Let's Make A Deal

Bargaining with babies is hard. I thought the Schmidtlets and I had a deal: no learning to crawl until after I turned in my revision.

The Wild Imp had other ideas. And he is fast.

Baby A isn't yet crawling, but he's still mobile: rolling around like a top, scooting backward across the room, and calling: "Mama. MAMA. MAAAAAAMMAAAAA," if I dare to leave his sight. Better yet, the little wombat would like me to constantly be within reach of his chubby little paws.

Chasing and clutching aren't the best revision-companions. But that's what PEI was for. That's what the hours between bedtime and sunrise are for.

And I finished last Thursday.

Pressed *Send* on the e-mail to my editor – and then, before I could even gulp a panicked breath or sigh in relief:

THUNDER.

POWER LOSS

THE WAILS OF TWO WOKEN NAPPERS

Have I mentioned that one of the major threads in my book is superstition?

My first thought was one very like my main character, Mia, would have had: That was a very bad sign.

Later, after the twins had been soothed, the power restored, and my confidence petted by some Twitter support, I revised my thinking: That was a very good sign – if the power had gone out even a minute sooner, I would've been prevented from sending.

And we all know how little I like to wait.

Apparently the Schmidtlets have inherited that trait from me: The Imp is extremely IMPatient, and Baby A is currently calling my name.  

Maybe we'll strike a new bargain: Ten more minutes of naptime in exchange for peaches at every meal.

*goes to buy peaches in bulk*

Prince Edward Island - A Photo Perspective

Growing up, I summered in the land of Anne of Green Gables and Gilbert *heart-a-flutter* Blythe.

As a grown up, I don't get up there nearly as often as I'd like. For one thing, I now live six hours farther from the island. That's six hours on top of the TWELVE hour drive from my parents' house in Massachusetts -- where I'm sitting right now typing this post-vacation.

Our last trip was two years ago -- and what a difference those years have made:

Beach naps:

 2009

 2011

 Hammock Time

 2009

 2011

Beach Walks

2009

2011

2011

Packing:

Packing the car 2009

Actually, I don't have a picture of the car all packed this year. Probably because I was too busy holding two babies and checking off All The Important Items on our many, many travel lists while St.Matt scrambled around like a packing genius and got All The Important Items to fit. 

Just picture mounds of stuff strategically packed. And me sitting in the backseat between two carseats singing songs, waving toys, and being generally entertaining while St.Matt chauffeurs and navigates. For. Twelve. Hours.

Is it next summer yet? I can't wait to go back...

Procrasti-baking

These are too fun to be the product of Stress-Baking.  

Rice Krispie Cake Batter Treats - recipe found HERE

Maybe they're Procrastination Treats? We leave for two weeks of vacation tomorrow –- a working vacation for me, since my revision is due at the end of the month – and I'm not packed. I haven't packed for the boys yet either.

Every time I look around our house, I can't help but feel like they twins need All The Things. And then I look at our car and panic.

Did I mention we'll be spending about 20 hours in that car over the next few days?

*panics*

And my head is totally in the Revision Cave and doesn't want to stop and think about whether or not we've packed the boys' sound machine or laundry detergent.

It's such a good thing I'm married to a saint. He not only remembers these things, but also that I have library books due before we get back, the boys' vitamin prescriptions needs to be refilled, and the memory card on the camera needs to be emptied.

AND, he went and photocopied my line edits last night. Because, let's face it, it's me – things just happen, and a backup copy never hurt.

So, nope, I'm changing my mind again. They're not Stress-Baking, or Procrastination Treats, they're Gratitude Goodies. I am so grateful his head's on straight when mine isn't.

***Also, I'm noticing a decidedly sugar-y theme to my posts lately – I swear I eat vegetables, too. Pinky promise***

A SWEET Winner

The wonderful thing about being at a writing retreat set in a hunting lodge in the middle of the woods is… well, almost everything. There's great company, time and space to write, conversations that fuel creativity, discussion that challenge and stretch, and beaucoup laughter.

