I'm still kickin'...

Yes, I am still periodically blogging, but I have transferred everything over to my new blog -
http://40andawake.blogspot.com/

I'm keeping this one active for the time being, but any new posts will be at the link above. Subscribe... or don't... or whatever.

Namaste!

Resurrection of 'The First Kiss'

My 'official' first kiss was in the summer of '86 (I think - the years get fuzzy these days). The son of my grandparents' friends invited me out to dinner (my first chaperoned 'date'). We were on the wooden stairs leading up to the game room of an Old West themed restaurant - the smell of BBQ chicken and smoked ribs in the air. At the last possible second, I realized how rank my breath was - and closed my lips tightly in an attempt to hide my oral odor. "Addicted to Love" was playing on the speakers overhead. Oh, how true those lyrics turned out to be!

After multiple boyfriends, two failed short-term marriages and one miserable long-term relationship, I've learned a few things. Unfortunately, I've learned more about what love IS NOT... but the power of rational thought has also allowed me to translate this into what love IS.

“Unless its mad, passionate, extraordinary love, it’s a waste of our time. There are too many mediocre things in life; love shouldn’t be one of them.” ~ Unknown

I've recently experienced my own rebirth in love - a resurrection of that which I once thought dead and forever gone. I hold the hope that this was indeed my last "first kiss" - rising from the ashes to remind me that we are all capable and deserving of love.

Love is a consistent, truthful, fulfilled, healing way of relating to ourselves and others.
Love is freely given and received. It is not earned nor legislated, imprisoned nor held hostage.
Love speaks out for justice and protests when harm is being done.
Love does not come with conditions, stipulations, agenda, addenda, or codes. Healthy love, however, comes with guidelines and parameters and "rules" co-created by its participants.
Love cannot be turned on as a reward or turned off as a punishment. Only something else pretending to be love can be used as a lure or hook for bait and switch, imitated or insinuated, but the 'real deal' can never be delivered if it doesn't occur naturally and freely from the heart.
Love points out the consequences of hurting oneself and others.
Love is bigger than you are. You can invite love, but you cannot dictate how, when, and where love expresses itself. You can choose to surrender to love or not, but it is unpredictable and irrefutable.
Love allows room for anger, grief, or pain. It does not cower or diminish in the presence of these things.
Love does not say directly or indirectly that if you want to be loved, you must "be a good girl", or "nice", or "do what I want".
Love isn't a power-struggle or about control. It is win some/lose some. It is compromise.
Love honors the sovereignty of each soul.
Love doesn't hurt. If it hurts, it's something else - fear, attachment, idolatry, addiction, possession.
Love isn't perfect. There is room for mistakes and quirks and missteps. Love means being hurt sometimes, but not irreparably.

Unconditional love is not being a self-sacrificing doormat or loving someone "no matter what". Unconditional love begins with loving yourself enough to protect you from the people you love if that is necessary. Until you start loving, honoring and respecting yourself, you are not truly GIVING - you are attempting to TAKE self worth from others.

Last night, the Supreme Court of the United States ordered that all Americans are afforded the right to marry in all 50 states. The predominant sentiment among my newsfeed right now is, "Love Wins".

Yes. Yes, it does.

Love is the dissolution of the borders between "you" and "me" and "them". Those lines are conceptual and imaginary anyway, and love offers a clear vision to see the world without them. Love wins. It is powerful. To love someone is to partake on the greatest adventure - it is unknown and wild, carefree and brutal, rich and honest, deep and meaningful.

For the past 24 hours, I've been reminiscing about young love, and daydreaming about what all of this means for my children and my children's children - who will never know a world in which people are not free to publicly (and legally) declare their love for and devotion to their partner. This gives me hope for a more tolerant, inclusive, loving, future world.

“Throughout this life you will meet one person who is unlike any other. You could talk to this person for hours and never get bored. You could tell them anything and they would never judge you. This person is your soul mate, your best friend. Don’t ever let them go.” ~ Unknown

Rebuilding Trust

I have squirrels in my back yard - one in particular who will climb on to my patio screen and chatter until I toss him a scrap of bread or a cracker. (I've named him Marvin.) He snatches his treats and hops to a safe distance where he can watch me warily as he nibbles. (We've run this routine for a good year now.) Because I have cats (and until recently, a dog) who can fly out the pet door at any moment, most of the other critters keep their distance. But Marvin is always there. He taunts the cats (and has tussled with one of them at least once) and flaunts his courage to the other squirrels who stay far away - close to their escape routes.

