Please oh please follow me to onewomansworld.blogspot.com. Same blog, new look. Come and see.

My two-year-old also has started saying sorry in odd moments. Like the other day when she crawled to the end of my sister’s couch and leaned over the edge just a little too far trying to reach an oh-so-tempting pile of Christmas presents. And then she toppled over the edge so that all we could see after the thud was her little toes sticking up and waving above the arm of the couch, and she called, “Saweeee. It’s okay.” We were so glad she saw fit to reassure us. Merry Christmas Beanie. Sawee!

I am a wicked procrastinator. It’ s amazing how much I can put off doing things that need doing, filling in the minutes with “minutiae” while ignoring the truly important stuff. Man, I’m a silly girl. Maybe I should evaluate that in my New Year’s Resolutions.

And smoked oysters. Oh how I love them. They taste like Christmas. I adore them. And nothing you can say will change that for me.

And that’s it. Because if I wait to blog until I’ve got something powerful and lovely to say… this post will be saved as a draft like all the others I’ve started and never finished. And that will never do.

Tonight I bought him kiwis. Delicious, flavorful kiwis. He grabbed one and started right in. He just ate right through it, fuzz and all. I was weirded out.

Me-You’re eating the fuzzy part.
Him- Yeah.
Me-What are you doing? You don’t eat the fuzzy part.
Him-I do.
Me- You eat the whole thing? That’s gross
Him- Yeah. Of course. It’s not gross. It’s just part of the kiwi.

And then it hit me. The way he eats fruit is so symbolic of his whole personality. He just rolls with the punches. He accepts the good with the not so delightful. He loves life with its ups and downs and doesn’t get caught up in the minor details.

He has never minded my “fuzz.” He has never seemed taken aback by my “core.” He has never stopped to wonder if most people would be bugged by some part of me. He just likes me. All of me. Because all the things–even the not-so-wonderful parts–are part of me.

And he loves me.

And I am the luckiest woman on earth.

I’m glad I married a man who eats the whole apple.

This and much more you may expect when power comes back on to her server. For now, know that besides being stuck without power and heat, the Daring Young Family is doing alright!

The indoctrination, I tell you. It runs wild. My two-year-old’s voice saying, it’s a dingle HOPPer! Well, folks, I just can’t stand it, it’s that cute.

And to Catherine, who commented on my last post: Yes, I know that the Disney Princess mentality can cause some degree of unrealistic expectations for life. No, I’m not sure how to combat that. I came from a family where imagination and fantasy played a vital role. I don’t feel scarred by that experience. I feel blessed by it. But I can understand your concern. How to protect my child from future disillusionment and sorrow, I don’t know. I am taking your comment seriously. Does anyone have any suggestions?

But let’s face it. Laylee is a lot more fun. Laylee is just older and cooler enough to make Bean’s head just about explode with the joy of it all. Laylee can answer back when asked Bean’s favorite question–What’s your name? Of course, after about the 15th repeat of that question in their first five minutes together, Laylee had to appeal to Auntie Heather to make it stop. Anyway, with Laylee, the play is not so much games as full-scale indoctrination. Laylee will see the Bean educated before the family togetherness time is over, so help her! And Grammy is complicit in this effort.

Before this trip, the only Disney Princess Bean was familiar with was Ariel. When the day came that I heard Papa trying to get Magoo to say “tractor” and Beanie interjected, “How ’bout Aurora?” I knew that Laylee and Grammy’s work was complete. Ladies and Gentlemen, Bean has officially drunk the kool-aid, and I love it. Bean keeps running for her new princess puzzle, and we play a memory game. It is so cute I can’t stand it to see the two kids curled up together on a couch watching the princesses. It is somewhat less cute when Bean spends the first fifteen minutes of our church women’s meeting loudly proclaiming the names Ariel and Eric as she sees each page in a Disney coloring book.

It all seems like a first step towards watching my little girl’s girly personality grow. Pretty soon she’ll be painting her toenails and shopping for prom dresses and curling her own hair. I can feel my hair graying.

I am so happy this week. Sometimes when I can’t find time to blog, it’s because I’m in a funk. This week, it’s because I’m so busy being on top of the world.

I started Nanowrimo this last Wednesday. At the end of my first week, I’m still ahead of schedule. And I realized something new. I finally like writing. I like it. I love it.

I’m enjoying more than just the feeling of having written. I’m enjoying putting the words down and exploring characters and crafting sentences. I feel like a writer. And while for a month I am hardly a blogger, at the end of that month I will have a novel. My main character is a blast. I love her voice. I love writing in first person. I love it love it love it.

I have also discovered my niche, I think, in YA fiction. I really struggled through my NaNoWriMo fantasy novel from last year. It is just so darn much harder to have to imagine the foods people would eat . . . and when you realize that their breakfast is a kind of porridge, then you wonder what grain they’re eating. Is it a grain that exists on earth as we know it, or should you name it. And what kind of basin or bowl do they use to consume it. WAY too hard for a one-month novel.

So this year I’m writing about teens who go to the high school where I was a teacher. Not teens I knew, mind you, or even teachers I knew. All the characters are purely fictitious, but let me just say that writing about teenagers in high school in Utah is a LOT easier. When it’s time for breakfast, I can have them grab the cheerios and milk. Aaaaaah.

And in Bean news: In the last month Bean has started quoting movies a lot more. Like the other day in the car she asked me to shake her hand, and then witheld a handshake from me, saying “Don’t shake, unless you mean it.” — Emperor’s New Groove.

And like when she walks around shaking her head and repeating, “Not Happy, Bob. Not Happy.” — The Incredibles

Or when she raises anything that might possibly pass as a goblet and shouting, “To Kuzco!” — Groove again

Or when she crawls around on all fours growling and saying, “Alex eat. Alex HUNgry!” — Madagascar

Just in case you wondered where I was, or what had happened to me. I’m still sane. I’m still alive. I’m having a blast. I’ll be back to more posting in December.

Until next time,
Hasta.