Do the Big Things First

This is my 100^th blog post! Wooty hooty doo! So I wanted it to be special. Which meant it was big. Which meant I definitely wasn't going to do it.

Yes, I am a world-class-this-is-important-procrastinator.

I pondered somehow skipping it, but the Blogger platform is really good at math.

I considered faking it, but I'm a terrible liar. I'm also very gullible. I'm so gullible in fact, I sometimes fall for my own lies even though I'm a terrible liar.

I wondered about just not mentioning it, but what if My 100th Post held a grudge and plotted an elaborate revenge scenario which would play out right at the moment I found success? 

No, I had to face up to it. But I didn't have to do it today. Or the next day. Or like the 13 days after that either. And the weight of it was dragging me down a little bit each day until I was seeing everything from my toddler's perspective. (FYI, it's really filthy down here on the floor. Seriously, someone should sweep.)

"The incredible shrinking writer" or
"Look at this filth!"
(Silhouettes by Mzacha via sxc.hu)

But now it's the last day of March, and I like to review my action plan every month (super-incredible-nerd-alert) and someone is not doing very well on her number of blog posts because she was so busy "writing" and "eating chocolate bunny ears" and the boss around here does like putting red on scorecards...so here we are.

Let this be a lesson to you writers out there.

Work on the important things first. All those little projects will wait patiently for you to be done. The big things are much too heavy to carry around and will turn you into a hunchback who has to start cleaning. Cleaning to writers is like garlic to vampires.

Ahh, it feels good to stretch out my back again.  Now, where are those bunny ears?

The Smusher and the Saver

 It must be getting close to spring because there have been lots of fun writing games to play instead of doing my chores! (Though I did take the time to spring clean the remaining Valentines Candy.)

Susanna Hill is hosting the "In Just Spring" Contest.  Rules: The topic can be anything that says Spring to you, 350 word limit, and the last line must be "[Character Name] knew Spring was here at last!"

I can usually be counted on for taking something sweet like springtime and making it gross.  And well, consistency is a good thing.  So here's your warning: Worms were harmed in the making of this story!  

The Smusher and the Saver

By Lauri Meyers

"Eww," Thomas said staring at the slimy spot that had been a worm.  Johnny jumped again, "Take that, worm!"

"Johnny, that's gross. Stop stomping worms." Thomas rescued a worm out from under the shadow of Johnny's shoe and dropped it in the grass. 

"They're everywhere. It's fun!" Johnny yelled as he smushed a worm's skin flat, spilling its gooey dirt lunch on the asphalt.  

"It's mean." Thomas said standing in front of Johnny.

Without taking his eyes off of Thomas, Johnny slowly lifted the toe of his shoe and snapped it down on a nearby worm.

Thomas pushed the sled aside in the garage and found the sidewalk chalk.  He circled worms on the wet pavement. 

"The dread pirate Thomas proclaims these worms protected by magic spheres."

Johnny grabbed a piece of chalk and drew Xs by the unguarded worms.

"X marks the worms I'm going to squash!"

Thomas rummaged behind snow shovels to unearth the bubbles.

By MissFran via sxc.hu

"Sir Thomas of the Kingdom of Wiggly will defend these worms with an enchanted barrier of bubbles!" He blew as many as the cool air would allow.

"Ah, the better to flavor the worm gut potion I'm making."  Johnny pounded the ground into a wormy pulp.

As so the fight between the smusher and the saver continued.

The attacker's shoes got gooier as the number of worm injuries grew.

The protector ran from worm to worm blowing warm breaths to revive wounded worms.

"Did you just kiss that worm?" Johnny crinkled his nose.

"No, I was trying to save him."

"Thomas kissed a worm! Thomas kissed a worm!"

Thomas threw the limp worm at Johnny, hitting him right in the mouth. The worm dangled from Johnny's lips. Rain started to fall again, but neither boy broke the face-off. The worm wiggled down Johnny's chin until it finally fell into a puddle. 

The raindrops swelled, beating a rhythm on the driveway, the worms, and the boys. 

"Same place, same time tomorrow?" Johnny asked.

"You bet," Thomas replied. "I think I'll be the smusher tomorrow."

Thomas knew Spring was here at last.

Fancy Food Fight (A Story Written with Friends)

Thanks to Marcie Colleen for the fun Food Fight contest to celebrate World Read Aloud Day.   Thank you to everyone who helped write this messy, disgusting, and fun story:  Jennifer Young, Joanna Marple, Sylvia Liu, Erik Weibel, Julie Rowan-Zoch, Patricia Nozell, Tracy Bermeo, Mamma D, Donna Louise Sadd, Robb Terranova. See the contest rules and comments here. 

I counted 20 items of food thrown and at least 17 victims (who knows how many Grandma got with soup and champagne!)  Here it is in its entirety (1000 words) with a few illustrations (that I haphazardly photoshopped.)

Fancy Food Fight!

      "Eek!" Timmy squealed as he entered the swanky restaurant.  Daddy froze like the plaster statue standing in the waiting area.  Mama's bulging eyes reflected the white tablecloths at Chez Italiano.  She grabbed Timmy's hand and started backing out the door.

