ATTENTION PEOPLE OF JACQUI'S ROOM

We have your "Jacqui." We have been tracking her for several weeks but she refuses to write our chapters. Sure, she wrote character sketches for us and has written thousands, THOUSANDS of words for this book, but WE do not yet appear. Nobody even knows who WE are. Jacqui knows, but she ain't talking. Or writing. How can we perpetrate our evil, dastardly, very lucrative, somewhat ridiculous plans if we don't yet EXIST???

So we took her. She made a valiant effort at escape this weekend -- even hopped a train to Chicago and ran 26.2 miles. This was clearly to avoid us (why else would anyone run that far?!), but it was misguided since she ran it in a big circle. We let her stop to take this photo for proof. But then we got her.

Now you may not have her back until we have finished with her. Oh, we'll give her the essentials, like food and water and access to Facebook. But other than that, she writes only for us until OUR book is written to OUR satisfaction so the world can know of our greatness.

Yes, World! YOU SHALL KNOW OUR NAMES. You know, once we have names.

Sincerely,

The Bad Guys in Jacqui's New Book

I, robot

We did it! Or, rather, you did it and I suffered the consequences (explanation here).

YOU donated almost $1,000 to help kids learn to write at 826michigan. I ran the Big House Big Heart 5K dressed like this:

Yes, faithful readers, those ARE dryer vents on my arms. They are surprisingly warm and inflexible. And yes, that button does say "Disco" and yes, I did disco whenever someone pressed it. Fortunately, only Tink thought to press it. Unfortunately, she did so about a million times.

And yes, I did appear in front of a gabillion people, up on the Jumbotron, but no, I could not take a picture because race officials would not let me stop in the race chute. But I gave a little dance anyway, because I am a woman of my word.

NOW, some of you are kicking yourselves because you forgot to click HERE and then on my name and donate. Good news! You can still do it. PLUS, someone has donated a free massage to the fundraiser who raises the most money and I have a chance of winning. But there is stiff competition, so get there by the final count Friday at noon! Donate now! I WANT MY MASSAGE, people.

But most of all, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you, from me and 826michigan and a ton of happily writing children. Thank you.

My son loves pink, a rant

Warning: extended, only remotely related to Banned Books Week rant below. Please find a more indicative sample of our regularly scheduled light-hearted silliness here.

Dear World,

Yes, my son loves pink. He loves his glittery “do you believe in fairies?” shirt and his Hello Kitty water bottle and most of all his hot pink prairie skirt that twirls and that is, along with some boxer briefs, really the perfect summer play outfit.

Yes, I know he is wearing a skirt. And I know it is pink. No need to keep pointing that out, stating the facts as though you aren’t making a judgment in your head. Stop laughing; stop shaking your head. Stop congratulating yourself on your open-mindedness by saying, “That’s so great you let him wear it,” as though maybe I shouldn’t. In fact, please stop bringing it up in front of him at all because every time you do, you teach him that as much as he loves it, there’s something wrong or at least remarkable about that. And who wants to hear that it might not be okay to love something you love? Over and over, at the mall, on the street, at school, at your own family’s house?

While we’re at it, stop “reassuring” me that “it doesn’t mean anything.” What does that even mean?! Are you trying to say that his love for pink at age 3 doesn’t prove my son is gay? Thanks for the insight. Here’s a clue: the idea of him being gay doesn’t worry me. Here’s what worries me: it’s 2010 and my pink-loving son still has to defend his right to like a freaking COLOR. It’s 2010 and there are still people out there so incredibly homophobic that they CANNOT STAND the sight of a three-year-old boy in a SKIRT. It’s 2010 and my son wore his pink shirt to school the first day and there was MASS GENDER CONFUSION on the playground because some kids already, by age 3, are so gender-indoctrinated that they REFUSED TO BELIEVE he was a boy.

