Happy Frozen Cheese Pizza

On Monday my little Peanut will, impossibly, be turning 5. I don't know where the time went, but I can tell it's gone, because at the end of her fourth year she's suddenly sporting a new pair of longer legs and less-chubby cheeks that show off her cheekbones. She looks five, which does nothing to make it easier for me to swallow.

I have a party planned for her, set up as she requested: just a few friends here at the house. Peanut is nothing if not easy to please. I mean, she's the most stubborn human being I've ever met, which is saying a lot since previously I was the most stubborn human being I'd ever met, but that's only about 1% of the time. The rest of life, she goes easy on.

So the following weekend we're having family, about 8 kids, and cupcakes to celebrate this milestone. That's all she wants, and that's fine by me. But I keep asking what she wants to do on Monday after school, since that's her actual birthday: go somewhere fun, have a friend over, go out to dinner? And she's decided: she wants a frozen cheese pizza, here at the house, with me and her sister. That's it? That's it.

Every day I come up with a few more ideas, tantalizing little notions sure to entice her into imagining a more interesting birthday. Nope. Frozen cheese pizza, play time with her sister, and maybe a story or two before bed.

I love having an easy-to-please child, I really do. And I don't want her to feel wrong for wanting to keep it simple. I'm trying to recognize that while this milestone feels huge for me (She's in kindergarten now! She's reading! She's doing math! She has these ridiculous legs! The baby fat is all gone!), and worth celebrating in some spectacular fashion, maybe she's got enough newness going on in her life that the same old same old sounds perfect: a little familiar comfort to ring in her fifth year. Okay. Fine. I get it. But I'm still getting cake. And balloons. She'll just have to deal.

Schoolgirls

Today is the big day when both of my girls become elementary school kids. String Bean started first grade today, and Peanut started kindergarten. There were no tears, from either the kids or me. It was nice to catch up with several of the moms I haven't seen since last June, and cute to see String Bean scoping out her new class, getting excited about which girls are in it with her. Peanut has a few friends starting kindergarten at this school as well, but none of them are in her class. When I asked if that bothered her, she just shrugged: "No. I'll make new friends." I fully expect the class to be following her around like little ducklings by the end of the day. She seems to have that effect on other kids. String Bean had a moment of tearing up as I kissed her goodbye, and she turned away so I couldn't see. I got to see her again during recess when I dropped Peanut off, and she was running around the playground with a little boy right on her heels, oblivious to my presence.

While my kids are both in school five days a week, I'm going to focus on writing. Not just putting words on the page, but submissions, contest entries, revising one of my novels and getting it out to agents, building a web site, and trying to keep up with my blog and Twitter (@cassdunn) posts. In short, it's time to start treating this writing fantasy like a job. I've been able to meet some amazing local best-selling authors recently: Meg Waite Clayton, Ellen Sussman, and Ann Packer just to name a few, and one thing I'm realizing is that while I've developed fairly good discipline for writing, I'm sorely lacking in the self-promotion department. So while my girls are navigating through a new school year, I'll be feeling my way through the practical aspects of a writing career.

First on the list: a website! I'll post the link when it's done.

Heavy Stuff

String Bean has always been a bit of a serious kid. Not when she's running around in the Ariel costume she just scored for 25 cents at the garage sale down the street, singing in her shrieking high voice about the wonders of the sea, but when it's late and quiet and she has time to settle into her own mind a bit. She likes to cuddle in her bed together after I put Peanut to sleep and talk about some of her thoughts, to sort of clear her mind before sleep. I get this, as I do it, too. Only I don't talk about it, I just mull over my own thoughts as I battle it out with insomnia. Some nights, the thoughts clear and I fall asleep soon. Other nights the insomnia wins and I have lots of free time for thinking.

So, for tonight's bedtime chat String Bean wanted to discuss the horrors of slavery. She wanted to know why light-skinned people would take dark-skinned people from their homes and families. Why they were cruel to them. Why they wouldn't pay them for working for them, and why they hit them whenever they wanted. She wanted to know why there were no laws to protect them. She also asked about the Civil War, wanted the low-down on Jim Crow laws, and followed up with asking why anyone would want to shoot Martin Luther King, Jr, when he was just trying to make the world a fair place.

I like that she's a deep-thinking 6-year-old, but sometimes I worry about all the heavy stuff she's carrying on her tiny shoulders. I asked if we should change the subject, if maybe talking about all of this scary stuff would make it harder for her to fall asleep, and she said, "It's not scary, just sad." And within a few minutes of expressing her sadness about the way people will treat people sometimes, she drifted off to sleep.

"Mommy, Please Leave"

Every Tuesday morning my dad and step-mother watch my girls for a few precious hours, so that I can get out of the house and write distraction-free. It's been a great weekly date for the girls as well, who wait by the front window, watching for their grandparents' car, squealing as they see it park, jumping up and down as Grandpa pulls his banjo out of the back seat and Grandma fetches her coffee and latest book and heads toward the front door.

I try to take a few minutes to chat with my dad before heading out, and sometimes we even get a few words in. Usually, though, the girls are in a hurry to send me on my way. They have songs to sing while my dad plays banjo, or weddings to plan where he will be the groom, or various animal rides to take where he will play the animal and they will play the riders. The visual of my 71-year-old father crawling up and down the stairs with a 40-pound child on his back is priceless, and sometimes I like to take a moment to acknowledge him for his willing sacrifices to his body to keep these little girls happy. The little girls, however, have no time for such sentimentality.

