My kids are hilarious . . .

I tried to type up some of the funny things my kids have said over the years. I thought I'd share some of them with you. 

2013

My 11 YO looked his father in the face and said, "Zombies like brains, so you're safe." 
After which he was wrestled to the ground and ordered to proclaim his absolute adoration for his father and his infinite wisdom.

Me: how can I make my covers more appealing to men? 
Husband: boobs. Big ones.

7 YO: no! You always tell mom!
3 YO (sobbing): I promise I won't tell her. 
11 YO: yes you will. You always tell her. 
10 min later w/ chocolate on her face: mom! We hid and had ice cream before dinner!
7 YO: *slaps forehead* told u she would tell.

Surgery went well. He came out combative-I WANNA PLAY THE WII! I had to laugh a little inside.

My 12 YO just came home and told me a kid told him a racist/off colored joke. His response, "That's not funny. It's racist." When the kid told him to lighten up, my son pointed to a kid of the race being mocked and said, "Why don't you ask him if he thinks it's funny."

My 4 YO is 5 today! She's a silly girly girl who regularly slays zombies and wants to know where vampires live ("even though it's just pretend, Mom!"). She changed her name to Rainbow, feels it is her right to play with friends all day, and makes up words because it's fun. Love her!

2012

10 YO: *groans* Mom, I'm book sick. 
Me: ???
10 YO: I can't wait a whole year for book 3 to come out!
Me: Welcome to my life, buddy.

Me: Honey, look at my cover! Isn't it gorgeous?
Husband: Why is there so much purple?
Me: Well, her wings are actually made of an aurora, which is purple or this ugly green. So we went with purple.
Husband: Why are her hands over her head? It looks like she's dancing. 
Me: She is dancing. 
Husband: Why? And why are there fairies around her? I'd take those off.
Me: *glaring* You no longer get an opinion.

My son is giggling in his sleep. Cutest thing ever. Also, I want in on that dream.

6 YO, crying and storming off, "Leave me alone! I just want to be left alone." 2 YO trotting after him: "Okay. I'll go with you."

2011

6 YO spilled his peas all over the floor. 9 YO looks under the table and says, "Is that the same as spilling the beans?"

6 YO goes under the table to clean up the peas. Calls up to us, "Mmmm these are good off the floor."

My 2 YO's screaming because someone ate her smarties. It may or may not have been me.

Don't judge me.

I try to get my 9 & 6 YOs to wear their coats. I try to give them rides to school. They LIKE walking in the cold. Their coats are too HOT, no matter that it's 10 degrees outside. I really do try . . .

6 YO Logic: If you build an AMAZING Lego ship, glue it together. Your mom doesn't let you use glue, so you'll have to hide in your room. Glue will leak out the sides, so you'll have to wipe it on the carpet. She'll ground you if she finds it, so cover it up with blankets from your bed.

Don't Eat Me

By my 9 year old son.

Reasons why not to eat me

I stink

I'm ugly

I'm full of fat (your diet, remember?)

I hate your cat

I'll eat the mouse

In your house

I'll mow the lawn

I'll sweep the floor

I'll vacuum your house

I'll pick up the floor

I'll throw away that banana from days of yore.

Just don't eat me!

I promised 5 YO that if he'd be good in his class while I went to aerobics, I'd give him 1 quarter. 
He thinks about it. "How about 4 quarters." 
"One is plenty."
"How about 2 quarters?"
I smile at him. "How about 10 pennies!" 
His eyes light up. "Okay, mommy." 

This past weekend, we decided to do a family day trip at a nearby cave system. As we waited for our turn on the tour, my 2 YO daughter fell head first off a picnic table. Even standing right next to her, I wasn't fast enough to save her. There was this awful hollow crack as her head hit the asphalt. I scooped her up. Instead of screaming in pain, she cried weakly. Then her little body went limp in my arms. Her eyes fluttered back. 

My heart collapsed inside my chest and I cried for my husband. An eternity later, her eyes focused on me. We watched her closely after that. Especially her eyes, to make sure they were equally dilated and reactive to light. I also knew it would be really bad if she started throwing up. 