This morning, he used my head as a landing pad and jumped from the screen to my noggin and then hopped down within 8 inches of my feet and looked up as if to say, "Your move, giant woman."

I tossed him a scrap of bread, and instead of snatching it and retreating to a safe distance like he always does, he stayed. Nibbled right there at my feet.

I crouched down to be closer. He flinched, but didn't bolt. After a second he resumed eating, and upon finishing his treat looked to me for the next one. I held out my hand.

He sniffed the air, inched closer, stood 'at the ready' (I could swear I saw him take a deep breath) inched closer again - and snatched a bit of tortilla right out of my hand with the slightest brush of fur and tiny nails. Again, he didn't retreat - just sat there and ate his fill.

Trust.

It took us a year to build.

No words, no 'relationship status', no intentions, no expectations. My patience. His courage. A mutual respect for the damage we could inflict upon one another. Care (mostly on my part) not to compromise that respect. To honor it - nurture it - celebrate it. (Quietly, and without any sudden movements.)

I imagine this wouldn't mean much to most people, but to me... it's everything.

Trust can be rebuilt. It will take time. It will take patience and courage.
The rewards, though intangible, are what feed my soul.

Remembrances

I'll never forget the day you left.
The weather was as fickle and bipolar as I. Sunny one moment, drizzling grey the next.
The desert dryness of the paper as I wrapped the plates we both love.
Our dog... who smelled of sweat and Fritos.
The cats - hiding in corners. One of them as old as "us".
The red-sided garter snakes that taunted me from the side of your U-Haul with the simple question,
"Where will U go next?"
I don't know.
I don't know anything right now.
If I try to think too hard, I forget to breathe.

The ring of the doorbell and the leap of my heart when it reached for the impossible one last time, opening to a stranger with a slender package.
The new blinds for our room... my room.
The pit in my belly swells with the clouds.
Will you be okay? Will I be okay?

I still expect to hear the jingle of a collar and the patter of paws as the dog makes her rounds.
Like a zombie, I shuffle from room to room seeing everything and nothing.
You left your Gatorade on the coffee table, half-drunk.
If I lift it to my lips, can I still taste you?

Gone in an instant are the vile names we called each other, the hurts we hurled so carelessly, the pain we bore silently for years.
There is an echo... losing strength with every repetition... until there is only the vacuum of silence.
I want to cry and scream and wail and chase you down to beg you to stay.
I'll change. I'll be different.
Better. Stronger. Kinder.

The phone rings to distract me from my selfish indulgence to embrace the pain.
The voice on the other end speaks words of encouragement that wrap my heart in hope. She tells me that I am better today than I was yesterday. Stronger now than I've ever been. Kinder than I am even aware.

The universe heralded your exit with dramatic booms and thunderous applause, raining sheets of silver that stripped my garden to its roots.
The only survivors, the potatoes, safely buried in their protective cocoons.
The beans, once the pride of my labours... are a heap of delicate, fragile tendrils, their fat leaves caked with compost and soil, weighing them down to the earth that promises to reclaim them.
The landscape is desolate, but I urge them to fight... to survive... to thrive, even.

I will never forget the day you left.
The first time I've seen my son cry since Junior High.
He poured his rum and coke and sliced a lime - just like yours.
I poured a glass of KJ Chardonnay - just like old times.
We talked about our next step. Our "plan".
We inventory the things you left behind. The Keurig, the bathroom hooks, a painting...
us.

My tears blur the path - I can only see one step at a time.
I trust the rain will cleanse.
I trust my heart will heal.
I trust you will be well.

Emotional Sabotage and 'The Retroactive Lie'

Human memory is a funny thing.
While some elements of a memory may be fixed and immovable, other elements are fluid and evolving as we age, grow, gain wisdom, and put distance between the present and our brain's catalogue of past events.

Some of my memories of the past many years hover and shift like shadows from a candle. Other memories are as bright and hot as the flame itself - always moving, shifting - details emerging and retreating back into the recesses, a new discovery and different landscape each time I revisit.

What happens when someone informs you that your memories of the past aren't accurate - or truthful - or even real?
Do you blow out that flame, discard your experiences and emotions and start over?
Or do you protect those memories and allow them to illuminate your present decisions?

