Drama-rama

So I sent Kid 1 on a 3-day school trip to a Shakespeare competition and drama workshop (just in case we need a little more drama around here*). She took my cell phone** which she used frequently, and her copy of Les Miserables, which she looked at for possibly 2 pages. She rode hours on a bus with friends of both the female and male persuasion (gulp). She saw a production of AIDA. Here is her review:

"I had awesomeness chills."

She reports that she sat there with her mouth open for the entire show. There were fireworks. Amazing dancing. Music to bring tears to her eyes. There was a waterfall ON STAGE. Awesomeness chills, indeed.

She also saw MacBeth and a show called "The Complete Works of Shakespeare, Abridged***", and can throw out names like Othello and Desdemona at will. How cute is that? For a nerd like me, excellent.

So Hooray for safe returns of firstborn children. Hooray for exposure to the arts. Hooray for stretching and growing and having dreams and goals. Hooray for kids who love the Theatre (because sometimes it's just cooler to spell it that way).

* Clearly, we do.

** Because she doesn't have one of her own - yes, I am the world's meanest Mom.

*** Have I mentioned that I wrote something very like that for my WIP? Funny. The coincidence, not so much my WIP. Yet.

Kinder, Gentler Kids' Stories

Kid 4, home from Kindergarten, has just finished reading me a story (we call this homework). He read the library book he checked out from school. It's "3 Little Pigs" - a version from the early 70s. He's reading along, and here comes the wolf to the first little pig. He huffs, puffs, blows and ... eats the pig up.

Kid 4's eyes widen, his voice softens in wonder, and he asks, with half a grin, "Did you hear that. Mom? He ate the pig. I bet I know what's going to happen next!" He was terribly entertained by this more grisly version. Every page brought that half-scandalized, half-amused face, along with that adorable "I bet I can guess..."

Something has happened (and I am generally for it) to soften our little kids' stories. We feed our kids fairy tales and fables and legends, but the early versions (like Brothers Grimm) are beastly. Witches dance themselves to death in hot iron shoes. Mermaids turn to sea-foam. Princes' eyes are gouged out by rogue brambles. There is wholesale death and destruction on every page.

This is children's literature? These are the stories we read them... before they sleep? I am glad and grateful for the softening of kids' stories. I even prefer the cheesy Disney versions of the classic tales, because they have songs. And we all know how I feel about songs. Yay. Not that I think we have to shelter our kids from all issues. There are things they should feel curious about, and there's no safer place to explore that curiosity than in a book. But. But. I choose to keep them as young as possible for as long as possible. So bring on the gentle books.

Let it Go? Go Where?

Sometimes there's a lot to say. And sometimes there's nothing to say. And sometimes, there's so much I want to say that it gets caught in that place in the back of my throat and threatens to choke me, so I don't want to let it out, and it seems like maybe there's nothing to say after all.

Today I'm thinking a little about letting go. Do you ever worry that if you let go a little, you'll lose your grip entirely? That is rawther* terrifying to me. And sometimes I think I can do it, the loosening up, and then I can actually see things slipping away.

I work and struggle and fight to keep grips on the things that matter. Every day. And maybe I hold on too tight, and maybe I pinch and choke a little. But better to pinch a little than to see it all float away.

*Remember Eloise? The picture book, not the cleaning-advice lady.

The List

It's creeping up on me - this weekend, when so many things are my responsibility, and I am prepared for NONE of them. I'm dabbling in the art of overscheduling myself this week, and it appears that I'm capable. I can create too much junk for me. But it's all good junk (and so I guess I need a new word).

My List of things to do (including blogging, because - duh!) is whittling down this morning, and some things have to be put aside. And some things that I've procrastinated for far too long have to shoot to the top of The List and be dealt with NOW NOW NOW.

Tomorrow, though, there's only one thing on my calendar. The rest of that empty space is a thrill to me, I can admit. Even though the things this week is full of are great, and important, and even fun, it turns out that I am that girl who would rather have nothing to do. The girl who would rather read a book than host a luncheon. Who would rather take a bath than volunteer at school. The girl who would rather make a family dinner than go to a meeting, rather haul kids around than get a job, rather write than perform for a crowd.

But for this week (minus beautiful, beautiful tomorrow) I will do those other things. With a smile. And I'll be glad to do them. And then, after it's over, I'll remember how to say "no, thank you" and be here, home, at the computer, relearning how to do that thing I love. That creative thing where words come pouring out of my fingertips and fill pages with giggles and sometimes tears. That thing that's going back on the top of The List.

Book Fair

It's elementary school book fair time again. This should fill my heart with joy, you know? And it does, really. I'm excited to spend time with the kiddos, talking about good books and getting them excited about reading.

A few books on the shelves are really great. And then there are a whole lot of books that fit nicely into this category: This has been on the shelf and in our warehouse for several years and we can't sell it; can you? You know the ones, right? The Book 4 in a six-book series. The one written by a famous person who is not a writer. Anything with (bless their hearts) Troy and Gabriella on the cover.

If we could request, I'd fill the shelves with quality. Funny books (all Mo, all the time, and I'm diving headfirst into the Campfire Weenies, and loving it) and historical books (anything by Karen Cushman) and multi-cultural books (Christopher Paul Curtis, anyone?) and serious books (why does Scholastic not sell The Book Thief?). I'd give the kids anything and everything by Kate DiCamillo (my favorite for true diversity - she can do it all, I'm convinced). I'd bring out the classics (Roald Dahl in all his glory, Dr. Seuss, Noel Streatfeild, Kevin Henkes, Beverly Cleary and beyond).

What would you want to see at your kids' book fair? (I have an entirely different list for what I'd expect at Jr. High and High School. 'Nother Post.)

Lazy Me

Remember relaxing?

I do. I'm actually really, really good at it. I regularly read a book in the afternoon (that's called RESEARCH, friends). Husband and I watch a lot of movies. We play games with the kids. We go on meandering walks.

What we don't do well around here (much to the dismay of Kid 1) is sleep in. We have everyone up-and-at-it by 6:30 every day. And I like to have things accomplished by then, because, well, you know. For the next 2 hours it's all about making the breakfast and packing the bags and practicing and finding socks and helmets and biology reports and the Good Elastics.

But tomorrow? There's no reason for me to be out of bed before 9:00. Nine. O. Clock. I'm going to try it. I'm going to try to sleep in. I'm not sick. I'm not even tired. I'm not overworked (as if that were even a conceivable possibility in my world). I'm just curious. I wonder if I can do it.

I'll report back, you know, in case anyone cares. I'll consider it a success if I'm still eyes-closed at seven-thirty. It could happen.

Maybe.

Want to See?

I have a little something to show you.

Want to see?

It's new. It's colorful. It's roughly book-shaped:

There's a lot to think about with a book cover. It's scary territory for me, partly because I have very little (that means "no") control over it. Partly because it matters SO SO SO much. And partly because I want to love it. I want to adore my covers. I want to see them and be unable to control my grinning.

So, here it is.

I am grinning.

(The artist responsible for putting this together is Sheryl. She has my undying devotion, as I'll tell her just as soon as we ever meet.)