       "Don't be silly," Grandma said.  "A lady only turns 95 once, and I simply must have my handsome grandson here with me to celebrate."

(boy by marczini via sxc.hu)

                               

       "Timmy's not a neat eater," Mama said.  His spoon tended to catapult peas, and his bowl was more like a watering can.  If he had three mouths, he would probably still miss one.  Mama always put four shirts on him at dinner, so she could peel one off when it became messy.  Still, Timmy was always excused from the table naked.  

               

      Grandma put a white cloth napkin on Timmy's lap and pinched his cheeks.  Timmy loved his Grandma.  She smelled of pancake syrup, and her hugs were like lying in a warm mud puddle (something he enjoyed very much.)  He would try his best to make Grandma's special dinner nice.

      Timmy nibbled tiny bites of his garlic bread like a bunny.  He peeked at his napkin - clean!  He slowly slurped small spoonfuls of Italian wedding soup.  He looked down at his four shirt - dry!  He gave a quick fist pump of pride, but his elbow came down on the end of the spoon and catapulted a mini meatball through the air.

      The meatball smacked into the cheek of the baker, Mr. Frederickson, causing him to choke briefly on his garlic bread.  Surprised by the insult the baker looked at the butcher, Mr. Jones, who had soup on his spoon.  Mr. Jones nodded politely at Mr. Frederickson.

       Timmy wiped his sweaty palms off on his napkin and reached for the safety of garlic bread.  The slice required a tug, but he lost his grip. The loaf landed right on Mr. Jones head, raining crumbs in his hair.  Mr. Jones looked at Mr. Frederickson who made a face just a little too snotty to be innocent. 

(Chef by julosstock via sxc.hu &
bread by brokenarts via sxc.hu)

       Mr. Jones grabbed a two foot French bread and threw it like a javelin at Mr. Frederickson.  The baker, who was obviously trained in avoiding oncoming bread, ducked just in time. The spear careened over his head and into the chest of Ms. Adams, who was leaving with a takeout order.  

      Ms. Adams, not one to allow bread down her shirt, carefully removed the lids from her order and threw one each at the baker and the butcher.  BONG BONG! The lids clunked into the baker and butcher's backs leaving red sauce stains that looked a lot like targets.

      The butcher and baker leaped to their feet with such energy, that the butcher's wife received a goodly SPLOOSH of red wine over her anniversary dress, while the baker's boyfriend sported a spaghetti tie!

      Timmy giggled. His parents were mortified. Grandma was delighted. "I never pass up a good food fight," she announced. She stood up, grabbed a handful of tomato and mozzarella salad, dripping with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and flung it to the baker. SPLAT! The mess landed on a woman the next table over, on her perfectly coifed hair.

      Timmy laughed out loud. He picked up his soup and poured it over his dad's head. SPLASH!

  

(granny by sitesyrup via sxc.hu ,
man by sraburton via sxc.hu &
steak by julosstock via sxc.hu)

      His Dad took a T-bone steak and threw it at Grandma, who was running around pouring people's soup on their heads. He missed, hitting the manager instead. The manager picked up somebody's salmon (it might have been Miss Kay, the preschool teacher, but Timmy couldn't tell because of all the food on her) and threw it at Mom.  It was total chaos!

        But it didn't end there! The woman with the mozzarella in her hair grabbed the cannelloni from her plate and squeezed the insides straight into the waiter's collar -SQUWOOSH!

         It slid, like a ring round the collar, as the Waiter stared round the room, waiting for the perfect moment to fling with a ZING a great oozing mound of tiramisu, that landed all over, you know who!

         Grandma, wearing tiramisu from her ears to her shoulders shouted to the crowd, "Happy Birthday to Me" and raised her glass. I love a good food fight and expect to live to be one hundred so open wide, because here comes the champagne!

(officer by Julosstock via sxc.hu &
 fettuccine by bybar via sxc.hu)

        The champagne cork whizzed around the room and finally landed in a diner's lap. She was so startled, she flung the cannoli she was eating across the table WHAP, cream, crumbs and chocolate chips now decorated her hubby's cashmere sweater.  He stood up stunned and bumped the waitress with a tray full of sodas that emptied in a SHWOSH all over Timmy and his parents.

        "What is going on here?" someone bellowed.   It was Sam Bristle the police Sergeant, stopping by for a bite to eat. He got much more than a bite, though. BUNK, SPLATTER, WOOSH a gob of mashed potatoes, a slice of blueberry pie, and a clump of fettuccine with Alfredo sauce found their way to the Sergeant's head and shoulders.

        "All I wanted was a Calzone to go," he said.

         SPLOP-"Here's your calzone Sam," said the butcher, as he squirted its filling on top of the ala carte dinner the sergeant was already wearing.  "That's for the speeding ticket you gave me last week; it's on the house!"

