So, please buckle up, restore your seats and tray tables to their upright position, update your Google Reader and bookmarks, and get ready to land in a new URL:

www.wouldbewritersguild.blogspot.com

Thank you and enjoy your travel!

As we were out and about celebrating his birthday, we were trying to decide what to do next when Max announced, “It’s my birthday, so I’m the director, like a movie director. I get to choose. You will be the director on another day.”

Later in the afternoon, my brother James called to wish him a happy day. They shared a very friendly conversation before hanging up. I said, “That was nice of him to call and wish you a happy birthday, Max.”

Max said, “Yeah! That was really nice! Who was that anyway?”

I guess it’s time for a visit. No?

We found a grassy park to inhabit for a while. Ryan and I sipped smoothies while the boys played Star Wars and used The Force on each other.

Perhaps because of Max’s delayed speech issues in past years, it felt like we had an 18-month-old for about four years. Maybe that is why his growing up is taking me so much by surprise. He is not a baby anymore.

I mean, just look at that facial hair.

My mom wrote one of her favorite poems by A.A. Milne in his birthday card:

When I was One,
I had just begun.

When I was Two,
I was nearly new.

When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.

When I was Four,
I was not much more.

When I was Five,
I was just alive.

But now I am Six, I’m as clever as clever.
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.

I think I’ll keep him six forever and ever, too.

Except that he’s likely to be a riot at seven…

Happy Mother’s Day this weekend to my mom, the woman who gave me life, cinnamon rolls, fajitas and rainbow birthday cakes.
She taught me to growl when I get angry and to leave the avocado pit in the guacamole to keep it from turning brown.
She gave me a joy of music (it’s always blasting at her house) and the freedom to pursue my interests and dreams.
She let me quit piano when I begged to and she was right when she said I would later regret it.
She sewed an entire outfit for me one Saturday morning before I went to a birthday party.
She dove head-first into a lake to save my little brother. (Okay, the water was only two feet deep and she could have broken her neck, but the act was heroic nonetheless.)
One time, when I told her I was running away to live in our backyard playhouse, she told me that she respected my decision.
During a doomed family vacation to Lake Powell, she beat a rat to death with a flip-flop.
She makes a beautiful sandwich.
She likes to buy plates.
She used to let me color her hair.
She taught me to take care of my skin.
She is detailed and meticulous.
She is the Franklin Covey poster child. One time I read in her open-faced dayplanner, “3:00 p.m.: Get grapes out of fridge.”
She is an amazing artist.
She has a beautiful singing voice.
She is a curious learner, a natural student.
She is always helping someone. Always.
She loves to laugh.
She doesn’t get duped by fake people and creeps.
She loves her grandkids.
She loves her kids.
She loves my dad.
She loves German Chocolate shakes from Iceberg.
She drives with her hands at 10 and 2 and wears cool sunglasses.
She makes me feel like I add as much to her life as she does to mine.

Here’s to my mom and here’s to you and yours! Happy Mother’s Day!

Anyway, he started ranting about something; I offered my opinion of disagreement; he disagreed with my disagreement and continued ranting; I disagreed and began rolling my eyes; he interrupted me; I interrupted him; he assured me that if I quizzed 100 other people, they would agree with him; I accused him of having an unresolved issue from his childhood propelling what I viewed as an overreaction; he rolled his eyes and I walked away.

It was really stupid. We’d been having such a lovely day.

So, I sat at my computer and wrote an email:

Subject Line: I’m glad we still love each other…

Email text: …even when we think the other person is totally insane and irrational.

A few minutes later, I got a reply.

Subject Line: Re: I’m glad we still love each other…

Email text: even when the other person is totally insane and irrational.

Right. I’m glad he finally saw it my way.

Wait—

A few weeks ago, we noticed that a family of birds had started building a nest in the wreath on our front door. We thought it was kind of cute, but a bad location, especially given Christian’s cheerful but harsh version of shutting the door. Finally, we decided to relocate the wreath to the back porch, hoping the bird family would find it.

