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Here’s my big dirty secret: Since late February, I have been working on a novel. Tonight I finally — finally! — finished the first draft.
Clocking in at 420 pages, it is bad.
It is very bad.
But it is there.
There’s a couple of continuity problems to fix, but afterwards I’m going to take some time off from it before I begin revisions. During this time, Brian will have the thankless task of reading it and telling me which parts are good (I’m already fully aware of which parts are not). Come January, the revisions will begin, and boy howdy. About 120 of those pages have gotta go.
For now, however — time to boogie. My reward for tonight is a big mug of hazelnut cocoa and Community on Hulu. And then maybe a few rounds of my own personal happy dance.
Oh, and please don’t ask me what the book is about. I’m going out on a big enough limb just to admit what I’ve done; I don’t need any further humiliation. Maybe around Draft #11 . . .
My sister just posted this picture of her daughter, Sarah, on her blog:
When this photo was taken, Sarah had just looked in the mirror at herself and exclaimed, “I’m Eleanor!”
Yes, it’s been noted before. The two little cousins look remarkably alike. For those of you who have you doubts, I present to you a photo of Eleanor taken when she was approximately the same age (about 2 1/2):
It’s not just me, is it? I mean, my kids look at Eleanor’s baby photos and insist that they are really looking at pictures of Sarah. I mean, I know they don’t look exactly alike, but it’s enough to be remarkable.
(And for those of you who are wondering, the title of this blog post comes from the theme song of The Patty Duke Show, which I am familiar with owing to Nick at Nite, alas.)
Jeffrey and Eleanor never talk about what they do at school, at least not voluntarily. The most we can eke out of them is through very specific questions about something they find exciting. Recently we asked Jeffrey what games he plays with his friends at recess, and found that he and the other boys spend much of their playtime running away from a “Kissing Girl.”
A kissing girl! One of society’s oldest recess traditions! I was briefly a kissing girl in second grade, myself. It is oddly reassuring to know that this bizarre childhood game is still alive and well.
However, at other times Jeff or Ella will, all on their own, blurt out some random piece of information pertaining to a recent school lesson, leaving me rather mystified. Figuring out the context is everything.
Jeffrey: “Mom, I want to learn the kind of fighting that Kung Fu Panda does, only it’s not called ‘Kung Fu,’ but something else.” Source? A unit on Korea that included a video of Tae Kwon Do.
Since then, Jeff has been constantly talking about this martial art whose name he can never remember except as “Kung Fu but not Kung Fu.” Which sounds like some cockamamie “technique of no technique” that sprung from the universe of Mortal Kombat.
Eleanor: “Mom, another word for a cape is cloak.” Source? Reading “Little Red Riding Hood” in preschool.
Jeffrey (while cuddling on my lap): “Mom, can you feel me with your sensors?”
Uh . . .
“Yeah, like your tongue. Go ahead and taste me.”
Erm.
Source? Learning about the five senses as part of science class.
In my last post, I described how Jeffrey, out of fear for the mouse that had snuck into our kitchen, had increased his piano time in the hope of scaring it away. He was, specifically, practicing pieces for his recital, which took place this past Saturday.
And he done good!
Jeffrey had been practicing his pieces since September, and the learning had been slow. So slow, in fact, that his teacher suggested that perhaps this year might not be the best time for his first public performance (she didn’t want him to do badly, and have a negative experience). I was miffed at the idea, and Jeffrey was enthusastic about performing, so we cranked up the practice.
Every day for a week, Jeffrey would run through his entire performance — including the bows — about ten times. Five in the morning, five in the evening. He had a solo called “Let’s Boogie,” followed by a duet called “It’s Natural to Have a Flat” (what is it with sheet music and the bad puns?) that we played together. He not only had to play the pieces perfectly (er, well . . . perfectly-ish) but had to put the music on the piano himself, keep his eyes on the music instead of on his teacher, wait for me to get on stage so we could start together, etc.
A pretty tall order for any seven year old, but especially for Jeffrey. But he took it seriously — whispering the notes of his song and air-fingering when we were in the car, stepping to the piano to play it through at odd moments.
Last Wednesday he had a group master class, during which his teacher would decide whether or not he was ready to perform. I nibbled my nails the whole time, but Jeffrey was awesome — his music was “gourd-geous.” (She had given him a gourd to take home. What is it with the bad puns?!?)
