Flicker of Inspiration: The House

*Post inspired by Lightning and the Lightning Bug's Flicker of Inspiration prompt, "House."

 ...For this week's prompt, we'd like you to write about a specific kind of setting, a setting that can be ominous or comforting, a setting that can easily take on a life of its own. Your fiction, poetry, or memory this week should involve a house. Be sure this house plays a pivotal role in your piece...

I know I usually save segments of The Exception for my Red Writing Hood posts, but I'm bending the rules this time.

Aside from the fact that I haven't had much time to write anything new for the wonderful writing prompts I've been missing out on, I had to share this because the "house" is such a key ingredient in this story, almost a character itself.

For the other excerpts I've shared, visit here, here, here (this particular excerpt fits before this one), and here (listed in the order they appear in the novel itself). And for a segment I wrote separate of the book, but still involves the main character, visit here.

This segment takes place when Elanor arrives to her childhood home, seeing it for the first time in nearly twenty years--a home that holds painful and precious memories alike. She realizes it was more than just inheriting the deed that pulled her there.

Elanor’s breath caught as she turned onto Graham Road and caught a glimpse of the old country-style house at the top of the hill, nearly bringing the car to a standstill.  The wooden roof shingles looked even more dilapidated than before.  Taking a deep breath, not knowing what putting herself in that place would do to her state of mind, she pressed harder on the pedal and forced herself to move forward.

She hadn’t known what to expect when preparing for her trip.  She hadn’t known what she would feel.  But as she stood before the house, every emotion was foreign.  Maybe it was because the house was different, looking nothing like the way she remembered.  In her memory it’d always been aged, but now negligence masked any trace of her childhood home: peeling paint, one green shudder hanging by a single bolt, a crack in the windowpane of her old bedroom, weeds growing above the bay window, the dirt drive nowhere to be seen. 

But what threw her even more was the size.  It used to feel huge and threatening.  Now it seemed small.  And sad.

It broke her heart to see the home that had once housed her grandfather and his grandfather before him in a shambles, unused and empty.  No longer a dirty remnant of her childhood, it suddenly became a disappointing remnant of her ancestors.  Where their sweat and blood had produced something once beautiful, now it was indeed an eyesore, as Gerard had said.  What did they think from the afterlife as they looked on the remains of their posterity—on a drunken waste of life, rotting in prison, and a hardly sane, hardly normal woman who would probably end up alone the rest of her life?  Would the Noble line stop with her? 

Scanning her eyes over every spec around her, even the heavens above, she whispered a simple “sorry” as though they could hear.

It was fall, which usually brought sharp, brisk days in Idaho, but today the atmosphere was clear, and she stepped forward, leaving her jacket in the car.  When she reached the overgrown path, she stopped and closed her eyes, letting the breeze move through her hair like cool, energizing fingers.  Feeling moved upon by a great force, a force beyond this world, the spirit of the home and all it represented overwhelmed her.  She swore the energy of her ancestors was in the wind that blew through the trees and rustled the leaves, swelling with the newfound emotions in her heart. 

Somehow, they wanted her there.

This is still a work in progress, but as always, helpful criticism is welcome!

Davenport 411

Lately, my blog has been full of fun posts, gripe sessions, writing exercises, and pictures, so I thought, in the midst of all that, it was time for an update. Especially with the news we got yesterday.

Luke
Luke had his six-month checkup last week and is in the tenth percentile for weight and height, so even though he's small, he's proportionate. He loves rolling around on the floor and is just itching to get up and go. He'll be figuring out the scooting/crawling thing any day now. He started on solids a few weeks ago and absolutely loves to eat. Loves it.

He loves to mimic sounds and we have some pretty lengthy "conversations" together. His new favorite thing to do, besides smacking his lips together, is spitting and blowing bubbles. Which I love, because that means Sam has to out-do him in the "spit" area. And spitting isn't a pet peeve of mine at all.

We had Luke's follow-up urology appointment in Phoenix yesterday, and I had high hopes. Especially after the last appointment a few months ago, when the doctor said the chances of surgery were slim and he was feeling hopeful. He'd said that if the testicle continued to drop at the rate it had been, chances were, we'd be able to leave it be.