Yesterday, Ryan visited the back porch to heat up the barbeque for some steaks I bought for dinner. The nest in the wreath did seem to be a little bigger, but it was nothing compared to the GIANT BIRD CONDOMINIUM that was built inside of our barbeque with four little blue eggs inside. Luckily, Ryan opened the cover of the barbeque before lighting it up, having noticed a large twig sticking out the side vent. The story would have taken a tragic, messy turn had he not.

We’ve never really tried steak and eggs, but it didn’t seem like a good idea considering all the recent talk about the bird flu.

Ryan has decided that he will never be able to eat anything from that grill ever, ever, ever, again.

“They’ve been in there pooping and peeing and having SEX!”

I personally didn’t see any poop in there and I wasn’t aware that birds pee. I’m not entirely sure what constitutes birdie sex, though I can’t deny the fact that there are four little blue eggs in there. Apparently Ryan knows a lot more about the mating and gastro-intestinal habits of God’s winged creatures.

“We’ll clean it out, scrub the grill, and then let it cook on high heat with nothing in it. That will kill any germs that might be left over.” I said. I still remember what we paid for the grill at Sam’s Club a few years ago, and if I’m going to pay that much for a birdhouse, it had better have a swimming pool and granite countertops.

“Do whatever you want, but I am never going to eat anything from that ever again. They have been pooping and peeing and having sex!” he said, because apparently I hadn’t understood the horror of it all the first time.

“You’ve mentioned that.”

I decided not to mention all the times I’ve marinated fajitas in the toilet. The guy has got ISSUES.

Here we are at the party.

And here is the party. I mean, THE party.

And here is the blurry guest of honor in her amazing gown, our lovely neighbor Shoshanna.

We had so much fun. We ate. We danced. Let me say that again, we DANCED. (The only time I ever dance is alone in my kitchen.) And we hung out with our wonderful neighbors. There were silly hats, silly socks, glow sticks, and sparkly rings and necklaces—all the ingredients of a truly fantastic party.

Here are three of my neighbor friends, Anne, Kim, and Nancy (the mother of Shoshanna). Those of you who know and love me should love them too, because their warmth and friendship made moving here a bujillion times easier than it could have been. Nearly instantaneously I had these women as my friends. And besides that, they’re so good looking!

We enjoyed ourselves so much that I’ve decided to start befriending all the young Jewish kids I can find in order to be invited to all of their subsequent Bar and Bat Mitsvahs. These people know how to throw a party!

Besides, Nancy tells me that although we’re not Jewish, we’re a little Jew-ish.

And the fact that we seem to have pre-sold at least ten copies of this book gives me goosebumps.

As my dad would say, “Oh, bless ya.”

Truly. Thank you.

I do.

I love them so. I treat them like tiny porcelain unicorns—too fragile for any display or handling. I keep them locked safely away and bring them out only when I’m alone. I hold them and cuddle them and imagine a distant day when they will come to life and make me truly happy.

Sometimes I want to show them to people, my loved ones and friends, but then I cowardly change the subject before it gets anywhere near my precious dreams. I tell myself that I’m protecting them. Why? Because my Big Dreams can’t handle being mistaken for Dumb Ideas. Or Crazy Talk. Or Useless Ventures. Or worse yet, Wastes of Time.

So I never mention them.

But the reality is this—it’s me who I’m protecting, not my dreams. And the only person who has ever called them Dumb Ideas, Crazy Talk, Useless Ventures and Wastes of Time is the one who claims to love them most—yours truly.

I’m like that wretched friend who builds you up for later sabotage.

Today I took out my favorite Big Dream and held its paper-thin frame up to my lips. I whispered my regular empty promise of, “Someday, someday,” and turned to put it back where it goes, deep in its cabinet, locked and bolted. It caught a ray of sunshine and I realized for the first time that what I had mistaken as porcelain was actually thick and heavy steel. And its face no longer resembled a patient Rapunzel, but an impatient and overdue pregnant mother ready to labor.

My Big Dream looked me in the eye and demanded its rights. No more dark corners, it said. No more anonymity. No more being fed only enough to barely stay alive. Time! it demanded. Nourishment! it shouted. A name! it screamed. And then it politely asked to meet my family and friends.