After over half an hour of crying, she finally settled down. Later, my ER nurse sister-in-law checked her out and proclaimed her fine. She said that children knock themselves out easier than adults because of their softer bones. As long as she didn't have any symtoms of a concussion in the first two hours, she should be fine.

But for those few seconds, I stood on the precipice of my worst fears. That something bad would happen to one of my children. That I would have failed to prevent it. 

And today we learned not to stick our tongue on trampaline frames.

"Connor, why are you wearing your brother's clothes?"
Connor hikes up shorts 3 sizes too big. "Because my brother told me to."
"Corbin, why did you tell your brother to wear your clothes?"
Corbin grins. "Because it's funny when his pants fall down."

8 yr old to his 4 yr old brother: "You're dead. I killed you!"
4 yr old's response: "Jesus will repair me!"

Connor with pointer finger pointing and a glare: "Mom, I get to make up all the rules, 'cause I eat all my food and now I'm big."

Connor said, "Mom, we're out of the damn juice." I blame his father.

Today Corbin asked me, "Mom, what's a pee can?" "Huh?" I responded. He showed me his cereal box. I started laughing. "Bud, that's pronounced pecan."

Connor grabs my cheeks between his hands (not those cheeks, think lower) and exclaims, "Mom, you have a BIG butt!"

We had a fantastic Christmas! Thanks goes out to Derek for picking up on the slack (I'm sick). Connor got a submarine. He came downstairs butt naked and asked if he could get in the tub. 1.5 hrs later, he came out looking all wrinkly lol. Lily was bound and determined to swallow SOMETHING inedible. Corbin just wanted Connor to leave his stuff alone. Best Christmas I ever had. 

Connor this morning: "Oh me gosh!"

Connor just said, "Mom, this pudding is damn good."

So, last night, Lily spat up almost her whole bottle. Covering me, two blankets, and herself. "Man, I wish she'd stop doing that," I growl. Corbin pipes in with the perfect solution, "Maybe we should duct tape her mouth shut!" And no, he wasn't kidding.

I asked Corbin what he did on his first day of school. "Well, recess was pretty fun." "Oh?" I say. "Whaddya do?" Without missing a beat, "Chased the girls." 

I'm in big trouble.

I don't like asking for help

But I'd do anything for my son, so here goes. 
Connor has been suffering from medical problems for over a year, but it's recently gotten much worse. You can read all about it here and here and here and here.

The short of it is that he's in a wheelchair until further notice. Many of you have expressed that you would like to help, and one of my friends, Wendy, suggested that people could send letters or cards in the mail to cheer him up. 

He would LOVE that, and it would do so much to lift his spirits. So if you'd like to help, you can send something here:

*address removed. Thank you for all your support!*

For all you scary stalkerish types, this is not my address. It's a charity that forwards the letters onto me.

Thank you in advance for your support!

Why my son is in a wheelchair. Again.

I'm getting lots and lots of questions from people wondering what's going on with my 8 year old. So here's the synopsis. Last year, he slipped on some gravel and landed on the side of his leg. Either the fall was cause by or resulted in a spiral fracture of his femur. His femur was weak (he had a quarter sized cavity) due to a nonossifying fibroma. You can read a more detailed account here. And here.

We spent a few days in the hospital and the doctor put in a plate. We spent 6 weeks in a wheelchair/walker, after which my son gradually moved up to more strenuous activities. Over the last year, we've monitored his leg with xrays. It appeared to have healed, and because his leg is still growing, they wanted to take the plate out.

That was the surgery he had on Thursday. Only when they took the plate out, the bone around one of the screw holes collapsed (the doctor said the bone was only as thick as egg shell). He stuck a scope in the hole and found that the fibroma had not healed at all (that's the black spot shaped kinda like a #9. The grey spade-shaped thing is the tumor "track" where the tumor has migrated with the new growth).

Feeling that the bone was diseased, and therefore not healing, the doctor scraped out the bone around the fibroma, making the cavity silver dollar sized. In addition to the cavity, my son also has a hole on the outside of the bone from the collapsed screw hole (the doctor said the hole is about the size of the tip of his finger).