That's what I was expecting. But, to my surprise, the testicle is still pretty high in his lower abdomen and it hasn't budged since he was four months old. So, now my little guy needs surgery.

They can't get it scheduled until about two months from now, so in the meantime I will keep an eye on it and if it miraculously comes down on its own, we can cancel the surgery. But it's very unlikely that that will happen. So, until then, I'm trying not to get too concerned, like the overly emotional mom I am in situations like that. I'm putting off the stressful worry until the time comes. Trying not to dwell on the way it feels to have a baby under a year old getting surgery, even though I've been through it twice with Sam.

And it's not like I have anything to worry about. The risks are very low (if any at all), it's a standard surgery, and on top of that, it's out-patient. No staying at a horrid hospital. They're just going to make a small incision where it's at, bring it down and "tack" it in place (in a nutshell).

And that way, even though his risk of testicular cancer is now 10-14% higher because of this, it will now be more available to monitor throughout his life, and will allow it to continue developing as it should (to say the least).

Josh
Josh is my cuddle-bug, and I hope he always will be. He is doing SO great with his speech and talking all the time now. Even when I don't understand what he's saying. He's started putting two, and sometimes three, words together and even says a couple sentences. His speech therapist is so proud of him, and so are we. The first time I heard him say, "Mommy, what's this?" I about peed my pants.

He loves to copy everything his older brother does, but still has a stubborn mind of his own. He still loves giving hugs, and I'm not so sure I want him growing up. Ever.

He calls every letter of the alphabet E, O, and I, can count to five, calls every color yellow or blue, calls pie (and any sugary treat) cake, loves to sing his heart out (one of his favorites is Tonight, Tonight), and calls himself Spongebob when he wears his yellow shirt.

Oh, and he still loves to eat paper. And I'm still stumped on why that is and how to get him to stop. It drives me nuts.

I just had to add this silly picture of him from when he was about 9 months old, because it shows his lovable cheesiness perfectly.

Sam
Where do I start on Sam? Between all his Samisms, laughs, hugs, "I love yous," and smiles, Sam drives me up a wall. Like, I really think I might go bonkers most days. And I feel guilty that he gets on my every last nerve, because our kids aren't supposed to annoy us like that, right?

Well, whether or not he's supposed to, he does. And it makes me remember just why I've never really liked kids. Because four-year-olds are the worse.

But they're also the best. The most forgiving, and the most loving. Even though you yell at them all the time, to the point where you aren't even sure when the last time was you spoke at a normal level. He's super super stubborn, doesn't listen when we tell him no, bites back at every turn, and screams in a way that makes my skin crawl.

I do love him, though. So much. He's my intelligent old soul. We were talking about old souls the other day and Sam came to mind. From the first moment I looked into his eyes at the hospital, I've known he was an old soul. And who am I to raise such a strong, intelligent, wise spirit in this world? Me, who has the worse temper known to man, who falls short all the time as a mother and wife.

It's humbling, and I feel put in my place every time I look into his eyes. Like even though he doesn't realize it, he knows so much more than I do.

Anyway, here's his latest Samism (I couldn't resist):

• Calls Josh "Dude" sometimes.
• Then follows up with calling him a "Loser." Not so happy about that one.
• When I told him not to step on a certain piece of paper on the floor, he replied, "I'm stepping on your mom." Guess we should stop the "yer mom" jokes around him.
• Has always drank his sippy-cup in a "Sam" way, from the side so he can see all that's going on around him.
• Found Dave's padlock and asked if it was a timer for robots.
• Told me when I was talking in an Australian accent that I needed to "stop talking like an old man."
• When seeing the Bush's Baked Beans at the store, he says, "Can we get some secret family recipe?"
• When I tell him to stop whining, he says, "I'm not whining, I'm complaining!"
• Says "Aw, tarter sauce!" when something bothers him.
• Made an imaginary world on the other side of the elliptical called "Ketzwell," and escapes there frequently.
• When looking at his sandwich I made him, he pointed to it and said, "See this mustard?" I said, "Yes..." Then he whispered, "It's made of puzzles."
• Watched us playing Phase 10 one night and said, "I used to play this card game all the time, when I was a grandpa."

Precious, lovable, quirky four-year-old.

