As requested--the answers

Last night, I sliced about some good ideas gone bad, with some help from Oldest, Middle, and Youngest. Several commenters got into the spirit, trying to guess which ideas (spectacular in concept; perhaps lacking in execution) were mine, and which belonged to the kids.

Well, here are the requested answers. Below are the ideas from yesterday's slice, followed by the genius who must take credit for each.

Throwing sister's favorite doll out the upstairs bedroom window...mostly because sister really, really thought the doll was alive. Well, until it got thrown out the window.

Um, yeah...that was me.

Riding a tricycle down a very tall, very steep hill. Actually, that part turned out ok. It's the part at the bottom that gets a little rough.

This would be Youngest (don't worry, he's fine).

Playing bongos with a group of friends on the steps of the Staten Island Museum (apparently security guards do not approve).

Oldest sheepishly owned up...this happened on a school trip just last week. 

Helping mom by giving your sister a haircut. A few days before she was going to be in a wedding.

Believe it or not, me again.

Rallying the team by leading a cheer on the bus...("Give me a __")...and then realizing that you have misspelled the name of your school.

Surprising entry from Middle. How embarrassing.

Teaching chickens to fly (they can't--at least not further than you can throw them).

Sigh....me again. But you have to know that they really looked like they wanted to try.

Allowing your brother and his friend to talk you into anything requiring a ladder, a zip line, and tree across the yard with a mat strapped to it.

And Youngest. Again. He wishes he could say that this is the only thing he's been talked into by Oldest.

And there you have it. Good ideas...that just didn't work out.

Good ideas gone bad

Ever have an idea that seemed inspired? One that you just couldn't wait to try?
Me too. So have Oldest, Middle, and Youngest.
And sometimes--maybe more often than we'd like to admit--those ideas go bad.
Here are just a few of ours. Think you know whose is whose? Maybe for some, but I bet you'd be surprised by at least a few!

Throwing sister's favorite doll out the upstairs bedroom window...mostly because sister really, really thought the doll was alive. Well, until it got thrown out the window.

Riding a tricycle down a very tall, very steep hill. Actually, that part turned out ok. It's the part at the bottom that gets a little rough.

Playing bongos with a group of friends on the steps of the Staten Island Museum (apparently security guards do not approve).

Helping mom by giving your sister a haircut. A few days before she was going to be in a wedding.

Rallying the team by leading a cheer on the bus...("Give me a __")...and then realizing that you have misspelled the name of your school.

Teaching chickens to fly (they can't--at least not further than you can throw them).

Allowing your brother and his friend to talk you into anything requiring a ladder, a zip line, and tree across the yard with a mat strapped to it.

I am from books

I am from stories read from books and
told around big tables
filled with too many arms and legs and not enough chairs,
but plenty of laps.
I am from books stacked on bricks and boards
behind the chair by the fireplace and stashed
in a small green suitcase.
I am from books carried on trips,
and into trees,
making anywhere I went seem like home and home
feel like a place far, far away.
I am from book lovers
who bought, borrowed, and shared favorites,
never thinking that a story was beyond
the reach of my eager eyes.
I am from fingers running gently and reverently
over new covers,
of inhaling the scent of pages opened for the first time
or the 2nd, the 10th, the 100th time.
I am from poems of childhood remembered
and wonders found in the pages
of yellow-bordered magazines
on the table by grandpa's chair.
I am from books and stories and magazines and newspapers,
surrounded by words and worlds,
filling me up
but never so full

that there wasn't room for more.

You mean you can catch it?

I think that it's entirely possible that Husband and I have succumbed to some sort of infectious...something. I blame Oldest, Middle, and Youngest. Two teens and a pre-teen.

For the most part, The Three are easy-going, polite, and even-keeled. In fact, they are a lot of fun. But they are also victims. They have been unable to completely escape the grasp of hormones and random moodiness and the occasional bout of surly almost-but-not-quite-over-the-line bad attitude. Thankfully it's not frequent or even even common.

But I'm afraid it might be catching.

I came home to find Husband in a funk. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but he was definitely not himself. He was quiet and almost withdrawn. He couldn't make a decision and wasn't really interested in being cajoled out of whatever state he was in.

And now I find myself sitting here, sighing. Not quiet, relaxed sighing. Nope; the over the top, I-can't-believe-I-have-so-much-to-do, why-me kind of sighs. You know the one. Especially if you have a teenaged daughter.

So Husband and I find ourselves pondering what on earth is happening to us. The Three did not come with a manual, and up to this point, we feel that our on the job training has gone fairly well, with only a few bumps along the way. But no one told us that the moods and feelings and angst of adolescence might be catching.

Writing Group Part 1: The BONS are coming!