What this boils down to is his femur is extremely fragile-to the point that merely putting weight on it could break it. He's in a wheelchair and walker. The doctor did not put the plate back in (though he considered it), because he's hoping the bone will heal and we won't have to do another major surgery (the incision they have to make is 9 inches long and requires an overnight stay). His incision is healing, so his pain is lessening. It's really hard to get him to stay down when he's feeling close to normal.

It's also really hard because we live in a four level multilevel, making the wheelchair practically useless in our house. He crawls a lot, and we haul the walker up and down stairs for him. Their are only bathrooms on the topmost and bottommost floors. He also has a few additional medical conditions that complicate things.

If I could sell my house tomorrow, we would be gone.

Honestly, my son is probably holding up better than I am. I went into the surgery thinking we would have crutches for five days and a few restrictions on sports and jumping. I came out with a son in a wheelchair and no idea when or if his leg will heal.

So we're playing the waiting game. And I hate it.

I'm not sure how I'm going to get my next book out either. The pacing of my life was already to the point where I could barely manage it. And now this. Something has to go, and I've already pared down my life about as far as I can take it.

I've stopped doing my hair. Or wearing makeup. And I probably won't make my deadline.

I'll be completely honest, the day of and after his surgery were some of the worst of my life. I can't imagine how parents of children with scarier conditions deal with it. My husband got me through it. He kept doing silly things to make me laugh--and he never does silly things.

Last year, our deductible was $4,000. This year, our max out of pocket is $10,000. Thank you, Obama (you don't want to get me started on Obama, trust me).

Anyway, I'm doing better now, I still have my good and bad days--today was one of the bad ones.  My son is enjoying all the attention, though he misses playing with his friends--I think he's kind of lonely. And very bored.

Witch Fall might make it after all . . .

You guys have no IDEA how stressed I've been. The first half and last quarter of Witch Fall are done and I love it. The latter part of the middle doesn't exist. And the bleeping thing is due out in October. I've been wracking my brain and struggling with it for months. Finally, I just decided to start with a character rewrite and hope for the best. And then I read this article. Here's the short of it:

"The antagonist is the beating heart of the story. He/She/It creates the crisis and the crucible that forces our protagonist to become a hero. If we don’t know the endgame, we have no idea how to insert roadblocks, create misdirection, setbacks, or drama. So if you keep getting stuck? It might not be you are lazy or fearful (I wasn’t either). It might be your foundation (the antagonist/core story problem) either isn’t there or it’s weak and unable to support the bulk of 65-100,000 words."
~Kristen Lamb

Light-freakin'-bulb! My problem is I have two villains with dual purposes, which makes a mess out of the middle and undermines the beginning and the end (because one villain appears at the beginning, the other at the end).

The two need to be collaborators! This changes everything. Why didn't I see it before? It's so simple and so perfect and I missed it!

But really, who cares, because now I can finish the bleeping thing, and maybe, just maybe, I'll make my deadline. Pray my kids cooperate.

No really. Pray. It's gonna take a miracle.

Turkey's Lament

Don't Eat Me

By my 9 year old son.

Reasons why not to eat me

I stink

I'm ugly

I'm full of fat (your diet, remember?)

I hate your cat

I'll eat the mouse

In your house

I'll mow the lawn

I'll sweep the floor

I'll vacuum your house

I'll pick up the floor

I'll throw away that banana from days of yore.

Just don't eat me!

Happy Thanksgiving!

My Worst Fears

My daughter as an infant.

This past weekend, we decided to do a family day trip at a nearby cave system. As we waited for our turn on the tour, my 2 YO daughter fell head first off a picnic table. Even standing right next to her, I wasn't fast enough to save her. There was this awful hollow crack as her head hit the asphalt. I scooped her up. Instead of screaming in pain, she cried weakly. Then her little body went limp in my arms. Her eyes fluttered back.

My heart collapsed inside my chest and I cried for my husband. An eternity later, her eyes focused on me. We watched her closely after that. Especially her eyes, to make sure they were equally dilated and reactive to light. I also knew it would be really bad if she started throwing up.

