Happy Halloween Everyone!

We generally don't get into Halloween all that much, but since the kids are getting older we're trying to make sure we have some fun traditions at this holiday time. We try to accentuate the fun and the silly rather than the scary. We don't really like scary at our house.

And of course, any excuse to have candy is okay by me. Do any of you have any fun Halloween traditions besides the standard pumpkin carving and Trick-or-Treating?

I must be insane

I'm sorry. I don't write. When I don't write I don't blog. Right now, I grow. And growing seems to be enough.

But I'm changing all that. My husband is leaving the country for half of November and I'm terrified. As it is I'm barely keeping daily life flowing. So, heck, why not add NaNoWriMo to the To Do list while I'm solely responsible for 2.5 kids and a home?

At least I'm excited about something.

If I write anything that isn't crap, I'll share.

Good luck, fellow WriMos.

Corner Rounder

I've got myself a tool

In my little box for crafts

It takes the ugly points

Off paperscraps and photographs

For on the page and in your art

It's roundness that you want

With polka dots and curlyQs

And softly scripted font

The curves and waves and rounded lace

Are beautiful to see

So why do I feel so ugly

Now someone's corner rounded me!

13 years

Today is the Anniversary. The one that slaps me in the face with memories. She was my friend, she was my niece, but she could have been my sister. She was almost 15. I was 16. It was my first experience with death.

I'd watched the cancer suck her away bit by bit for four years. First her hand, then her breasts, small and budding as they were, then, finally, her lungs. She was always so delicate to begin with, but with that coy smile and the thick chestnut hair she'd never cut in her life until the chemo started. The cancer made her more fragile, like a pristine doll, her long fingernails her one grasp on beauty.

As children she laughed shyly at my jokes and giggled at our dress up play. We meticulously taught each other how to recreate our most prized artistic creations. We always slept in the same bed during visits.

While she was sick, my parents planned our hospital visits around when I would be sure to come, though I didn't know that at the time. She languished in her strange bed, but she listened and watched me and I tried to laugh. I began to mourn long before she passed.

I always believed she would live. She endured so much during the four years of her fight that I was sure she'd always come out on top. She was doing well, even dancing again and attending school, when we got the call to make the five hour drive as quickly as possible.

I didn't realize how close death was hovering. Her lips were dark beneath her oxygen mask, her eyes rolling in her head. I held her hand, waiting for her to notice I was there. I was alone with her for about 15 minutes, stroking those long nails and listening to her staggered breath. My pain was present, but isolated somewhere beyond me. I waited for her to show some comprehension before I told her I loved her, that she was my friend.

She began to struggle and I left the room in fear, calling for my sister. I went outside. My dad was showing my nephew how to shoot a BB gun. 5 minutes. When I went back inside everyone was crying, saying "At least she's not in pain anymore." My pain still lingered outside myself. I knew it was there, but I couldn't touch it. I'd been the last one before her mother to be with her before she passed.

I went in to see her. There she was, just where I'd left her, but she wasn't there anymore. That was clear. I expected her to look peaceful. She just looked dead. It took a while to cry. When the pain finally came gushing in, I thought it would never go away.

She taught me about death. She made me realize that I really do believe that I'll see her again. I don't mourn for her, but for those she left. I mourn for my sister, who might have had grandbabies by now.

She would be nearing her 28th birthday today. With every year the woman I am and the girl she was grow further apart, but I truly know in my heart that she is accomplishing something great just beyond my sight. She is a beautiful soul. She is my Moriah.

Girl Power

Today I fell in love. It was the strangest thing. What was before such a huge burden finally feels like a blessing.

I saw my baby on ultrasound today, which is also my pregnancy hump day (fitting name). I saw my little girl. Her femur, her spine and all four chambers of her little heart were absolutely beautiful. Today the pregnancy stopped being about me and started being about her. I am finally excited.

I'm having a baby girl!

I feel exhilarated. And on the writing side, I've made it a goal to write every day again. I'd left all my passions alone for awhile. Something inside me is waking up.