The downside of being at a writing retreat set at a hunting lodge in the middle of the woods was missing the Schmidlets. And, that every time someone entered my SWEET Giveaway, I had a new candy craving and no way to satisfy it.

·      Whoppers & Bottle Caps! I hadn't thought about them in years.

·      Twix! I used to try and convince my mother those weren't candy, but a form of granola bar.

·      Milk Duds! Delicious and a handy way to tear out fillings.

·      Licorice! I always bite the ends off Twizzlers & use them as a straw. Tasty & functional.

·      M&M's are clearly the chocolate version of Revision Skittles – Wasabi peas are the healthy version.

·      Peanut Butter Cups! I recently heard that these can be used to make S'mores – have any of you tried this? I need to ASAP.

·      Kit Kat, Almond Joy and Heath lovers – I challenge you to try S'mores with your candies of choice too – make sure to report back to me with your results.

·      And gummy-lovers (both sour and not), you people are my tribe. Let's all get together and ruin our teeth with chewy deliciousness.

Initially I had big fancy-pants plans about how I would choose a winner – writing all the numbers on gumballs and then filming the winning one coming out of the gumball machine.

But we don't have a gumball machine, I'm still in my pajamas, and am quite busy making up four days of Schmidtlet-snuggles. So, I defaulted to a random number generator.

Without further ado – the winner is: Loralie! 

Rock your Revision Skittle Boombox with pride – I highly encourage recreations of the scene from Say Anything.

Thanks, everyone, for entering and stay sweet!

A SWEET Giveaway

There are a few awesome things on my desk right now.

1)   My Edit Letter! I think this makes it official. Well, MORE official. It also makes my head spin in the very best of ways.

2)   A bag of Revision Skittles  – No, I'm not sharing. I NEED these.

3)   This fabulous Revision Skittle boombox. 

 

      And this could be yours. Well, not this one, it's mine.  But there's another one downstairs still in its box that could have your name on it.

Music plays a large part in Send Me A Sign, and Revision Skittles played a large part in my writing of it – it seems only fitting that I should pair the two and give one of these away.

The boombox is made by Terracycle  – and this is their description:

"Groove greener with this portable boombox made with up to 80% recycled materials. With its 3.5mm universal plug for you can play music from your iPod, iPhone, MP3 player, laptop, or computer. Batteries not required."

To enter – leave a comment below where you list YOUR favorite candy.

I leave tomorrow at early o'clock for the Goldblatt Agency retreat – aka Camp Barry – and let's just say that I'm having some major separation-from-Schmidtlet anxiety. Cheer me up by entering.

I'll leave the contest open until I get back and will draw a winner on Monday.

Good luck and stay sweet!

Author Interview -- Victoria Schwab

Yup, those are bags of books.

Today I'm so excited to share my interview with Victoria Schwab. Not only is V a talented writer, I'm also lucky enough to call her my friend. *cues the chorus of "awwwww"*

Her book, THE NEAR WITCH, will finally be in bookstores in 10 short days. Read her answers below, and then go pre-order a copy for yourself -- better yet, just camp out at a bookstore. I'm sure they won't mind if you arrive now and don't leave until August 2nd...


1) You just spent a few months abroad, how did a change in scenery and routine affect your writing habits?

--It changed everything! I have always been an evening writer, haunting coffee shops, and suddenly I found myself in the suburbs of Liverpool, where the last café closed at 6pm, and the buses stopped running into the city center. I had to stay at home, and home was a house with eight other people! I had to become a morning writer, an afternoon writing, an anytime-I-can-focus writer.

2) I love the character names in NEAR WITCH. How did you come up with Wren, Cole and Lexi and the others?

