Lazy Mom Trick--Random Conversation #43b

I’d just woken up. It was 5:45 in the morning or something unseemly like that. I’d just gotten my daughter settled in the basement with her fresh fruit and yogurt to watch Oswald. That’s a cartoon about an octopus and not a documentary on the Kennedy assassination (if you’re worried).  

Louis, my 6 year old, was grumpy.

So I chased him around the house for a few seconds. I chased him in one direction then silently changed directions, snuck up on him, and screamed “Boo!” He screamed. There was a moment of silence where I thought, oops, he’s either going to lose it or laugh. Thankfully he laughed. Then he said “Again, mom! Do it again!”

ME: No. I’m too tired. I need some coffee.

LOUS: Well go get your coffee then.

ME: That’s what I’m doing.

LOUIS: And then chase me.

I got my coffee. Sat down in the Reading Chair in the living room. Listened to Louis running all over the place. Heard him go into the bathroom. The rest of the conversation was Louis yelling at me from the bathroom and me yelling back from the living room.

LOUIS: Mom! Come find me!

ME: I can’t. I’m drinking coffee!

LOUIS: Come find me!

ME: Okay. Fine.

(Pause. Pause.)

LOUIS: Mom! You’re not finding me! Come and find me!

ME: I am finding you. I’m finding you with my mind!

LOUIS: (pause) You can’t find someone with your mind.

ME: I can. I’m finding you with my mind right now! You’re in the bathroom!

LOUIS: (pause) Do it again!

It’s not a lazy mom trick, I swear. But if I can convince Louis I’m chasing him with my mind, then my mornings will be a lot more relaxing.

Here's a picture of me Louis drew. He drew it on his wall. The picture is actual size if I were a little person.  (You know, like a dwarf.) I'll have to take a pic of the whole thing sometime.

I was in the Royal Wedding!

I was in the Royal Wedding! Didn't know that? Me either. I was super surprised. Okay. I'm sorta lying. A friend of mine sent me the below picture. Check out the license plate. EBY! That's me! (And everyone who has the same last name as I do.)

Still, I dream that William and Kate are passing "Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage" back and forth to each other in bed while eating scones. I'm sure that's exactly what they're doing on their wedding night.

Remember when I said I wasn't dieting? Well...

Okay…so remember when I said I wasn’t dieting anymore? I was like standing on a mountaintop and the wind was blowing through my hair and I had a flag that was flapping and I raised my fist in the air and said “I! Will! Not! Diet!!”

Remember that?

Yeah. I was totally lying. Sorry about that. I wasn’t intentionally bullshitting. I mean, that day when I wrote about it, I totally believed it. I was tired of obsessing and feeling bad about myself and feeling guilty for everything I put in my mouth. Well. Ahem. Not everything. Not everything I put in my mouth has calories.

(Groan. Bad joke. Bad.)

Anyway. I believed it. I was committed to it. I had three days of guilt free eating and relaxing. And then I stepped on the scale.

Now, my pants have been getting tight and I was certain it was just that I had the dryer on high. I turned it down to medium. And I couldn’t remember my stomach ever being so muffin-toppy, but memory, sheesh. It does weird things. That muther humper scale though…she’d tell me the truth. And she did. The bitch.

I’m at my heaviest weight in seven years. I’m heavier than when I was pregnant (course I threw up nonstop then). What happened? Why do I care?

I don’t know. My feet hurt when I exercise. I love food. I’m happy. Blah blah blah. But the truth is, with my clothes tight and my face puffy in pictures, I don’t feel like myself anymore. And there’s that tricky little thing of being super high risk for diabetes, since I had gestational diabetes with both my kids.

So I’m dieting.

I’m trying to do it right this time though. No Weight Watchers or Flat Belly Diets or grapefruit or protein shakes. I’m just keeping track of the calories I eat with a handy little app for my iPod touch. I’m upping my walking and exercise, etc. And the farmer’s market will open soon and I plan on consuming plenty of fresh produce again.

It does suck though. At least this time I’m doing it not because I feel pressure from anyone else. (My boyfriend says I’m sexier than ever.) This time I’m doing it for myself. No cocky proclaiming now.

I’ll save that whole proclamation on a mountain thing for the next time I’m PMSing.

Random conversation with my son. This is how we talk.

Sometimes conversations or bits of conversation happen in my house and I just start laughing. It’s like I can step outside of myself and hear myself say something, but I can’t stop myself.  

Consider the below. Louis is 6. Keep that in mind.

ME: Louis, eat your crepes.

LOUIS: No. I won’t do it. I won’t eat my crepes.

ME: Do you know how lucky you are? How many kids do you think get crepes in the morning? I mean besides French kids. Most kids get like poptarts. Maybe. Eat your crepes.

LOUIS: No! I don’t want crepes! They’re yucky.

