The Weekly Dammit, #16

Dammit #1:
That this appears in News of the Weird and not the "regular" news:

"Guardsmen denied benefits
The 2,600 members of th Minnesota National Guard returned recently from extended duty in Iraq, which was reportedly the longest consecutive deployment of any outfit (22 months, counting extensions). However the the [sic] guardsmen do not qualify for government education benefits because the law allows the benefits only for those on "active duty" at least 730 days. The Minnesota Guard's orders (as well as some other outfits' orders) were specifically written for "729 days.""

Dammit #2:
I like Hillary Clinton, really, I do. But it's annoying to have everyone assume that she already has the nomination wrapped up. It means less coverage and less money for any other candidate, effectively squashing other ideas and opinions. I realize that we've moved up the primaries, but it's only October '07. There's plenty of time.

Dammit #3:
I've been trying to get Charlotte to use her name when referring to herself, or when someone asks her name. Right now, she'll say "Shasha" if prompted with "Say Charlotte!" When she woke up from her nap yesterday (yay! we're taking naps again! And by "we" I do not mean "me"), I told her to say "Charlotte." Only half awake, she replied "Charlotte." This has happened before, and it always throws me for a loop. Not that she said an actual word--she has several of those--but because it is as clear as if Hannah had said it. When I asked her again, she said "Shasha." Dammit, I do not understand apraxia.

The Weekly Dammit, #15

Dammit #1:
The speech therapist says that Charlotte is apraxic. Apraxia-kids.org says that Charlotte might need 3-5 therapy sessions per week. The insurance company says that, if Charlotte were, say, 80 and had had a stroke, they would pay for speech therapy.

Dammit #2:
Charlotte's neurologist says to "wait and see" about the speech delay and the shaking that happens when Charlotte falls. Friends have said to go with my gut and think about getting a second opinion. My gut is a hypochondriac.

Dammit #3:
There is a second book cooking in my head, replacing the first book, which is no where close to being finished. Anti-dammit: I'm taking Wednesday nights off, so maybe I can get somewhere on one or the other. Or both!

Dammit #4:
A bunch of asses at The Wall Street Journal thought it a good idea to publish a list of people who were more deserving of the Nobel Peace Prize. To which I can only say "Wow."

Dammit #5:
Stephen Colbert has thrown his hat into the ring. That's right--he has declared his candidacy for president in the 2008 election. I love Stephen Colbert. He's a very, very funny man. Also a very smart one. And while I'm not sure he's qualified to be President, an awful lot of people would like to have a beer with him, and that seems to have done the trick once before.

Another Video

Very long, but well worth it. Warning: Do not drink or eat while watching. Your computer screen will thank you.


Jeff Dunham W/ Dead Terrorist - Click here for another funny movie.

Quote for the Day

I found this on ZenHabits, not always true, but funny nonetheless:

"Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city."
--George Burns

A Book is Born--Review

Through a random and completely unscientific sampling of people I’ve met over the past 10 years, there are at least 156 million people in the US writing books, with some 32,490,421 of them actively working on their manuscripts. Many of these writers never expect to be published. In fact, many of them have no idea how to go about breaking into an industry that seems to be dominated by the same 100 authors.

But help is on the way! To be released in November 2007, A Book is Born—24 authors tell all offers hope to budding authors in general, mom authors in particular.

The book’s editor and publisher, Nancy Cleary of Wyatt-MacKenzie Books, a specialty publisher focusing on mom authors, is also publisher for all the writers who contributed to A Book is Born. And while there’s a good representation of the mommy theme (single parenting, working mothers), her authors have also written books about depression and mental illness; about being an Army wife; cooking; dieting; and infertility.

Though it gets off to a bumpy start, A Book is Born proves itself a treasure trove of information for anyone writing, or thinking about writing, a book. Every chapter includes ruminations by the authors, from the general “What inspired you to write this book?” to the more introspective “What did you do the moment you found out that you were going to be published?” and on to the all-important, “How hard is it to actually sell a book?”

Each chapter also includes Tech Talk and Tech Tips, sections designed to acquaint the newbie author with industry lingo as well as providing a way to work through questions such as:
• What are my publishing options?
• Do I need to hire an agent?
• What is an indexer and do I need one?
• What does a PR agent really do?