Me
I made it a goal to get back into my exercise routine every day, because in seeing recent pictures of me, I realized just how "wide" I've become. And it's hard for me to swallow. Plus, I have to get in shape for the cruise we're going on September 2012. It's a must. So no more eating a sleeve of oreos at a time, or eating junk at 10pm. And no more eating until I'm full, and then some. I will change my eating habits, and I will get in shape.

I just finished completely rewriting my first novel, which was unexpected, since, really, it was hopeless. And since I have tunnel vision and can't focus on more than one project at a time, that's the only thing that made up the minutes of my free time, after the kids went to bed or while the boys were napping (on the days I actually could). I started it just for fun, but then, in falling in love with the characters all over again, I realized I couldn't stop and I wanted to re-create their world. So even though the story still has no hope, in the sense of this dog-eat-dog publishing world, it's still so much better than it was and I fell in love with the story all over again.

Next, I'm going to start re-editing my other novels, the ones with more promise in the publishing world. And since my kids and my writing are really the only thing of merit about me, there's nothing else to really report on. I'd report on Dave, but aside from the point that there's nothing really to report on other than the every-day grind of his job, he doesn't like me getting into the personal stuff. I still haven't converted him to my blogging ways.

So, until I do, that's about all.

The Simple Things...

*Post inspired by Mama Kat's writer's workshop prompt, "The Simple Things..."

I like the simple things. The simple things are what move my day forward, give me the boost to last through the not-so-simple things. And today my day was full of the simple things. The kind that remind me just how blessed I am and just how happy (and on some days, how happy I should be).

Like the fact that the baby let me sleep eight straight hours without interruption both last night and the night before, which is a miracle. Knock on wood.

Like the fact that I was able to pump some breast milk this morning after feeling down in the dumps all week about losing my milk. (Turns out I'm not. Turns out kids go through growth spurts, or something like that.)

Like the fact that the boys both wanted the same breakfast this morning, which makes my life that much easier.

Like the fact that Dave took over disciplining a very strong-willed four-year-old on his lunch hour, just to give me a break from it. (I think slamming the child's door and saying the naughtiest of naughty words under my breath is a cue that it's his turn.)

Like the swelling emotion all throughout me, emerging in the form of chills and goosebumps, just from watching a moving, heartfelt dance routine. (Thank you, So You Think You Can Dance.)

Like blond curls and blue eyes, that remind me children are beautiful angels and not demons. 

Like the thirty minutes I got to myself to write today.

Like freshly cut grass, done by none other than my husband.

Like phrases from my two-year-old, such as, "Mommy, you get spanking," because they show me just how far he's come in his speech.

Like the precious swatting of a tiny hand on your behind after said phrase.

Like the fact that my four-year-old can still hug me and tell me he loves me after I've just punished him in the worst way I could punish him (taking away his computer privileges).

Like my two-year-old saying, "I you, too," because that's how he says he loves me. 

Like cold cereal for dinner.

Like the visit of a good friend, because it reminds me I'm an adult and can still have adult conversation.

Like my husband retelling the story of how we met, even though I've heard it a million times (after all, I was there), because the part about how he felt when he first looked at me makes my heart skip a beat and makes me feel, in some small way, a part of some romantic movie. 

But mostly, it reminds me that aside from the frumpy sweats, the greasy ponytail, the stretchy tummy skin, the PB&J sandwiches, and the yelling mommy voice, I was once--and maybe even still am--a beautiful, strong woman, who has the love of a caring, amazing man.

The simple things.

Rockin' the Babies!

*Post inspired by TICS's Rockin' the Baby prompt. (Side-note: happy birthday, Shell!)

I love my babies more than anything. They are my life, and they grow WAY too quickly!

This was my Luke at almost 2 months, and now he is 6 months. (He also had his 6-month checkup today and is in the tenth percentile for weight and height. And he loves to eat, eat, eat.)

This is my Josh at 9 months, and now he is 2.5 years! He was my most precious Gerber-looking baby.

And lastly, this is my Sammy, at 3 months old. And now he is one of the most bratty difficult, smart, loving 4.5-year-olds in the world!

Red Writing Hood: Sparkly Shoes

*Post inspired by the TRDC Red Writing Hood prompt, "Shoes."