ME: You wanted crepes. I made you crepes. You specifically asked for crepes three times. Eat your crepes. All you get today is crepes. That’s it.

LOUIS: Then I guess I’ll starve.

ME: I guess so.

LOUIS: And you’ll go to jail and you’ll be sooooo upset because you killed your son.

ME: Well. That will be a sad end to our story, won’t it?

Louis came down from his room half an hour later. We apologized to each other. He ate his crepes. I won. I’m #1!! Yay!!

PART TWO

Louis was in my lap, kissing me and then he started nuzzling my neck like our emotionally disturbed three-legged cat Peanut does.

ME: Louis, stop suckling me.

LOUIS: Why? I like suckling you. ME: Yeah. But you’re too old for that. You shouldn’t suckle anyone until you’re at least eighteen. Probably older.

LOUIS: (blink blink blink) Okay, Ma.

I just had multiple epiphanies

I’m done whining. At least for a little while. I do apologize for my last post where I was all “Woe is me!” I’m over it. I’m glad I didn’t chuck the whole idea of writing and self-promotion and marketing, because then what would I do? Chalk drawings probably.

After my prolonged tantrum, I had a series of epiphanies. The epiphanies felt so good I think my toes curled. Mmmm. Epiphanies. Anyway, these realizations inspired some decisions. Most of them begin with pseudo-swearing, because honestly, I sound kind of ridiculous when I really swear.

1. Blast! I’m going to stop complaining and get back to what I do best: write. Or is it writing. Whatev.

2. Tarnation! I realized that ebooks sell great…if you write erotica or paranormal stuff. Quiet novels with saucy language, well, they don’t sell as well. I considered writing “Three Men and a Little Semen” but then quickly reconsidered. So….

3. Muther humper! I’m going to send out “Foodies Rush In” to the other editor who requested it. If she doesn’t want it, I’m publishing the book myself so that I can move on to the next thing I want to write.

4. Holy smokey! The next thing I want to write is to finish “Tunnel Vision” and return to a novel I abandoned ten years ago called “Fortunes Told Above Rusty’s Grille”. Both of these stories are literary fiction, but with my quirky stamp on it. I’ve been afraid of literary fiction. But I’m taking it back.

5. Daggnabit! I had hoped to do a reading/book signing of “Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage”. I was going to have my cousin sing with her duo (she plays accordion and everything), serve drinks and appetizers, and have it be super cool. Originally, it was going to be on a Thursday…but cousin can’t come. So, I found a place that I could rent on a Saturday. May 28^th. The only date I could get. Everything is pretty much booked through July for theater events and weddings. I was excited. Then my cousin reminded me that the day I booked is Memorial Weekend. So. Yeah. It’s hard enough to get people to come to a reading on a regular weekend, let alone a major holiday. Reading/signing is cancelled…BUT…

6. I’m going to do an Awkward Book Tour instead, with a little help from the Blunder Team. What’s the Blunder Team? Click here to read the post on that. Anyway. Starting in Mid-May I’m going to have flash signings. Not ‘flash’ as in I wear nothing under my cape (scary), but ‘flash’ as in instant. I’ll tweet/facebook a location, set up a hand-written sign in a restaurant and sign books while I eat a gigantic sandwich.

And finally

7. Stuart at Sound Post says I can record “Pepper” for audio book release. Even though I can’t do a reading in a cool location with wine and appetizers, you can still listen to my work while getting sloshed and eating too much in the comfort of your own home.

And that’s it. That’s my series of epiphanies followed by decisions. I’m tired now. This whole thing has worn me out.

I haven’t even written about my experience at last week’s Art Downtown/Site Lab yet. Man. Stories to tell.

Those stories will have to wait. I’ve got to crack my knuckles and get back to work.

Ouch.

Blunder Team Powers ACTIVATE!

Blunder Team!(I don't actually know who these people are in the photo below, but you get the idea)

So I’ve created a little thing called a street team. What’s this, you ask? It’s just a group of you who like my work, want some free stuff, and agree to help spread the word about my books. Why? Dude. FREE STUFF. And you get to be part of a grass roots movement…if you like that sort of thing. Actually, you're more a part of a secret super-hero organization. Masks and all. Only you tell people about it.

Sign up now and I will give you a free download of the audio edition of “Easy Does It”. Really. You click on a topsecret link I’ll provide you with, and the files will download to your computer. You can then put it on your iPod or whatever.

Here’s what you do:

1. Email me at heyblunderwoman@gmail.com and say you want to be part of the team. I’ll add you to the email Blunder Team list so you’ll get insider information about the Awkward Book Tour…and occasionally…FREE STUFF.

2. All you agree to do is either tweet, post a facebook message, or tell a friend about my blog. That’s it. You can go a step further and suggest my book for a cool book club gathering (instead of a super serious one). Or whatever other ideas you have. Basically, all you do is spread the word. That’s it.