It is 2010 and every single time he wears his favorite color, my son’s feelings get hurt. Every single day, he gets told it’s not okay to be who is he is. I’m not worried about him liking pink or what it “means.” I’m worried that someday people are going to make him feel so bad about himself that he wants to jump off the GW bridge.

It’s 2010. It’s time to stop hurting people’s feelings with closed, terrified minds. It’s time to stop trying to prescribe other people’s lifestyles and families and reading material. It’s time to admit that reality is complicated and surprising and full of questions to which you don’t have answers. And it’s time to let my kids – and everyone's kids -- fully participate in that deliciously diverse reality without having to worry about the whispers.

It’s 2010, World. My son loves pink. Get over it.

Love,

Jacqui

P.S. Thanks for the chocolate donuts, though, World. Those things are awesome.

From the Jacqui's Room Office for Outer Space Affairs

My Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) news this week turned out to be a hoax!

I was disappointed to hear that, contrary to many media sources (all of whom should be really embarrassed for repeating it without doing any fact-checking), the U.N. did not actually appoint someone Earth's official "first contact" with alien life forms. Apparently, there is not someone in an office in Malaysia whose job is to wait for aliens to contact us.

This is very disappointing because one of you was going to write me a hilarious picture book about the bored bureaucrat sitting filing her nails, cracking gum and fielding the alien phone calls. ("Hello, Department of Earth's First ExtraTerrestrial Contact. How may I direct your call?") The official first contact was Malaysian, but I was picturing her from Jersey. And of course she was unfazable, regardless of what crazy aliens came in. "I'm sorry sir. There are no further openings for attempted invasion and take over of New York City this month. Please fill out Form P-2987 and submit it with November's application fee. Next."

Mostly, I'm disappointed nobody has to answer me this: it's all fine and well for US to know who the first contact is. But who's going to explain it to the aliens?

Oh well. At least U.N.O.O.S.A.* really exists. That's enough to feed the imagination for a while.

* the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs

Tink, on Roald Dahl

This week, Tink is reading George's Marvelous Medicine. It, like many Roald Dahl books, has been challenged from time to time by concerned parents. So I sat Tink down for a Jacqui Reads her Children Books That Are SURE to RUIN Them FOREVER discussion.

ME: Tink?
TINK: (reads)
ME: Tink?
TINK: (reads)
ME: TINK?
TINK: (reads)
ME: TINK!
TINK: WHAT?!
ME: I notice you're reading George's Marvelous Medicine.
TINK: It's my Accelerated Reader book. (reads)
ME: Well, you know about Banned Books Week --
TINK: (deep sigh) And this is one of them.
ME: Well, sort of. What do you think?
TINK: (reads)
ME: Tink!
TINK: (blows bangs off face by spewing air with lower lip stuck out) Here's what I think: Yes, it's maybe not so appropriate in some places. But people! It's Roald Dahl. What did you expect? (returns to reading, turning back on me)
ME: (ponders several things, including how else to celebrate Banned Books Week)

Jacqui Reads Her Children Books That Are SURE To RUIN Them FOREVER

It's Banned Books Week!

Two years ago, I celebrated with Jacqui Reads Her Children Books That Other People Think Are Bad For Them. Last year I read them Even More Books That Other People Think Are Bad For Them. We've read a ton of terrible, child-harming evil, and yet, miraculously, my children's moral fiber remains frustratingly intact. So THIS year, I decided to condense the exposure AND to hit them with the biggies. I present to you:

Jacqui Reads Her Children Books That Are SURE to RUIN Them FOREVER

We started this weekend with these:

Heather Has Two Mommies
by Lesléa Newman, illus. Diana Souza



Daddy's Roommate
by Michael Willhoite

Nothing subtle there, eh? My kids were sure to be doomed.

