Free-for-All

In Ancient Egypt

Posted on by Beth Hull

Sometimes Z asks for a tried and true favorite for her nighttime lullaby. “Loch Lomond,” “All the Pretty Little Horses,” and “Ally Bally” are popular right now. For awhile it had to be “O Holy Night,” sung about four or five times. But occasionally she’ll throw me a loop, and request a song about a hawk, or, in this case, ancient Egypt.

So if there are any “real” musicians out there, just stop now. I don’t know what the heck I’m doing with this. Eleven years of piano lessons taught me how to read and play music, not write it. I took major liberties with putting the measures together, and wasn’t sure a treble clef was needed at all. There’re, what, two measures that actually need that extra range, but, whatever. It’s a home-grown lullaby, plunked out on my ancient, out-of-tune piano.

Except, I might have unconsciously stolen the tune, so if anyone recognizes it, please let me know. I know the lyrics are for sure my own (and so proud of them I am! Notice the “you’ll be happy if you go to sleep” subtext. Lullabies: my favorite form of propaganda, after cautionary tales of my own invention).

Oh, also, assume that if you don’t see a note there, it’s a “rest.” Because, frankly, after scribbling and erasing and erasing again, I can’t be freakin’ bothered. And I just realized I misspelled “lullabies” on the music. That’s it. No more apologies.

And finally, if you’ve written a lullaby for your kid/niece/nephew/small friend/whoever, I’d love to hear it/read it/play it/sing it to my Z. So let me know!

Le Weekend

Posted on by Beth Hull

If you happen to be in the bay area this weekend, you might see me climbing up out of the car to surf on the roof, a la Teen Wolf.

Or maybe I’ll be reclining on the beach somewhere, reading a book.

Whatever I’m doing, I will be SLEEPING IN. Husband, too, so I won’t even have to feel guilty about sleeping in!

Yes, our daughter just turned three, and this is our first weekend alone together. We’ve had some dates, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but I think I can count them on my fingers and toes. So this, a whole weekend?! Two nights?! I can barely stand it.

I thought, surely, we are the last of the parents with kids Z’s age to embark on the Big Weekend Away. However, Husband has shared with me tales of parents with six-year-olds and eight-year-olds who still haven’t escaped. If I had one word of advice for those parents, it would be this: Run. Okay, actually, it would be Plan. And have a sucker grandparent nearby to take over. Even the simple act of planning this (and believe me, our planning hasn’t gone very far – we’ve reserved a room and that’s it) has done wonders for my morale.

Some other day I will have to post about my blatant and joyful misuse and overuse of parentheses.

Right now I wanna get on the road.

17 Days

Posted on by Beth Hull

On August 22nd, I hope to begin a new morning routine. It will go something like this:

6:30. Start to wake up.

7:00. Be out of bed (or else). Begin fixing breakfast.

7:45. Finish eating breakfast (at this point, I will have been finished with my peanut butter on toast and will have been avidly watching Z eat her two eggs, toast, bowl of yogurt and fruit, and glass of orange juice) (whoops, no I won’t. I keep forgetting I’m going to have to pack a lunch for her. Weird! So I’ll be throwing wholesome, handcrafted cuisine into a lunchbox). Brush teeth, wash faces (mine & Z’s). Get Z dressed.

8:05. Leave house.

8:15. Here’s where it gets interesting. Drop Z off at preschool. She will either a) cry or b) completely ignore me. I will either a) cry or b) speed home, shouting Huzzah! at every corner. Maybe it’ll be a little of both.

8:30. Hop on the elliptical trainer. (Or do Just Dance on the Wii, or, ugh, the 30 Day Shred.)

9:15. Shower.

9:30. Write!

Now, 9:30 needs some classifying. It isn’t as easy as it sounds. Because the world is full of distractions. So, at 9:30 I will write fiction. Not blog posts. Not emails. Not letters to friends. Not Twitter or Facebook updates. Not treatises on how I am going to write just as soon as I X, Y, Z. And Definitely Not Play Mahjong Titans.

11:15. Email, blog, Twitter, Facebook.

11:45. Leave to pick up Z at school.

Believe me when I say I am very much looking forward to letting the world know how this works out. Only 17 days!

The Giant Red Spider of DOOM

Posted on by Beth Hull

Those in our studio audience who would like to explore the issue of co-existing with insane arachnids further may enjoy…

  • A recent blog post about the karma of bug killing
  • Two images I found of the actual Giant Red Spider of Doom. You may think that my sketched renderings and the photographs have little in common. I would like to point out that my sketch is a far more accurate depiction of the fear and monstrosity of the creature. (Okay, so I was going to find a bigger picture of it, but just going to the website was seriously freaking me out. Toes curling, wishing I had shoes on, stomach all oogly-boogly. You’ll just have to click the photo for it.)
  • The following map of known sightings of the Giant Red Spider of Doom within my sleeping cabin. Notice each interloper’s proximity to important spaces – my side of the family bed (of pain), and the towel rack in the bathroom:

Writer’s Group

Posted on by Beth Hull

One of my favorite Z stories is how she asked me to play picnic with her one morning. She’d arranged all the plastic and wooden “food” on a blanket on the floor, and she’d enlisted a plastic Lego box for a little table. So I came in and sat down on the floor, thinking I was doing her a huge favor, taking time from cleaning to be a part of this picnic.

I said, “Okay, here I am! I’m ready for the picnic!”

She picked up a throw pillow, set it on her lap, and pretended to type. Then she said, “Just a minute, I have to do something on my computer.”

Color me sheepish.

Our "computers." They never get viruses or need updates. In fact, the green one still works after Z's diaper leaked on it, although it is a bit lumpy from the washing machine.

Another time, I was rushing to get a plate of vegetables together to bring to a potluck/schmooze for SCBWI. Z informed me that she was going to her own writer’s group, and she was bringing marshmallows.

And today, she asked me if I wanted to go to writer’s group with her. Of course I said yes. So I had to get in our “car” (the couch) and let her drive us there (after closing the car doors and buckling up our safety belts first). Then we got out. She gave me a throw pillow, and took one for herself, and we “typed.” I asked her what she was writing, and she said, “How are you, Boo BOO!” She asked me what I was writing, and I told her I was writing about Owly Fowly (Owly Fowly is a character we made up together, who features in many of our stories).

Then we got back into our car, buckled up and closed the doors, and Z drove us home.

Someday, maybe we’ll be in a real writer’s group together. But for now, this is real enough.