3. Once I have your email note, I’ll email you the top secret link for your free audio download. And don’t worry. There’s nothing creepy in the download. I don’t want to blow up your computer. I’m an awkward super hero. Not an evil one. Or even an actual superhero. I'm a writer in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, okay?

Join the team! Spread the seed! I mean, the word, about my quirky writing. Get free stuff!

-Tanya-

PS 12 of you have already joined. Let me know if you'd like the audio link as well. Audio link is active for five days, then disappears into the ether.

Melodramatic Writer Meltdown

I’m having an existential writer moment. At least I think it’s existential. Hell. Basically, I’m just throwing a tantrum. I get so tired of promoting all the time and then when I see my sales report (abysmal) it’s really hard not to take it personally. It reminds me of auditioning…even dating…where somehow you’re never quite good enough. To wax old-gold-digger: Tarnation!

I guess this is the modern life of a struggling writer, or any artist really. You have to produce work, believe in your work, constantly put it out there, and hope that it catches on. I wonder though, sometimes, at what point do you just give up? Not that I’d ever give up on writing, but I do think sometimes of giving up on trying to get a big publishing house, or even promoting my current work.

I just sent out a dozen free books to people in hopes that they’ll help spread the word about my work. There’s no telling if it will work. That all comes out of my pocketbook. I had to buy the books to give them away. Ouch. And I paid for some advertising. Promo stuff. Etc. etc. And now I’m looking at doing a reading/signing at St. Cecilia. I couldn’t get Schuler’s to call me back. A reading is a great idea, but it will probably cost me about $500 with food and promo materials. And there’s no guarantee that anyone will show up. (See the onion spoof  here. It’s funny because it’s true.)

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been swept up in some massive scam that gets writers to pay for promotional material and even their own books. Then I immediately stop thinking about that because it’s too sad.

Wah. Wah. Wah.

I think this is just another temporary setback. I’ll get over it. It just comes at a time when I still don’t know if my teaching contract will be renewed and I’m not sure how many more voice over gigs I’ll get. If teaching tanks and I’m not selling books…dear god…what will I do then? It scares me. Deeply. Probably not the best time to watch the first episode of Mildred Pierece where she’s all starving and looking for work. I do not want to be a waitress again. I really don’t.

I’ll get over this and my tight pants. I’m not dieting, exactly, but I am upping my workouts. I probably need the endorphins. And I have wonderful friends and family who read my work and love it. And, of course, I’ve got my kiddos and Kealoha. It’s just sometimes I get tired of all the work and I want to see the fruits of my labor. And by fruits I mean ‘income’ and by labor I mean ‘writing’. That’s my dream, I guess. To one day see my writing pay off, literally.

It might never happen. So…guess I’ll just continue doing what I do. I might bitch about it every now and then, but sheesh, I’m endlessly flawed and human. And my zodiac sign is Cancer, so what can you expect really?

And Mildred Pierce eventually made some kind of fortune out of pies or something, didn’t she? I haven’t watched the whole thing. I’m afraid maybe she has some kind of confrontation with her daughter involving wire hangers. (I could be mixing up old movies here.)

I’m hoping all this will blow over when it’s finally sunny outside and I can get over my angst and put on a sundress and a pair of sandals. That’s all I really need. OR…I could pretend I’m in a 1950’s melodrama. I sort of like that idea. Let me go get a hanky so I can flit it around while crying dramatically, and without tears.

I leave you with some melodrama. Enjoy.

Happy Birthday, Simone.

5 years ago, I met Simone Nichole for the first time. I'd been carrying her for almost nine months and as you can see from the below picture, I was pretty much miserable. There's no 'pregnancy glow' here. This was sheer misery. I had gestational diabetes, threw up four to five times a day for the entire pregnancy, and had to keep going in for tests to monitor her heart beat.

So when I say I couldn't wait to meet her, I mean it. But it was more than just wanting the pregnancy to be done. When I was pregnant with my son Louis, we had two possible names chosen. Only two. "Louis" and "Simone". It's sort of like I knew somehow that I would have two kids...and who they would be. I knew their names, but beyond that, everything else would be a surprise.

We went in during a snow storm. Yes. In April. And today it's snowing too. Everything was covered with white. It was that heavy kind of snow. And then the next day (or was it two?) when they sent me home with little wee Simone, all the snow had melted. Sun was shining. Tulips and crocuses had sprouted. In a real and very cheesy way, I feel a like that about Simone in my life. I had Louis and that was great, but something was cold and frozen and missing. What was missing was my daughter. Bringing her home with me was like bringing home fresh flowers and sunshine. Yes, I realize it's corny, but that doesn't make it any less true.

Not to be all unicorns and rainbows...I wanted a daughter but was also terrified. A mother/daughter relationship is so complicated. And I felt that I'd given all my love to my son. How could I love another needy baby? How would I show Simone how to be a strong, loving, creative girl and eventually woman. If a daughter learns from her mother's examples, what kind of life would I set her up for?