Those shoes can be real or symbolic, they can hurt or be super comfy but I want to see what they say about the life of the person wearing them...

And because I am a giver, this prompt's word limit is 625.Come back and link up here Friday to show us your "sole".

I've shared a few excerpts from my novel in previous RWH posts with hints to who Elanor, Sam, and even Paul and Jamie are. But this time, since there are no passages about shoes in the book, or that would relate at all, I'm writing this one independent of the novel, about a pair of Elanor's shoes as a little girl.

And I admit, I'm a little glad I had nothing to go with, because I always love to write something new.

Elanor was in a hurry, fishing through the clutter in her closet.  She threw aside shoe after shoe, though she didn’t have many, and they thumped loudly on the hardwood floor, threatening to wake her father.  Most didn’t fit her, but still she kept them, collecting them like memories—every pair that she’d accumulated over her eleven years of life. 

Her last encounter with her gym shoes was almost a year ago.  She’d been upset at her teacher for forcing her to play dodgeball and had hid them away, vowing to never put them on again.  And every day Mr. Hansen had marked her down for wearing the only pair of shoes that now fit her: her warn, black boots, bought from the thrift store.  He didn’t understand kids like her, comfortable in his large house and three cars.  He probably had a pair of shoes for every occasion.

But yesterday he’d threatened a visit to her father, and she’d sworn she’d never come to gym class unprepared again.  Even though she knew those old shoes would squeeze her feet until she could feel them no more. 

She’d grown fast over the last few months, out and up, even growing womanly things.  One day, while Sam was inspecting the hem of her suddenly too-short pants, he’d called it a growth spurt.  

She glanced at her pink watch and sighed, grumbling under her breath as she continued to search.  She was already running late for school, and the knowledge that Sam was at the bus stop, waiting, motivated her.  She pictured him, leaning against the Whitmans’ mailbox with an apple in hand, ready to add it to her measly lunch.

Then her heart stopped.  Red sparkled from the bottom of the box, beneath every meaningless shoe.  She reached for it, hesitantly.  She felt over the coarse, glittered surface, where some collected to her fingertips.  She’d forgotten about them over the last year, the only pretty, sparkly things she’d ever owned.

She pulled out the pair of ruby red shoes, the straps flaccid and the soles worn to nearly nothing, and she was surprised that they sparkled just as brightly as they once had.  She was eight when she’d first watched The Wizard of Oz, and she hadn’t been able to forget it, for a whole week daydreaming of Dorothy and the yellow brick road and the ruby red slippers that had brought her back home, where everyone she loved was waiting. 

A few days later, Elanor had froze when entering her bedroom, Dorothy’s very shoes sitting on the foot of her bed.  Waiting.  As though they’d miraculously appeared from nowhere.  Her heart had sped, and the exhilaration had swelled inside her until she could no longer contain it.  She’d squealed while putting them on, a perfect fit, and had even been foolish enough to tap them together a few times.

She’d practically jumped up and down when showing Sam that afternoon, and his look had been aloof.  And that was when she’d known it was him who’d gotten them for her, probably placed them on her bed when her father was at the shop.  She didn’t know how he’d come across such a treasure, but like most things with Sam, she never questioned.

And to this day, he denied it.  But she knew. 

She’d worn them every day during that next year, rain or shine, and even some the year after, when her growing toes were curled uncomfortably inside.  She’d played with Sam in the barn in them, walked the railroad ties in them, pretended she was a princess in them.

And now she would take them in her backpack, since they were far too small for her ever-growing feet.  Still wishing for home.

Again forgetting about her old gym shoes.

Good Riddance, Bad TV

*Post inspired by Mama Kat's writer's workshop prompt, "List of 10 shows you're glad have seen their last day."

This one was easy.

However, it was even easier to come up with the shows that I wish had never been cancelled (I know that was one of the prompts for last week's writer's workshop, but I missed that one), like Friends, Heroes, 24, Lie to Me (just found this one out...WHAT?!), Breaking In, Better Off Ted, Chase, Trauma, Off the Map, Outsourced, or Perfect Couples...just to name a few. What's with the new trend of cancelling shows after one season, even if they don't suck?

