Between the hurricane-related school closures and teacher workdays, my son has been home a lot lately.  It could be nice to have him around–theoretically. We could hang out together, he could join me on my afternoon run, or we could go to museums in D.C.

Actually, he does stuff with his friends and tells me when he needs a ride.

Theoretically, I don’t mind driving him places. He has friends and activities and I’m glad he enjoys them. If he would like to be at the basketball court at 4:00, and he asks for me to take him  I’m more than happy to adjust my schedule to do so.

Actually, he tells me at 2:00 that I have to take him and a friend at 2:15, which actually doesn’t work for me, so I move some things around. At 2:15 his friends aren’t quite ready, so it will be more like 2:45, so he paces around my office talking about sports while I’m not writing, and at 2:40, he gets a text that says someone else’s mother  is driving them there, but he’ll text me when he needs to be picked up.

Theoretically, he’d get some reading and homework done, shoot some hoops,  or finish that model that’s been lingering in the basement since last Christmas.

Actually, he’s in the basement yelling at Call of Duty hackers and lag-switchers, or throwing a ball against the wall to practice fielding. He can throw a ball against the wall for a surprisingly long time. The wall is under my office. I need a Motrin.

I hated Economics in college. I didn’t understand the value of hypothesizing about theoretical markets that behaved in predictable ways. When was the last time you met anyone rational, especially where spending money is concerned.  The world is not a theoretical place.

But then again, theoretically, I could have the perfect Stepford son. Actually, my son is pretty cool just the way he is. As long as I can get some writing done. I should be able to, since he goes back to school today. Theoretically.  Actually, he needs a ride. Better go get the keys.

Words by J. B. Everett

Photograph by Steve Cadman © 2006 Creative Commons

Sometimes I feel sorry for my son, and not because I write about him on my blog. Girl’s got to write, and in general, I think he comes out looking pretty good. No, I feel sorry for him because his parents are geeks.

We live just outside of D.C., which means we are not only bathed in politics, our son goes to school with the children of political figures, or relatives of political figures. My son really hates car pools. He says it’s because it takes too long to get home, but I think it’s because he’s afraid that I will jump into a debate with his friends when they are repeating things that aren’t based on fact. Especially when they diss my Prius. Do not diss the Prius when you are sitting in it.

The other night at dinner, he relayed a conversation where a friend explained a speaking gaffe made by a political relative. We told him that all politicians make gaffes. They say stupid things while speaking off the cuff and then get called on it, which I don’t particularly care about (and there is a big difference between things people could have said better, and things people say when they think no one is listening). It’s a red herring. What matters is what they stand for and what they are going to do in office.

We could have left it at that, but noooooo. We had to digress into a long discussion of policy, the importance of the supreme court, and the politics of gender, which culminated in an exchange between my husband and I that sounded like an argument even though we were basically agreeing with each other and my assertion that (name of political figure in question) was too interested in my (name for private part I won’t offend people in Michigan by using) and needed a new hobby.

Any lesson we intended to impart to our son was washed away by my use of the word (name for private part I won’t offend people in Michigan by using).

This happens a lot. He’ll bring up a topic, and we’ll say “Ooh! There was this great article on this in the Economist!.” I look at his face, and I know what he’s thinking–Why don’t they ever mention some great article they read in Sports Illustrated? That, I could care about.

He says it doesn’t matter, because he can’t vote anyway. I told him it matters because our vote today will effect what his tomorrow looks like. So, when Tuesday rolls around, vote. Whatever your point of view, vote. And if you’re undecided, let me know, and I’ll set aside a couple of hours. There’s this great article in the Economist I can tell you about.

Words by J. B. Everett

 Photograph by Kristin Ausk © 2008 Creative Commons

I won three awards!

So I must spill some secrets

Good luck finding some

I owe some thank yous!

I’ve been nominated for the Beautiful Blogger award by YA Addict Erin Brady Pike at Writerlious.  She made me work for it by contributing a piece of flash fiction, which was the first step in a new writing journey for me. Her site is a must for anyone interested in paranormal YA or with a love of zombies, beautiful or otherwise.

I’ve also been nominated for the Versatile Blogger award by both Cindy Brown of Everyday Underwear and Muddy Kinzer of Muddying the Waters.  They are moms who, like me, see life through the lens of love and humor.  I’m proud to be in their circle.