Simone and I had to get to know each other. I think the idea that you instantly love your child is a fallacy. You do love them, but you have to fall in love with them through time and experiences. When she was born, I loved that she was with me and that she filled an empty space. Now, I love who she is. I don't know how much is by my example, or the combination of the the people in her life, or just who she is...but Simone at five is a wonderful human being.

She's strong, opinionated, empathetic. She's funny, curious, creative. She has no problem saying "Whoah. Look at this heart I just drew. I think I have a lot of talent." She'll wear a pretty dress and then run outside to get dirty. She takes incredible pictures. But even that doesn't explain who she is. Look into her deep blue eyes, and there's a deep spirit there. In fact, I think I learn more from watching her than she does from watching me.

Simone, my love, my sweet girl, you know I'm not religious necessarily, but if anything could make me believe that there is goodness and beauty in this world...it's you.

Happy 5th birthday.

What You Might Not Know About Narrators And Audiobooks

This morning I went to Audible.com to refill my iPod so I could listen to another audiobook. I’ve always loved audiobooks, even before I started narrating. I love being told a story. My favorites are mysteries…because I think the heavy plot and action lends itself well to a good listen.

I made a little mistake though….I clicked on some of my own books to see what people thought. I’m constantly trying to get better as a narrator, and I’ve certainly improved over the years. In the beginning, I tried to sound like a man with the male characters, but eventually dropped that for more subtle reads. When I listen to an audiobook, for me, I don’t expect the narrator to sound like the opposite sex. For me, it’s about characterization. How does a character speak? Are they fast, slow, do they upspeak, are they breathy, are they kind? And if you listen to people, really listen to them, there’s a whole range of voices. Women don’t always speak high. Men don’t always speak low. Anyway, for one reviewer in particular, this was the worst choice ever.

Most of the books I’ve narrated are rated around 4 out of 5 stars. It’s hard to know what they’re rating. Are they rating strictly the storyline or the narrator’s performance, and how do you separate the two?

Anyway. This one reviewer listened to a series I recorded and book after book said I was horrible, paused in weird places, and my male characters were too feminine sounding. She was venomous in her review. And, you know, it did hurt my feelings a bit. I also felt terrible for the writer. Had I failed her? Did she wish I hadn’t narrated her book? It also made me question my choices as a narrator. I’ve certainly made some missteps…but am I the worst narrator out there? I’m not the best, I know that. I know that my voice is well-suited for fiction with strong women characters. I do well with romances and mysteries.

I’m not going to defend myself. I’ll just keep trying to improve. But the comments did hit a sore spot. All of this got me thinking about the industry, and some of the reviews criticized things that are beyond a narrator’s control. So…here are some things you might not know about narrating. This is my experience, and might not be true for everyone, but here it is.

1) Narrators are not allowed to contact the author. I wish this weren’t so. I’d love to talk to the author and ask them what they want. I’d even try some voices for them for characterization, but I’m strictly forbidden to contact them. The most I can do is send them a tweet or reply on their website…and even that could get me in trouble. Directors can sometimes talk to the author, but rarely.

2) Some reviewers hate women who try to sound like men. Others hate it when women don’t sound enough like men. What’s a narrator to do?

3) Narrating is incredibly difficult. I have people coming up to me all the time saying “I should be a narrator. I read to my kids all the time.” I smile. I nod. Maybe they would be great…but…you have to read, interpret, perform, do characterizations, accents, differentiate between sexes, sometimes read foreign phrases, and read every single word as written all while making as few mistakes as possible. It all comes down to time and money. Read this paragraph aloud. Cold. Try to not take breaths between commas or periods. Try not to make a single mistake.

4) I get usually three days to record a book. There isn’t time to practice and finesse. You read and hope it’s good. If you make too many mistakes and they have to add a day to record, you probably won’t be hired again.

5) I prep all the books I record, but sometimes I’m only given a script a few days in advance. Most of the times, this is because of issues from the publisher. Everyone’s got a deadline and when one person is late, it affects everyone in line.

6) The director decides if a word is pronounced correctly. I’ve had many discussions and debates over words and names with directors. You’d be surprised how different a word sounds with a different accent on just a syllable. I have to defer to the director. Sometimes they want me to say foreign phrases with the right accent. I feel ridiculous doing it, but they want it right. Authentic. I’ve been slammed for narrating a book in an accent. I didn’t want to do it. The director insisted I do it. I did it. The fans of the book and the author hated that it was read in an accent. The blame fell on me. I was never hired for that author again, and lost three years of work because of it.

7) People rarely review products they love. They might give it stars, but they don’t write a review. If people hate a book, they’ll send venomous reviews. Reviews matter. Bad reviews matter more. I guess this is good because as a listener you have a lot of power. But a series of bad reviews can get a narrator fired. For real.