We ran into trouble immediately. Destructo couldn't have cared less how many mommies Heather had. He was mainly worried that on the cover of her book, it looks like Heather is about to be EATEN BY A WOLF.*

Heather's story is very straightforward. Two is her favorite number; she has two hands, two eyes, and two mommies, both of whom she loves best. When Heather starts a playgroup, though, the kids talk about their daddies. Heather doesn't have a daddy and gets sad until the other kids in the class talk about how all their families are different and the teacher delivers a speech on love.

This is an important book, and a very lovey and reassuring book. It is not subtle though, and not particularly informative for modern kids with 21st century mindsets. BUT it becomes VERY interesting, terrifying even, if you think Heather's pet dog is a CHILD-EATING WOLF.

Punchy, but undeterred, we moved on to Daddy's Roommate. In the book, a little boy's parents are divorced and his dad has moved in with another man. The book is all about the fun the boy has with Daddy and his roommate.

First, check out that fantastic mustache! Thor had total facial hair envy.

Second, regardless of your politics, you have to respect an author who isn't afraid to speak his true thoughts on his book (and his whole lifestyle) being challenged.

But to the actual story. This book does not beat around the bush. It has illustrations of the men hugging in bed, it talks about their love for each other, it says they sleep together. As I read, I was thinking how red in the face Daddy's Roommate must make closed-minded book haters. But then Tink spoke up, on the page where they're at the beach.

"I know why some people think we shouldn't read this book," she said, pointing to the picture of Daddy's roommate in a Speedo-style bathing suit. "He's almost naked!"

Hmm. Later, she decided that what the book-banners didn't like must be the picture of the men wearing Red Sox hats. Because nobody should cheer for the Red Sox, I guess.

In the next episode: Underwear, the Sex Pistols, and Tink on Roald Dahl. Stay tuned.

* This is not to knock Ms. Souza; the illustrations within are cute. But you can see why he thought that.

Who is the author?

Today's Thursday inspiration comes from Tink, who had this idea:

"What if you didn't know who the author of the book was and the book was like a mystery where you had to find out?"

I am fascinated by this. You could write it as a scavenger hunt through the internet or even, gasp, the real world, where you had to figure out what historical figure was supposedly the author.

But I want fiction. A middle grade mystery with changing points of view, one of whom has written the book but doesn't admit it. In the story, a certain book has powers of some sort. Something important* hinges on who the author is, but nobody knows. After a few chapters, we realize the book in question is the one we're holding and WE have to figure out who wrote it. I want it sort of terrifying, like if we don't figure it out before the book is over something dreadful might happen to us in REAL LIFE.

I want a smart mystery with a brand-new structure and definite chills. Who will write me this book?


* No, I don't know what powers or what hinges. And this is why YOU are going to write the book.

Vacansopapurosophobia

Which means fear of the blank paper.*

I don't have a fear of the blank page. I love a good blank page, a whole blank journal even. It's so full of potential. Imagine all the fantastic, beautiful, hilarious things that could end up on there!

No, I have a fear of a half-filled page of bad writing. Call it vacansocrapurosophobia. The flip side of that blank page full of potential is a scribbled-on piece of garbage that I'm embarrassed to recycle without shredding it first. That's what haunts me.

I have a new book idea. It might be my favorite book idea ever. It's so pretty right now, so hilarious and yet touching, so unique and yet universal. And so completely unwritten, and therefore so fraught with the looming specter of total, heart-breaking failure to carry it off in a way that is at all close to my beloved vision for it.

This is the writer's dilemma: I have to be madly in love with an idea in order to even consider starting, given the amount of time and sweat (well, mental sweat) and energy I know it's going to take. But if I'm too in love with it, I'm terrified of blowing it.

This summer, though, I got a wonderful piece of advice: Redefine failure. As in, whenever you find yourself not trying something for fear you'll fail, redefine what "failure" will mean in that situation. For me, for any writer but in particular for those of you who have "always wanted to, but...", maybe failure shouldn't mean "unpublished" or "not as perfect as I hoped." Maybe failure should mean "never tried." And there's one obvious way to make sure that doesn't happen.