The Scenario:
You and your partner attend a dinner party. You splurge on a new outfit/pair of shoes/hair-do for the occasion and your partner is effusive in his praise over your appearance. You attend the party, feeling like a million bucks on the arm of your mate. The two of you drink, dance, socialize, and you are the belle of the ball. You arrive home slightly tipsy, have sex with your guy, and fall into bed with the thought, "What a great night!"
Several years later, you are chatting with your mate and something spurs a recollection of the dinner party the two of you attended some years back. You bubble with remembered excitement about how fantastic that party was and what a great time you had.
"I hated that party," replies your mate. "Bob was there, and you know we don't get along. You were drunk early in the evening, making your rounds in that ridiculous dress/pair of shoes/hair-do, and I spent most of the night hopelessly flirting with the girl at the bar, hoping to escape the scene you were making."

As an empath, my response is immediate. What right do I have to keep my happy memories, when the person I love (and profess to share my life with) has only unhappy memories of the same event?

Even more devastating, what happens when your partner admits that they've not been committed to the same goals (or even the relationship itself) for quite some time? How quickly do we replay every event, milestone, intimate exchange, or argument and "rewire" our memories to be more accurate?

ALL of our experiences are subjective. We bring our history, our convictions, our baggage to the party and use them as filters to judge and categorize. What touches me or brings me to tears may not affect the person next to me. It doesn't have to.

Embrace it. Lean into it. Learn from it. Love it. Don't give in to the sabotage, and don't allow the 'retroactive lie' to invalidate your character and constitution. YOU have all the knowledge and experience you need to make the decisions that are right for you.

Just because my partner wasn't experiencing our relationship the same way, doesn't mean my experience isn't real and true. Our experiences don't need to be shared in order to be valid. To allow others to compromise that is to invalidate your own reactions, responses and feelings. Oftentimes based on nothing more than 'hearsay'.

Don't ever let someone else rewrite your story. It is yours and yours alone.

The Dawn of Mid-Life

I turn forty tomorrow.

I can remember being 9 or 10, sitting on the counter in my bathroom with the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet angled to face the large mirror above the sink. I could stick my face between the two mirrors for a view of me x infinity.

It was there that I first pondered existential questions that led to wondering what I would look like as an adult and who I would become.

Some of my musings weren't far off the mark. I look like my mom (when she wore her hair long). I've worked in the arts and with children for all of my adult life. I did not become a singing missionary, a veterinarian, or the best tap-dancer in all of the Southwest United States.

I had great expectations, as I imagine most young people do. At some point, I was sure I'd be married with children in a nice home close to family and friends with neighbors that went to the same church and had block parties on holidays. 

My story is one that has been retold at political rallies, key note addresses, motivational workshops, you name it. But my story is ever-evolving, and parts of it so far removed that it feels as if they belong to someone else.

I was a gold-star kid, academically and socially adept, poised for success. Scholarships to Universities, job offers with major players in my desired profession, opportunities galore. I felt invincible.

With only 3 months left until my High School graduation, I got pregnant. I was dating a boy I'd met while working over the summer with high-risk elementary school kids. I liked him a lot. He was good-looking, fastidious, goal-oriented - strong in the areas I felt weak. We were reckless and careless and had too much time on our hands. Both of our sets of parents were going through divorces at the time and we were left without much supervision. It was a volatile combination.

I was kicked out of the house and my relationship with my parents became truly adversarial. I lost my family, my church family, my scholarship offers and my job prospects in one fell swoop. I gave into the social and religious pressure to get married, and we bought a house and had a second child by the time we were 20.

At 21, we separated. At 22, we divorced. I persevered in my chosen profession and started taking classes again. At 24, I remarried a very sweet man who tried his best to be my partner in every way. It wasn't him - it really was me. We separated when I was 26. I rediscovered my passion for the arts and revisited pursuing a degree. At 27, I fell in love with my leading man in a community theatre play. (I know, it's so cliche. Sorry.) For 13 years, we were a bi-polar, on-again-off-again roller coaster. My focus was primarily on creating a life that was exciting and "fun", my kids grew up, I moved away when they started college, my son moved in with me a year and a half later, and the boyfriend dumped me (for good) last August. 