8 ) I put my heart and soul into every recording I do whether I personally love the book or not. I love the sound of words aloud. I love getting lost in characters. I love telling stories. It’s why I’m also a writer.

I guess this has turned into a little bit of a defense on my behalf. Maybe it’s because it plays on that whole “I’m not good enough” thing I have sometimes. So, I am taking these reviews to heart…but just in the sense that I’m trying to get better. The more reviews I read, the more it seems like the pendulum is swinging back to people preferring big differences between male and female characters. I’ll try it. We’ll see what happens.

If you’ve actually read this really long blog (sorry about that) I hope, if anything, it makes you think a little more about the business of producing an audiobook and what goes into it. By all means, post reviews and be critical. There’s a difference though between critical and hurtful.

I’m going to go post some positive, supportive reviews of books I’ve read and listened too. Got to cleanse the palate.

Street Team Powers ACTIVATE

Last week I mentioned on Facebook that my publisher (Champagne Books) is hoping their writers can form "street teams". I didn’t know what the beejus that was either, except it sounded like you should carry a baseball bat and be all slicked back and tough like in The Outsiders. And they wore way too much hair product for my taste.

A street team, though, is just a group of people who like a musician, an artist, or a writer and want to promote them. One thing I’ve learned as I dip into publishing is that while I can get my stuff out there, it’s really hard to let people know about it. I simply can’t do it alone. Basically, I’m looking for some devoted minions, except, you know, nice minions. LIke you'd be more prone to give a backrub than take over the world.

What do you do? What kind of relationship is this? Basically, I give you some free stuff to get you started. In the beginning, I can give up to fifteen free books (maybe twenty if there are some ebooks in there). One to each minion. And all you do is tell a friend. Maybe mention my blog or facebook page, or suggest that your book club cover a quirky romantic comedy or mystery instead of a super serious death-read. And that’s it. That’s all you have to do. You tell a friend through face-to-face, Twitter, Facebook, what have you. If my work is strong enough, others will want to read it. And then I can keep writing.

In the future (as soon as I get things ordered), you’ll receive some free promo stuff. Bookmarks, Band-Aids, recipes, etc. Keep some for yourself, and share with others. You can help me promote an awkward book tour and I might have some dorky challenges. (Like be in a book trailer.)

It’s painless and potentially fun. Why would you want to help someone you don’t even know? Good question. I can’t answer that, but I think it’d be fun to be part of a clandestine organization where the only point is to tell someone about an unknown writer and hope it catches on.

It’s sort of like attaching a note to a balloon and letting it go and hoping someone across the ocean gets it. (And of course that the balloon doesn’t pop and kill a dolphin. I’m emphatically against killing dolphins. And unicorns. I do not kill unicorns.)

What do you say? Want to help? Email me your name, email, and address and if you’d like a paperback or ebook. If you have a preference for which book you’d like to receive, let me know that too. There are three to choose from: “Easy Does It”, “Blunder Woman” and “Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage”.

Free stuff for you…and for me…someone new might stumble across my work. It’s not just about money. I’m really not making any money at all on this. I just want to keep writing and keep finding ways to find the funny in life.

Guest Blogged

I guest blogged today. You can find it here: http://grandrapidsregionwritersgroup.blogspot.com/

And I promise, a new blog is coming. Just after the whole Joe-in-the-closet and the-missing-tree events, it's  little hard to figure what to write next.

Hysterical Witty Post

I don't have any time, but imagine if I did that there would be a hysterical, witty post right here now.

In fact, to help make it real, please laugh annoyingly hard. Snort. Wipe your eyes. Do it loud enough so someone can say "What are you reading?" and you can say "I'm just reading a hysterical, witty post by Tanya Eby."

They will be jealous. You will be plump and satisfied for having pulled one over them.

Win a book! For real! April 11 only.

Did you see the interview this morning with Emily Richett on Fox 17? If not, here it is:

To celebrate that interview and the release of "Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage" I'm giving away TWO BOOKS for FREE! That's right. I won't include any ginzu knives though.

How do you enter? Simply leave a comment on my blog today (anywhere works) or tweet me, or send me a message on my author page on Facebook: Tanya Eby Narrator, Novelist and Numskull.

At the end of the day, someone wins. It's that easy. Winner chooses which book they want.

The Case of the Missing Tree (True Story)

THE BACK-STORY

Before I tell this story, I need to tell the back-story. About ten years ago (wow) I was living with my friends Brendan and George. They took me in after I moved home from living in NYC and helped me get on my feet. While there, we had great meals, fun talks, and just plain weird experiences. One of those was a day that Brendan and I were hanging out in the backyard. George had been at his cottage all day and came home. And he came home pissed. His face was red, smoke pouring out of his ears, that kind of thing. “Where’s my tree?” he asked angrily. Brendan and I just looked at each other. We asked, of course, what he was talking about. “Someone took my beautiful tree out of the front yard!”

