I have written a total of 2,500 words since November. That is both sad and pathetic. Especially because I actually do have an idea of what the big picture is supposed to look like. I know what happens to bring about the climax. I don't know how it ends, but I have a feeling that will take care of itself once I get closer to the denoument!

Feel free to drop by and hold me accountable. I will try to keep track of the numbers on the side-bar. It was just too good a book to let sit on the back burner for too long. If it helps, picture my rear end with a large "Kick Me ... if I'm not writing" sign on it." Hee-hee.

I Give Up

Normally, I am loathe to put a book down without finishing it. But this month, I am throwing in the towel on not one, but four books that I have been trying to finish. Although, I enjoy non-fiction books, these have just not been able to keep me going.

At the beginning of the year, I was browsing books related to puppy training, when I stumbled upon a book by Harold Hansen, entitled: The Dog Trainer's Guide to Parenting: Rewarding Good Behavior, Practicing Patience and Other Positive Techniques That Work. I thought, "Why not learn dog training techniques and parenting advice at the same time?"

Well, I tried several times to get through this book, but that is all that was going on - getting through.

You can tell from chapter titles and section headings that the author has several practical ideas to incorporate in your parenting. Things like "Get Results Without Getting Angry," "Plan Rather Than React," "Saying it Once," "Be Consistently Effective," "Talk Less and Act More," etc. Many of these ideas are things I could implement more adequately in our home and the reminders were helpful.

I suppose, for me, it seemed to be over-simplifying a very difficult challenge. It didn't help that the author has never had a child of his own. He has trained dogs and he is a step-parent. There's a whole different dimension of experience and investment that comes when you are dealing with the "seed of your loins," so to speak. I had a very difficult time believing that raising your child could be reduced down to simple steps equivalent to what is necessary to train a dog. In the end, I just gave up.


When I noticed Barbara Ehrenreich's book, Bright-Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America," it seemed like a chance to consider the opposite side of the spectrum from the positive thinking book I read and reviewed last year. I really did try to give it a go. I made it to page 75, but just couldn't take the author's perspective for another page.

It was just too far on the opposite side for me. I doubt the majority of people are sitting around in a boat with oars in the middle of a flood, refusing to use the oars because they are busy mentally conjuring up a magnificent rescue for themselves. I don't believe that positive thinking by itself will cure illness, but I do believe that patients who follow the doctors orders, but also attempt to keep their spirits up and address the problem to The Almighty, may actually experience better results than those who immediately give up and submit to defeat.

The author scorned individuals who are able to see the gift within the curse of cancer. She would say that she doesn't buy into the positive thinking movement, yet she readily admitted to putting her "faith" in science. She claims that all that cancer gave to her was "a very personal, agonizing encounter with an ideological force in American culture that I had not been aware of before - one that encourages us to deny reality, submit cheerfully to misfortune, and blame only ourselves for our fate." My question is why the author cannot see that reality is far bigger than what we can see and touch (it has a spiritual dimension she cannot seem to sense), attitude towards misfortune often determines whether misfortune profits us or not, and those who choose to place their faith in God during illness or trial are clearly not blaming themselves for their fate or taking the credit for their redemption.


I discovered Nick Hornby quite a few years back and absolutely loved About a Boy, and How to Be Good. I knew this autobiography, titled Fever Pitch, was about his obsession with football. However, I really hoped that there would be enough life story involved to keep me going. After all, an endorsement on the back of the book, from GQ promised, "Whether you are interested in football or not, this is tears-running-down-your-face funny, read-bits-out-loud-to-complete-strangers funny, but also highly perceptive and honest about Hornby's obsession and the state of the game."

Lofty recommendation, I must say. Alas, for me, I was hoping for a book with more "funny" and less "football" or "obsession." I only made it to page 67, but I did get an eye-opening glimpse into the inner workings of an obsessed mind. He recounts, from memory, every single game! Good Lord!