I had no choice but to nod and agree to the terms. Turns out, this Big Dream is a total bad ass that does not want to be messed with anymore.

And so, trembling, I would like to introduce you to my Big Dream. Her name is I Am Writing a Book.

Oh geez, I hope not. I want to die of something much more romantic. And I want to be able to blog about it in great detail right up until the very end.

So what am I to do about this? Well, I thought I’d take an example from all the fine folks on Wall Street and make MY problem into YOUR problem. Basically, I’m asking for a bailout: give me something to blog about.

You can either send me 700 billion dollars to revive my inner blogger…

OR

You can ask me a question, any question, and I’ll answer in Real Time, meaning that this post will grow throughout the day with your questions and my answers as you ask and as I answer.

(There is only one rule, of course, and that is to keep it clean. If you don’t, I’ll send you fungus infected toenail clippings.)

I’m sorta hoping for the 700 billion, but I’m willing to try the other idea. Let’s see if we can’t get through this together!

From Keek: I have a question, where do you go to get decorating ideas? I am so in that mode to paint or decorate a room and you are so good at all of that. Where do you get your inspiration?

Oh dear. I feel a little inadequate to answer this question. I don’t have one source for ideas. I love browsing catalogs and magazines for design and decorating ideas, but I’m also a sucker for all those design shows that makeover a room or space.

As for my personal style, I think that it’s nice when a few colors are the stars of the show in a room, but I think that pulling in a bunch of other colors in accessories, pictures and art makes a huge difference. When I took an oil painting class I learned that the way painters create the look of flesh is not by using one flesh-colored paint, but by layering multiple colors—practically every color in the rainbow. The result is a look of depth and real liveliness. I think it’s the same in a room. The more color you can pull in, the more lively and complete the room looks. At least in my opinion.

And as for the nuts-and-bolts of how I tackle a room, it almost always begins with the paint. We pick something we think we will like and then we build from there. (I say “we” because Ryan and I begin these projects together. He has a great eye.)

From Mrs. Smith: Since I am preparing for finals, and you yourself have survived many finals, I am wondering if you have any advice on how to be sharp and ready come test time? I have heard that eating chocolate or drinking orange juice (not at the same time though- gross!) may help. Any other tips that may have worked for you? My test starts at 7:00 a.m. when I am usually still sweeping the dreamy cobwebs out of my brain.

Ooo, finals. The F word. The method that always worked best for me was flash cards. I could go through them multiple times, and begin weeding out the items that I had memorized, so that I was always reviewing the things that needed the most work. It also helped me to say things out loud and try those (what’s the word for this?) tricks to associate hard-to-remember answers with a stupid story that I was bound to remember. But I like your idea of chocolate and orange juice. Good luck! I know you’ll ace it!

From Soul-Fusion: Are you currently working on any non-work related writing outside this blog? Will you share it with us? When is your next trip to NYC? What funny things has Max said recently? How is your garden coming along? Do you have some nice before and after or just after photos? How is your tan? (You know from working by the lake.) What is Lucy up to? Is she over the trauma the dog-sitting days? Will you ask Christian what he thinks the Jazz need to do to turn into a contender in the post-season? Have you pre-purchased your swine flu anti-virus stuff and horded it yet? Apparently NYC has run out already, could I borrow some of yours if I end up with it? What are you eating for lunch? Oh, one more, when did you say you are coming to nyc for your next visit?

OK, ready for the answers?

No, not really.
Yes, maybe.
For sure, the end of May if not sooner.
Max is really fond of a new phrase these days, “I’m so serious. I’m not even kidding.”
The front yard looks better than the back yard. No “garden” to speak of yet, though I’m pining for those as-seen-on-TV upside down tomato plants. No photos yet, maybe soon.
The tan is coming along nicely, as long as I apply it correctly as directed on the bottle.
Lucy is back to full reign on the house and seems to be over the dog-sitting trauma. We met a spirited, one-eyed dachsund on our walk last night and stopped for a visit with the owner. Lucy cowered behind my legs with a look on her face as if to say, “If you offer to dogsit, I will poop on your pillow every day for a year.”
I will ask Christian what he thinks about this, though I suspect his answer will include getting rid of Kirilenko.
No vaccines here, only Red Bull.
I know this will shock you, but I had a burrito for lunch. Two, actually. Mmmm.
End of May, if not sooner!