Excuse me, I have a book to go start.

* Also the title of an 826michigan student publication of just the kind you'd be supporting if you'd already signed on to force me to dress up like a robot and dance on the Jumbotron.

Help kids, humiliate Jacqui*

Things Jacqui Has Been Doing Instead of Blogging, part 1

Here are two things I love:
writing
teaching

And here is 826michigan, one of my favorite non-profits, which is dedicated entirely to teaching kids to write. You will not find another organization making writing as fun, as creative, as appealing to all kids (even reluctant writers), or as cool as 826 makes writing. We have a ROBOT STORE, for goodness sake.

You can learn more about all the 826 outfits here. This is something I believe in whole-heartedly. I'm on the board. I work in the robot store. Last year I spent all day every Friday volunteering during writing workshops at an elementary school in Ypsilanti. And sometimes, I humiliate myself. For example, this picture of me dressed as Brutus killing Robot Julius Caesar.

Now, here are two things I hate:
humiliation
asking for money

So I figured, why not combine them?

The Big House Big Heart is a 5K race that runs through downtown Ann Arbor, into the University of Michigan stadium, down the middle of the field and across the 50 yard line, where finishers are videotaped stumbling along and projected, giant-sized, onto the field's Jumbotron, for all to see.

And on October 3, with your help, it is possible I will run the Big House Big Heart Race and breakdance robot-style across the finish line while being projected giant-sized onto the Jumbotron. All while dressed in a full body robot costume.

Total humiliation. How can you make this happen? Help me raise $826 for 826michigan.

Yup. For a meager $826, I am going to line up with 10,000 other people, in broad daylight, with dryer vent tubes on my arms and a sign that says, "I get my fix at Liberty Street Robot Supply and Repair."** And I am going to post pictures of the whole thing. Online, for all to see and mock.

Here's how you can contribute to the Help Kids, Humiliate Jacqui plan:

1. Click HERE to be directed to the 826michigan race page. Then click on my name to go to PayPal.

2. Mail a check or cash to 826michigan, 115 E. Liberty Street, Ann Arbor, MI, 48109. Put "I want Jacqui red-faced on the Jumbotron" or something similarly evil in the memo.

3. Toss cash at me as I run past you in the race. This is, of course, less effective.

And then either sit back and pat yourself on the back for doing good and helping kids learn to write, or sit back and giggle maniacally at how embarrassed I am going to be out there. You know who you are.

* a blog title that shows the importance of carefully placed punctuation.
** or something else equally mortifying

School has started...

... and there is not a person in my house who isn't thrilled about it.

Everyone started new schools and everyone is in love with the new places. Though yesterday Destructo was upset because:

"We were learning to wash our hands and I saw a giant X marks the spot on the floor and it could be real pirate treasure and NONE of my teachers would GET ME A SHOVEL!"

It is also possible he insisted to his Sunday School teachers that his name is "Buzz."

Methinks it could be a long year...

Tink's new school uses the Accelerated Reader program: "MOM! Can you believe my HOMEWORK is to READ A BOOK?! Like I get extra credit for reading a book! Reading! For HOMEWORK. Like it's hard" (shakes head, chuckles to self, and disappears into armchair for hours).

As for me, in the last two weeks I had Tink's birthday (complete with Black and White themed almost sleepover), the first day of new schools for both Tink and Destructo, Rosh Hashanah, my birthday, Thor's 40th birthday (for which I planned a surprise weekend away with 10 friends), minor household crises (everyone is fine), an unintentionally thawed refrigerator, a barfing cat, minimal child care, house guests, a total of nearly 80 miles run, mysterious lights on in the car,

And yet, as part of my new "no excuses" policy, I will be sending everything my agent wanted by Thursday to her. Today. Yup, two days early. And yup, I am crowing about it.

So lemme just finish formatting this one thing. And then I will be back in Jacqui's Room to tell you all about it.

How do they do it?

