Jenyfer Matthews

I had a very good day yesterday. Not only did I do my dishes and multiple loads of laundry, but I sat down and wrote. And wrote and wrote. Phew – did it feel good to get that part of the story out of my head.

After I wrote, I worked for a couple of hours on a quilt that my neighbor has commissioned me to make. It’s going well – only one more corner to go. Before I have to sew all the blocks together and get busy on the hand-quilting that is.

I admit that I fell down on the job when it came to dinner however. I used up all my creativity writing and quilting so in the end I fell back on pizza for dinner. Oh well – it was at least homemade. And better yet, my husband made it.

One thing I really have wanted to do this year is write a couple of children’s stories. Not for publication but for my own children, as a Christmas gift. You might think it would be easy. They aren’t long after all. But somehow I’m having trouble getting in the proper mindset and finding a hook.

I really admire people who can write *good* children’s stories. Personally, there are very few contemporary stories that I enjoy reading to my daughter. Most of the books she brings home from the library or that I peruse in the book stores strike me as too pedantic, too obnoxious or just flat out boring. Don’t get me wrong, I like a story with a moral – I just don’t like to be hit over the head with it or for the lesson to be so obviously the whole reason for the story.

I can live with Junie B. Jones, but keep Captain Underpants away from me. Same goes for Horrid Henry (I live for the day when he gets his comeuppance!) The Magic Treehouse has a good premise but disappoints me over all. They lack any real drama and there are a few questions I have: why can’t Jordan the magic librarian go get the books herself if she’s so great? Why does Jake carry around a notebook and take notes if the notebook doesn’t really serve any other purpose other than to break up the text with glimpses of his handwriting? How do these kids speak every known language through space and time yet no one is every overly concerned about where it is they magically appeared from?

I could be over-analyzing though.

My husband suggested that I didn’t need to think of a lesson to teach and build a story around it, instead I just needed to think of a conflict. Like a little girl who is afraid of dogs…and then??? That’s just an example but it has got my brain working. I only have a little over a month to come up with something passable. Somehow I think I’ll just be cruising Amazon again.

The party was a roaring success – ROARING being the operative word. Who knew that six little boys could be so LOUD.

In spite of the fact that all but one TV deprived little boy quickly grew bored with the video and the electricity went out for a while as we were eating cake, in the end they all seemed to have a good time and with minimal damage to my house. I think we were all pleased.

Wanted to share a picture of my son’s birthday cake. He specifically requested a “fruit cake” which to him meant white cake topped with whipped cream and kiwi (his favorite fruit of all). I added pomegranate seeds for color. In addition I made some cupcakes with whipped cream and sprinkles for kids who didn’t like the looks of the fruit. Did my son eat the cake? Nope – he wanted a cupcake like the rest of his friends.

Oh well – it left more for the parents who attended. And it was a tasty cake, if I say so myself!

One more birthday to go.

I won’t be doing much writing this week. My children are home from school on vacation so there is much noise and demands for food going on. Also, I need to get organized for my son’s birthday party on Thursday.

I wanted to do something a little different than last year – where I hauled all my supplies out to the large communal garden in the back yard and let everyone run amok. True, it has the advantage of keeping the fuss out of my house, but the downside is that I feel obligated to invite and feed everyone in the building (children and adults) and carry all of my supplies down four flights of stairs. (Did I say that already? It’s a LOT of stairs!) I did that for my son’s party last fall and daughter’s party in the summer and frankly, I’d like to move away from that sort of party-extravaganza. Keep things small and simple.

Instead, I told my son we’d invite over six of his best buddies for pizza, popcorn and a video. They could wear pajamas, we’ll turn out the lights and have a Scooby-Doo marathon. It will satisfy his lust to constantly have all his friends over to play as well as keep things small and manageable. Right?

I’m beginning to get scared though. If everyone comes – and it looks like they will – we are talking about having seven 4 & 5 year old boys in my house at one time. My living room will be ground zero for all of the noise and mess of the party. I felt pretty confident about this plan until a few of the other mothers looked at me like I was completely nuts – and advised me to put away my breakables.

I’ve invited the other mothers to hang around and enjoy our balcony during the party. There is one mother I am particularly interested in hi-jacking. She’s a kindergarten teacher.

Wish me luck.

At least I’ve already got his present: a pair of Hot Wheels roller blades and an assortment of Cars cars. His two fondest wishes.

A friend sent this to me recently and it was just too funny not to share!

A Mom’s Song by Anita Renfroe (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VlY8STkhopc)

A friend whose daughter is in the same class with my daughter just told me that my daughter is telling the other kids at school what “the finger” means. Who knows what other pearls of wisdom she is dispensing!

Fortunately my friend thought it was funny, but is this where it starts? Will my daughter be labeled a “bad influence” on her peers by the other parents, just like her mom?

Where will it end???

I went to the doctor a few days ago and was cleared for take off. My pox have been healing top down so my face looks pretty decent now, but I won’t want to wear a bathing suit for at least another week. I had no problem resisting scratching but picking at the scabs is another story. I want them gone. NOW.

You’d think that packing up for a six week vacation with two kids would be difficult. Not so much. Passports – check. Tickets – check. American money – check. Over the years I’ve learned my lesson – go with empty, nested suitcases and fill them with the gifts the kids receive and all the shopping I will do. (Check)

But being on vacation does not mean I won’t do some writing work. In fact, I intend to do some research for my newest project (as yet to be named). My character Aurora is going to do a lot of traveling, first stop: Amsterdam. It just so happens that I have a SEVEN HOUR gap in Amsterdam, going and coming back again. What better way to do research than to hop on the subway into the city after a nearly sleepless night with two tired children and drag them around with me while I absorb the atmosphere of the neighborhood?