A Book is Born also offers tips on:
• How to market your book
• How to calculate your ROI
• How to put Amazon to work for you

And lastly, but perhaps most importantly, A Book is Born includes examples of how much two different authors paid to market their books and how much they netted in the first year after publication. It’s a stark reminder that, for most of us, writing truly is a labor of love. No pun intended.

In spite of the wealth of information A Book is Born offers, I was initially preoccupied with a quiet prayer of thanks that no one was going to make me drink every time the “birthing” metaphor was employed. And with so many authors, it is perhaps to be expected that the writing would be uneven, especially as some authors are clearly better at it than others. But hang in there, because there truly is a lot of valuable information to be found. If you really want to get published, A Book is Born offers hope that there are ways to make it happen.

Click here to pre-order your copy of A Book is Born—24 authors tell all.

Only Partly Because I'm Being Lazy . . .

But mostly because not enough of you read our most excellent chicken blog, UrbanChickens, 99.99999% of which is researched, observed and written by Thomas. It's so good, he was twice invited to be a guest on Spark, a production of CBC Radio!

But here's the lazy part: Thomas is away so I wrote one post. (He's been gone for a week now. Only one post. Bad Mel.) Here's the first paragraph--you'll have to go see the chickens to read the rest.

Houdini's Chickens
It's a little known fact* that, for relaxation between performances and travel, Harry Houdini kept a flock of chickens at his home in New York. These were not your ordinary chickens. Gifted with an intellect to rival that of a Jack Russell terrier, they carefully observed Mr Houdini's practice sessions which, fortunately, were held in the back yard. Through this careful observation, the chickens were able to learn and, eventually, master his tricks. Of course, in accordance with Mr Houdini's early practice, they kept his secrets, passing them only to succeeding generations.

The Weekly Dammit, #14

Dammit #1:
Danica McKellar, most famous for her role as Winnie on The Wonder Years, took a time out from Hollywood to go to UCLA, where she majored in math--graduating summa cum laude. From her web site (where you can also get math tutoring from Danica herself):

While she was [at UCLA], she even co-authored a math proof - new research proving an original math theorem - highly unusual for an undergraduate. In fact, she was the only undergraduate invited to speak at Rutgers University's biannual Statistical Mechanics conference a few years back, and she was featured in the Science section of the NY Times on July 19th, 2005.

Her latest venture: She's co-author of Math Doesn't Suck: How to Survive Middle-School Math Without Losing Your Mind or Breaking a Nail. Released in August, it's already ranked at 75 on Amazon. The book is aimed at girls 9-12, but since I suck at math (and don't want my girls to), I ordered it.

So who do we hear about day in and out? Lindsey and Paris (aka SLRG) and all of their little friends. Why? Why do we need to know who is releasing a new version of eau de skank? Let's show our daughters a better role model: Danica is talented, beautiful AND smart. Looks like a winner to me.

Dammit #2:
Dammit #1 notwithstanding, I actually felt sorry for Paris on the David Letterman show. So is the dammit because Dave was incredibly rude to his guest, when she was clearly about to cry? Or because I felt bad for her? Surprise Dammit: I’m going with option 1. Dave was an ass. It's one thing to mock someone for her bad choices (and arrogance?) and quite another to do it while she is with you, sitting in front of a large studio audience and a much, much larger viewing audience.

Another One Parents Everywhere Will Love. Or Hate.

Thanks, Laura!

Closing a Chapter

Charlotte will be three in January. And, after clinging to some of them for more than five years, I've finally packed up my maternity clothes. Tomorrow, I will take them to Goodwill. For a long time, I jokingly told myself--and other people--that I kept the clothes because they were the nicest I'd ever had. And, in some cases, eh, maybe that was close to being true. But like most other things, the truth was a little more complicated.

When Charlotte was about six months old, Thomas and I talked about having another baby. Crazy, I know. Because of my history, my OB thought it prudent to send us to a fertility specialist. Basically, I'm high risk in several categories: Multiple miscarriages, two premature births, my age, a "structural abnormality," etc., etc., etc. We decided that we'd give it a few months and a lot more thought.

In the end, it wasn't just the high-risk stuff, but also that I was tired of getting up in the middle of the night after night. Sometimes for the whole night. I'm not young enough to do well on so little sleep. It makes me cranky (crankier). Irritable. Short-tempered. But even though we had decided that our family was just perfect, every month without fail, I'd experience mingled anticipation and dread, followed by both relief and sorry. Because I always thought I was pregnant. And I never was.