   Timmy stripped off his top two shirts and found a clean layer.  He climbed up on top of the no-longer-white tablecloth and yelled, "Stop!"  Everyone froze holding food in the air ready to throw.   "This was my Grandma's 95^th birthday dinner, and even though I'm messy, I just wanted it to be nice.  Now, I've ruined everything.  I'm sorry Grandma!" 

         "No, Timmy, you didn't ruin it," Grandma said.  "In fact this was the best birthday I've ever had!" Grandma hugged Timmy so hard tiramisu squished all the way through his last two shirts.  But that's okay, because it just wasn’t dinner with Timmy unless he was excused from the table naked. 

Food Fight!!! Flinging Food and Slinging Onomatopoeia

Marcie Colleen is hosting a Food Fight at the Write Routine in celebration of World Read Aloud Day on March 6th.

By Julie Rowan-Zoch

Here's the Food Fight rules:
I started a story below which stops where a food fight is breaking out.  But I need your help.  Please read the story and any comments to date, then add a comment which grows the story, includes one thrown item of food, and one word of onomatopoeia (which has not yet been used!)  Then over the weekend, I have to wrap up the story with one last comment.  Together we will write a story! 

You can comment more than once on a story, however, you cannot follow one of your own comments...someone else needs to comment before you can comment again. Have fun! 



Fancy Food Fight, by Lauri Meyers & all of you

      "Eek!" Timmy squealed as he entered the swanky restaurant.  Daddy froze like the plaster statue standing in the waiting area.  Mama's bulging eyes reflected the white tablecloths at Chez Italiano.  She grabbed Timmy's hand and started backing out the door.

       "Don't be silly," Grandma said.  "A lady only turns 95 once, and I simply must have my handsome grandson here with me to celebrate."

                               

       "Timmy's not a neat eater," Mama said.  His spoon tended to catapult peas, and his bowl was more like a watering can.  If he had three mouths, he would probably still miss one.  Mama always put four shirts on him at dinner, so she could peel one off when it became messy.  Still, Timmy was always excused from the table naked.  

               

      Grandma put a white cloth napkin on Timmy's lap and pinched his cheeks.  Timmy loved his Grandma.  She smelled of pancake syrup, and her hugs were like lying in a warm mud puddle (something he enjoyed very much.)  He would try his best to make Grandma's special dinner nice.

      Timmy nibbled tiny bites of his garlic bread like a bunny.  He peeked at his napkin - clean!  He slowly slurped small spoonfuls of Italian wedding soup.  He looked down at his four shirt - dry!  He gave a quick fist pump of pride, but his elbow came down on the end of the spoon and catapulted a mini meatball through the air.

      The meatball smacked into the cheek of the baker, Mr. Frederickson, causing him to choke briefly on his garlic bread.  Surprised by the insult the baker looked at the butcher, Mr. Jones, who had soup on his spoon.  Mr. Jones nodded politely at Mr. Frederickson.

      Timmy wiped his sweaty palms off on his napkin and reached for the safety of garlic bread.  The slice required a tug, but he lost his grip. The loaf landed right on Mr. Jones head, raining crumbs in his hair.  Mr. Jones looked at Mr. Frederickson who made a face just a little too snotty to be innocent. 

       Mr. Jones grabbed a two foot French bread and threw it like a javelin at Mr. Frederickson.  The baker, who was obviously trained in avoiding oncoming bread, ducked just in time. The spear careened over his head and into the chest of Ms. Adams, who was leaving with a takeout order.  Ms. Adams, not one to allow bread down her shirt, carefully removed the lids from her order and threw one each at the baker and the butcher.

YOUR TURN!!!

When you are done here, stop over to the Write Routine to play in more food fights!

Happy Blogiversary to Me!

It's my First Blogiversary!  On March 3, 2012 I wrote my very first blog post, even though I didn't really know what a blog was and had no idea what to write.  Here I am a year later with almost 100 posts under my belt and having a great time! I'm so glad I took the leap and met so many writerly friends who teach me everyday about writing, inspiration, and parenting.

Look at those fists clenched in anticipation!
(Lauri Turning One, photo by J.C.Christopher)

I gave myself some new tabs (look by the header) as a blogiversary gift!  Ooh!  Aah!  I know I really go all out on celebrations! (sidenote- my husband and I gave eachother bowling balls for our wedding, which are still awesome!)  Hey, I'm only one year old, y'know, so it's still baby steps around here. 


Did you bake me a cake?  No?  Well, thank goodness I baked my own Happy Blogiversary cake.  It took me all morning to make this wild, burn-your-eyes-out-if-you-stare-at-it-too-long technicolor cake:

Happy Blogiversary Badge! by Lauri Meyers

What? You want a goody bag?  Geesh...well I would be happy to make you a Happy Blogiversary badge with your anniversary date - just give me a comment with your desired date (and preferred text/frame color if you aren't comfortable with hot pink.)  Thank my lovely friend Romelle for the idea (btw, Romelle, the cake nearly matches your Casey Chameleon cover!)

I gotta go throw some confetti now!  Please send me your anniversary dates so I can spread the love and thank all of you for visiting!