I love music and thoroughly enjoyed the many years of playing in brass bands, but I would be hard pressed to memorialize each and every piece of music we played. I adore books, but I can't even remember enough of these four attempts to give adequate descriptions of what I was reading. I can't think of anything I am obsessed with enough to provide a play-by-play.


Finally, I really, really wanted to read Randy Alcorn's book, If God is Good: Faith in the Midst of Suffering and Evil. It had been a reading suggestion I gleaned from Bob Hostetler's blog. The topic is one I struggle with.

I've had this book checked out probably since the beginning of the year. I'm guessing that my life is merely too chaotic, at the moment, for digesting such an intense and comprehensive subject (the book is almost 500 pages long - sheesh!). As much as I know I could benefit from reading his dissertation on God's redemptive power through suffering, I just can't stick with it.

So, I'm giving up on these non-fiction endeavors. I'm heading back into the soft, simple, humorous world of juvenile fiction. I'm about to embark on a new Kate Klise book (always a welcome opportunity). Plus, I have two non-fiction books, just received in the mail, which I am eager to read, as well as a couple of writing books.

Life is too short to settle for reading books just to get through them!

Book Review: Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Last Straw

I wanted a light-hearted read for the moments I could snag during the little boys' swimming lessons. What can I say? You can never go wrong with a Jeff Kinney book! Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Last Straw, is the third book in the Wimpy Kid series and it delivered plenty of laughs, just like the previous books.

Bryce recently embarked on the task of ridding his room of all the childish and unwanted items that lingered. You would have thought it was Christmas for his little brothers. The book bar outside his door was piled high with games, toys, lamps, and books. They are thrilled with the lamps (Bryce had quite a collection - lava lamp, aqua lamp, disco ball) and with his trophies, but they are equally excited about all the books he granted them (we basically shifted his entire black bookshelf into Trevor and Sean's room).

As a result, the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books were already strewn around. Believe me, they've certainly noticed the commercials for the Wimpy Kid movie. We have had several good chuckles as Trevor and Sean yell out their favorite line from the movie trailer: "Hey Bryce, cute butt!" Trevor has conned me into starting to read one to him, even though he hasn't even started elementary school and the books are full of middle school humor. He considers it preparation enough that he has a middle-school brother (for a few more weeks, anyway).

Thus, I ended up packing the third book in the swim bag and easily finished it before the lessons ended (today). There were plenty of laugh-out-loud moments, but I wasn't too concerned (hopefully nobody mistook my laughter as an uncharitable reaction to Sean's protests).

In The Last Straw, Greg Heffley continues to amuse readers with his moronic antics. The book begins in January, when Greg is making resolutions for everyone else in his family and bumming over the lame Christmas gifts he received. As a result of his uncle's laundry hoop present, Greg ends up with the added chore of doing his own laundry. A responsible pre-teen would step up to the plate, but this is a "wimpy kid." Instead, he decides to try to make it to the end of the school year without doing laundry once. This decision alone elicits no end of humorous situations.

Whether Greg is trying to garner the attention of Holly Hills, the approval of his father (forever shown up by the boss with manly sons), or protection from his older brother, Rodrick, he is good for a hearty chuckle and possibly even a drink-snort or two. The illustrations alone will lure in any reader.

No matter what your age, this book is bound to bring plenty of laughs. You will find yourself thanking God that you are no longer fully exposed in those awkward pre-teen years. Even Trevor, at age 5, seems to understand the jokes and he loves the illustrations.

Even if you don't read the books, you might have fun visiting the movie website where you can view movie trailers and even wimp yourself. Here is the Wimpy Wendy that I created:


Now I think I might just head back and create a "Wimpy Cardiogirl," just for the fun of it. She'll be easy since she always sports a pony-tail.

Swimming Lessons

Both Trevor and Sean have been going for swimming lessons M-Th since last week. This is their last week and tomorrow is the last day. I think Sean will breathe an audible sigh of relief. He dreads those class sessions and still spends a portion of each lesson crying (mostly when they are pushing him through the water, forcing him to use his arms and put his face into the water). Trevor, on the other hand, considers it a total blast.