From Angie: If someone comes through with the 700 billion, can I have just 30,000 of it? That would change my life. And, what will you do with all of that money?

Yes, of course you can have $30,000. Although, I’d better give you $1.6 million because that equals $30,000 after taxes. As for the rest of the money, I’m going to buy my parents a home in the south of France, buy everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance. (This is an idea I got from my new favorite song.) If there’s anything leftover, I will stock up on the Swine Flu vaccine and sell them for a ridiculous profit.

From Colie: What’s your favorite way to waste time on the computer while you should be working? Any tips for how to not get caught since I work in an office with 4 co-workers?

Well, my current favorite way to keep from important work is to start a blog post about how you will answer questions in real time—it’s amazingly effective. As for your co-workers, I recommend that you supply them with a box of donuts on a weekly basis. That way, even if they catch you wasting time reading my blog, they will refuse to snitch on you because that would mean an end to the free donuts. (Just another trick I learned during my time in the mob.)

From Andrea: If you could only listen to one album, read one book, watch one movie and eat one meal for the rest of your life what would you choose?

Mmm, good one. The album I guess has to be Billy Joel’s Cold Spring Harbor because it’s the first one that comes to mind. The book is going to be Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg because it’s the only one I choose to read again and again. My movie pick is Love Actually and my one-meal-forever meal is obviously going to be bean burritos because I am pretty much doing that already.

From MiaKatia: Do you trust/allow your husband to order for you at a restaurant? Vice versa (is that how it’s spelled)? What is up with having to teach our kids how to sleep through the night? We don’t teach them to be hungry… Am I ever going to sleep again?

Yes, he could probably order for me, although I’m not sure that has ever happened. Luckily, he is right here now, so I will ask him how he would go about it. He says, “I would order you something light with salad dressing on the side, no cheese. Something grilled.” And he would be right. I only order for him when we’re having sushi. I’m a good sushi orderer.

I don’t know about the teaching kids to sleep through the night. I have blocked that period of my life out. Lalalalalala…..finding a happy place…

And yes, you will sleep again. In about four years.

From Vanessa the Scientist: If a train left Cleavland at 8:55am and you impulse bought a gorgeous Anthropologie dress at 12:37pm, at what speed would the regret hit you and at what time would you return the dress? Not that this situation has happened to me recently. Oh, and how do you afford your rock and roll lifestyle?

Your hypothetical situation sounds troubling, indeed. Buyer’s remorse hits me within about 24 hours. In fact, I’m in a habit of leaving tags on things for at least that long, just in case I decide I was an idiot to have made the purchase in the first place. I bet your dress is gorgeous, although I would recommend steering clear of any railroad tracks whilst wearing it.

Now, as for our rock-and-roll lifestyle, it is funded directly through mob ties, and by mob ties, I mean student loans. Oh wait, we can’t get student loans anymore! Booooo! Student loans are the BEST!

From Rosie: Besides Red Bull, Midol, and Gogurts, what one item should every household have on hand in case the swine flu becomes a pandemic, and hole-ing up for a while is necessary?

Well, those are the three pillars of any survival kit, but I would also recommend adding duct tape, WD-40, and a few recorded episodes of MacGuyver to your stash.

From Angel C.: How do you start a blog?

You can start a blog for free at www.blogspot.com. Just spend a few minutes deciding on a name and then wave goodbye to your common sense, your ability to manage time, and several of your household chores.

Does anyone else in your family blog?

Yes, my sister Leslie (known here as Rosie) blogs here, my older brother John blogs here, my baby brother Jesse blogs here, my little brother James has a private blog, my mom and dad have been known to blog, as well as my niece and nephew.

How do you find time to blog and do all the wonderful things you do?

By “wonderful things” do you mean “vacuuming?” Because the answer is that I frequently do not find time for vacuuming.