--Names are, for me, foundational. I can't start seriously writing until I know a character's name, and once they have a name, I hate having to change it. Some names just kind of...come with the character, but others take days, weeks, to get right. Lexi came that way, as did Wren, I simply heard them having a conversation, and knew what they would call each other. But Cole was trickier. His a plot-based name, as people will see when reading. In fact, it's not even his real name.

3) If the local sub/hoagie/whatever-they-call-them in Nashville shop were to create a Nearwich what would be on it?

--Hahahahahah. Best question ever. A Nearwich would be made with a dense, hearty bread, the kind Lexi's mother makes, chicken, some moor berry jam, garnished with greens from Wren's little garden by the house. It might be held together by a single crow feather instead of a pick, and each sandwich would come, happy-meal-style, with a token from Magda and Dreska, a little pouch of herbs or a sticks-and-stone bird.

4) What has been the most fulfilling part of your author journey?

--The best part has been when someone reads, and not only enjoys the book (that's always heart-warming), but GETS it, gets exactly what I'm doing, connects with characters and reads the style for what it is. The setting is a player, the secondaries are sketched out, the feel is fairy tale vague, and it's all intentional. So when someone reads and GETS that, and loves it, it makes every other harder part of this journey worth it.

5) The scariest?

--Scary and thrilling go hand in hand some times, like when I learn someone has gotten the ARC, or that they're reading (especially when it's a friend or another author). And scary and stressful go hand in hand, like when I get a bad review, and am temporarily convinced that everyone will read it and think "Thank god I didn't pick that one up" (which they can't yet, because it's not out, but they can pull it from their to-read list). But I try to remember that reviews, the good and bad, are all part of the game I want to play. You can't be a published author without being published, and available, and when you put work out there, you're putting it out there to be enjoyed, and judged.

6) What are you going to do on release day? (I hope this answer involves lots of cupcakes and confetti.)

--Oh man, I honestly have NO idea. Probably pack! The Asheville to Nashville Tour starts the day after release, and I leave for NC at 8AM on the 3rd, so the 2nd will be equal parts FLAIL, SQUEEE, CUPCAKE, and DO I HAVE EVERYTHING?

7) What is your good luck charm?

--My good luck charm is actually a locket given to me by friend and fabulous author Leah Clifford (A TOUCH MORTAL). I flew up to visit her in Ohio last fall, and she was wearing this necklace, the locket of which was gorgeous, and looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. It had a tree, and a crow, and a small gem. And I told her it was lovely, and so "Near." She looked down at it and then back at me, and said, "You're right," and took it off and gave it to me. It turned out she'd ordered a different necklace, and been sent that one by mistake, and she'd been wearing it for awhile, waiting for the right person to give it to.

Have you pre-ordered yet? Or packed your bag for that bookstore camp-out?  WHAT are you waiting for?!

10 Minutes, 8 Tips -- Advice for Writers

Today I had the opportunity to participate in the Panel of Possibility for my local group of National Writing Project fellows.

It was only three years ago that I was sitting in their seats, squirming in the overly air-conditioned room. And squirming because I always squirm when I have to sit still for too long.

They've spent six weeks together, writing, laughing, getting scolded for whispering and passing notes (or was that just me?) and learning how to be better writing instructors for their students.

"Live like a writer" was something that we bandied about when I was a member of the Writer's Institute, but what does that even mean? Being open to inspiration? Taking time to write each day? Being willing to forgo sleep, laundry, bathing to get the words on the page just-right?

My job today was to talk about my path to publication and the opportunities that are available to them post-Institute.

In. Ten. Minutes.

Ten.

Clearly this wasn't going to be comprehensive. Or even more than puddle-deep coverage. And I had some extra incentives to keep it concise: I brought the twins with me and knew at any moment they could morph from adorable angels to adorable imps.  

Even in a snack-sized serving, I wanted to make sure my talk was helpful.  So I brought a handout. I love a good handout, don't you?  I love a bad handout, too, because then if the speaker is boring, he or she has provided me with the prefect space for doodling or writing notes—which will hopefully keep me from getting scolded for whispering.