Trev was feeling bad that his dad wouldn't get a chance to see him dive into the water, so he begged me to bring along the camera on Tuesday. I caught this short example of his progress:



As for me, I have enjoyed the time sitting on the bleachers reading!

Introducing ...

I've been blogging for almost two and a half years now. In all that time, I have tried to protect my children's identity by avoiding use of their names. I hope that it hasn't been too much of a stumbling block for readers. I do know that it has been a nuisance on my end.

If my husband, John, had his 'druthers, well, he'd 'druther I didn't use the names. I have assured him that I will not divulge exact locations or last name. But, I am weary of the whole ES, MS, YS designations.

Allow me to introduce my boys.

BRYCE is our eldest son, ES, whose drumming consumes the household. He is the axis around which most of our family spins. The younger boys idolize and adore him. For the longest time (8 years), he was our only child and we doted on his every whim (perhaps too much so). He turns 14 next week and is on his way to becoming a man.


After periods of marital instability and reconnection, we decided that we really did want to provide Bryce with a sibling. Along came, TREVOR, or MS. He has brought us great happiness, even as we struggle with the intensity of his need to communicate, create and command attention.

Finally, recognizing the sizable gap between our other boys, we wanted to provide a close sibling for Trevor, so we sought one more child to fill our lives. This decision prompted us to make our move from IL to IN so that I could stay home with the littlest ones. SEAN, or YS, is probably the quietest and calmest of the bunch, yet with his birth 3 years ago, it seemed our lives were launched into chaos. He is a bundle of sweetness. He still cuddles and says adorably touching things like "Mommy, you know why I love you so much? Because you're beautiful."

They are like three distinct gems that you would hold into the light. Each has his own strengths and weaknesses. Each has a personality unlike the others. Without them, our lives would be incredibly empty and bland. I pray that God will protect and bless these boys even as I seek to share them with you, my readers.

35/36 Pets Go!

Praise God! Last night, hubby took ALL the rest of the mice back to the pet store. I think my nose thanks him most of all. One thing about mice is that they generate quite a stench. Thankfully, he had moved them down to the basement, but still ...

The boys said a brief good-bye as the mice swarmed through the box hubby had put them in:


Of course, the swarm shows up better in a brief video:



It was fortuitous for the pet store, as well, since they were down to only 5 mice. Now, if only they had been paying us for our breeding services instead of merely taking the nuisances off our hands.

Fighting Fatigue

This past week, I have been overcome with intense fatigue. At night, I am finding it difficult to stay awake for my usual late hours. Last night (after what was a very long, tiring day), I laid down with the little boys to help them fall asleep and we were all three out within minutes. When I woke at midnight, I moved to my own bed and continued to sleep until quarter to 8 this morning. Now again, tonight, despite last night's lengthy sleep, all I want to do is head to bed, but the length of time without blogging keeps niggling at my brain. So, I will do my best, even if it ends up a shabby run-down of what has me feeling run-down.

I wanted to share a few photos of the flowers we now have adorning the house. I do this partly because I fear that they will all die and I will have no evidence that a more knowledgeable hand planted them and yet, somehow, I killed them. Ha!

Here, also, is a photo of our blooming crab apple trees. They are already starting to lose those buds and become merely green trees.

Here are the annuals my mother-in-law planted where they had dug up a few small bushes (I have no idea what they are called):

More annuals (don't know if these will grow, since they are on the patio and it seems to be more mulch than dirt there):

They also purchased three lovely hanging baskets. Sadly, hubby informed me tonight that the yellow plant (again, I have no clue about names) is already looking like it is dying. I swear I haven't touched it once!