Throughout my life, I've determined my value and worth based on my relationships. Some studies will say that this is because I'm inherently female. Some experts will say I'm co-dependent. My horoscope says I'm a typical Pisces. Whatever the root cause, I understand and accept that part of me. It helps to define who I am, but it does not encompass my fully-realized purpose.

And so it is that I'm here, starting a new blog as part of my rediscovery. Starting a new chapter in my story. I'm redefining relationships and rebuilding ones I've neglected (including my relationship with myself), and not allowing fear of failure to stop me from trying something new.

I also started gardening. So there's that. 

Farewell, 39. You were one hell of a year. I'm not sad to see you go.

Hello, 40! I hope you'll be as good to me as I intend to be to you. 
Don't let me down.

Revelations in Doggie Bags

Okay, so yes... it has been months upon months since I've posted. Lots of life changes, new full-time job, new awesome cause, new lifestyle habits. Which haven't included blogging. Don't judge.

Anyhow, upon moving to Florida, I noticed some changes in my dog's coat that made me start to research everything from environmental factors to diet. It doesn't hurt that I have access to the homeopathic crack-den that is Pinterest. After much reading and recipe-searching, here's what the grocery list looked like:

16oz. spinach               1.68
5 c. mixed vegetables   4.50
Ground Chuck (1.3lbs)4.00
Ground Turkey (2lbs)  6.00
Bacon (1pkg.)             3.98
12 oz.Cottage Cheese 1.98
8 Eggs*                        1.00
1 c. Rolled Oats          1.00
Rosemary                     .50
12oz. Kidney Beans      .78
12oz. Black Beans        .78
8oz. Beef Stock          1.82
2 c. Brown Rice            .37
Total Ingredient Cost = 27.44   ($13.72/week)

I made both batches at the same time, since they have so many similar ingredients. The general rule is 1/3 protein (animal protein is advised) and 2/3 veggies and grains. Here's how it went down:

Boiled small pots of water on my back burners for the rice and rolled oats, substituting about an ounce of water for beef stock. With about 10 minutes left to go with the rice, I threw in about 1/2tsp. of finely chopped Rosemary. In a pan on my front burner, I cooked up the bacon.
Once done with those elements, I threw the bacon and rice in a large bowl to cool and set aside the cooked rolled oats as well.
I deglazed my bacon pan (it was very lean bacon - very little fat to speak of) with a few ounces of the beef stock and thawed my frozen spinach with just enough water to cover it in the pan. Set aside spinach to cool.
Throw your ground chuck into the recently vacated spinach pan with some beef stock and start browning that bad boy.
While the beef was browning, I took my (now cooled) ingredients to the food processor. Brown rice and bacon together - a few nice zaps until it's a pasty, unappealing mess. Set aside. Throw in spinach and veggies for a few zaps until it looks like an overzealous slaw. Set aside.
Once the ground chuck is cooked, drain and set aside. Use the same pan to cook your turkey with whatever is left of your beef stock.

Now the fun part: In two LARGE Tupperware containers, I portioned out half of the bacon & brown rice slurry, the veggie slurry and the rolled oats. I used canned beans (because this was enough work already) and mashed them by hand until they were good and macerated. Divvy those up between your containers as well. One container received all of the turkey and half of the cottage cheese. The other container got the ground chuck and the other half of the cottage cheese. Mix all parts well. Refrigerate. (I threw the 'beef meal' in the freezer to thaw for next week. If you can fit both in your fridge, then you can alternate meals and be an uber super hero. My small eco fridge relegates me to sidekick status.)

*A note about the eggs. The eggs are additional protein for the 'beef  meal', which I intend to freeze. Since eggs don't freeze well, I'm waiting to add them (you can use them raw or cooked) until I thaw it out next week. Just before refrigerating is also when you'll want to add any essential oils (ie: Fish oil for coat.) If you're not freezing your beef, add in the eggs all willy-nilly. Again, raw or cooked - your choice - there are arguments for and against either option, so do your own research.

About halfway through the food-processing portion of the project, the delicious aromas of rosemary, brown rice and bacon began to blend together - definitely smelled more like dog food at that point. (Which is right around the time my Roxie started to stand sentry at the kitchen - which ended up being awesome because I made her taste-test every step of the way.)
I was worried about the pasty-glue texture of the rice and oats - but that did NOT seem to bother the dog one bit. She didn't lift her head out of her bowl until it was licked clean. AND... so far... no post-dinner nuclear dog farts. SCORE!