In ten minutes – or 8 steps, here are my suggestions for pushing your writing further:

1)    Write. Make it a habit. Do it daily. Don't make excuses or allowances for anything that comes between you and putting words on the page. If you're not doing this, the rest doesn't matter.

2)    Critique Groups  – Writing isn't finished when you type the end.  Give yourself a pat on the back, take a break, bathe, then revise. When you've finished revising, revise again. Repeat. When the idea of reading your own words one more time makes you want to vomit, it's time to borrow someone else's eyes and judgment. Joining a critique group or finding a critique partner is invaluable. Take your time to find the right fit – not everyone's opinion, writing or critiquing style will be a match for your own.

3)    SCBWI – (Society of Children's Book Writers & Illustrators) consider joining a professional organization. They do a great job of hosting local and national conferences. Their newsletters and website are full of great information.

4)    Conferences – SCBWI mentioned above, but there are many others. Look around online to find one that meets your needs.

5)    Online support – A virtual cheering squad, a place to find answers, and to learn from others' journeys. A few to get you started: Verla Kay Blue Boards, Absolute Write Water Cooler, Query Tracker

6)    Educate yourself – if you decide to take the next step and pursue publication, take the time to do your research. Nothing burns bridges with potential agents or editors faster than committing a faux pas that could've been prevented with a quick google. I recommend following a variety of industry blogs.

7)    Get involved with the literary community – go to author signings and book events. Reach book festivals in the closest towns and cities. Get on the local school's visiting author committee and look for other ways to bring authors into your classroom or community (check out: http://www.katemessner.com/authors-who-skype-with-classes-book-clubs-for-free/ )

8)    Read. Often. Widely. Prolifically. "If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write." – Stephen King. 

Which step resonates the most with you? What other advice would you give writers who are considering commencing a path to publication?

Thanks For The Memories

Once upon a time I opened a book and read the words Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much and fell in love.

Maybe not with the opening line, and certainly not with those wretched Dursleys, but it was still the moment that marked one of my great book romances. I, like so many, many other readers, fell head over heels, why-can't-this-be-real, I-want-a-wand, where-is-my-acceptance-letter-to-Hogwarts in love with the world that J.K. Rowling created on her pages.

It's a world that's far too big to be contained between those book covers – and as the curtain opens on the last of the movies, I find myself (like so many other Potterphiles) reminiscing about what the books have meant to me.

* After years of bedtime stories and me passing books down to him, these were the first books my baby brother shared up with me. He passed away five years ago and a few of my copies are even more beloved because they were his first.

* These were the first books I shared with St. Matt – truthfully, I demanded he read the first one. He required no coercion for the rest of the series. They were also the first books that I made him take away and hide after Just one more chapter, A few more pages, and I'm going to set a timer and I'll stop reading when it goes off all failed to get me out of the book and onto my homework.

* When the first movie came out during my sophomore year in college I sweet-talked the local grocery store into giving us their Harry Potter / Coke display. The thing was amazing: the windows in Hogwarts lit up, Hedwig's wings flapped. It was also massive – at least five feet tall and four feet across. Despite living in a shoebox of a dorm room, I kept it all year.

* The photo above is from the party I had before the first movie – I forced a group of friends -- half who hadn't read the book-- to play Harry Potter Clue and trivia. I awarded prizes. We had cake -- which was supposed to have a Hogwarts decal, but ended up reading "Happy Birthday, Harry Potter" instead. It was still delicious.

 

* Senior year in college St. Matt, my best friend, and I absconded to London for a long weekend around Halloween. St.Matt was thrilled by the James Bond display at Harrods. J-bean loved the theater. The highlight of the trip for me was standing in Leicester Square in the freezing cold for hours watching the actors arrive for the world premiere of Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets.

