Duplos & Cheerios

Posted on by Beth Hull

A Wednesday Momming-Around Entry

As Z has grown, so has her tolerance of (I won’t say “joy in” because that’s too much of a stretch) independent play. I think I got a full hour of computer time here in our basement office yesterday, while Z shuffled around her Duplo collection, “read” a couple of books, and only once or twice pestered me to see pictures of “Wab” (Rob, her godfather) on the computer.

While she tolerates playing on her own, I revel in this time, because while it isn’t solitude, it’s as close as I’m going to get until she goes to school and hypothetical Number Two (who I am banking on being a big fan of sleep) takes marathon naps.

At the same time, Mommy-Guilt is starting to rear its ugly, multifaceted head and roar at me that I’m taking advantage of my daughter’s new-found independence. I’m selfishly checking email, critiquing work for other writers, and, if I feel gutsy and Z is particularly focused on her Duplos, working in some last revisions to Savage Autumn.

How much independent play is too much? I know it isn’t my job to talk to her every second of every waking moment, and I know that it’s good for her to know how to play by herself. Do I interrupt that play (and my hard-earned separation from her–I am not lying when I say she had to be ON me 24/7 until she was about six months old) to read to her, take her outside, invent trips to the store so we can get out of the house?

Right now I’m thinking an hour is good for both of us, unless she tells me otherwise–and believe me, she will. Loud and clear. I can really use that hour. Lately I feel as if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with writing groups, this blog (which I just cut down to three days a week), and various other things-going-on.

Well, apparently I’m not hurting her chances of life joy. I just came out of my writing reverie to hear her say, “hap-py, hap-py!” as she hurled the Duplo box lid across the basement floor. Guess we’re doing okay, then.

Sea Change

Posted on by Beth Hull

Full fathom five, thy father lies,

Of his bones are coral made,

Those were pearls that were his eyes,

Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change,

Into something rich and strange…

(Shakespeare, The Tempest)

It isn’t my own poem, but it counts for Poetry Monday. Things are changing. I sense my own sea change. I don’t know what the result will be, but I’m going to wait and find out.

This blog is changing, too. Not much, but I’m going to switch from five posts per week to three. My energy can be redirected towards my novel-writing. Since so much of what I write in here is nonsense anyway, I don’t think it’ll be too much of a problem! The new schedule will be:

Monday: Book Review

Wednesday: Momming Around

Friday: Free-for-All

The only reason I don’t have this change in effect for today is that I don’t have a book review ready! I was too busy reading–since Friday I have read Catching Fire (Suzanne Collins), Wake (Lisa McMann), and Fade (Lisa McMann). I’d say reading three novels in three days was a big deal, except the McMann books took all of two hours apiece. Short paragraphs, I guess.

We’ll see what the week brings….

Sequoia Weeds

Posted on by Beth Hull

As promised, a photo of my mini-garden. It is confined to planter boxes for the time being, but we have plans to expand into the back lawn.

Hello salad!

That’s the flattering angle of my “garden.” From the other direction, scary. The arugula is just screaming for attention–it’s in the far planter, crowded, insisting on space, and stealing it from the stunted beets and the three sickly soybean plants.

At dinner last night I asked Husband if he thought it was the coolest thing in the world that I can step into the back yard and “pick” our salad just before we eat it. For him, the novelty wore off after the first night. For me, it never gets old. I look at the bright green things in my salad bowl and just marvel at how these used to be tiny seeds. I have loved them. Like a proud parent, I even made phone calls to friends and family when they sprouted.

I’ve been spending so much of my attention on these two planter boxes (and the failed experiments of container lettuce) that I neglected the front and side yards. Now they are SCARY.

Monster Weed

I don’t think this photo can really get my point across. This is only a small cross-section of one-eighth of the tree-sized weed growing in the side yard. It’s–really–big. Well, it was. And it has friends–many friends. And it had these prickly leaves (hence the heavy work gloves…oh, who am I kidding–I’m freaked out about spiders and all kinds of bugs and always wear gloves when I work in the yard).

The gardening stuff gives me something else to think about. This week had a downer (the agent formerly interested in Savage Autumn sent an impersonal r e j e c t i o n letter), and an upper (SA made it into the second round of the ABNA contest). And I’m starting to really think about the next book, which is so much fun, but my brain needs a break sometimes, and it needs to get outside.