But I kept the maternity clothes because getting rid of them would have been an admission that I was done. No more babies. No more baby smell. No more warm, toasty little someone snuggled up to me. And that has to be ok, because I am old-ish and tired. I don't really want to change any more diapers or change spit-up soaked clothes (mine) every hour.

So tomorrow I drop off the clothes. Which means I'll be pregnant before the year is out. Kidding!

The Weekly Dammit, #13

There isn't much, but I managed to scrape together a few.

Dammit #1:
No one should have to read headlines like this:

"GOP strategists urge candidates to stop snubbing minorities"
(Original article, Washington Post)

Seriously. Why does that even need to be said?

Dammit #2:
Other people (ok, usually other Moms) come to my house and are almost immediately able to redirect my children. I'm not just talking about being new and interesting--though I fully appreciate the value of that newness. No, I mean people who come in and are able to offer Hannah and Charlotte a distraction that I never would have thought of. "Pretend that your tea cups and saucers are flying saucers with aliens," for example. Me? I just get so tired of tea parties and picnics that I'm busy just drowning out the sound my brain makes when it shrinks. Which is the bonus, hidden dammit: My brain should be coming up with new ways to think about these things rather than cowering in a corner!

Dammit #3:
Rex Morgan and June Morgan, nee Whosie-whatsit, must be 70 by now, but I fear they're going to be having "harrowing" adventures for the rest of my natural life. I need to work on my filters so I can learn to ignore that particular car-crashishness that takes up valuable real estate in the comics section every day.

Told you it wasn't much, but I'll try harder next week!

Hannah-isms, con't

On Wagner:
"Do we have to listen to this? It's so dramatic."

On camping:
"Daddy?"

"Yes, Hannah?"

"Tomorrow morning, can you wake your wife up early so we can go camping?"

To an overnight guest:
"Hey, Aunt Kerry? Maybe since Daddy isn't here, you can sleep on the couch."

The Weekly Dammit, #12

Dammit #1:
I've been so busy writing that I don't write anymore. Anti-dammit: I really like this project, and when I'm writing for someone else, it's much easier to stick a deadline.

Dammit #2:
I worked 30 hours last week--in addition to my day job. Literally. Most of it was at night after the girls went to bed. I've found that the combined gentle snores of a Great Dane and a husband pretending not to sleep in front of the TV create a very effective white noise.

Dammit #3:
We have a new coffee maker, one which has achieved near-deity status in our house. No more brewing a pot at a time, hoping that Thomas won't make it slap-you-silly strong again. Now I just set it the way I like it and push the button. One perfect cup of coffee at a time. And then another and another . . . And one slightly more than perfectly caffeinated mom, jittering through her day. (I'm not sure if this is an actual Dammit, or just gloating.)

Dammit #4:
There's a new kids show on Nickelodeon that was touted as the one show that parents would actually like, too. To this I had to ask, "WTF were you watching when you wrote this article??" (The article I was actually reading the one time we saw the show.) Seriously, there were only two things I liked about Yo Gabba Gabba: 1) It was only on Noggin once--to preview before they moved it over to Nick. 2) I didn't actually have an ice-pick in my hand with which to jab the memory of it from my head. I almost feel as though I owe Barney an apology.

Aw, Mommy! Did you buy me a kitty?

No, sweetie. I just brushed the dog.

The Weekly Dammit, #11

My new template seems almost too, well, pretty for a list of cranky Dammits, but you know I have to do it.

Dammit #1:
On the 27th of August, Hannah started kindergarten (yay!), I started a freelance project (yay!) and Charlotte decided she was no longer going to be napping.

Dammit #2:
MoveOn.org released an ad attacking General Petraeus before even hearing what he had to say.

Dammit #3:
No matter what the General reported, both sides had already decided that that report would justify their respective stances.

Dammit #4:
According to a recent New York Times/CBS News poll (bottom of first page), 1/3 of the American population still believes that Saddam Hussein was directly involved in the attacks on September 11, 2001.

trying something new

You may have noticed that Left Coast Mom's look has changed a bit. I'm trying something new, but not to worry: I will not be changing the template as often as I change my hair color.

Let me know what you think!

I Miss Calvin and Hobbes

I know it's been a dozen years since they retired, but I still miss Calvin and Hobbes. And, as we've already established that I am (about some things) a dork, I can say that December 31, 1995 was the first--and last--time I ever cried when a comic strip ended.