On Saturday he was the very first kid performing in the program. He marched up in his little blue sweater vest and did everything perfectly (well, perfectly-ish), and then I walked up next to him and we played together. So much work for only two minutes of music!
There was plenty of applause, especially from both sets of his grandparents, and as we rose to take our bow, Jeffrey reached down and wiped his nose on his vest.
That’s the first-grade touch, baby.
Two days ago I was typing in the kitchen, when a small dark shape darted along the cabinet baseboards out of the corner of my eye. When I looked up, there was nothing, so I cautiously went back to work.
There was another movement, and I looked up again — only to see a little grey mouse looking at me from behind the refrigerator. Ack!
After screaming like a silly girl, I packed up the computer and headed for the living room, but I couldn’t concentrate because I could still hear little mouse claws running back and forth across the linoleum.
!!!!
How on earth could this stupid mouse be so bold? And how did it get in? This was the second mouse we had had in the kitchen in the past month, and it gave me a serious case of the jibblies. I thanked my lucky stars that Eleanor’s dance lesson that afternoon gave me a reason to stay out of the house, because there was no way I or any of the kids were going to be hanging around with Furrytail McCreepyClaws scampering about. When Brian came home from work, he set up a few traps and I shooed everybody out the door for a fast food dinner.
The creature was caught in a trap that evening, so all’s well now, but it didn’t prevent him from penetrating the kids’ imaginations.
Jeffrey became completely paranoid, feeling certain that the slightest movement on his part would cause a mouse to materialize from nowhere and bite him. I told him that piano practice was good for frightening mice away, and he went through his recital piece five times.
Eleanor, on the other hand, spent time developing plans for elaborate, ruthless traps, in particular one called a “Cut Trap,” which involves a cage, a knife, a wooden block, and a giant picture of a cat’s head. The process, as far as I could figure out, requires someone to stand patiently for hours, and when a mouse runs under the knife, he or she stomps his foot down on the wooden block and the knife cuts the mouse in two. “And then you can go outside and play.”
I’ve yet to figure out what the giant cat’s head is for.
We are drowning in apples. There are bags and bags of them sitting on the front porch, and even though a significant portion of them are inedible (wormholes) there are many, many more that can be used. So, we’ve been hauling out any and all apple recipes from our personal stash. Here’s one of my favorites; it’s been an autumn dinnertime staple for my family since Brian and I were newlyweds.
Apple-Sausage Biscuit Pie
- 1 lb. chicken sausage, casings removed
- small onion, chopped
- carrot, peeled and chopped
- 1 celery stalk, chopped
- 1 big apple, cored and diced (leave peel on)
- 1/2 tsp. freshly ground pepper
- 1/2 tsp. dried thyme
- 1 tablespoon flour
- 3/4 cup chicken stock
for the biscuit crust:
- 2 cups flour
- 4 tsp. baking powder
- 2 tsp. salt
- 1/2 cup pure vegetable shortening
- 3/4 cup milk
- 1/2 cup sharp cheddar cheese, grated
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Make the biscuit crust: in a bowl, combine dry ingredients, then cut in vegetable shortening until mixture resembles coarse meal. Add milk and mix until just moist and combined. (Note: doing this is a pain. I have a food processor now, which makes the biscuit crust very easy to make. Before the advent of the processor, I scrapped the homemade crust in favor of Bisquick with cheese sprinkled on top. Because while there are many ways of going crazy-go-nuts in this world, doing so while holding a pastry cutter is not one I endorse.) Set the biscuit crust aside until ready to use.
Anyway, get out a big ovenproof skillet and cook up the chicken sausage, then remove to a small bowl. Add onion, carrot, and celery to skillet and cook for about 3 minutes, then add apple and cook for additional 6 minutes. Add salt, pepper, and thyme and stir well, then add flour and cook for a minute. Stir in chicken stock and cook for a few minutes more, then add chicken sausage back to skillet.
When everything’s nice and hot, remove skillet from heat and use a spoon to dollop the biscuit crust on top of the sausage mixture, spreading it around to cover everything well. Sprinkle the shredded cheddar cheese on top, then put the skillet in the oven and bake the whole thing for 20-25 minutes, or until the crust is a golden brown.
I can’t make any promises that there won’t be certain individuals in your household who will eat the crust and none of the filling. But you can always take heart that this just means more savory filling for yourself.