* On one of the boys' first nights home, as we rocked and read them picture books, St. Matt looked over Baby B's head and asked, "So, how much older do they have to be before we can read then Harry Potter?"

I'm already ticklish with anticipation of exploring these stories all over again – getting to see them as new through their eyes.

What are some of YOUR Harry Potter memories?

Someone Please Hide My Ove-Glove

 I must not make muffins. I must not make muffins. NO MUFFINS, TIFFANY.

I'm meeting my stroller posse in about an hour for our 8:30 stroll, and I really, really, really want to mix up a batch of muffins. Maybe chocolate chip. Or apple cinnamon. Or, I know, blueberry using berries from the bushes in our backyard. They'd be delicious.

But I won't.

*sigh*

Hi, my name is Tiffany, and I'm a stress-baker. * Give me some anxiety and I will feed you food made from sugar, love and angst. But mostly sugar.

In the past month, while waiting to announce, waiting on CP notes on my WIP, and now waiting on my edit letter I have made: 3 coffee cakes, 1 peanut butter pie, 1 angel food cake, 2 batches of cinnamon buns, and 2 types of cookies. ** Then I force fed everyone around me.***

Thank goodness for baby food. Steaming, pureeing, and packing up pint-sized portions of fruits and veggies is almost as good as mixing up a batch of snickerdoodles.  I spend so much time cutting and peeling and planning baby meals that I should probably add it as a hobby on Facebook. And, I'm not going to lie, I get an absurd amount of satisfaction out of opening up my fridge and freezer and admiring all the neat rows of colorful glass containers. If the zombie apocalypse happens tomorrow, the boys will still have an ample supply of organic peaches, carrots, zucchini, acorn squash, sweet potato, avocado, pears, apples, banana, spinach, beans and peas.****

Mmmmm, stress tastes like spinach. It's delicious!

Which will come in handy when I begin revisions and naptime becomes Sacred Writing Time instead of What Shall We Cook Today? Time.

Until then I will (try to) resist the urge to make play with sugar and butter. I will hang up my apron, stopper my vanilla and have St. Matt hide my cookie sheets.

NO MUFFINS, TIFFANY.

What do YOU do when you're waiting? No, seriously, leave me a comment and tell you what you do – I could use some alternatives since we've run out of freezer space for baby food.

*St. Matt suggests I amend this to impatient-baker, but I say NO. Impatient-baker doesn't roll off the tongue nearly so well. Some people were just not designed to wait. If God decided to include a half-dose of patience when he created me, who am I to question that?

**And for some unknown reason, my baby weight hasn't just melted right off

***I haven't heard any complaints.

**** Please note that in my version of the apocalypse, we still have electricity. Also note that I am not asking for the apocalypse, I'd prefer that waits until AFTER I get to see SEND ME A SIGN in bookstores.

I'd Like To Thank The Academy...

When I can't sleep at night, or when I'm waiting in line at the grocery store, or on hold with the cell phone company I mentally compose acknowledgement pages. I assume that actors write practice Oscar speeches in much the same way.

It occurred to me the other night – while pacing our bedroom at 1 AM with a teething and not sleeping Baby A – that soon I'll get to write an acknowledgements page for real. And the thought might have made me emit a wee-squee and squeeze him a bit too tight, thus waking him all-the-way up and adding another twenty minutes to my rocking him to sleep.

Of course I spent the time mentally drafting thank yous.

You'll have to wait until next fall (and buy the book) to read my for real acknowledgements with the scores of people who helped me get this far. (I love you all!) BUT – my gratitude-meter from the past seven days is currently tipped to overflowing – I need to acknowledge some of my lovelies or I'll implode from appreciation.

Thank you to:

* Everyone who offered support and congratulations – I did a little dance each time my phone buzzed with a tweet or email or phone call or Facebook post. If I could send you each a cookie and a hug, I would.

* St. Matt!