After over half an hour of crying, she finally settled down. Later, my ER nurse sister-in-law checked her out and proclaimed her fine. She said that children knock themselves out easier than adults because of their softer bones. As long as she didn't have any symtoms of a concussion in the first two hours, she should be fine.

But for those few seconds, I stood on the precipice of my worst fears. That something bad would happen to one of my children. That I would have failed to prevent it.

What's your worst fear?

Winner! Plus my life lately.

The winner of Tris and Izzie and Witch Song is: Tina! Yay! And thanks for talking to a bookstore! You rock!

My son was praying aloud the other day and asked God to please help mom be on the computer a little less. *winces*

So we've been playing a lot lately. This week, my father-in-law and his wife came down from Ohio, we've hung out with them at the beach and parks.

Any time I'm not spending with my kids or cleaning my house, I've been hard at work with my edits of Daughter of Winter. I've made a lot of changes. Added 3,000 words. I'm not sure if half--not all, just half--those edits actually help the book--seems more like a vertical shift. Very frustrating. But that's what my publisher wanted. Part of playing the game.

I have ZERO time to work on Forbidden Forest lately, which is also very frustrating. I wanted to have the whole MS written by the end of August. I'm not even half way and I don't see any end in sight for what I'm doing. *double sigh*

So ya, between edits, marketing, kids, and cleaning; no time to write new stuff. *triple sigh*

But I wouldn't trade it. We're simply having too much fun (except for the cleaning part).

I'm on the radio

If you missed the radio interview, you can listen to the link here. http://dungeoncrawlersradio.mypodcast.com/2011/06/DCR_CONDuit_XXI_Amber_Argyle-352383.html

My interview with Dungeo Crawler's Radio will air tonight, 6:00 to 9:00 (MST) on http://www.utahfm.org/. You can click here and click on the "Listen Live" on the right hand side button starting at 6 MST. THERE WILL BE AN EBOOK GIVEN AWAY TO ONE LUCKY LISTENER!

This was my first ever radio interview, and it was so much fun! Probably because I love talking about books--my book in particular. We talked about "the call" (or in my case "the email"), my writing story, my first book (which will never see the light of day), the inspiration for Witch Song, writing with kids, the magic in Witch Song, what other books I have in the works, my dream team up with another author, my thoughts on the cover,  Irish Wolfhounds, and my possible future as a cat lady. Revan and Joe did a great job keeping the momentum going.

I think I did a pretty good job. We laughed a lot.

Also, here's some more great reviews:

Katy at The Reading Geek

Kandice

Cory at Antidrug Reads

This was the pic taken at the interview.

Review of the Wild Soccer Bunch by Joachim Masennek + Updates

Review by my 9 year old son. *disclosure: we received this book from LibraryThing earlier reviews.
This book is about kids who love to play soccer. Their coach is Larry, but they’re not really an official team; they mostly just play in a field for fun. Fabio, the son of a
famous Brazilian soccer star, wants to practice with the Wild Soccer Bunch. Instead, he plays for the Furies and his famous dad won’t let him switch.


The Wild Soccer Bunch finally gets a chance to play the Furies. They have to find a sponsor and logo. The game goes back and forth. The Wild Soccer Bunch eventually looses 11-4. Fabio’s dad is so impressed by the Wild Soccer Bunch’s courage that he hosts a party in their honor and announces that he’ll allow his son to play on their team. He buys them jerseys and helps them get their team going.

I liked this book because it shows that you can face really hard challenges and even if you don’t win, good things can come out of it. The funniest part where when they jumped off the eight foot bridge. My favorite part of the book was when the Wild Soccer Bunch faced the Furies.

