Over at the Banjostrand blog, Jamie has been shocking everyone with the measurements of her children, who are HUGE, which made me look up how big my kids were at that age. Answer: definitely not huge.

Joshua weighed 20 pounds at 15 months (7th percentile) — compared to Ryker’s 30 pounds at 12. Kaya came in at 22 pounds at 18 months.

I had to pull out their baby books to look these up, and I hadn’t seen them in a while so it’s been fun to read back through everything Kaya did as a baby and the few things I recorded about Joshua’s babyhood. Come on, he’s a second child! You know you all did the same thing! I was too busy chasing a 3-year-old and trying not to go completely insane to spend much time with his baby book. We’re all lucky that we survived that year, much less recorded any of it.

Anyway … some of the stuff about Kaya made me laugh.

Her favorites:

1 year

Cheerios and American cheese

2 years

“macee roni and cheese”
Cinderella
Row Row Your Boat
Twinkle Little Star
the “Mommy Daddy” song (that one’s a blank for me)
Cinderella (anything and everything)
Blues Clues
washing dishes

3 years

“macee roni and oatmeal” (??)
London Bridge
If you Give a Mouse a Cookie

We also listed important firsts. Some gems from the “firsts”:

• November 4, 5 months: “Today Kaya sat up for 1/2 hour ALL BY HERSELF without falling over!” (okay … um … wow. parenthood makes you nuts.)
• May 2000, age 2: “goes potty in her potty, occasionally”
• January 2001, age 2.5: “Potty trained – only took 2 days wearing underwear and a few accidents, but now Kaya is only wearing diapers at night! Big girl! When she sits on the potty, she says ‘leave me alone’!”
• January 2001, age 2.5 — apparently a big month! — can spell her name
• Age 3.5: can write own name and recognize many written words – also basic counting and adding. (This is one I had no idea was abnormal until I met other people with kids her age, who were NOT reading, and then Buster came along and read at a normal age.)

It’s ridiculously hard to believe that my little sweet girl is 11 and growing up so fast. And my baby is 8. Sigh. At least I have Zoe to baby talk to. And Chip to wash dishes.

I just hit “send” on the application documents e-mail to my top choice MFA in writing program.

Did I mention I can’t breathe right now??

Dropping the application fee in the mail Friday (traveling for work tomorrow), but everything else is in. Recommendation letters, transcripts, and now my manuscript and two required essays.

This is so ridiculously exciting because it represents the possible start of something I’ve always, always wanted to do. But it’s also ridiculously scary because I have no idea what I’m getting myself into, and now I’m committed in a way.

Actually applying is a reality two years in the making — my original goal for myself to apply/make a decision about applying was last July 1, set sometime in the spring. Then my promotion happened, work got crazy, and I dropped the idea completely. I kept stalking MFA programs online though, and reading and writing like always, so it was just a matter of time before it came back to life.

Four to six weeks. Four to six weeks. Trying to breathe …

Summer isn’t summer without fireworks out on the gravel driveway. Nothing too fancy – mostly sparklers and bottle rockets. Our neighbors are blowing up all the big fireworks this little redneck village can handle.

As I mentioned in a recent post, Kaya spent two weeks in June at Camp Mudd, a nearby day camp. Every other Thursday night they do an overnight campout and invite the parents out for skits in the evening. Calen and Ian went with us, for old time’s sake (they both went there for years).

Kaya is in the oldest group this summer and wrote their skit herself, a parody of the parody song “I’m on a Boat.” Their (much cleaner) version was called “I’m on a Bus” and was by far the best skit of the night.

Meanwhile, Joshua had his last game of the baseball season last week — his team is undefeated! They regularly beat opponents 24-5 and stuff like that. It’s his last year of coach-pitch, so it was fun to watch them have a great confidence-building season. (He’s down on the lower right.)

Aside from baseball and soccer, Joshua has been busy starting piano lessons. He loves it and is catching on so fast! Here’s evidence … comes home from baseball and goes straight to the piano to practice. Fern would be proud.

With no urgent need for wood chopping, Farmer Chip has turned his attention to other yard-related projects, including the garden. Last weekend we mulched with newspaper and straw. Not much produce yet, but it’s doing well and we’ll have plenty by the end of the summer.