At a cost that is the same (or slightly cheaper), and took about 2 hours total in the kitchen, we've got 2 weeks of dog food - and a survival option suitable for humans in case of emergency. I'm pretty stoked!

I'll update if she grows horns or starts losing her fur. I'll also update as we try out new recipes!

2013 in Review

I can't believe we've reached the end of another year.
And I'm still here.

2013 was a year of resolutions. Not the kind of resolutions usually proclaimed on January 1st. I didn't lose weight, I didn't quit eating crap, I didn't work out more, I wasn't nominated for a Tony.

I saw closure on issues that had been unresolved for decades. Issues that had slowly chipped away at my confidence and feeling of competence without me even realizing it. I've been approaching life with a compounded feeling of trepidation each year - not sure what life would throw at me, and without the confidence that I could handle it.

A collaboration that has been in the works for the better part of this year saw it's first round-table reading, and prompted the start of two more scripts. Writing more has meant blogging less, so none of this has been without sacrifices, but it has been a progression of small victories for me.

I didn't get out to a lot of the auditions I would have liked to. In fact, I didn't get out much this year at all. Save for theatre pilgrimages to Little Rock and Phoenix for shows, I frequented my local haunts (the beach, the neighborhood, farmer's market)... but mostly the inside of my condo. (Or glued to my laptop on the patio. Sorry... lanai.) It has been lonely... but as my support circle grows one person at a time, I can't help but be bolstered by the people who believe in me.

I have no idea what 2014 is going to bring, but I can only feel hope in place of the usual hesitation. My old sense of adventure is beginning to return as I shake off the weight of the past and look forward to the unknown.

We've made it this far.
Bring it on.

The Season of (not) Giving...

Just as a disclaimer: This is not a feel-good Christmas post. That'll come later. Today it's another political rant. I'm feeling feisty.

I like to be up-to-date on current events, but I don't watch network news. (*Unless I know someone on the show - usually theatre or event promos, serial killer friends... that kind of thing.) I scour the internet for sources from the far left, the far right, and the obscure, because I believe in the merit of "his side, her side, and the truth" ...in most cases.

The danger of getting most of my news from the internet is that I am easily persuaded by passionate arguments on everything from saving the Mexican Grey Wolf to ending bullying to anti-GMO campaigns and budget cuts to education/arts/welfare... you get the picture. I end up on ALL the email lists.

During one quarterly cleaning of my inbox, I discovered that every email from any 'cause' I'd ever cyber-joined  led to politics or money. Usually both.


There seem to be two primary categories. The first, a crowd-funded grass-roots campaign to build this or preserve that, usually with specific objectives and collective accountability on how funds are to be used. The second is the 'campaign' or 'committee' dedicated to wiping out this or fighting that. Primarily political, and focused on combating corporate funding of this or that initiative.

Sometimes it's small... a little link at the top or bottom of the email. Sometimes a shiny little radio button with 'DONATE' in an attractive font. Sometimes it's the entire body of the email. But it's always there. "Support our cause - with your money."

I'll use Al Franken (U.S. Senator, Minnesota) as an example of the second/latter category. (In full disclosure, I'm on his mailing list - and not because I think the guy is an asshat. But he IS a politician nevertheless.)
His campaign shot off an email asking for donations to reach their December goal of $200,000. The reason for this request: Karl Rove and his allies are running attack ads. (I'm just going to let that one sink in... for anyone who has ever felt the need to combat someone talking shit about you.)
He goes further to mention a $22.5 million check to Rove's "attack ad factory" as motivation to donate generously to his counter-cause.

So... let me get this straight. The bad guy wants the good guy out of office, so he's going to spend a lot of his money on nasty (and expensive) ad time to throw down the smack talk? Okay. So, what are you going to do with your Christmas money, Mr. Franken? Buy up the air time so he can't? Clever... but expensive and wasteful. Run counter-attack ads? Is it even worth acknowledging if you're the 'good guy'? Send him some expensive liquor with a nice note saying, 'Please don't attack me on the TeeVee anymore"? That only works in the movies. And really... you're going to combat $22.5 million? Give up already.