You've seen the bios:

"So and so is a stay-at-home mom to three adorable children under the age of five, two dogs, a cat, and a bearded dragon named Louie. When not writing, she enjoys building houses for Habitat for Humanity, hand-making all her family's clothes, and acting as mayor of Dubuque. She recently finished her thirteenth solo ascent of Everest. This is her sixth novel in the past year; her first collection of self-illustrated poetry will be out in July."

Who ARE these people? WHERE did they buy their time-turners? And, while I'm asking questions with all caps, WHO THE HECK STUCK THIS EXTRA WEEK OF NO SCHOOL IN BETWEEN AUGUST AND SEPTEMBER???

I try. I do. I know people send their kids to play and shut the door and go write masterpieces. But I have to assume those people's children don't think up games like "Carry the Cat By Her Tail," "What Happens When Dry Erase Markers Get Really, Really Wet?" and the classic "Sit on Your Brother's Head Til He Screams." The only time my kids are silent enough for me to write without leaving one ear and some brain space available to monitor them is when they're up to something really naughty.

So today I planned myself some writing time with a playdate. That fell through. Child care? Nobody available. I planned a pool trip; at least I could jot down ideas while they played, right? We lotioned, got dressed, and biked down there. Immediately upon our arrival, someone else's kid vomited vast and chunky all over the shallow end. Pool closed indefinitely.

"Go play," I ordered when we got home. They went upstairs to play Harry Potter School. I opened Word. And it's broken. Won't start at all. I spent five minutes re-starting and swearing at it before the door to Tink's room opened.

TINK: Mom?
JACQUI: What?
TINK: Mom?!
JACQUI What?!
TINK: MOOOOOOOM!
JACQUI: WHAT?!
TINK: We need you to come be the werewolf!
JACQUI: No. I'm busy.
TINK: Please?
JACQUI: No.
TINK: (runs down stairs) PLEEEEEEEASE? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE? (dances circles around living room)
DESTRUCTO: (bounces down stairs) Pyeez pyeez pyeez. (spins in nauseating circles, narrowly avoiding every pointed edge in room)
JACQUI: Stop. No. Go away. Shoo! (holds laptop like shield)
TINK & DESTRUCTO: PLEEEEEESE! PYEEZ! TWO MINUTES! PLEEEEEEEEE -- (continues until blue in the face) -- SE!
JACQUI: (Deep breathes. Closes laptop. Weeps)

The Taming of the Critter

Oh my. Tink and I had such big plans for Critter. Sunset walks on the beach, tickets to the symphony, late Sunday brunches with asparagus omelets...

But Critter? Critter was out of control. We tried to interest him in books, like some other bloggers did. We took him to our favorite places in Ann Arbor -- the downtown library...
















... and Liberty Street Robot Supply & Repair.*
















But Critter just kept trying to sneak into Pangea Piercing.
















When they asked him for ID, he ran and hid behind one of Ann Arbor's many fairy doors.**




















Eventually, the fairies delivered him back to my house with a note that said, "Never again." Tink and I felt bad for Critter. Maybe he just needed some coddling. We cooked him a healthy farmer's market dinner. He ignored it. He said he wasn't hungry. Then, later, we found this:
















It was obvious to Tink and I: Critter needed finishing school. We got right to work. We set him up a strict behavior management system with Twizzler Bits as rewards.

We taught him to cook.
















Tink gave him a more formal wardrobe. Finally, Critter was ready. Look, how lovely and peaceful he is now!
















"Our work here is done," Tink said. And it's true. I don't know how long the pink lacy phase will last, though, so we have shipped Critter off with all due speed to Tina Ferraro, who writes young adult books, and is, thus, better able to take care of recalcitrant Critters. Apparently, Tina may be taking Critter to Las Vegas.

I hope he doesn't gamble away his new ballet slippers.