* Tiffany Emerick – librarian extraordinaire – who had my book on GoodReads within minutes of hearing the news. Thank you for accompanying me to a zillion book events over the past few years and telling me after each one That's going to be you some day.

* Scott Tracey & Courtney Summers – for being my sanity throughout this crazy process and reading countless drafts of my synopsis and bio.

* Emily Hainsworth – For… everything: wearing your lucky shamrock pj's, dog grooming whilst listening to me chatterbox, and the daily refrains of I can't wait until you're an Apocalypsie too.

* And to the Apocalypsies for being so welcoming.

* Team Sparkle for always filling my inbox full of ~*~'s and !!!'s

* Always, always to Joe Monti – the maker of dreams-come-true. Thank you for not putting me in time out for asking Can I announce yet? twelve million and two times.

* … finally, to the Schmidtlets for being ever-ready to participate in celebration dance parties, and for taking an hour-long nap so I had time to write this.

It's a WONDERFUL Thing

When I was a wee imp my father used to tuck in bed at night and sing me to sleep with:

"The wonderful thing about tiggers is tiggers are wonderful things! Their tops are made out of rubber. Their bottoms are made out of springs! They're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy
Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun! But the most wonderful thing about tiggers is I'm the only one"

This bedtime routine often ended with us getting scolded – his choice of lullaby more likely to result in me jumping on the covers than dozing beneath them.

Lately this song has been looping through my head. I swirl and twirl and bounce the Schmidtlets around the house and improvise my own lyrics:

"The wonderful thing about book deals, is book deals are wonderful things…"

We bounce and trounce and flounce and giggle, this modified song amping up to its conclusion:

"And the most wonderful thing about book deals is your momma just got one."

I'm thrilled to announce that Agent Awesome, Joe Monti, has sold my debut novel, a contemporary YA to Emily Easton at Walker Children's for publication in Fall 2012.

When everything's going your way, you have everything to lose.  Or do you?  SEND ME A SIGN is a tragicomedy about Mia Moore, a superstitious 17 year old, who had crafted the perfect senior year – only to watch it collapse around her. This debut will take you on a Magic Eight Ball journey where the outlook appears to be not so good. Does it have a Happily Ever After? I better not tell you now…

I'm so excited to begin working with Emily and to share my book with YOU!

Have I mentioned we're bouncey, bouncey, bouncing?

A Good Life

Yesterday the boys woke up at 4:45. They were fussy all morning, feeding off my own nervous energy.

We were visiting the elementary school where I've taught for the past seven years. My first visit since I left in October to go on bed rest. My first visit with the twins. 

My first visit since resigning last month.

There were many things whirling in my mind: fears of germs, nap schedules, diaper changes, did I remember binks-Winston-Churchill-teething rings-diapers?

But my mind was most focused on how would I feel returning. Would I sit in the parking lot daunted by the eight months that have passed since I crossed that threshold? Would I feel left out, overwhelmed by all the experiences, jokes, and events I've missed while holed up with the twins? Would I remember my students' names? Would I regret my decision? Would it feel like good-bye?

When I actually pulled in the parking lot I didn't pause to feel anything. There was a stroller to unload, two sleepy babies to settle.

And it was school. My school. It was a parking lot I've crossed a thousand times, a front office I automatically pause to chat in.

School was school. It felt like I'd never left, like I could step through the door of room 202, pick up the pen on the SmartBoard and resume teaching where I left off.

Except my students are a whole lot bigger than they were eight months ago.

I loved my job. LOVED it. Adored my colleagues and felt privileged to work with the students. It challenged, inspired, energized and fulfilled me.

I will miss it.

BUT.

This morning the boys slept in, we played, cuddled and lazed around and then went to a playdate with the Schmidtlets still in their pajamas. I drove there grinning and so grateful – I love this life. Today and tomorrow and next week-month-year is a combination snow day and summer vacation.

I am so lucky. So blessed. And so thrilled to be able to stay home and saturate myself in baby love and memory-making and writing.