It was sort of a crazy thing to say since that tree was like thirty feet tall and massive. You don’t just take a tree. And anyway, we’d have noticed, right? The three of us walked to the front of the yard. George pointed to a spot in the middle of the yard that was covered with fresh dirt and seeds and, indeed, no tree. During the day, someone had come and taken the entire tree…and Brendan and I never noticed.

We found out later that a tree company messed up. They were supposed to take and dispose of a diseased tree down the street, but someone transposed the address and they ended up taking Brendan and George’s tree instead. Still, a crazy thing to have happen. It made me realize though, that weird shit does indeed happen.

THE NOW STORY

Flash forward ten years. I’m staring at my backyard looking perplexed. Kealoha looks at me and says, “What’s wrong?”

I turn to him and I say… “I can’t believe this but there’s a tree missing in my backyard. Look! Look at that stump!” I point to a tree in the yard that is no longer a tree but a stump. In my mind, I remember lush green foliage. Someone came into my yard, probably in the dead of winter, and decapitated my tree, mulched the evidence and took off.

“Are you sure?” Kealoha asks in a way that makes me sort of question myself.

“Weird,” I say. I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Mom has come over to look after the kids. When I get home, she’s staring at my backyard with a perplexed look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her.

“There’s a tree missing from your backyard. Look! Look at that stump!” She says. (I swear to God this is true.)

See? See! I want to cry out! Someone stole my tree. They done stoled it!

I begin immediate research. Research, meaning, I stare at the stump and try to come up with a possible story. I think the neighbor behind me did it. She never liked that tree. Said there were branches falling into her yard. And didn’t she have a tree company come and trim her tree? Yes! She did! I remember! She trimmed her tree and then she had them consume mine!

I am just about to find a gauntlet and go over there and smack her across the face and challenge her to a duel. Or at least a bake-off.

Then it occurs to me that maybe I’d better double check. I scroll through pictures taken a year ago when I moved into the house. And the evidence I need is there. The solution to the mystery. CASE SOLVED

There in front of me is a picture of my yard over a year ago, when I moved in, and there is the tree…that is not a tree but a stump. A stump! There was never a tree there! I made the whole thing up!

Worse, is that my mom made the whole thing up too. We were both certain that someone had snuck into my yard in the depths of winter, probably in a burglar costume, sawed down that tree and took it, just to freak me out.

THE VERDICT

It’s official. I may possibly be some sort of splice or clone of my mother…which would also explain the sudden attraction I have to collecting boxes.

Hmmm.

Random Thought

To promote "Pepper Wellington and the Case of the Missing Sausage" I was going to have a photo contest on my website where people send in pictures of their favorite sausage.

Then I paused.

Thought about that.

Quickly decided against it.

I'm not dieting anymore

I’ve been dieting since I was 17, so for the last twenty years. I don’t mean actively dieting, more like I’m always saying I’m on a diet and then I fall off the diet and then blame myself for every piece of chocolate or bag of chips that I eat. It’s really annoying.

In my journals I’ve recorded my weight, my activity level, and there’s always a sense that I’m never going to lose those five pounds. The only time I was at my goal weight was during the last couple years of my deteriorating marriage. I wasn’t happy then and I was at my goal weight. Why am I doing this to myself now?

I had a great discussion with my Gender in Society class and we were talking about beauty. There was a discussion on photo shop and how it’s so prevalent that it’s perpetuating an unattainable sense of beauty. Or consider the Dove short that shows how a cute woman is transformed into a super model by actually lengthening her neck and moving the placement of her eyes. But when these photo-shopped pictures are everywhere, it’s hard not to think you should look like that.

For me, I generally feel good about myself when I’m on my own. It’s more that I worry people are judging me. My ex and his wife are very healthy and run marathons, so when I look at them, I think in comparison I look like a hippo. The truth is, I will never have a lean runner’s body because I’m not a runner. I’ll also never look like a “Real Housewife” because they have so much plastic surgery they probably glow in the dark.

Still, those lean runners and those “Real Housewives” have bodies that are more desirable than mine.

Or do they? When am I going to give myself some credit? I’m voluptuous. I always have been. And now that I’m inching towards forty, I really should cut myself some slack. I won’t look like a twenty year old ever again because I’m never going to be twenty. And I’ve had two kids. Actually, for nearly forty with two kids, I’m doing pretty good.

I recently bought the flat belly diet book and was going to do the whole 4-day detox. I told Kealoha my plan and he said “Why?” Why, indeed. Because I want a flat belly. I want abs of steel. Why though? Is it really for me? No. I think I want flat abs for everyone else because I….I don’t even know. I guess because in our society it’s more important for a woman to beautiful and young than it is for her to be creative and witty and ambitious.