It's not that the strip was always funny, though it was 99.99% of the time. It's more that it gave you a glimpse at what life would be like if we could keep the sense of wonder, the joy in imagining, that children have before we sacrifice it on the alter of the Four Rs.* Calvin, only six, possessed the child's imagination, but he combined with an intellect to match that of some adults. He also had a child's belief in his own immortality and the knowledge that, no matter how bad he was, his parents would always love him. Even if they didn't forgive him for a long, long time.

What brings all of this to mind? Our recent heat wave, of course.

Last week it was 100 degrees outside the house and 87 in. We don't have air conditioning, so I took the girls to the library, where I discovered that the Calvin and Hobbes books are all in the children's section. At first I thought this was a mistake, and then I realized that it was the one place the parents, a.k.a. "the people who need them the most," would find them.

I can't speak for all parents, of course, but rediscovering Calvin was a strong reminder that, while I may loathe the idea of another tea party or picnic, to Hannah and Charlotte it is more than just a game. And when they leap on unsuspecting passers-by from the back of the sofa, it's not to annoy, harass or induce heart failure. It's because they can actually fly. And Hannah's seemingly ceaseless stories are worth far more than the occasional, unthinking "uh huh, and then what?" even if I'm not fully caffeinated.

So I'd like to thank Bill Watterson for reminding me that there is a whole other world that doesn't run on adult time. A world that chafes at adult rules and demands because, to its small residents, adult rules make no sense and, so, have no bearing on their lives.

* The fourth would be "Rote."

Is This Normal?

Hannah tossed a couple of questions at me today that I wasn't expecting for at least a couple of years.

First:
"Why are all humans only boys and girls?"

I went with:
"Because you need boys and girls to make more humans."

Hannah:
"But where did the first one come from?"

Is it normal for little kids to think about these things? I know adults who couldn't care less (though there are some who would start wars over this particular issue).

So I told her that scientists believe that we evolved from other organisms and that it took us a long time to get to what we are now.

But I have no idea how to really explain that to an almost five-year old, especially when I'm pretty sure that this almost-five year old is a lot smarter than I am.

She let me off the hook this time, but I'll be ready for the chicken-and-egg question.*

* It was the chicken.

The Weekly Dammit, #10

Dammit #1:
I've mentioned before my distaste for the more litigious among us who have made it necessary for lawyers to write ridiculous things such as "Caution! Hot iron can burn eyes" and "Dramatization! Professional driver on a closed course," even when the car in question appears to be underwater. So I shouldn't have been surprised to see this notice on the tag attached to Argus's new bed: "Accessories not included." The "accessories" shown on the tag were a very large cabinet and a dog.

Dammit #2:
Why is it that the politicians who try to legislate "family values" so often seem to get caught with their pants down? And those who rant the loudest against gays and gay marriage seem to have more hidden in their closets than pinstriped suits and stuffed shirts.

Dammit #3:
Two of the top three (announced) candidates from the "party of family values" have three divorces and at least three affairs between them.

Dammit #4:
At the rate we're going, we're going to have the first presidential primary before Christmas.

Dammit #5:
Charlotte peed on Argus's foot. That's not my dammit and it wasn't today, but Argus asked me to pass it on.

Really--We're Just Laughing WITH you . . .

Thanks, K!

Talk About Starting Early . . .

It took 10 years, but Thomas has managed to turn me into a magazine junkie. We now get The Week, The New Yorker, Rolling Stone, Sunset, Men's Health, Women's Health, Fast Company, Esquire, Ode, Wired, and possibly a few others I can't remember at the moment.

Being a news junkie, one that I really look forward to is The Week, which arrives every Friday morning. But today, when I pulled it from the mailbox, it had a cover wrap announcing "only 137 shopping days left!" and "HOLIDAY GIFT SAVINGS" and "GIVE MORE GIFTS! Spread the joy!"

Now I wouldn't mind spreading the joy, especially to my friend who stops by the day before every election for a basic explanation of every measure and the background of each candidate. I don't mind helping--I like it, in fact--so she always leaves with the explanation (including why some are for and some against each), plus a little annoyance that I refuse to tell her which way to vote on any measure or candidate. But though she is a very intelligent woman, she is also a very busy woman, so I don't know that she has the time for another magazine.

All of this notwithstanding, I didn't need to know, more than a week before Labor Day, that I needed to begin panicking about holiday shopping.