* which is the storefront for 826michigan and also where I work on Mondays and also the coolest store in town

** Yes, there are really fairy doors all over Ann Arbor. If you come, we will tour them and you will be all "Aww" and your kids will stand gape-mouthed and whisper, "I believe."

What is a Critter?!

Ian Sands seems like a very cool person. He makes public, interactive art in North Carolina. Like, his art is on the side of a bus. Or, you might be walking down near the water in and see this, that Ian made:

That would make me so happy. Someone did public art in the Huron River here in Ann Arbor, but it was all rusty wires and then it blew away in a tornado. Sad.

Anyway, Ian started a project called the Lost Critter project. He made a lot of Critters and then set them free...


Christy Evers is also a cool person. She writes books for kids. You may know her around Jacqui's Room as the eternally encouraging commenter C.R. Evers.

Now, somehow, Christy got a hold of a particularly cute Critter:

She is sending him all over the real world to visit children's writers. At the end of his travels, Christy is going to auction Critter off and donate the proceeds to charity (I told you she was nice).

And now, this week, Critter is in my house. I got him in a padded envelope along with the directions to "have fun" and a hint that Christy expected "mischief."


Mischief? Me? Stay tuned...

Working is in progress again

Remember when I was writing so hard that I had to stop blogging and write a poem about how hard I was writing?

This week, I don't even have time for a poem. It's good news: my agent loved all my new ideas and wants to see them all ASAHOIPOS.* And my agent is wise and I always do what she says. Also, she is a black belt and can beat me up. So no blogging for me for a few days.

That said, we have a visitor at our house this week. And, oh, the adventures we have had. Already, there has been dress-up and candy and a robot vs. objet d'art brawl.

Have you met Critter? You will...









* As Soon As Humanly Or Inhumanly Possible Or Sooner

Living with your inner critic

You know that voice inside you? The one that says, "This is no good. You're never going to get it right. You may as well give up." Mine is strong and mean and persistent. It beats me up, and it also uses logic ("Does the world really NEED another book? You know who needs you? Your kids!"). And it doesn't just bug me while I write. As I've been training for this marathon, it's started in while I'm running. "You're never going to make it. You may as well stop. You're probably about to injure yourself. C'mon, slow down."

I hate it. I used to try to ignore it, or to get rid of it. But lately I've stopped.

I went for a run in LA with the amazing Sara Lewis Holmes, and we got to talking about the voice, both in running and in writing. Here's what we realized: it never goes away. You can win 15 National Book Awards and a Pulitzer, you can run 95 ultramarathons, you can be the most accomplished anything in the world. But the voice will still be there. Every time it gets hard, it will be there, feeding on your insecurity and trying to convince you to quit.

And then Sara said the wisest thing. She said maybe you have to learn to live with it, to say, "Oh, hello. I recognize you," and then to go on.

Earlier this week, I went running with Tink. She rides her bike alongside me and it's usually great. But this run, she was cranky. She started whining at the farthest away point and she screamed and kvetched at me for two miles. She was making me CRAZY. But the more I talked calmly back and kept running, the more ridiculous she got ("I am going to DIIIIIIIE!"). I could laugh at her. And of course, we made it. Now, when I am running and the voice starts in, I just pretend it's Tink kvetching. And I go on.

I am about to start a new book, and I know soon thereafter the voice will start. But I'm not going to ignore it. I'm going to say, "Oh, hello. I recognize you." Because I am less nice than Sara, I will probably add "You stupid voice."

And then I will go back to writing.

Why my children have no hope of being normal...

Part 357: the omen

...because I promised Tink we could do "Harry Potter camp," just she and I, this week. Today is Potions. I printed up a simple baking soda and water recipe in a fancy font and labeled it "Revealo Totalum." I told Tink we were going to learn a simple potion that you paint on a plain piece of paper to reveal secret messages, or the future.

Then last night, I snuck downstairs, took the "plain piece of paper" and, in vinegar, wrote "THE DARK LORD RISES! BEWARE! BE NICE TO YOUR MOTHER!"