Wouldn't the best counter-campaign be one in which you could say, "Yeah... Karl is giving me shade. But I'm too busy improving living conditions for the poor or investing in better education to deal with that right now." I mean... wouldn't the ideal 'testimonial' be public opinion on your reputation as a politician that gets shit done? Take a look at Wendy Davis. She didn't even have to get shit done! But when people saw her 'trying' to get shit done, they took notice and lit up the Twitterverse. On a day when half the people in Texas didn't know who she was, she gained a national audience instantaneously.
If you're a politician or a PAC, I'll consider giving you money if you've got a proven record of getting shit done. What I won't consider (even for a second) is giving you money to fight other politicians and PACs. In fact, I scoff. Did you learn nothing on the playground? Let the thugs scrap it out next to the bike rack. Rise above, do you... and get some shit done. Shelter the homeless. Raise the minimum wage. Improve state welfare programs by co-opting from local farmers to give healthy and sustainable food options to the poor. Put the arts back in our schools and community centers.

With my limited experience in fundraising and 501(c)3 administration, I could give you fifty different options on how to use $200,000 to better your community immediately.

And that brings me to the former of the two categories, predominantly non-profit organizations or independent projects on kickstarter or gofundme. The same rule applies. Get shit done. People generally like to back successful projects. The more you can produce a quality outcome, the more people you will attract who want to be part of that legacy.
I'm guilty of this one myself, having launched a gofundme for my move to FL and misjudging how quickly I could get my organization on its feet while still writing, reading, administrating, and generally getting shit done. But now that I'm up and running, it is getting done. We're having readings. Scripts are being written and revised. And the momentum is unmistakable. We will end this year with over twice the donations we had last year. If I expect to keep it up, I've gotta make sure I'm getting shit done. That's how it works.

*On a side note, I will be running a kickstarter campaign to run a counter-attack ad against anyone who has ever disagreed with me politically, economically, artistically, or otherwise.
**J/K. Ain't nobody got time for that.

I've decided to skew my perspective when it comes to the 'Season of Giving'. Rather than putting my $11 into the Salvation Army bucket, I'll buy lunch for the homeless fellah on the corner of Ringling & Tamiami. Rather than throw a paltry amount to Greenpeace, I'll donate to Myakka state park right down the road. Or the wildlife sanctuary. I'll give to places where I can see and feel the difference it makes.

I think money being 'the root of all evil' has a lot to do with intention. Are we funding efforts to tear down and destroy, or are we funding efforts to protect and create?
An anonymous check to a local community theatre or youth program could completely change their year. A box of non-perishables on the doorstep of a struggling single mom will make her weep with relief and gratitude. 

I don't have much to give, but when I do... it won't be for politics. I'll put my money where my heart is. The people and the communities that are precious to me. Together, I trust we'll be able to get shit done.

Words, words, words

Writing is making me crazy emphasizing my already well-established insanity.
They say that what you write reveals a vast amount about you. (And by "They", I mean one mentor and two written sources or one written source and two mentors.) They also say to write what you know.
Looking on my growing catalog of plays and my book (which hasn't been touched in almost 6 months), I'm looking for a trend or 'niche' that would help describe my voice or 'type' of writing.

We've got a historical piece on the Suffragette movement, a government conspiracy play, a contemporary 'chick play', a black rom-com, and an adaptation of one of my favorite cult movies into a musical (with most of the music still yet to be written). Sigh.

With the exception of the latter, they all have undertones of politics, religion and economics. Funny... because as a general rule, I'm bitter and jaded about all three of those subjects. I guess what you write about really does reveal something about the writer. I'm exorcising my demons, I suppose. And learning focus.

What I don't write about... is my kids. (Though they are the central characters in my book - which is fiction.)
Even in blogging and Facebook/Twitter updates, I censor myself on a regular basis when it comes to my son and daughter. Part of this is due to a bad experience when a stalker found and used photos of them to taunt and torment me... I discovered then how easily the internet can be used to invade your life. The other part of me doesn't want to reveal too much about my kids because the more secrets they have to reveal in their memoirs, the better price they'll get.

Now that they've both graduated High School and are on to college, I still feel protective of them... but I'm also finding myself more vocal about celebrating the amazing adults they've become. I'm at that strange phase of life where it feels odd to thank my 'kids' in my bio, because they aren't kids any more. Even though they'll always be my babies.

And therein lies the rub. Shouldn't I be writing about my kids more? Especially now that they can't be teased in grade school when I turn their childhood anecdotes into a series of children's books? Or are some things just too precious to expose to that kind of vulnerability?

Or maybe I should just stop procrastinating and get back to revisions.