Finally, I’ve been nominated for the Sunshine award by Michelle at Words of Compassion, Creativity and Knowledge, she’s a woman of great strength and faith, and shares my appreciation for Viggo Mortensen.

As part of the first two awards, I’m supposed to tell you seven things you don’t know about me.  I’m hard pressed to find something I haven’t already spilled all over the pages of my blog, but here goes.

1) I was born in Detroit, Michigan, and was raised in the greater Detroit Metro area, so I grew up on Faygo, White Castle and Sanders Hot Fudge. I have a Midwestern accent, which I didn’t know until I married someone from the East.

2) I am a huge Red Sox fan after living in Boston for five years, and my basement wall is painted to look like the Green Monster. I listen to games while I write and curse often.  It has been a difficult season.

3) I’m a violinist, and I play orchestral and chamber music, but my group has been known to break out the Springsteen on occasion. I play some mean Van Morrison.

4) My two favorite writers are Margaret Atwood and J. K. Rowling, and I’m not sure how they fit together.  I know an embarrassingly large amount of Harry Potter trivia.

5) I’m a substitute librarian at the middle school level and volunteer one afternoon a week so the kids know I mean business.  I know this because one of the kids spelled “Your (sic) not very nice” while playing hangman. I bit back the urge to say “Tell me something I don’t know, and by the way, Shakespeare, you’re has an apostrophe.”

6) I hate the cold, and during the five years I lived in California, I did NOT miss the seasons.  Not even once.

7) I cannot see without my glasses, but I’m licensed to drive without them, which is sort of frightening.

The Sunshine Blogger Award comes with 10 questions, sort of like Inside the Actors Studio, without James Lipton.

10 Questions…

1. What is your favorite color? Purple. It is the color of power. What’s not to love about that?
2. What is your favorite animal? Cats. I have two, one whom I openly envy.
   
3. What is your favorite non-alcoholic drink? Coffee.  This is the Mobyjoe Cafe, after all.
   
4. Do you prefer Facebook or Twitter? I’m not great at either.  I have more friends on Facebook, but I’m working on it…
   
5. What’s your passion? Writing, writing, writhing.
   
6. What’s your favorite pattern? The open to fourth finger eighth note drone that provides the foundation of the Brahms Sextet No 2 in G major, which just happens to be my favorite piece of music.
   
7. Do you prefer giving or getting presents? Getting.  I am a selfish being.
   
8. What’s your favorite number? 11, because that’s the number my amps go to.
   
9. What is your favorite day of the week? Sunday, now that I don’t have to go to work on Mondays.
   
10. What is your favorite flower? Roses.  My grandfather grew them, and my grandparent’s house always smelled like roses.

So now comes the part where I’m supposed to refer you to some new blogs and pass the love along.  I still owe some from the second Liebster award, so by my count, I’m up to 30 something.  So here is what I’m going to do.

Writing is usually a solitary occupation. I spend a lot of time alone at a desk, my only company the characters that live inside my head. Don’t get me wrong, they are very interesting and keep me amused for hours, but it’s very different from my corporate life.  There’s no gossiping in the break room, or breaking down workflows onto a whiteboard, arguing with your peers about how long each step should take.

Writing seems very daunting sometimes, the world changing moment by moment.  To take it all in and process it can be overwhelming, especially when there is no one around to talk you off the ledge. Community matters, even for the introverted.

I’ve been blessed to be part of Robert Lee Brewer’s Platform Challenge.  (His blog, My Name is Not Bob is a must-read for any writer, In addition to the invaluable advice and step-by-step process, I’m part of a community of writers that coalesced during this process.  It’s a broad base of people who write in multiple forms across multiple genres.  My association with this group has broadened and enhanced my world and my writing, for which I am grateful.

Lara Britt at Writing Space completed an annotated blogroll of every participant in our group, affectionately known as the Not Bobbers (MNINB).  We have poets, moms, essayists, inspirational writers, food writers, travel writers, you name it– enough to cover seven posts worth. This talented group of writers is working on launching a website of our own, where we can share our work with a broader audience.  I’ll tell you more about it as we build our new playground. In the meantime, however, please visit Lara’s Blog and find some new peeps to follow.

Until tomorrow–you rock.