On Saturday morning, I went to get the mail and discovered a huge amount of litter right along the edge of our lawn (I have no patience for the rural litter problem). Apparently, someone was transporting some furniture late Friday night, and an entire vacuum cleaner fell off their vehicle. It was in about a million (o.k., maybe 15) pieces along the road. Later, hubby told me that there is a television on the side of the road around the corner, near our neighbor's farm. Crazy!

I actually took a video of the vacuum cleaner debris, but when I watched the footage, I realized how ridiculous I sounded giving a play-by-play of trash strewn at the edge of my lawn. It was kind of hilarious though, because as I was filming several bikers were riding by (they probably thought I was more of a lunatic than the lunatic who dropped their vacuum off their vehicle). Plus, MS came running out of the house asking me what I was doing. I tried to ignore him as I panned the debris, but then heard him shouting, "Is that YOUR VACUUM??" Give me a break, boy!

Actually, the boy did give me a break. Several weeks ago, his best friend, Evan, had invited him to a cool gymnastics birthday party. It was on Sunday from noon to two. I spent most of Sunday morning on the couch with a stomach ache and somehow completely forgot about the birthday party.

I sat MS down the next morning and primed the pump by explaining that I had made a mistake and it was something that was probably going to make him feel a bit angry with me. I apologized and said that I had forgotten to take him to Evan's birthday party. I braced myself for tears and angry retorts (like I normally hear - things like "You're the worst mom ever!").

Instead, he looked up at me and gently said, "It's o.k., Mommy, we have a trampoline we can jump on any time. Plus, we can invite Evan over to our house and then he can jump on the trampoline with us and we can show him the cool lamps big brother gave us." (ES cleaned out one of his closets and gave the boys his cool lamp collection including a disco ball, lava lamp and aqua lamp, plus a whole slew of car posters.)

On Monday, the two little boys began a two week stint of swimming lessons. Unlike ES and MS, who both went with me to the Hopkins Park Pool in DeKalb almost every summer day, YS really hasn't had much exposure to pools. ES taught himself to swim at age 4 and began doing flips off the diving boards at age 5. MS, at age 2, would toddle over to the edge of the pool, lower himself into the water and either cling to the edge (without floaties) or paddle the water to make himself spin (with floaties).

YS has cried and screamed the whole week (3 lessons, so far). MS thinks it is great fun and can't wait. YS spends all day agonizing about what is coming and begging me, "please don't make me do this again."

On Tuesday (after a long morning - they were told they couldn't do anything until their room was clean), the half hour prior to leaving for the pool was sheer torture. YS took 3 cups of water and poured them all over the floor of the bathroom. I had just cleaned that up and was preparing the swim bag. YS must have dug around in it while I went off to get my shoes. I returned to hear MS yelling, "Mom, look what YS did!"

The dog was covered in sunscreen, so much so that there was a puddle of sunscreen oozing off of him onto the floor. We were supposed to be leaving any minute. I grabbed up a towel and began sopping up the mess as best I could. Just then, the doorbell rang. As I opened it, the dog bolted out the door. I had to chase after him to get him back in the house and secured in the crate.

By the time we returned home from the little boys' swimming lessons and ES's drum lesson, the workmen (who had been laboring for most of the day) had finished the swing-set we recently purchased:


Thankfully, the boys have spent a lot of time playing on it since then. (I have always wondered about these wooden swing set structures, because so often we drive by others and barely ever see kids actually playing on them.) Selfishly, I would have rather spent the money on a trip to England to celebrate our 20th anniversary this year. Then again, the boys are really thrilled with it. Besides, I wouldn't even have the energy to pack my bags.

Then, this morning, for who knows what reason, YS decided that he would cover the dog in mulch. Now here's the irony: When someone's vacuum cleaner drops off their truck, I document the experience with photos and videos. Sadly, I failed to capture either the sunscreen slathered Harley or the mulch maculated Harley. I'm only glad that I delayed washing him until after the mulch experience.

And thus, (with my run-down complete) I will head to bed because I, myself, am a rather pooped pup!