And you thought I wasn’t dedicated to my craft.

I haven’t really been in a writing mood lately – illness and rowdy children will do that. And due to some pre-existing stomach issues as well as the pox I am limited in what comfort foods I can eat: caffeine, alcohol, carbonation, chocolate, fatty foods, and citrus are off the menu. There isn’t much comfort left at the end of the day but a girl’s still gotta eat.

So, in spite of the heat I decided to make bread today. Freshly baked bread slathered in butter is what I was craving today so I got off my butt and into the kitchen.

I may not be the baker you would choose out of a lineup because the pox get no more attractive as they progress, but if my family isn’t happy to eat the bread then all the more for me. They have all already had it and if the chicken pox was that easy to contract then I suppose I would have had it long ago and I wouldn’t be here baking bread right now. I’d be recovering from jet lag on the side of the Atlantic.

I haven’t been writing, but I have been thinking. I almost pity the poor character who will be similarly afflicted soon…

Anyone who knows me realizes that I love verbal irony and employ sarcasm more than is probably really necessary in civilized conversation. I love ironic situations – not so long ago I posted a picture of a tiny litter can that was recently installed on a corner in my neighborhood where piles of trash are dumped every day in my Squash Blossom blog. The litter can is often empty while trash is heaped high on the ground beneath it.

I also appreciate irony in literature or movies. I love when a couple discovers the depth of their love by the sacrifices they each make for the other, such as in The Gift of the Maji or Romeo and Juliet. And it was ironic when after spending all that time and energy battling the fish in The Old Man and the Sea, when the Santiago finally subdued the fish and brought it to shore it had been consumed en route by sharks.

Turns out I don’t appreciate irony so much in real life however.

It’s a fine example of cosmic irony that I have managed to avoid contracting chicken pox for my entire life and come down with it this week, days before I am due to leave on my summer holiday — when I was planning on finally getting a vaccination. Sitting here itchy, alone and frustrated I fail to find any real amusement or satisfaction in the situation, ironic or not.

Just goes to show what procrastinating gets you.

I am grounded by my doctor and the airline for at least a week and have been told that I cannot circulate in the world (think Typhoid Mary) or eat chocolate or strawberries because they will inflame the itchiness. This goes beyond just simply irony and verges on cruel.

But I suppose I’m not the only one who’s ever discovered that irony isn’t always amusing.

I really really planned to sit down and do some writing yesterday and today, but you know what they say about the best laid plans. Yesterday? I have no real excuse except that I found it hard to get back in the mood after taking the weekend off. I was having far too much fun playing around on other people’s blogs to stop and do some work of my own.

Today was another matter. You know how it is – you keep putting off all the little chores that you need to do until “later” and then suddenly “later” arrives! My son’s passport will expire in the fall just after his birthday and I suddenly remembered that there are rules about traveling when your passport is within 6 months of expiring. We could have let it go since we will be traveling in and out of the US this summer and apparently that isn’t a problem, but we decided to go ahead and take care of it now. Which meant gathering lots of different paperwork, forms of identification, and a progression of baby pictures proving that this is indeed the same child as the one in the infant photo in his current passport and making a trip down to the embassy.

I don’t know why, but I get unaccountably uptight when I come into contact with bureaucrats. I read instructions and follow them, but I always worry that I’ll have missed *something* and that *something* will cause problems or delays. And because I’m uptight and worried I over-think and hesitate when answering simple questions – which makes me seem suspicious. Which is not something you want to be labeled when in a US embassy (or a border crossing – yes, border patrol officers, customs agents, courthouse clerks – they all affect me the same way)

This morning wasn’t too bad. I had downloaded the application off of the website and had it all ready to go with my other supporting documents in a folder, ready for inspection. Except then we had to wait for about fifteen minutes for our turn and while we were waiting I started to worry that maybe they would give me a hard time because my application form wasn’t actually ORANGE like the ones they had in the rack near the door. What if they turned me away because it wasn’t orange? Would they let me fill out a new one while I stood there or would it have been a wasted trip?

They took my application and I didn’t end up getting frisked or otherwise detained. The new passport should be ready in 10 days, in plenty of time for our vacation travel.

Traveling with two kids under ten – now THAT will be an excuse for not writing!

My neighbor came up to my place a couple of days ago to discuss a quilt she wants to commission from me and while we were talking she asked me a question about making jam — because of my “Martha Stewart ways”.

Those were her exact words.

More appalling than the fact that she was seriously comparing me to Martha Stewart, I actually knew the answer to her question.

I suppose it’s no wonder she sees me as a domestic goddess between the quilting, bread making and now home canning, but I wonder if she’d see me the same way if I gave her a copy of my book? Or would that just reinforce the image since we all know that only sad-sack desperate housewives and other lonely types like romance?

Obviously I’m being sarcastic but it does go to show why it’s tough to live an image down. People see and interpret things how they want to, making things fit the image that they already hold. Even if I did (get drunk enough to) pierce my nose, the likelihood is I wouldn’t be seen as a trendy Bohemian — I’d just be seen as some pathetic middle-aged woman desperately trying to hold on to my youth.

(I’m vain enough to add that I’m not quite middle aged just yet)

Oh well. At the end of the day, I know who I am and what I am about. And at least that lets me off the hook for piercing my nose…