Eight. Really?

Oh, yes. Really.

And I never want you to forget that I tried to surprise you with the Angry Birds cupcakes, but you saw the file hidden on the computer, and you gasped and you grinned and you hollered, “ILoveYouMommyILoveYouMommyILoveYouMommy” just like on Kid History.

(I did. I made them. Following this woman’s seriously adorable advice. )

Little boy, you bring a huge wad of joy to our house. We all adore you to the maximum allowable limit, and just a little bit beyond. You make us laugh when you say things like “It’s a Trifle Trifecta” as you put away the dishes. We get giddy when you can spell words for your weekly test that still stump the rest of us (government? privilege? independent? in the second grade?) We love to see you being in the middle of the kid-ish clump because everyone wants to be near you BECAUSE YOU’RE SO NICE.

You completed our family, and we couldn’t ask for more. Really, we couldn’t. We’re not allowed to. And we wouldn’t. Because we love you so.

It prevented the brushing, which thing (the brushing, not the prevention) she really hated.

And Daddy was convinced that she behaved better less hideously when she was curly.

In any case, she has always had some pretty great hair.

She let me roll it up again this weekend.

She behaved herself in a most pleasing manner.

And looked adorable, natch.

Love this girl.

(*Hi, Kid 3! It’s all about you!*)

I love that she works hard to do the things she knows she should do.

Like practicing the violin.

And letting her daddy take pictures of her. That part makes us all happy.

Also I love her blue fingernails. I may have been accused of thinking that blue fingernails only belonged on a corpse. I MAY have been proven wrong.

Kid 2 is funny. And sassy. Oh, so sassy. She’s smart. She devours books. Song lyrics heard once take up permanent residence in her head (oy). She draws the best cartoons and stick figures I’ve ever known. She has wit and charm and a highly developed sense of irony.

She has perspective. (Get it?)

She cries in sad books, but not when she’s angry. She laughs at me when I do stupid things — all the time, and laughs at herself enough to make it all right. She runs, she sings, she draws, she gets incredible grades, she makes people laugh. She’s learning piano, getting fantastic on the violin, and sings like an angel or a rock star, depending on the song and the moment.

That’s my Kid 2, and I think she’s pretty amazing.

My Kids are fun. And smart. And sarcastic to the point of earning much respect. And they’re readers. And they pull weeds without audible complaint. And they’re learners and laughers and musicians and buddies. And they’re really great. And I love them. And I bet you would, too.

I have recently read a book that was way better than I expected. It is called “When You Reach Me” written by the master of resolving: Rebecca Stead. My Amazing Mother gave me this book for my birthday in June and handed it to me and said “Just read it.” So now I’m handing it to you and saying “Just read it.” Thanks, Mom.

This book is a challenge to write a review on, so I won’t tell you much, so I don’t spoil it. The main character’s name is Miranda, a strong-hearted, calm, city girl with a single mother, who, in the beginning, gets accepted onto a game show, The $20,000 Pyramid. Miranda faces many challenges that most others will not face. It deals with friendship, race relations, families, money, winning and losing, and forgiveness.

This book has adventure, humor, heartbreak, puzzles, happiness, and most of all, lots of resolving – every point in the story (even the naked man running down Broadway) comes to a resolution. To prove my point of amazingness, this book recieved 21 honors, including the Newbery Medal.

You can check it out from your library, but after you read it, you’re going to want to buy it.

• 195 pages, published by Yearling/Random House
• Perfect for ages 8 and up, depending on maturity (mention of the naked man might make some kids uncomfortable)
• Could be a good read-aloud, but I want to hold it in my hands while I read it.

Like this time.

When the horrible consequence I wrote for my character to experience shows up in the nightmares of my baby. I did NOT read my words to my boy. Not even one of them. And I didn’t talk to anyone about the struggle my MC is going through. But hey, last night Kid 4 woke up several times, sobbing at the things he’s hearing in his head during his nightmare. Specifically, the same sorts of things I wrote into my story, waking my sleeping baby from his peaceful night.

This is a guilt I can’t figure out. I know that my writing doesn’t harm my Kids, [1] but I FEEL like I’ve done this to him. I made up this thing, a punishment for my MC’s line-crossing, and now my Kid 4 is suffering for it. (As am I. Co-sleepers, I am in awe of you. I have never, never encouraged kids to sleep in my bed. I do not love it. There is no sleeping for me.)

Is this even sane? Probably not. Remember, I didn’t sleep last night either. But I have to say, when I got up to write this morning, I wondered “Why am I not writing about ponies and cupcakes and birthday balloons?”

Oh, yeah. I remember, Because conflict drives story. And I want a story.

With all that implies.

Sorry, Kid 4.

—

[1] but that would make an interesting idea for a book, wouldn’t it? And I suddenly want to rewatch Emma Thompson’s Stranger Than Fiction.

Fun, right?

Here is her review (unabridged and unedited) for Rick Riordan’s Kane Chronicles: The Red Pyramid.