Asher is giggling in the baby sling while I type this. Brad is napping with Churchill and smiling in his sleep – revealing a spot of spinach I missed when wiping his face after lunch.

When he wakes up we've got a baby dance party scheduled.

I can't think of a better song than this one --

It took me 6 months to realize this?

Writing with infant twins is hard. In other shocking news: water is wet, books contain words, new mothers lack sleep.

Maybe it's that sleep deprivation that kept me from realizing this fact until now. After all, I've had the Schmidtlets for six months.

Everything has changed in that last six months – I can spend hours watching little fingers grasp little noses as they try and get their thumbs in their mouths. Or in each other's mouth. My world fits in the palms of those little hands and I'm wrapped around each of their little fingers. Often literally – they're both very good at clutching my fingers, shirt, and hair.

It's not solely an issue of detangling myself from their grasps, and it's not just a where's the 25^th hour in my day? issue either. It's an escapist one. It's a first draft dilemma.

The revision part of my brain isn't broken. I worked on revisions while I was still in the hospital. But that book is in Agent Extraordinaire's hands.

And I'm faced with blank screens and ideas that need to be translated from thought bubbles to words on a page – and this is where the hard begins.

Drafting for me was always full immersion. I'd interrupt myself while having a conversation to say "what about…" or "what if…" and then scramble for my keyboard. I'd have 4K Saturdays while St. Matt watched or played tennis. I'd stumble into bed just hours before my alarm because I was being carried along by an avalanche of words. I'd watch my word and page counts rise with delicious pleasure. The real world seemed almost secondary or less tangible than the one in my head – as if it were the layer under which I super-imposed my story.

Well, baby spit up is tangible. And wet and smelly. Baby cries and giggles aren't to be ignored. And while I'd like to put on my WIP playlist after the Schmidtlets are asleep, it clashes with the ceaseless repetition of the classical playlist on their sound machine. Or the tinkling of their mobile. I can't tune those out, can't shut the baby monitor off – and can't close out this world to escape into one of my own creation.

So I've had to work around this, find ways to invite the babies into the world of my head, and find ways to incorporate that world into my reality.

Baby A's definition of bliss is snuggling in my lap, so I've spent hours reading and singing pieces and scenes to him. I just try not to take it personally if he falls asleep. *makes note: scene needs more tension *

Baby B is a mover. He inherited his fidgetpants from me – so I settle both boys in their stroller and we head out on the walking paths. They watch trees and hunker down for naps and I brainstorm, scratching hasty fragments in the notepad I keep in the stroller for this purpose.

And the simultaneous nap? It's as elusive as a unicorn and just as magical, but when it occurs, I take advantage. I may not be able to fully immerse myself in the world in my head – but with a reality this adorable, I'm not sure I want to.

Speaking of simul-naps. There's one occurring right now –-  time to go unleash some words.

Maybe I Should do the Laundry...

Meet Churchill.

The frog, not the baby - that's Brad.

 Here's his brother, Winston.

Hippo = Winston, Baby= Asher

The pictures above represent approximately 0.5% of my photo collection of Schmidtlets with Winston and Churchill. The babies are Very Attached To Them.

Naptime isn't naptime without Churchill tucked under the chin. And tummy time doesn't work well unless Winston is within reach.

W & C are exposed to much loving and drooling, so last night unbeknownst to me, St.Matt decided to throw them in with the baby laundry.

This morning I went on the Great Churchill Hunt – called St.Matt – and eventually located both of them In The Dryer.

Winston is fine.

Churchill is crispy.

He must've gotten stuck to the vent, because he is definitely dryer-fried.

I took this pretty calmly – much calmer than overdue-for-his-nap Brad. I figured I could order a replacement and have it in a few days. Naptime until then might be a little rough, but it was a short term problem.

I even thought I'd be SMART and order a Back-up Winston and Back-up Churchill.