And I’m tired of it.

So, officially, I am not going on a diet. I’m going to try and cut myself some slack. I’m a foodie, a sensual woman, a good mom. I love food. I exercise when I can, and will more as the weather improves. You know what we’ve had the last few days for dinner? On Sunday we had this incredible soba noodle stir fry dish topped with cashews and carrots and beans and ginger. Then we had homemade pea soup and bacon avocado sandwiches. Last night, was pulled pork carnitas with a roasted tomatillo salsa. All food that I made (with a little help from K-man). This is good food. Slow food. Food for the spirit, the body, and maybe even eventually my thighs.

I don’t care anymore. I think it’s time I started being grateful for what and who I am instead of always wishing to be something better. I’m certain I’m not alone in this.

Blugh

I don’t know if it’s the dreary weather or the fact that the kiddos are gone with their dad and are up in Canada…or maybe I’m just PMSing…or maybe, just maybe I’m a moody mofo, but I don’t feel like doing ANYTHING today. It’s not like I haven’t done a ton already, but now I’m sitting here in my yoga pants and big tshirt and I keep looking at the clock trying to figure out when I can eat again and it wouldn’t be considered gorging.

This morning I had a voice over before school so I went to the studio waited for Joe to get done recording. I was cracking up. He had to say the line “Mmmm. That’s some tasty beef” like twenty times. Each time he said it, he had a little more enthusiasm. It was hysterical. I’ve had to say ridiculous things. (Some of you recall the time I had to say in a commercial “Boy! I just love to sit on a big deck!” It was a restaurant with a deck party and I had to REALLY enunciate the word ‘deck’.)  This morning, though, it was just a warm and fuzzy bank commercial. I had to make sure I had a smile in my voice. Mostly, I just wanted to scratch myself.

Then I went to school and prepped for the next two and a half hours. I forgot my lunch and picked up the worst tuna salad ever. It was noodles, tuna, peas, cheese and straight mayonnaise. Blugh! Then I went to class and we talked about beauty and why is there suc h a pressure to be beautiful and I said that I’d been trying to lose five pounds for twenty years. It’s true. I’m never thin enough or smart enough or pretty enough or successful enough. It was a great conversation, but I ended up just wanting a donut. I schlepped home. I was starving so I heated up delicious dinner from last night. made some coffee and then looked at my To Do List. That was three hours ago. I’ve since played an hour or so of Angry birds, complained about the weather, looked at myself in the mirror and said “Oh, just give up on those five pounds already” and then went to watch TV.

Even TV didn’t work, so I turned to youtube thinking I could post a clever video, but the only search term I could think of was ‘funny’.

Now I’m here. Yoga pants, tshirt, and half an hour until Kealoha gets home and we’re having pea soup and grilled bacon, cheese and apple sandwiches.

I want me some sunshine and warm weather. And a book deal would be nice too.

If today’s blog isn’t exciting enough, I leave you with 9:43 seconds of a dude mowing his lawn. FOR REAL. At least it looks warm.

What I Know About Joe

I’ve received some emails and general concerns about Joe. Before I tell you what I know about Joe, let me summarize what happened in case you missed it on Facebook, Twitter, the blog, and my telepathic messages.

Last week we moved my mom from her apartment to Kealoha’s house. Kealoha is now in my house and while we get his house ready to sell, my mom will live there. This gives us all time to find her a good place to live that isn’t a retirement complex. She was living in an apartment complex in Coopersville that boasted a retirement community of sixty year olds. The truth was most of the people living there were eighty and above and you can imagine how depressing and lonely that got for my mom, especially when a majority of them started dying.

Anyway…

We moved her out of her tiny apartment. Mom is a pack rat, but in a nice way. She has loads of creativity and buys all sorts of ideas for projects she wants to work on. She also wants to organize things. So, she had boxes and boxes of magazine clippings with project ideas, fabric, ribbons, wreaths, and lots of empty containers to pack them in. She also had Joe.

Kealoha found him in a closet, read the note from a funeral home on the side of the box and asked “Anne, who is this?”

Mom said without pausing or apology, “Oh! That’s Joe.”

We didn’t know what to say or do so we did the only logical thing. We loaded Joe in the moving truck with all her other arts and crafts supplies and I prayed she wasn’t planning on making him into a wreath or something.

But who IS Joe? Or rather, who WAS Joe? What’s his story?

I mean, it’s funny in a dark way, but it’s also a little sad. Joe was a person at one time. A living, breathing person with a family and memories and experiences. How did he end up in my mom’s closet?

Here’s the story.

My mom separated from her husband a few years ago. She lived up in Interlochen and had an older friend. Mom has lots of older friends. She’s a caretaker and likes to help people. So the friend called my mom and said that her husband Joe had passed away and she was too distraught to go and pick his ashes up from the funeral parlor. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, so she asked my mom. So mom picked him up.