Do you find blogging restful?

It can be, yes. As sad as it sounds, it is a significant part of my social life/network since I work from home all alone. And I’m completely OK with how dorky that sounds.

Is it OK to lurk on blogs?

Yes! But it’s fun to come out from the shadows sometimes too.

Can I recieve a free copy of a published work by you?

Yes, you can order a free copy of the catalog I write by clicking here! In fact, you can receive several volumes per year!

Do you really have such a wonderful and cute family or is this blog a fantasy blog?

Everything you see/read here is 100% legit until I can afford to hire Heidi Klum to stand in my place in our pictures. Then, it will just be MOSTLY legit.

Do you can from your garden yearly?

Haaaahahahahahahahaha! Oh wait, you were being serious? Sorry. Um, the answer is no.

Can you tell me why these questions are so important to me as we have never met? Also, do you know a good therapist who specializes in people who live vicariously through blogs?

I do know a great therapist. I’m married to him.

From Kami: When is the next video tutorial?

When I lose 15 pounds.

What are the dates of your Utah appearance? Will there be mexican cuisine involved?

We will be coming to visit in July (sometime around the 24th), and yes, I would love to eat and gab with all y’all at Cafe Rio sometime while I’m there. Do you want to come?

Is your neighborhood really as beautiful as that post about taking a walk, or was that someone eles neighborhood? Be honest.

Cross my heart and hope to die (of something other than Swine Flu), this is my neighborhood:

And my favorite thing about it are all of these amazing structures they have out here in the east—tall and leafy and beautiful. They call them trees. I ain’t never heard of such a thing out west.

You should come and see for yourself; they’re breathtaking!

OK, lines are closed. Thanks so much for playing! I’m feeling bloggy already.

My weekend at home was enriched by multiple fast-food runs and a rare but welcome heat wave. Today is the third day in a row of 90-degree temperatures. Mmmmm. Ryan and I are going to take our laptops and go work today by the lake.

Speaking of today, it was a good day to come back home to the bloggerhood because I wrote a little ditty that’s being featured on one of my new favorite must-read sites, Wunderbug. Wunderbug’s author, Courtney, is heading up a great project she calls What’s Your Story? wherein anyone can write a short essay about the real side of life—what makes you who you are and maybe what you’ve learned along the way. It’s a great project and you should toss aside any inhibitions and send her an email to participate because, like Courtney says, “everyone has a story.” I’d love to read yours.

Read about the project here.

And read my featured essay here.

Have a wonderful Monday. I’ll be back tomorrow, hopefully with a tan!

And I was all like, That is SUCH a good idea!

So, I am going to be scarce this week-ish (don’t you love all the ambiguity?) and I’ll return next week.

OK? OK.

By the way, I’m learning that many of you are having trouble reading through the background on the web page. I am trying to get it fixed. Please be patient. And if you can’t be patient, please be nice.

What are you doing Saturday, April 25th, Salt Lake friends?

My little brother and his cover band Mimic will be playing at the pre-game festivites outside of Rio Tinto stadium on Saturday, April 25th. They will start around 5:00 and play until about 6:40. It’s free!

After the concert and festivities, you can go to the ReAl Salt Lake soccer game and join my brother(s) and other people who dress their innocent children in MLS gear.

Check out Mimic’s cool and funny site here. My brother Jesse is the adorable lead singer and guitarist. (If you can’t make it to the concert, you should book them for your next party or event.)

These are our taxes. Do you like the return address?

I filled nine (NINE!) envelopes today, seven (SEVEN!) of them with payments enclosed. And we still owe. Our accountant claims that he has never seen anyone nailed harder than us, and he is not a young man. We are destined to be the sad over-told story at all of his future dinner parties.

If there is a tax out there, we pay it.

Tax on breathing air? Check.
Tax on using toilet paper? Check.
Tax on wondering when Project Runway will return? Check.
Tax on reading magazines from back-to-front instead of front-to-back? Check.
Tax on sleeping on your side? Check.
Tax on looking out the window? Check.
Tax on toenail fungus? Check.
Tax on yelling at your kids to flush? Check.