But here are the ones that couldn't have been cancelled at a better time...or with some, never should have started in the first place (in no particular order):

1. The Cape. If you've seen even one episode, you know why. Actually, if you can see this picture, you know why. Sorry, NBC, but you can't pull of another Heroes.

2. Knight Rider. The new one, from a few years ago. Gag, gag, gag.

3. Prison Break. Don't get me wrong; I was the biggest Prison Break fan there ever was (and Wentworth Miller...come on, ladies). Nothing will ever beat the first season. But after the second season, it went downhill. Bad. And we found ourselves watching it only because we fell in love with the characters and had to know how it ended. It definitely saw it's end, long before the end of the fourth season.

4. Alias. I may get harsh words for this, but as a devote Alias and Sydney Bristow lover, I say this out of respect. Because any Alias fan has to admit that after the third season, it started to drop in appeal. Everything about it was different (and that's in part because it got a different director): worse actors, cheesier storylines, and did I say worse acting? I will always love this show, but it definitely should have ended in its prime, not two seasons later.

5. Scrubs. Here's another I loved. I had the first four seasons on DVD. I even have a website of Coxisms bookmarked in my web browser. But the last three seasons, and especially the very last, was like a different show entirely. It just got...dumb.

6. Hannah Montana. Not because I've ever even watched a whole episode all the way through, but from the bits and pieces I've seen while my sister-in-laws devoured it (in their younger years of course), it had to go. Sorry Disney and Miley fans. Gag.

7. Mr. Sunshine. Sorry, Matthew Perry, but your glory days were over after Friends. Don't try to relive them. Because I think you were only good as one character and one character only: Chandler Bing. I know you produced, wrote, and acted in Mr. Sunshine, but it...sucked. 

8. Sarah Palin's Alaska. I'm proud to say I've never watched the show. And I'm proud for TLC for not giving it another go.

9. Smallville. I used to love it...until I realized after a few seasons that nothing new or exciting was happening. It lasted for ten seasons. And they got absolutely NOWHERE during that time. Enough said.

10. The Oprah Winfrey Show. Because I like to go against the grain.

Idaho Love

Though I missed the blogging community while we were on vacation for a week (and then some), I have to say that the break, from life in general, was like a breath of fresh air.

And though my kids and I missed lots of sleep and woke up with back aches most mornings, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

And though  I hurt my back and bruised my ribs from leaning over the car seat while trying to nurse Luke on the drive so we didn't have to stop countless hours in the car with small children was unnerving, the time with family was priceless.

It was a busy nine days, every day packed full of fun things, people to visit, and family to love on, and I wouldn't have had it any other way!

So I decided, in keeping with the Wordful Wednesday tradition, I'd post some pictures of my favorite highlights of the vacation to beautiful Idaho.

It's too bad we can't capture the real highlights on camera, though: the feelings and the love for the people most important to us. Because that was the best part of the trip. Seeing family and friends we hadn't seen in what felt like ages, and swathing ourselves in family love--something we so frequently miss out on here in Arizona, so far away from everyone we call family.

So I guess you can also consider this, in part, a Pour Your Heart Out post, too. I miss family so much. I miss that feeling of sense and belonging. I miss the feeling of fulfillment, that gets so abruptly interrupted when we have to journey back to Arizona.

Dave and I were talking about "home," and we realized that Arizona has never felt like home, and it's because, no matter the place, home is where the ones you love reside. And the ones we love reside in Colorado, Idaho, and Utah.

Besides, the desert stinks. Sorry to all you desert-lovers out there. The pines, the mountains, the cooler summer air, the green...that's my scene. And being around that again was such a refreshing break from life.

So to all you family who put up with us last week...we love and miss you so much, and valued every minute we got to spend with you!

Our trip started in Rexburg and Rigby, where we stayed with Grandma Mary (our permanent residence while Dave was in college the first four years of our marriage) and visited The Barton Family. There was a baptism (which was also the day Josh had the flu and threw up four times), a Fourth of July festival, fireworks (which Sam and Josh were both deathly afraid of), a movie night in the Barton "theater" (Country Strong: sad movie with a strong message), and many other great things between.

Dave and Mom on the 4th. And no, they didn't plan this!

Luke strapped to me at the 4th of July festival. Gotta love the "moby" wrap...even if he does get crooked after a while.