Corb

There he is, folks, my uber cute son. He's also writing two books at present. I'm so proud I could pop. :)

Random:

• I still have two giveaways going on. Both books are signed. Matched by Ally Condie and The Third by Abel Keogh
• ARCs for Witch Song aren't in yet. For those of you eagerly awaiting your copy, patience young padawans. It will get done.
• My kitchen faucet is broken. Water will only come out the sprayer. This has been going on for 3 weeks, and the part is on backorder. Do you have any idea how many times I soaked myself when I've turned on the faucet without thinking? (There may or may not but definitely was swearing involved.)
• I have a cold that has rendered my nose much like my kitchen faucet. Broken. This has been going on for over a week now.
• I am, once again, freaking out. MY BOOK COMES OUT IN 3.5 MONTHS! What if everyone hates it! What if there's a big grammatical error! . . . I am forcing myself to replace this crippling fear with positivity. What if everyone loves it! What if it sells like crazy! What if . . . well, you get the idea.
• BIG BIG BIG things are in fact happening with WITCH SONG. And I can't tell you about any of them. Gosh, don't you just hate teasers?!?
• My current WIP is up to 60,000 words. I'm kinda stalled out on how to delve deeper into my magical system. The magic comes from trees, so the trees have to communicate with people somehow. Mindspeach and dreams feel so cliche. Any ideas?
• Barnes and Noble has increased the price of WITCH SONG from $9.44 to $13.99. Those of you who have already preordered the book have therefore saved over $4 bucks! So sorry for the rest of you. :(

Advice For Life

I saw this post on my friend, Elana Johnson's blog. It kinda got me thinking.


Mine would be: Love yourself. Respect yourself. Because if you don't, no one else will.

What would your advice be?

You All Terrify Me

This is going to be another of those completely honest posts. I don't mean to be whiny, but you all scare the hell out of me. Really. Did you know you were so intimidating?

I think the biggest reason I'm freaking out is because I feel so out of control. I've written the best book I can. But it's done now. There's no changing it. And now it's leaving me. Going out into the cold, cruel world. And while I can try to increase it's range, the public's reaction is largely out of my control. What if it isn't receive well, despite years of my best efforts?

I'm trying to do my best with marketing and such, but I signed with a small publisher, meaning I received no advance. So I'm trying to market on one income and I have three young children, so funds are extremely limited. Also, I'm not really one of the best salesman around. I don't like to be pushy and I'm not a braggart (at least, I don't think I am).

Also, what if it gets bad reviews? I'm promising myself I won't read reviews at all, because I don't want them to change the way I write, or worse, cripple me so I can no longer write at all.

I'm really worried about how this will affect my life. I'm a stay at home mom. I don't want that to change too drastically. I want to be there for my kids. See all their games and all their milestones.

I guess I'm scrambling to redefine myself and my life. Anytime I face a major change, it's scary and overwhelming and intimidating. And even though this is a good change, it's still frightening.

Also, just a little reminder to enter my contest to win a signed hardcover of Tracy Hickman's Song of the Dragon (this is one of those marketing attempts).

No! You Can't Have My Money

Have you ever scrimped and saved for something, only to have a huge repair bill smack you upside the head?

For instance, last month our van ("You drive a minivan!" you say. "Yes." I respond. "And I look quite sexy in it too.") needed new tires.

So of course, I'm in the waiting room with two of my children who are determined to see just how far they can splash the water from the drinking fountain. As the man with the tick in his cheek will attest, it goes quite far. Then hallelujah, my name is called.

Tire man looks at me with a sad reservation I'm sure is forced. "You need new breaks too."

A stack of tires wobbles precariously. "Just a second," I respond. I grab 5 YO just before he crests the fifth tire in his ascent to 10 Tire Peak, haul him over to the counter, with 22 MO in my other arm.

". . . tires off . . . rotors are shot . . . replace them." That was all I caught as I tried to corral my 5 YO and not drop my squirming 20 MO.

"Okay, but I'm the room mom for my 8 YO Christmas party and it was supposed to start 5 minutes ago."

Needless to say, I was late. But thank heaven, so was the party. A week later, I returned for said brakes and rotors. This time, the tire man was smart kind enough to give me a ride home and come get me 4 hours later.

For all this, $700 bucks.

Fast forward a month. I wake up shivering in the night. It's 60 degrees in my house. My husband does what he can to fix the furnace to no avail. We call the repairman. 3 days, 6 hours, and $200 dollars later, he informs that the part is under warranty, but it cost 200 to deliver and 400 for labor to install (which is oh so generous of the furnace manufacturer).

But he thinks we should just get a new furnace.

He recommends the 2,000 dollar one.