I love our place in summer, with everything green and blooming and alive. We have a ton of baby’s breath everywhere this year.

I would take a picture of me sitting holed up on the couch with my laptop, feverishly trying to finish the book and apply to grad school, but that wouldn’t be very exciting. When the book gets published and I get accepted, I’ll take a picture of the wild party!

This just in – Chip ran past the animal sanctuary today and reports that the growling sound does not, I repeat does not, come from the lion. It comes from the tigers.

I would say we can all breathe a sigh of relief, but, well, tigers eat people too.

Me: We don’t have anything planned for you to do next week — want to see if you can hang out with Gaga?

Kaya: That’d be tight.

We have a local NBC station in central Missouri that we at Hillbilly Hill like to call the Comedy Channel. It’s owned by the journalism school at MU, which is near and dear to my heart but does have the questionable practice of putting brand new broadcast majors in front of the camera every night at 5, 6 and 10.

We get nightly entertainment out of their terrified stares into the camera, botched pronunciations, missed cues, screwed-up video, and way-too-frequent remote shots in front of dark buildings you can’t see. (”Earlier today in the building behind me, the city council …”) The student weathercasters are even better. (”It’s definitely gonna be hot today, and definitely tomorrow, and we’ll definitely see storms. Definitely.”)

Not only are the students funny to watch, but the “news” the anchors (who are professionals, not students, except on Sunday night, which is EXTRA funny) report is a good indicator for the level of country-ness here.

For example, tonight’s lineup was, in order, and I’m not making any of this up:

* Lead story: High winds in three counties — weather man said no storm warning issued but then declared there SHOULD be one issued because it’s r-e-a-l-l-y windy!

* High levels of E. Coli bacteria at the Lake of the Ozarks (watch out Mom and Dad, don’t go swimming!). Anchor kept pronouncing it “EE-koh-lie,” like it’s one word. Kind of like “Ricola,” the cough drops. Irritating.

* Home sales are up. Interviewed a contractor who said life’s been grand since the election and “those tax credit things they’re doing.”

* Something about the open container law, which some college student reporter decides is a story every semester or so. I don’t remember any news about it, just vague outrage that even passengers in a car can’t drink. But they’re not even driving! What if the driver promises not to? It’s not FAIR!

* Piece on the local art-film theater and how AWESOME it is, even though sales are down a bit due to the recession and people not wanting to watch serious movies. Not sure this one qualifies as “journalism.” More like “advertising.”

* Story about a woman one county to the east who called the police on her neighbor because she suspected he was underfeeding his cows. They showed quite a lot of video of the suspect cows, and they did look sad and skinny, I must say. They said the farmer only provided the cows with moldy hay, and after the reporter called to inquire, the farmer went out and fed them GRAIN. Victory!

* Brief story about a Chevy dealer in Marceline, population 75, that got 125 people to sign a petition to GM to let them stay in business, and somehow that worked. So they had a party today at the dealership, which looked like it was in an old strip mall and all the cars were parked in a gravel lot next door. “We’re feeling way better than last month!!” said the wife of the owner.

* Escaped inmate one county to the west. Somehow used toilet paper to jam the lock on his cell. If anyone sees him, call the police. They have no idea where he could be.

I stopped paying attention after that. I’m guessing the news in LA is a little different, right Beth? It’s probably all “today Versace unveiled the fall couture collection” and “diamond prices are down thanks to the recession” and “80 and sunny, again!!”

And I’m taking a wild guess that the news in Minneapolis is full of exposes on evil Republicans and tips for surviving the 75-degree heat waves and happy stories about Nordic culture festivals. And probably some stuff about Canada?

Kaya spent last week and now this week at Camp Mudd, a YMCA day camp in the woods near our house, which is great and all but I have to drive her into town to catch the bus that brings her back out to camp because they don’t let you drop kids off before 9.

Anyway, she’s tolerating it, not exactly thrilled, but she’s doing camp stuff and hanging out with friends so I think it’s a decent way to spend two weeks of one’s summer. Today, however, the heat took over. My god the heat! Muggy, ridiculously hot, heat index over 100. And they’re out in the woods with no hope of A/C. (Dad is shuddering at the horror of that sentence, and now he’s getting up to go turn the ceiling fan to “extra high” and put ice in his pockets.)