I also got to spend an hour with my best friend, Chloe, though I wish so badly we had longer. We hadn't seen each other in almost four years, but as it goes with us, we were able to pick up where we left off and it felt as natural as though I'd just seen her the day before. I love Chloe so much, and I love that God brought me to her as a freshmen in high school--my only kindred spirit on this earth.

Plus, it was a wicked wake-up call to how old we're getting so much fun to watch our kids play together for the first time.

Then we spent almost three days up in Salmon. Actually, it was in Carmen, at the base of the mountains around Salmon. Dave's aunt and uncle own a ranch up there that has been in the family for years, and is usually the gathering place for reunions, escape, etc.

And that's exactly what it was for me. There's something about that place: the remoteness, the beauty, the stillness. It's just the peaceful break needed from a busy, monotonous life. The scenery lets you breathe, lets your mind actually open up and think. And it's refreshing to know that places like that still exist in this world.

The green in the distance, at the base of the mountains, are the ranch fields.

Sunset!

Part of the view

We played, some worked (the child-less cousins changed pipe daily), visited, went to William's Lake, went to the hot springs, had a camp fire and roasted marshmallows, and even watched a movie on the trampoline under the stars one night, with a projector and a white sheet (Beastly: cute, alluring idea, but horrible execution and even more horrible acting).

Luke at William's Lake, protected from the sun in Grandma Julie's (Mom) t-shirt

Campfire songs, all accompanied by Jenni's guitar (and most sung by her, too)

And thanks to Mom and Jenni at William's Lake (they watched Luke, Josh, and Sam), I got to swim out to the little island with Dave and some other cousins, and cliff jump.

The dreaded cliff. It looks a lot less threatening from this angle.

And by cliff jump, I mean twenty minutes of mental preparation to jump off of a ten-foot drop. I'm just not as cool as my husband and his cousins, who can jump from 20+ feet, multiple times. A ten-foot drop, twice, is enough for me, thank-you-very-much.

And because of my deathly fear of heights, by the end I was weak and shaky from all that the fear took out of me.

Pathetic, I know.

And then to top it off, Dave and I thought we would take the short cut and save our energy (it was a good swim back to the dock) by instead swimming to the shore closest to us and hiking our way around back to the dock. After all, it was a straight shot.

Wrong. Instead we ended up hiking up and around the long way, through trees, bushes, dirt, and rocks...barefoot.

I sorta felt cool for a minute, like Cody from Dual Survival...

Even with the gashes on the bottom of my big toe. And the fact that I had no sense of balance from my earlier adrenaline rush.

One of my favorite parts of the trip was when Dave took me on the dirt bike up Davis Creek (in the mountains that the ranch backs into), and it was just us and the pines.

On our way up to Davis. The bike stalled...a couple of times.

Me and the hubs

The trip ended in Utah, where we stayed at the Bartons' (a different Barton family) in Ogden so we could attend the Sessions family reunion at Cherry Hills the next day. It was a long, hot, tiring day, but it was a blast. The kids were cranky (and so was I for a bit), but the water park helped, even if the storm cut it short.

Sam even went on the rapids ride and because he's so light, his tube flipped and Dave had to catch him. He didn't like that too much. Actually, he hated it.

But we got in some playing before a storm rolled in, and Josh even fell asleep snuggling Grandma Julie afterwards.

We also visited Sam's grave at the cemetery in Utah (Dave's older brother, and our little Sammy's namesake), and every time someone said something like, "I love you, Sam," as they placed a dime on the headstone, our little Sam thought they were speaking to him and he'd always reply, "I love you, too." Too cute.

The trip was long and tiring, but as usual, went way too fast and ended way too quickly. And we look forward to the next one!

Family pictures Jessica took for us in Rexburg. Yes, I know Sam's making a funny face. Unfortunately, I didn't realize this until looking at them after. And yes...I know my belly is hanging over my waistband. Ugh.

The best boys ever

Jess and the boys

Me and my Jess

This was on the first day at the ranch. We walked up the fields in search of two baby deer that were spotted earlier in the day, and instead of finding them, we took some pretty great pictures. Well, I should say Dave took them.

This was our last morning there. Goodbye ranch. We miss you.