I'm trying to be back

Have you given up on me yet? I don't blame you. I've almost given up on myself. Heaven help me, this summer has been a difficult one. I'm still in the nausea zone, but definitely functioning at a higher level. I'm almost 16 weeks along in my pregnancy, which is generally the cutoff point, so I'm crossing my fingers that by this time next week I'll be in the clear.

So I haven't been doing much. Not even writing because I'm just not feeling it. But I have been reading... a lot. I had the opportunity of reading a book by a relative of my husbands. It's her first published novel and it was cool to see her last name on the spine (since it is also my last name). She has been a High School English teacher for many years.

While I generally enjoyed the book, she committed what, to me, has always been a fiction writing faux pas. I was surprised when she skipped from one point of view to another willy nilly. I was always taught that if you are going to change point of view there needs to be, at the very least, a break in the text and works most effectively at chapter breaks. I'll give you an example. This is just me making something up, but it represents the kind of things I read in her book.

"Susan watched Bob from afar as he blew the hair from his eyes with a crooked smile. She knew he couldn't possibly be interested in her, but hadn't he been making eye contact with her all evening? His gaze met hers once more and she immediately looked away, feeling her cheeks flush. Her hands flew to her mouth, then retracted as she consciously kept herself from chewing her nails. He was definitely looking at her. She knew his reputation, but couldn't help the fact that his blue eyes made her heart race. Why would he possibly be paying any attention to her? Bob knew that he was making this girl flustered and he enjoyed it. He'd been eyeing her secretly for weeks. His friends would never let him live it down if they knew how much he dug her. What they couldn't know was that he had more in mind than just romance."

That was just some nonsense I just spewed, but it illustrates what I'm talking about.

So, what do you think? Are there hard set rules that really should never be broken in fiction, or does artistic license trump all?

Public Enema No.1

***Yes, this is actually a post about my first experience with an enema***

***Gentle Reader, proceed at your own risk***

I took a completely unintentional hiatus there, but assure you that I'm alive and kicking (well, something's kicking). The fog of first trimester nausea, while not gone, has begun to lift so that I may once again view the world around me. I will tell you - It has sucked. I also regret having missed one of Jason's contests. Next time. Next time.

I had a milestone experience over the weekend. We were visiting family and I was so excited to be somewhere other than my couch for the first time in months. But while the social outlet was finally flowing, something else was not. Without my realizing it, four factors had come into play at once-

1. I'm pregnant, ere go, I'm constipated.

2. The anti-nausea medication I take also makes me constipated.

3. I had run out of the fiber pills I'd been taking daily, not realizing just how much good they must have doing me.

4. I had resumed taking prenatal vitamins since the waning nausea helped me keep them down. I'd forgotten they're packed full of iron, which, unfortunately, can cause constipation.

Since being a little backed up has been been a fact of life for the past few months, I did have some suppositories on hand for times of extreme cloggedness. But they were at my house over the weekend. 100 miles away.

Saturday I started counting-1..2.. hey it's been at least four days since I've had any BM action. No wonder I don't feel so good down there. So I decided to just try. And try I did. For a very long time. After 30 minutes all I had succeeded in producing was red toilet paper. But now I was feeling very dire. I'd got the thing to the door and it was staying there. I needed help. Right away. I sent DH to the grocery store. "No laxatives, no suppositories. I need an enema."

Minutes later, product in hand, I headed to the bathroom. I wasn't scared until I read the directions. The illustrations alone were enough to keep a 12 year old boy cackling for days. But I diligently followed the guidelines and waited until "the urge to evacuate was strong." This did not take long. Less than a minute.

What happened next, well, it was excruciating. I was already sore from previous attempts, but this was no joke. I was in it. Gut wrenching spasms had me panting and clenching. And then, Augustus Gloop was stuck in the chamber, the pressure building, building, building behind him. It was so painful. And then he was set free. Voila. I'd given birth to a soup can.

I can say that the only thing more traumatic that has ever happened to my nether regions was actual childbirth. My poor muscles hurt for hours. It was awful.

Lesson learned. Take the fiber. Take the fiber. Take the fiber.