I'm part of a writing group started by Ruth Ayres.
There are 5 us; we call ourselves the BONS.


We met and bonded and continue to meet and bond and write.
BONS stands for what we write; Bits Of Nothing or Something.

Today after school I checked the clock every 3 minutes during a meeting.
Writing group is tonight; he BONS are coming to my house!


I hurried through errands and rushed home to start cooking.
I hope I have everything I need; the BONS like to eat!


Windows open, door too--quick sweep to hide the dust bunnies.
I know I don't have to; the BONS always promise to not to look.


The colorful plates and bowls come out; stacked and ready for dinner and dessert.
The BONS love to pick their favorite color; or argue over who got there first.


Dinner is ready, and I settle into the rocking chair by the window to watch.
I'm ready; how much longer until the BONS get here?


To see part 2, look below to read Tammy's slice; she'll tell you how to find part 3.
The BONS think they are really clever; what do you think?


Writing Group Part 2: Please Bring the Pie!
(a secret slice from a non-public blog)
The night before I read the message. Bring what you want; we will eat whatever you bring. Taco Salad is the main dish.
Well, I knew already I was going to take the girls pie. Later in the morning I checked my phone. Message...from Mary Helen.
Maybe you would stop and pick me up a pie.
Well, that was like we had ESP. For sure I was going to get pie no matter what. 
One my way to our meeting place in Goshen, I stopped by the Essenhaus in Middlebury and went up to the counter and ordered 5 red raspberry cream pie. The lady said, "5?"
I said, "yes. I'm meeting my friends and we will eat one and I wil give them one to take home to share with their families."
"How nice," she said.
After our delicious supper and laughs about Ruth's son and tears following Mary Helen's story, we had our pie. Tam and I were making mmmm--mmmm sounds as we were eating each bite. The moaning continued until each slice was devoured. We then went into the sitting room to write. If you have read Ruth's blog slices from the sofa, then you know where we sat.
My hope is that these friends, who actually think I'm funny (that's why I buy them treats...unlike my daughters!) will think of the fun we had at our BONS meeting tomorrow as they are eating a slice of that pie. 

Now...on to the living room and the giggles to continue...go to Tam's slice at http://clayfragments.blogspot.com/2012/03/writing-group-part-3-slicers.html  to continue.

Cried her eyes out and loved every minute

This morning I had duty in the hallway where the 3rd graders hang their coats and backpacks. I love this duty. I hand out hellos and hugs and high fives and reminders about folders and backpacks and not taking too long in the bathroom.
But mostly, I like it because I get to talk to the kids. One of my favorite things is to watch them unpacking their library books and talk to them about what they are reading--and maybe making a suggestion or two (or more).

This morning, N walked up, planted herself directly in front of me and informed me that she had read both Chasing Vermeer and The Caulder Game by Blue Balliett as I had suggested after spotting The Wright Three in her pile a few weeks ago. Without pausing she told me she was also reading The Tale of Despereaux. I immediately asked if she had already read The Adventure of Edward Tulane. 


She leaned in and confided, "oh yes, and I cried my eyes out. That book just got to me."
"I know what you mean," I replied. "Kate DiCamillo knows what she's doing when she writes a story!"
N nodded, "I think it's the love that's in it. It's all there and even though he makes it home in the end, I still cried and cried and cried. But it's a great book and it's because of the love that's there."
We talked a few minutes more--kindred spirits indeed. N wondered if our buddy Kate was working on anything new that we'd just have to read (yes, have to...a necessity).

So tonight I got on Kate DiCamillo's website and clicked around. N is the kind of girl who knows I'll be on duty again tomorrow and will come wanting to know if I have anything new to share with her. The best thing I found, though, was a list of tips for writers that Kate has on her website. It made me think of N, and somehow, I have an easy time imagining her growing up to be the kind of writer whose books make young readers cry their eyes out and come back for more.

Enjoy!
http://www.katedicamillo.com/onwrit3.html

Blank box

When I logged on to slice tonight, I stared at the empty post box. It started back. The blinking cursor seemed to dismiss one thought after another, "nope, not that, or that, or that. Nope, not that, or that, or that..."

There were a few not-so-great things about today, but there were also quite a few pretty great things. I just do not want to write any of them down. I'm not feeling down or frustrated or worried about not having a slice-worthy topic. I just feel like letting the events of the day be what they were, when they were. I want to just let them be. So that's what I'm going to do.

Tonight I realized that sometimes, even if you're trying to live a writerly life, it's ok not to document or list or capture. Sometimes we can replay the slices of our days or the lists of our lives just in our heads--and not write down a single word of it. 

So my writerly choice tonight is to stick with the blank box and the dismissive cursor. Yep, I'm good with that.