Heh heh heh.

This week, we are obsessed with...

(books you should read)

1. Once Upon a Time, The End (Asleep in 60 Seconds)
by Geoffrey Kloske, illus. Barry Blitt

For any parent whose kid ever insisted on "One more story!" ten million times until you were left exhausted and skipping entire pages and telling stories like, "Once upon a time a kid wouldn't stop asking for stories and his mother went INSANE. The end."

Includes such classics as The Two Little Pigs and (my favorite) The Princess and the Pea ("Is there a pea in your bed? No? Then what's your excuse? Go to sleep."). Hilarity.




2. Iggie's House, by Judy Blume

Winnie's best friend Iggie moved away, leaving Winnie miserable. When the Garber family moved in with three kids, Winnie was thrilled. But the Garbers were the first black family in the neighborhood and not everyone was as thrilled as Winnie to have them there.

From the publisher: Winnie, a welcoming committee of one, set out to make a good impression and be a good neighbor. That's why the trouble started. Glenn and Herbie and Tina didn't want a "good neighbor." They wanted a friend.

This book was first published in the 70s and re-released in 2002 with this new cover (which Tink & I both I hate, though we can't articulate why; I think it's because the kids look so happy, which they are definitely not in the book). It feels a little dated (I had to explain to Tink what "Negro" meant). But what is both amazing about Judy Blume (and terribly depressing about the world) is how not dated it is. The awkward way Winnie and the Garbers learn to make friends with each other as individuals and not representatives of their respective races, Winnie's ignorance, and the thinly-veiled excuses Winnie's neighbors give for not wanting the Garbers around could easily have been written this year.

3. Cool dates. As in, today is 8.9.10. We will definitely be having a dance party tonight at 6:07. Who's in?

Who can help me find these things?

Attention Jacqui's Room reader(s):

I need your help finding something: July.

Like the whole month. I lost mine, apparently, because it's almost over and I can't remember what I did with it.

I mean, from the looks of this blog, you'd think I hadn't posted in two week, when in fact, I have been posting brilliant and hilarious items TWICE DAILY.*

I looked in my bag of marbles and it turns out most of them are lost too.

It's a household wide problem. Yesterday, I listened to Tink and Destructo have an extended argument entitled "Uno: are we or are we not playing with a full deck?"

In other news, I heard an all too familiar thumping and scratching sound in my attic this weekend.** Is it possible a new generation of flightless pigeons is out to get me?! Did they not read this blog last spring? Or do I now, in addition to everything else, literally have bats in my belfry? I will keep you updated.

* In my head.
** No joke. All three of these things actually happened this week. This is my life.
*** Photo from 826michigan's Liberty Street Robot Supply and Repair Store website. You can buy loose screws there, if you don't have enough already.

Our weekend, by the numbers

Number of laps of the outside of our house done by Thor in his imitation of Iniesta's celebration of Spain's winning World Cup goal: 1

Number of shirts removed as part of said imitation: 1

Number of laps of our house done by my children in imitation of their father: 2

Number of clothing items removed during laps: all of them

Number of laps done naked: 3

Number of laps done wearing each other's clothing: 1

Number of laps done wearing underwear on their heads and screaming with giggles while their father chases them, trying to corral them into the bath: 1

Number of neighborhood block parties we are likely to be invited to this summer: sigh.

Sssurprisssse!

Today's Thursday News of the Absurd Inspirational Moment proves we should all watch more nature TV shows.

From Yahoo!News:

Mass. school janitor finds 3-foot python in locker

Apparently, a janitor cleaning up at the end of the school year opened a locker and a giant snake popped out, prank can of peanuts style. Except it was a real python. When it tried to attack him, he "grabbed it behind the head as he had seen on nature TV shows."

I think this is the last scene of the book, the one that rolls with the credits in the film. It's the last loose end to tie up: "But what happened to the python?!"

So you tell me, what is the rest of the story?