The friend couldn’t bring herself to get the ashes from my mom. Mom called and called and tried to drop him off, but the woman was too saddened or just couldn’t deal with it. So my mom kept Joe. When mom left her husband, she took Joe with her. She says she’s still trying to contact the friend.

Who was he? Mom says he was some kind of shaman…a spiritual guy. I haven’t heard much more than that and plan on asking her this weekend. So what happens to him now? It doesn’t seem right that his final resting place is in a garage surrounded by the effluvia of my mom’s life. Then again, it’s probably an interesting place to be.

Take away the humor though, and really, it’s not the place for someone’s ashes to be. If he was a shaman, then maybe we should spread his ashes somewhere, give him up to the earth and the sky. I’m not sure what to do.

Mom thinks her friend will one day be ready to take Joe back. I guess until then, maybe we just buy him an urn and move him into the living room. At least it’s warm there.

One of the funniest cartoons ever (twisted)

Here's a short film Kealoha and I watched last night. I'm telling you, it's hysterical and twisted and deeply disturbing...but so funny! Watch it through the endtitles. You'll thank me later.

Crazy Conversation, Moving My Mom, and a Guy Named Joe...

What you are about to read is an actual thread that occurred on my Facebook page. I have changed the names to protect the innocent, though just how innocent my friends are is debatable.  

STATUS UPDATE

Tanya Eby: This weekend my mom moves into Kealoha's house. I already have a bald spot because of the stress this is causing me. #CrazyMotherAlert March 24 at 12:01pm

Kealoha:

As a side note, I have already moved out of my house. I am NOT moving in with Tanya's mom! March 24 at 12:04pm ·                       

Tanya Eby:

You do realize with mom moving three blocks away, we have officially become a sitcom. March 24 at 12:06pm

Megan:

Brain Overloaded.

March 24 at 12:08.

Kealoha: As long as we don't have the Nutty Neighbor who randomly drops by. Seriously, we've got plenty of nuttiness to go around!

March 24 at 12:09pm

Lindsey:

I think it would be more funny if Kealoha *were* moving in with Tanya's mom. awkward....

March 24 at 12:10pm Kealoha:

*DISLIKE*

March 24 at 12:11pm

Lindsey:

Boy would Tanya have something to blog about then!

March 24 at 12:11pm

Megan:

I think Tanya's mom should move into Tanya's house with both of them, then Tanya should move out into Kealoha's place, then they should find another house that's only, like, 4 houses away from Tanya's original house, and Kealoha can move into that one. With the cats. THEN they can play musical houses.

March 24 at 12:13pm ·

Tanya Eby: Dudes. You're killing me. I'm having a panic attack.

March 24 at 12:15pm

Megan:

Can't SOMEONE just live in the garage? I don't care who, but someone???

March 24 at 12:16pm

Kealoha:

OK, I'm picking up limes tonight for Mai-Tais.

March 24 at 12:16pm

Megan:

At which house?

March 24 at 12:17pm

Kealoha:

I DON'T KNOW ANYMORE!!!

March 24 at 12:17pm

Megan:

Awesome.

March 24 at 12:17pm

Megan:

Thank God the kids don't have a tree house. I mean, THANK GOD.

March 24 at 12:19pm

Kealhoa:

There's is the playset... wait.. WHY AM I FUELING THE FIRE!!! AAAAARRRRRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!

March 24 at 12:20pm

Megan:

My work is done here.

March 24 at 12:21pm

Robby:

Don't think of it as stress...think of it as your next book.

March 24 at 12:45pm

Robby’s right. This is certainly fuel for the next book, whatever that book will be. And I haven’t even told you about the move itself! I can’t even speak about it yet. Let me first say that my mom is a wonderful being. If you don’t believe me, read a previous blog I did on her. But holy cow, she’s a pack rat. Like a hoarder. Her apartment was crammed full of stuff. No wonder she’s so excited about moving into a house! She needs the space.

I can’t put into words  how much stuff she had, except to say that we moved her from a one bedroom apartment to a three bedroom house and ended up putting most of the stuff in the garage because it wouldn’t fit in the house. Not to mention weird things we found. Boxes and boxes of fabric, weaving looms, ribbons. And the strangest was a box marked “Temporary Holding Container” from a funeral home. Kealoha looked at the box, realized it had ashes in it and said to my mom “Anne, who is this?”

My mom looked at the box and said “Oh, that’s Joe.”

There’s a long story there too. Suffice it to say, Joe is in the garage until his wife comes to get him. Apparently they’ve been separated for years, ever since his death. If she doesn’t come soon, we’re going to give Joe a proper send off. Hopefully, he’d find all this funny. If he really was as a shaman like my mom says, then maybe he can help us all find the deeper meaning to this. My mom now lives three blocks from us. Let the sitcom begin!