Last weekend at my son’s graduation, we had the privilege of sharing the event with my husband’s brother’s family. They’re like the coolest people you’d ever want to be related to. Really. A year ago, all of them flew or drove out from three different cities, two states (Missouri and Arizona), and four households, to celebrate with us the graduation of the first two sons to graduate university. This year—wash, rinse, repeat. (Except the ones in the car, sadly sadly, hit a deer right before coming so with their car totaled, they had to cancel.)
The students are laughing because he expressed his fear to their teacher. But the broadcasts everywhere warn disaster is coming. Even his new girlfriend laughs at him.
Racing through New Market, tearing past the merchants who curse him as usual, Bhavin runs home. He rushes inside, upending a metal pot.
We had angel food cake again this week. Jason's favorite cake, and we have it once a year, every year. Sometimes we buy it already made, sometimes I attempt to make it. I'm a terrible cook and I ruin most everything. Mostly it's because I won't stay in the kitchen long enough to see something through. So I've burned a lot of things—including three stoves/ovens. (See Burning Cookies for the Kids.)
Recently, some books I’ve edited have brought to my attention a problem writers have that diminishes the strength of their prose (and after about ten times on one page, starts to drive me crazy). It’s an easy pattern for a writer to get into while trying to avoid starting all the sentences the same or with too many “He did this…” or “She did that….” The tiny little word that makes such a problem is “as.” “He nodded as he put down the saw.” “She smiled as she took off her coat.” “As he walked through the door, he answered the phone as it vibrated with its ominous summons.” So much as-ing weakens writing and reflects poorly on the author. Go ahead and change it up. Use interesting nouns and strong verbs. Get away from structuring every sentence the same. “He wasn’t even through the door when his phone rattled in his pocket, announcing the ominous summons.”
This day in 1875 was the first Kentucky Derby. Coincidently, today is also the same date, in 1947, that champion thoroughbred racehorse, Seabiscuit, died. And more coincidently and deeply meaningful to me personally, the book Seabiscuit: An American Legend, was written by Laura Hillenbrand. Hillenbrand is one of my significant inspirations because she, as I, suffers from Chronic Fatigue.
After such a busy weekend of taking care of family and being constantly on the go, I am EXHAUSTED. That dull, I-can’t-think, can’t-process, don’t-trust-me-with-sharp-objects-let-alone-young-lives bone weary. This used to be how I always was ALL the time when the kids were younger. Fatigue is a weird thing. When someone speaks to me, I can stare at the mouth, see it move, but the words coming out are foreign.
We're in the midst of an amazing, whirlwind weekend of celebration. Hardly have time or brain to blog. But have to keep my streak going. Day 13 of 366 Days of Blogging!
I don't know how chickens dance, but I know when I dance I probably look like one, so today I want to point out that it's Dance Like A Chicken Day. I suppose some chicken advocates--or DANCING chicken advocates--wanted to get this on the calendar to make certain dancing chickens were recognized and not neglected. So in honor of all the [dancing] chickens you know (or knew--Gloria, I haven't forgotten you, even though you gave up the struggle and moved on to that Great Chicken Coop--Free-Range of course--in the sky, even after I helped you get over that little issue you were having with that nasty, ehem, prolapse), throw on your fav dancing tunes, tuck those fists into your armpits, and do some extremely chicken dancing! Do it for Gloria, do it for all the chickens, past present and future, that have meant something to you (even if was only as anonymous chicken nuggets), and do a little dance!
Henry Commons and his wife, Evyleen, swung off the highway into a drive-through. Henry hoped the caffeine in his Red Bull would wake him up.
“Done with that?” Evyleen asked, pointing to the red fries carton balancing on the dash.
Yesterday I read on BBC News that Kim Tucci, a woman in Australia, recently gave birth to quintuplets. Those kinds of stories grab my attention, since I had a litter of babies myself.
Want my stories delivered right to your inbox? I can do that! Click the button below to sign up and I'll make sure to send my post right to you each week.
Life with Quadruplets
As a mother of quadruplets, I've had plenty of crazy experiences raising "supertwins." I blog a lot of memories about my kids. Sometimes just my thoughts on things. I get those sometimes—when my brain works. Which is about one third of the time.