So when I picked her up today there was a wee bit of drama.

Kaya: It. Was. So. Hot. Today.

Me: I know! You must have been kind of miserable — what did you do?

pause

Kaya: I think I had a minor heat stroke.

Me: Well at least it wasn’t a major heat stroke.

Kaya: I thought I was going to die!!! But then they said “everyone who lines up quietly gets a popsicle” …. and I knew I was going to survive.

The rest of the week should be more tolerable. Tomorrow they go swimming at the pool, Wednesday they’re roller skating at the cool local rink (I’ve performed there during intermission for the roller derby), swimming again on Thursday, half day on Friday. So popsicle or not, she will most likely survive.

For those of you who don’t know what I’m up to this weekend — and I would be shocked, because I’m sure you all track my whereabouts at all times because it’s SO FASCINATING — I’m in Iowa City at the University of Iowa for a writing workshop!

This is the equivalent of a pilgrimage for writers; Iowa has one of the best writing grad programs in the country, and the summer workshop faculty is mostly Iowa faculty and graduates. It feels especially huge to me because I haven’t done any formal creative writing workshops or training since junior year in college, and this is my official return to studying creative writing. I’m seriously looking at grad programs and other avenues of training … this could be the first step toward taking the plunge.

I drove up tonight on the familiar Highway 63 to I-80 route I used to take to Grinnell. Brought back a lot of memories of that crazy first semester! All those small towns, two-lane highways and giant skies. Now I’m sitting in the hotel trying to stay mellow so I can get to sleep at a decent hour and not be tired for the workshop. I’m completely a night person and get a big second wind starting between 10 and midnight if I’m not careful … so no watching cage fighting on hotel cable for me tonight! Too bad the lion isn’t here to purr me to sleep.

The workshop is an 8-hour weekend class on memoir writing, specifically using fiction plot techniques to shape the structure. I was planning to do one of the workshops no matter what, but when I saw that course description it felt like they put it in there just for me — I’m in exactly that stage with the Suhaila book and can’t WAIT to spend the weekend talking about memoirs and structure and plot and getting some advice and feedback.

We’ll be doing writing exercises and dissecting examples from well-known memoirs, but there’s not enough time to share our memoir drafts and get critique. That’s okay though. I know this will get the juices flowing and help me think through the structure of the book. Wonder if I’m the only one in the class ghostwriting someone ELSE’s memoir?

I’ll be back in July for a weekend workshop on developing characters in fiction — also something I expect will help big time with the book.

More later!

Have I mentioned that we have lions living three houses down?

Seriously. There’s an animal sanctuary on our road, three country lots away, where this couple lives with all their miscellaneous rescued wildlife. The collection includes a lot of ducks and geese (thankfully, they’ve repopulated after the infamous Hazel And Bagel Flightless Bird Massacre Of 2007), goats, at least one wolf, a gazillion cats and dogs, parrots, pigs, peacocks, a mule, snakes, some kind of wild jungle cat like maybe a puma, and a weird Asian animal Chip and I can’t remember the name of. And probably some other stuff I’m forgetting or haven’t seen before.

And two lions and two tigers.

Let me say that again: We live three doors down from two lions and two tigers. One time the owners told me no one can go near the lions because “they would eat you immediately.” They feed them through some kind of enclosure — giant raw steaks. Same menu for the tigers, but I think they are a little more tolerant of people, although I have less than zero intention of testing that theory.

One of the lions is in a fenced area close enough to the road that you can see her perched on her big wooden platform from the comfort and safety of your car. The kids used to beg me to drive by on the way home. They live farther up the street (the sanctuary people, not the kids), so it’s out of the way, but I often gave in because it’s just so trippy to see a lion lounging around in the sun in your own neighborhood.

