Category Archives: scratchings

Contact Lens Fugitive

Just about once every year, I wish I had gone for Lasik surgery to stop poking my eyes every day have normal eyesight again.

Today was that day.

Where the f#ck can a contact lens go when it pops out of your eyeball in the bathroom? There’s one foot of space between my eyeball/finger and the mirror, over the counter. And yet, that contact lens finds the black hole.

Imagine the power this country would have if it too could make things completely disappear in a nano second.

Seems like I should gain admittance to Magic Castle for this trick.

I looked myself over, the counters, the mirror, and only hours later from that par excellent vantage point known as the crapper commode, I caught glimpse of that sneaky little devil, crispy and curled over for his nap, on the edge of the counter. At least four feet away from where I lost him.

Little booger, he was crunchy from being out in the air all day. I wasn’t about to try to revive him after his poorly executed escape. Be careful what you wish for, lenses of the world. Freedom may not actually taste so sweet.

If you’re a contact lens.

buddy, can you spare a story?

Hot news for you children’s lit writers out there. Have you heard about the Bedtime Stories Project going on at They are looking for bedtime stories submissions; there is no cost to enter. You can read and rate all the submitted stories, including the one by *ahem* yours truly. The top stories may be read by the one and only Betty White at an event with

The grand prize winner will have her work illustrated by award-winning artist Bill Nelson. Here is his gorgeous Goldilocks illustration:

Here is another, the Princess and the Pea:
princess and the pea

I’m visualizing my story with his art….. But you should definitely not enter the contest, too! Or at least go check out the stories for grins!

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Other Bidness:

1. For the first time ever one of my posts is up on! Yes, I’m virtually a three-year, overnight sensation! Here is the link. Please click over and make a girl feel special by commenting! 🙂

2. I have a new post up at the Mom Squad on mothers in the movies (I know, I’m like Steven King prolific lately! *snort*). Come check it out and share what moms in movies you like!

I know, you’re tired, it’s a lot of clicking and such, but just give a try, for me, pretty pleeeeeease.

her morning ritual

I went to yet another writers conference this past weekend. This one was hosted by Bainbridge Island’s own, Field’s End. In one breakout session about humor, Danish novelist Peter Fogtdal asked us to write a scene about embarrassment.

Always a good student, I did the assignment. So I’ve decided to use that as today’s blog post (yes, I am THAT lazy, shuddup).


Her Morning Ritual

Hilary had no choice. At least that’s how she saw it early that Sunday morning.

Because if she did have a choice, she would obviously not be squatting, relieving herself in the shadowy corner of her one-car, detached garage.

Perhaps she’d start a new Sunday morning ritual, she chuckled. She never did find that church that was going to bring her closer to God. Hopefully he wasn’t watching her now.

Renting a one-bedroom, one-bath house never seemed a real problem to Hilary until, post wedding nuptials, house guests began arriving. Her relatives, her husband’s relatives, their friends, whoever visited slept on a rickety, faded, fold-out couch and absorbed the entirety of the tiny living room. As well as the entirety of Hilary’s privacy, what little she had left in their 800 square foot house after Zack moved in.

But she’d learned that house guests didn’t only infringe on her general privacy. By sleeping with their heads positioned near the door to the sole bathroom, they unintentionally stole Hilary’s bathroom privacy.

Which she missed a great deal as she braced herself on her yellow VW’s cold bumper and tinkled on the no-longer-dusty dirt floor.

She took a moment to exhale and noticed the sunbeams reaching tentatively toward the windshield. Looking at the situation from this awkward angle, she realized, perhaps it wasn’t gone after all, her early morning bathroom privacy.

Just relocated.

a cuppa, cuppa what?…a.k.a., how to freak mommy out

We were in the bathroom multitasking, me brushing my teeth, her on the potty. Yes, a regular Norman Rockwell scene (now THAT’S what we want hanging on our wall!).

I finish brushing, take a sip of water and spit.

“Mommy, have you ever peed in a cup?”

“Yes,” I said finishing my last gulp. “At the doctor’s office. Have YOU?”

“Yes.” Snicker, snicker.

I slowly set the bathroom cup back on the counter, considering whether you can rinse your own mouth out with BLEACH….

“What CUP?” I glared into my own reflection in the mirror.

“That cup.”

“THIS ONE?? The one I just set down?”

“No, that one over there.” She pointed to another cup on the rim of the bathtub.

Whew, that was a close one.

groovin’ on the conference vibe, or not

Thanks to the hubs donning his Mr. Mom hat, I went to this conference this past weekend.

I felt a rollercoaster of emotions:

Day One:
Wow. This is just great! These people are so talented!
I COULD be a professional author. ANYTHING is possible. Children’s books are AWESOME. I’m learning SO much! I have SO many ideas! I CAN fix my rough drafts! These editors will LOVE my stuff!

Day Two:
Wow. This is just great. These people are so talented.
I SUCK. These editors won’t get to page 2 of my stuff. This will NEVER work. I am SO screwed. How did I ever think I could? I won, like, NO door prizes. Zero. And they were not even giving away tote bags.

Day Three (home):
I think I had a high school deja vu, stretched out, over 48 hours. Is that a zit? Got any chocolate chip cookie dough? Tab?

My neck is sore from all the head-spinning.

Is 41 too late to be a professional soccer player? They make cleats for girls now, right?