"Mommy, please leave!" they shout in unison, as I try to chat with my dad. One will grab my wrist, the other pushing me from behind, leading me toward the door.

Once upon a time, they were shy about these weekly babysitting sessions. I can even remember early on, I would sneak out when Peanut went down for a nap, so she wouldn't know I was gone, and it would take both grandparents to soothe my separation-anxiety-ridden String Bean as I made for the door. Those days are history, as I try to finish my brief conversation with my dad, try to ask my step-mother what book she's reading now, and try to bid farewell to the girls who shove me so indelicately toward my car.

I get into the car, both girls shouting "Go, Mommy, go!" through cupped hands at the garage door, and smile. I am so grateful for my Tuesday morning alone time. And so glad my girls get the undivided attention of their grandparents for a few hours as well. Catch up time with my dad and step-mom can wait.

Amazed

Well, now I've gone and done it. I've gotten a taste of what I really want, the life I really want to have, and it's going to be hard to go back. I have written 3 3/4 novels over the last year and a half, and about 20 short stories in the last two years. I've polished my discipline, learning to cherish every quiet second I can devote to writing. I've sent the stories out again and again, and now have six of them published in various literary journals. I submitted one of the novels to a battery of agents, a few of whom liked it enough to ask to see the entire thing, before politely declining.

On a whim, I entered that novel in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award. I figured: why not? It's a free contest, I qualify, and I have this novel just sitting here staring at me. When I survived the first round of cuts, I was pretty happy. When I survived the second round, becoming a quarter-finalist, I was ecstatic. I mean, it put me in the top 5% of entrants. That's a big deal, right? The semifinalists were announced this morning, and I spent all night giving myself pep talks about getting cut: I made it to the top 250 out of 5000, got three good independent reviews, and a lot of encouragement from family and friends along the way. That's enough, right? I just about had myself convinced that it was when the list was posted, and I was shocked to see my name on it. So, just like that, I went from feeling happy with my quarter-finalist status, to seeing an actual possibility of winning the thing. I'm this close to having every career dream I've ever had come true. That's a lot to carry. So today I've been in a daze, checking the list repeatedly to make sure I wasn't dreaming (yep, I'm still there), and learning to believe in myself in a whole new way. I know winning would be a ridiculous long-shot, and I'm being realistic about it. I'm so glad to have made it this far. Being one of 50 left in the contest that started with 5000, that's a big accomplishment. But I'm also starting to see that this little dream of mine, of raising the best two little girls in the world while writing all day, it might just become a reality some day.

I'll have to remember to share that with them on a regular basis. Keep dreaming girls, and dream big. Because you just never know what's possible until you put yourself out there.

The Big Time

It's been a big week around here. String Bean turned six years old, which is impossible, because she was a fussy, clingy baby that I had to sleep holding all night just yesterday. And I just registered Peanut for kindergarten, which is both awesome (I'm so looking forward to having both girls at one school again), and impossible, because she's my baby, and babies don't go to kindergarten.

I've noticed they've both had major growth spurts lately. String Bean's back to being the tallest girl in her class, and last time I eyeballed the line-up before class, there were only three boys taller than her in her class, too. Peanut's now so long that I can no longer carry her and walk, as her feet kick me in the knees the whole time. This proves they must indeed be four and six years old, but a big part of me still can't accept it. For one thing, I was only going to leave my editing job for a year after String Bean was born, and I still haven't gone back to work full-time, so that makes me a slacker. For another, hubby and I agreed that I could stay home longer in order to raise the kids while simultaneously launching my writing career, and that hasn't fully taken off yet, either. So, time needs to slow down a bit.

I have had six (six!) short stories accepted for publication in the last four months, so that's been a great ride. Not a paying ride, but encouraging, and I'll take that. I'm pretty proud of myself, and hubby is very supportive of this long-term venture, but the best part is how proud String Bean is of me. I'm not sure Peanut gets the concept of writing stories, since she can't really read or write yet, but String Bean is all over this. As I've showed her each acceptance, she's gone into adorable hysterics, cheering and dancing and telling me how proud she is of me. I mean, really, what more could a mom need? Aside from a literary agent and a book deal. And a little more time with my little girls.

Gingerbread Girl

So, String Bean's aunt gave her this gingerbread man to decorate for Christmas, and she really did a great job decorating it. She became a cute little gingerbread girl, with a fluffy white skirt, puffy sleeves, candy buttons down the front of her blouse, and long, flowing icing hair. But then our cat kept trying to eat it (he's 16, and has some issues, and one of them is chronic food-eating without any accompanying weight gain). So I decided that, for gingerbread girl's protection, I'd store her in the oven.

The next day, after a rough stretch of trying to get the girls down for bed, with hubby out of town, I decided I'd earned some cookies for dessert. So I turned on the oven to preheat. Then Peanut called me up to help her find her missing doll that she wanted to sleep with, and String Bean got into the mix by demanding water, a bathroom trip, and extra cuddling time. By the time I left her room, the house was filled with smoke. I told her to stay put, ran downstairs to see what the problem was, and there was poor gingerbread girl, burnt to a crisp in the oven. Oops! I might've been able to hide it, but String Bean just had to come down to see what the trouble was. I apologized profusely, and she might've been okay, if I hadn't started laughing hysterically at the same time. So, so much for my quiet night. Instead I got a smoke-filled house, a crying 5-year-old devastated by the untimely death of her gingerbread girl, and one ruined wooden cutting board. Hurray for mom!