Over the past few months, one of the lions has started growling at night. It’s like clockwork — every night between 11 and 12 — which wikipedia assures me is normal communication behavior for a lion. And I quote:

Lion sounds include snarling, purring, hissing, coughing, miaowing, woofing and roaring. Lions tend to roar in a very characteristic manner, starting with a few deep, long roars that trail off into a series of shorter ones. They most often roar at night; the sound, which can be heard from a distance of 8 kilometres (5.0 mi), is used to advertise the animal’s presence.[106] Lions have the loudest roar of any big cat.

Can’t say I’ve heard any “miaowing.” I actually think what we’re hearing is more like the lion version of purring, kind of a low, rolling, repetitive series of growls as opposed to the giant roar you would imagine. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself as I lay in bed at night listening to the thing (yes, we can hear it from inside the farthest room in the house with all doors and windows shut): It’s a happy lion purr, not an angry/hungry lion roar! Happy lion! Sleepy lion!

If anyone has any lion-fighting tips, let me know. I’ve started to collect them. So far all I have is “cry,” “scream,” “stab with my bellydance sword,” “bargain with God,” and “die.”

Just another day at Hillbilly Hill.

This post is doing double duty …

Part 1
Kaya’s room has undergone a miraculous (and slightly exhausting) transformation this weekend, from princess pink to pre-teen blue and green. Here’s a before picture, though it wasn’t originally taken to be a before picture, so it’s not great. I forgot to do an official pre-painting shot. But this way you can see the pink.

Kaya picked out that color when we moved in five years ago. She was 7, can you believe that? Hard to imagine we’ve been here that long. Anyway that was back in the princess years, everything pink and purple, and she’s been begging for a new color for at least a year or two.

We’ll post after pics as soon as we get the room put back in order. It looks good!

Along the way, we learned a few very valuable lessons, and I’d like to share, so your next painting attempt isn’t quite such an ordeal:

1. Do not wait until the second day of painting to start drinking, especially if you are the only adult involved in the project. Include an alcohol run with the initial trip to the paint store. I will not make that mistake twice.

2. Do not necessarily trust the paint store guy. We went to Lowe’s, one of those places you automatically trust has employees with a base level of knowledge (like SuperCuts or the hospital). But our guy started out by telling me I was “putting him on the spot” when I asked how much paint I would need to cover a small bedroom in two colors — not a good start. He then assured me two quarts, one of each color, would be “plenty” and I would even have leftovers. It didn’t seem right, but he was so confident. When he handed me the paint after mixing it, he said, “Whew, that’s a close match! I wasn’t sure it would be because I was paying attention to that other customer while I was doing it!” Then he ridiculed my choice of cheap rollers, but I held my ground and explained this was for a kid’s room, not the Taj Mahal.

3. When you go back to the paint store the next day to get more paint because the rude paint store guy gave you WAY, WAY less than you need, find a nicer paint store guy and tell him every detail of the other guy’s mental problems. He will sympathize, even saying “I don’t like that guy – he’s pushy!”, and then he’ll tell their boss.

4. Did I say alcohol helps? Alcohol helps.

5. Don’t buy fancy “painter’s tape.” Masking tape is the EXACT SAME THING and costs at least five times less.

Part 2
Okay, so that picture up there? That’s a shot of Zoe drooling as she stares down the little brown bird sitting on the fan blade above. Moments before, it had been in her mouth, and moments before that, it was flapping around our living room in a major panic. I have no idea how it got into our house — it was there flinging itself against the windows and the mirror when I got home from work one day a week or two ago.

Beth knows this story because she was on the phone with me when I walked in the house. She heard the whole bloody mess, including my screaming and then the pained shrieks of the bird when Zoe caught it. (I figured that’s my little way of sharing the down-home Midwest experience I know she must miss every day out there in LA.)

Chip comes home a few minutes later, changes out of his work clothes, marches straight into Kaya’s room and shuts the door. I hear crashing, stomping (?), huffing and puffing, then, “Zoe!! Stop that!!” I’m right outside the door and open it to let Zoe come running out, asking only briefly why he shut the cat in the room during his bird rescue attempt.

He emerges a few minutes later and says he “thinks” the bird went out the open window. Zoe runs back in to inspect the scene and sniff the leftover feathers, then scoots back and forth between the living room and bedroom in a suspicious frenzy for about an hour.

Welcome to Hillbilly Hill. Please send alcohol.