What do we do for a hobby? We pay taxes.

We took a little drive into Philly on Saturday night to celebrate our anniversary at Alma de Cuba, a Cuban restaurant founded by Book of Mormon prophet Alma de Younger.

The food was delicious. The atmosphere was great. We gazed lovingly at each other throughout dinner and spoke to each other only in haiku.

May I have a taste?
Yours looks better than mine does.
Must be fattening.

Where is the bathroom?
I have to go pee so bad.
Don’t eat my dinner.

Camera again?
Do we have to do this now?
I hate these pictures.

For dessert, we shared the house specialty—a chocolate cigar. It was delicious, even though it looks suspiciously like a big turd.

After dinner we found a meadow and danced in the moonlight.

Actually, we went to Home Depot and bought a hand truck, which is pretty much the same thing.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

However, a disturbing discovery was made this morning—graffiti on the bathroom wall. It said, “[Visiting dog,] YOR TIIM IZ RUNEENG OWT. GO HOM OR FAYS MY RATH!”

Visiting dog seems unfazed.

When questioned about the incident, resident dog avoided eye contact…

…and fled the scene.

And Happy Easter and/or late Passover to all of you!

Had to explain what humping means to older child. Older child went white, then green, and then complained that his leg felt funny.

Resident dog has spent more time downstairs, though still refuses to interact with visiting dog. At one point, resident dog was seen sniffing the hind quarters of visiting dog. When visiting dog turned around, resident dog quickly trotted away and whistled nervously.

There is a business plan that simply can’t fail, even in this economy.

All you need:

A couple of kids (the cuter, the better)
A small table and chairs
A sunny weekend day
A pitcher of lemonade
A batch of cookies
A couple of hand-made signs
A few hours on a semi-busy street.

The afternoon’s earnings totaled nearly $40. First, they paid their friends an hourly wage and then I took 35% away and taught them about taxes.

Still, though, pretty good.

I miss my mom today, so I’m making bread pudding
Her bread pudding.
Even though bread pudding is bad for my hips.
It is good for my soul.
I call her on the phone to ask if I should double the recipe.
We talk while she holds my sweet niece.
I hold the phone in one hand, the measuring cup in the other.
I tell her I am using the wrong bread,
But that I think it will work.
It will be great, she tells me.
I ask her what she is doing for Easter.
No plans, she says, and you?
No plans, I say, other than a defrosting turkey in the fridge.
She says maybe she and Dad will come for dinner
And we both chuckle.
I like that joke;
It makes me feel good for a moment.
How is Dad? I ask.
He is stressed, she says.
Right before I douse the bread,
I realize that I forgot the vanilla.
I’ve done that before, she says.
I add the vanilla in the nick of time.
We hang up as I put the dish into the oven.
Goodbye, I love you.
Love you too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Mom’s Famous Bread Pudding

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Place pan of water in preheating oven.

2 c. day old bread torn bread ‘cubes’ (the bread makes the pudding—use a heavy, dense artesian bread.)
1/4 c. good quality honey (avoid dark, strong flavored honey)
2 T. butter
1/8 t. salt
2 eggs, beaten
1/2 t. vanilla (up this a little if you use real vanilla)
1 2/3 c. hot milk (not boiling)
1/2 c. raisins or Craisins (optional)

Place bread and raisins in small baking dish.

In microwave, heat milk, butter, honey and salt. Stir during process to dissolve honey. It doesn’t need to approach boiling, just needs to be good and warm.

Slowly pour hot milk into beaten eggs, stirring constantly.

Add vanilla.

Pour mixture over bread; sprinkle all over with nutmeg.

Bake in pan of hot water until set, about 30-40 minutes.

Resident dog is suspicious, paranoid and ignores visiting dog’s attempts to interact by avoiding eye contact and pretending that the visiting dog does not exist. Has spent most of the last four days upstairs or on the couches where the visiting dog is not allowed. Shows disdain for her owners and their inconsideration by peeing on the carpet. Spends the night plotting evil revenge on the humans and visiting dog.