Well, the sequel to The Hunger Games awaits. So glad the weekend starts tomorrow!

Poo To Do

Posted on by Beth Hull

I really don’t see how this would be of interest to anyone except myself, but my to-do list (all forms of it updated, categorized, fretted over, and so on, since high school) is on my mind right now, so I think I’ll work with it.

Also, I’m sorry yesterday’s entry didn’t show up until late; I hit the “Save Draft” button instead of the “Schedule [to publish]” button. It’s better than today’s entry, so you could just read that instead. Really.

Poo To Do:

1) read and comment on Ana’s manuscript

2) read and comment on writing for the Sacramento Writers Group (it isn’t posted yet, but since I’m the person who posts them, I can get the head start I desperately need in order to procrastinate until the last minute)

3) rough character sketches for The Black City. Can I please, tonight, NOT get bogged down browsing through 100,001 Baby Names while selecting monikers for my invented people?

4) pick up library books on hold. They haven’t arrived yet, but they should soon. One book I’m especially excited about it Catching Fire, the sequel to The Hunger Games. No, I’m not obsessively checking and re-checking my library account. Nope, I haven’t memorized my 14-digit library account number because I’ve been typing it in so often. No, I didn’t actually pack Z up and take her to the library to investigate my holds status in person.

5) stop lying

6) turn Z’s car seat around so she isn’t scrunched up like a jack-in-the-box during our many trips to the library

7) pick some lettuce to make a salad for dinner tonight. LOVING my mini-garden. I’ll post a picture on Friday.

8 ) replace batteries in sound monitor for Z’s room

9) figure out what to write for blog post tomorrow–I need to compose these in my mind early (you think all this witticism shows up on the fly? Oh, no: “…and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments…I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.” -Mr. Collins, Pride and Prejudice)

10) talk to Husband about painting bedroom walls

11) clip back the blackened, frost-killed bush in front of the bathroom window–there’s green in there somewhere–it’ll make it!

12) check, re-check, and check again the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards site to see if my novel made the first cut. For the first cut they just read the pitches. You can click here to read mine.

There’s more, of course. But I’ve gotta go, need to check that ABNA site again.

Number Two

Posted on by Beth Hull

Number Two is a popular topic. It’s talked of between Husband and me, amongst all the play group moms, with the grandparents. Who has one, who wants one, who–oops!–made one accidentally.

It’s really too bad that my euphemism for a second child is also the euphemism for defecation. The two are very separate in my mind…mostly.

The thing is, I finally feel like I’ve gotten a handle on this whole being-a-mother thing. On a good day, that is. Only on a very good day. I’m tired all the time, still don’t get enough personal space or enough time to write, and frankly, I’m a very cranky person. Adding a new baby into the mix sounds like a batch of the terrible pumpkin bread I made one time when I mistook the teaspoon abbreviation for tablespoon on the recipe and put in way more baking soda than required. You see? More is not necessarily better.

On the other hand, I loved being pregnant. And this isn’t as uncommon as you might think. What’s not to love about being huge with purpose and able to eat pretty much everything in sight? There’s a surprise inside, a little being growing, just by virtue of your own existence. For awhile, you are not one, but two. I loved the head trip of the whole experience, not to mention the Dairy Queen trips. (Yes I know ice cream is not the best fuel for growing a little body, but try telling me that when I’m in the third trimester and see if you keep your limbs.)

On the third hand (the one I took from you when you suggested I back off on the Dairy Queen Blizzards), Z could totally use a little playmate. A) I could get away with even more slacker-mom time, and B) her demeanor just begs for more people, all the time. She’s a little extrovert. I’m still puzzling over where she got that personality disorder…er, I mean…trait.

And on the fourth hand (the one I took from Husband when he couldn’t drive me to Dairy Queen that one time, so I had to drive myself and stand in line by my pregnant self and feel very self-conscious of what a bad mom-to-be I was), Number Two can be anybody. With my luck, Number Two will sleep even less than Z does. And s/he could scream even more, if that’s humanly possible. While I dread it now, I would feel the same as I do with Z. She’s aggravating, sure, but I’d never send her back. And that’s how it’ll be with another child…if Husband ever talks me into Number Two.