BUT.

Churchill has been discontinued.

I can order as many Winstons as I want.

BUT.

Churchill – crunchy, need-a-replacement Churchill – is discontinued.

And I can't even find another one on Ebay.  I thought you could find ANYTHING on Ebay.

A much-chagrined St.Matt called Pottery Barn Kids customer service.  I bet he was calm and steady. The e-mail I sent them included lots of !!!!'s and HELP! and the line: Please save my naptime.

BUT.

Even as I have this Mommy Crisis, I also have perspective.

It's a toy. He's 4 months old. This is more upsetting for ME than it is for HIM.

I know this moment is heightened by having sent my finished manuscript to Agent Extrordinaire, Joe Monti, this morning. Because everything seems more panicked after pressing *send*.

I know that even if Crispy-Churchill can't be salvaged. Even if Pottery Barn Kids can't hunt down a leftover Green Frog Thumbie, and even if one never appears on Ebay, Brad will be fine and I haven't failed as a mother.

Even if it feels like it every time his lip quivers.

 You'll let me know if you come across a Churchill, right?

***UPDATE*** We have a Replacement Churchill being shipped from Ohio and a Backup Replacement Churchill coming from Florida. Thank you so much, Awesome Pottery Barn Customer Service! *exhales*

Almost equally exciting - my cousin-in-law told me about the wash-in-a-pillowcase secret (thanks, Melissa!) now St.Matt can continue laundry-duties without fear!

Something to Celebrate

I discovered recently that not everyone dyes their milk pink for Valentine's Day, or green for St. Patrick's Day. This baffles me. Excluding those with dye allergies, why wouldn't you?

 

I'm a big fan of celebrations. For big things, I know how to make a BIG fuss… but I like to make a BIG fuss for little things too.

Each year in my classroom I read the kiddos Byrd Baylor's I'm in Charge of Celebrations because I love the narrator's mentality of searching out the extraordinary in the ordinary and finding a way to honor it. 

With writing I honor the start of each new project by buying a set of my favorite pens - Staedtler Triplus Fineliners. And don't forget about Revision Skittles -- they're a tiny celebration for every page completed.

Babies are made for celebrating. Everything they do is miraculous; they are snuggle-sized bundles of magic and love. And each day they grow, learn and change. If I don't stop and celebrate their discoveries as they happen, it will be too late.

So St. Matt expects the phone calls at work:

Today Asher cooed at the ceiling fan.

Brad just rolled over onto his side – twice!

Oh my head, Brad's learned how to smile, and he hasn't stopped doing it all day.

Did you get the pictures?

When I sing Twinkle Twinkle to Asher and twinkle my hands, he twinkles back.

Guess what?! I was burping Brad, and every time I patted his back, his wee little hand patted mine.

We celebrate the ounces they gain and the clothing they outgrow. St. Matt celebrates when they sleep through the night… I mostly want to wake them up and cuddle.

And today we celebrate something momentous – they are 100 days old.

I know that celebrating a baby's 100^th day is a Korean and Chinese tradition, but I'm borrowing it. These past 100 days have been filled with more love and happiness than I have any right to deserve, but they've also been tinged with some terrifying moments too.

The twins were two months early. They were little. They both had trouble breathing. And maintaining steady heart rates. They spent their first month in the NICU. They're both still on apnea monitors that go off with heart-shattering regularity and send St. Matt and I flying across the room to check for color changes and chest movement.

That first month left some physical scars on them and emotional ones on me.

It's not possible to gaze through the Plexiglas of an isolette at the mess of gauze, tubes, wires, sensors and bandages covering your newborn and walk away whole.
 

 After just looking at those pictures and writing those words I had to wake little Brad up, snuggle him close, and reassure myself that he's nearly tripled in size and is thriving.

So today, we will celebrate. 100 days. They may be little, but it's no small accomplishment.

And tomorrow?

We'll celebrate then, too.