So you know that vacation we were going to use our tax return on? To Washington DC for a visit with my SIL. Well now we get to stay home in our warm house. Or maybe we could go for a ride in our sexy minivan.

Cue creepy music: So now I'm left wondering, do the rotors count as my third in the law of three, or do I have one more to go?

Does this kind of thing ever happen to you? Just when you've saved enough money for something fun, it gets sucked into repair costs?

Why I Only shaved One Leg Today

I come out from hiding under the covers. The first thing I notice is that 18 MO is fussing from her crib. But sad to say, that's not what forced my brain to kick on. Strange, metallic clangs are coming from the kitchen. Baby on my hip, I trudged down the stairs, still half asleep (it'd been a long night). Mid-yawn, I step into the kitchen to see burned toast crumbs spilling from the counter onto the tile floor (which I'd just swept the night before) all around my 8 yro's bare feet. He looks up from where he's shoving a butter knife into the toaster.

"What're you--"

He cuts me off before my lecture has even begun, "Someone put batteries in the toaster, Mom."

Still befuddled with sleep, I step closer. Sure enough four rechargeable batteries. All toasted a nice crispy black . . . kinda smells like my sister-in-law's idea of the perfect bacon.

"Who did that?" I demand.

8 yro shrugs. "I don't know. Not me."

I take a deep breath, pull out a rag, the broom, and dustpan and get to work.

After I'd finally finished feeding everyone breakfast, I picked my 18 month old up from her high chair. Of course, she'd figured out how to unscrew her sippy cup a few days before. And of course she dropped it. All. Over. Me. Soaking wet, I clean her off and penguin walk toward the bathroom.

Before I've made it up the second step, my 8 yro comes bursts  back into the house. "I forgot to have you sign something." Winter wind whips in from the open door, freezing my milk soaked pajamas to my legs. Shaking, I sign it and hope against hope his teacher doesn't think he forged my handwriting.

At this point, I know there won't be time to clean up the kitchen if I'm going to make it aerobics. I jump in the shower, just to rinse off my bottom half. Then I fight to get the kids out the door, find shoes, and convince the 5 yro that the little kids WILL NOT chase him anymore.

When I get home, I jump in the shower for the second time. Just as I'm starting to shave my second leg, 5 yro bursts into the bathroom, his voice high and panicked, " . . it ing . . . off . . . waw."

Wiping soap out of my eyes, I move the shower curtain back. "Huh?"

He's dancing from one foot to the next. "it . . . fell down . . . waws."

He's spinning in circled and miming something falling. "Do you need to go potty?"

"No!" he shouts in exasperation.

"Is your sister okay?"

He takes a deep breath, as if finally understanding I'm not going to get it unless he speaks very slowly. "The ite ting fell off the waw."

At this point, I've decided it's time to rinse off. "What white thing fell off the wall?"

"You know," he points to the ceiling. "The white ting above the tabwe."

It suddenly clicks in my head. Shutting off the water, I run downstairs, dripping water all over the carpet as I go. In the kitchen, the mess that awaits me has reached epic proportions. The ceiling light has indeed fallen from the "waw". It's now teetering serenely on a box of Multigrain Cheerios. Another box of cereal has been knocked down, spilling Life (how perfect is that metaphor?) all over the table, chair, and floor.

At least nothing is on fire. Yet, I think. And no one needs to visit the emergency room. All in all, not as bad as it could've been.

And then I realize something profound. I'm standing, perfectly naked in my kitchen. And all the blinds are up.

With a little squeal, I rush back up the stairs to dress (at this point, toweling off seems unnecessary). Of course, when I finally pick up the box of Life cereal, milk has practically dissolved the cardboard. The sack would have prevented the cereal from flying everywhere, except when my 18 mo had spilled it the day before, she'd ruined said sack. And with the cereal in nothing but the box, I know have SOGGY cereal all over me.

Of course, the phone would have to ring at this point. As I screw the light fixture back into the ceiling, phone propped on my ear, I remember the flyer my church handed out recently. About training for disaster response.

Disaster Training, ha! I'm already an expert.

And that, my friends, is why only one of my legs has been shaved today.