Are you Rick Riordan fans looking for a new book of his? Well, here is a fantasy book that you will not be able to put down: The Red Pyramid. (Believe me, I know. I tried.) . Carter and Sadie Kane are siblings who are a part of the battle of the Egyptian Gods. They find lots of secrets and lose lots of Newly and Not so Newly made made acquaintances. They have nail-biting adventures that The Readers will never imagine. The Egyptian Gods have found a way into their heads. Sadie has a Not-So-Loyal goddess in her head named Isis. Sadie loves Bubble Gum, and she has a pet cat named Muffin. Carter is a brave guy who doesn’t have many friends because he travels the globe with his dad. The god who is in his head is named Horus. Carter and Sadie get to travel all over the world, in Paris, London, Manhattan, Phoenix, And all over Egypt. (Momentary Jealousy!) I would give this fine piece of workmanship an A-, Because Sadie has some mild language.

* 514 pages long, published in 2010 by Disney*Hyperion.

* I suggest it would be best for ages 10 and up, because of scary parts and some violence.

* This book can easily be read aloud.

*sigh of contentment and proud-ness*

And in this show, Kid 1 plays a tap-dancer from — wait for it — Centerville, Utah, who shows up in NYC ready to storm 1930s Broadway. The show is called Dames at Sea, and there is much cheese and adorability.

And now, in my house, much strange language. Which I will now attempt to put into Haiku form. Like this.

Hop. Step-ball-change. Brush.
Shuffle off to Buffalo.
Step, scuffle, riff, slap.

Does it make you rethink your career choice, or is that just me?

She asked me to come in and talk to the kids about the “show, don’t tell” principle. Shall we let that sink in for a second? I had written 2 books before I ever heard anyone say those words, “show, don’t tell.” Well, okay, maybe not two whole books, but I certainly wasn’t nine. What a leg-up these little people are getting. I know what you’re thinking: And at such capable hands as yours, Becca.

Well, thanks.

So we talked about it. Then we wrote. It went like this. I wrote some sentences (very bad ones) on the board.

“Trevor was excited.”

“Meagan was tired.”

“McKinley was frightened.”

“Austin was angry.”

“Kelsey was happy.”

“Mrs. Pedersen was bored.”

Then I asked the kids to paint me a word picture, telling me about one of those sentences without using those words. Three or four sentences to show me those feelings. I did it, too. We wrote together in relative quiet for a couple of minutes, me with a clickable dry-erase marker (ah, LOVE) and them with furious pencil scratching on paper. I love me some furious pencil scratching. Then they read to me. They were awesome. They wrote what it looked like, smelled like, sounded like. They made up details. They put themselves inside a character’s head. They showed. For real.

Want to guess the sentence that nobody, nobody at all, chose to write?

Go ahead. Guess.

“Kelsey was happy.”

Not one. Isn’t that weird? I think it is. I’ve been remembering my high school English classes, specifically AP English with Mrs. Morris (who I am certain would never remember me) where I wondered out loud how come we never read anything with a happy ending. (Innocence and cheek, all at once.) She rolled her eyes at me from behind some really large, eyeball-distorting glasses and said something that was probably reflective of Tolstoy’s famous “Happy families are all alike.” So today, with this interesting (to me) piece of data, I was able to tell this pack of third-graders that you don’t have a story without some conflict. Character is most important, but no matter how awesome or adorable your character is, we don’t want to hang out with him until something troublesome/bizarre/dangerous/ironic starts to happen.

And they totally got it.

(But I still love me a happy ending.)

So thanks, Mrs. Pedersen, for having me come and play in your class. And see? I didn’t even burst into song. I keep my promises.

I hate Halloween.

I know. They should just blacklist me from Mom of the Year forever and in perpetuity. It’s not going to happen. Not to someone who hates Halloween.

But I do. Hate it. I hate the decorations, the bloody things and the crawling things and the creepy things and the dirty things and the undead things. It’s like Satan has his own holiday, and it’s bigger than Christmas. Also I hate the candy overload, but that is more related to my complete lack of self-control than to any moral objection.

My Kids love it. When Kid 3 was three years old, I got all the girls witch costumes and taught them some Macbeth lines. Want to see?

(I’m trying. I have video. It’s adorable. You might have to trust me. It’s a techno thing.)

shakespearean

So I get the cuteness, when it’s cute. I do. But I still hate it.

You know how some people think it’s some kind of brilliant to hate things just because everyone else loves them? Like Elmo, or kittens, or cake? It’s not like that. I love Elmo. And, well, it’s not that I hate kittens because I think it’s a “spur to one’s genius”*  to hate them – but they grow into cats. And cake? Well, I’m happy to make it, I just don’t want to eat it. So I’m not really like that. I am not. I just don’t want to do Halloween.

So I tried to bribe the Kids out of it. With the promise of going out to dinner and a movie instead. Guess what? They all said no.

*sigh*

But I control the decorations around here, or the complete lack thereof. So, maybe I can still win.

Ha.