Celebrate! Win! Book Giveaway!

I went to a short workshop on SEO tonight, sponsored by Independent Writers of Chicago. I am now equipped to Optimize for Search Engines. So there.

And in other news, I have decided to celebrate the fact that this blog now has 20 followers. Count 'em: 20. Thanks, Igor! I am so thrilled to have such an astonishing level of popularity on this newfangled Internet that I have decided to sponsor a book giveaway.

I will randomly draw the name of someone who comments on this post, and send that lucky winner three (3) books from my library. You can see what kind of books I have in my library at my LibraryThing page.

I have too, too many books, and if I don't start giving some away soon, I will have to move. I love my neighbors--most of them, anyway. I love my city. I love my church. I don't want to move.

Hence: the book giveaway.

All you have to do to win is leave a somewhat relevant comment on this post, and I will put your name in a hat. On November 15 I will draw one of the names, and I will contact you to find out where to send your books. Be advised that if I have no other way of contacting you, I will contact you through replying to your comment on this blog post, so check back after November 15 to see if you won the Big Book Giveaway!

If you want, you can tell me in your comment the kinds of books you like to read, and I will take this into consideration when I pick out the three books I will be sending your way. They'll probably be paperbacks, and they'll probably be fairly current titles.

Rules: I will only send books to a U.S. address. I will give you another entry in the contest if you direct another reader to The Green Room, and they mention your name in their comment. Contest closes November 14 at midnight. Sometime on the 15th I will draw a name.

Oh! Oh! Isn't this exciting! My very first giveaway! Comment away. Tell me what you've been reading lately, and if you like it or not. Recommend a book to me, even if it's something you read a long time ago. Tell me what your kids are reading.

Who can resist FREE BOOKS?

Are You There, Internet? It's Me, M. Peevie.

One time my mom let me make a post on her blog. It was when I turned 7. Then she let me make a post again when I turned 8. Now I'm turning 9, and she's letting me make a blog post again. She's kind. And nice. And a good mom. Usually.

I went back and read what I wrote in my mom's blog 2 years ago, and I think I sounded a little bit like a baby, especially when I talked about kissing people. Now that I'm in third grade, when my mom drops me off at school, she likes to kiss me, but and I like to pretend that I don't like it when she kisses me, and I yell, "It burns! It buuurrrrrnnnns!" Then my teacher laughs.

I like my teacher, Mrs. Santa, and my student teacher, Miss Boksham. They are very nice and friendly. My mom and Mrs. Santa had a conversation about getting me more challenged, just like in first grade and second grade, and now I have way harder spelling words, like DECIDUOUS and GEOGRAPHY and TEMPERATURE. I'm only in third grade, people! Give a girl a break!

I got all A's on my report card except for one B+ in math. One time I came home with a really bad math paper, with lots and lots of mistakes on it, and I was scared that my mom was going to be really made. I mean mad. But she wasn't mad, and she just said I needed to figure out what I did wrong on the math problems, and do them over again. So I did. And guess what? I made the numbers add up instead of making them minuses, and that's why I got so many wrong answers. I guess that's why I got a B+ instead of an A.

My mom asked my what my goals were now that I'm nine, and I said: Be more mature; be kinder to my siblings, and make peace on earth. I also want to clean up parks and things, and be helpful. My mom says, "We'll see."

I like being nine because I'm able to do more things and better things. And my age (NINE) is almost a DOUBLE DIGIT. That means the number takes two numbers to write. Awesome.

Today for my birthday I got a lot of excellent presents. I got lots of cupcake-making supplies, like cupcake pans, cupcake paper-thingies, cake mixes (which you can use to make cupcakes, too), frosting and sprinkles, a cute hair dryer, some books, some clothes, and some money.

I kind of wished that I got a game called Animal Crossing City Folk, but I think my brother A. Peevie and I are both going to spend some of our birthday money to buy it. That's why it's nice to get money for your birthday, because then you can buy a present for yourself that somebody didn't give you.

I already made one batch of cupcakes with my cupcake supplies. My mom helped. They were delicious. (I know how to spell that.) I'm going to bring some cupcakes to school tomorrow to celebrate my birthday even though my birthday was today.

Now I have to go to bed and read. That's what I do every night before I go to sleep. After my dad turns out my light, I still read by the light that comes in from the hallway. Then my mom comes in later and busts me--but she usually doesn't yell at me. I think it's hard for her to tell me to stop reading. It's READING, after all, not doing something inappropriate (I know how to spell that word, too), like coloring on my walls or playing my DS.

Goodnight, Internet. See you next year, when I turn DOUBLE DIGITS.

M. Peevie

Boys With Saws and Shovels

I just said one of those sentences that you never expect to have to say when you first become a parent of a tiny, soft-headed, angelic baby.

"A. Peevie! Stop sawing the deck!"

I was in my kitchen when I noticed that I was hearing loud sawing noises from somewhere nearby. I opened the back door, and the noises were louder. I stood on the deck, and I heard the noise, but couldn't see anybody.

"A. Peevie! Where are you?" I hollered.

"Under here!" he called, from under the deck. Then another little head popped up on the fence side of the deck and looked at me with wide-eyed innocence. It was his much-younger friend, K-Pup.

"What are you guys doing under there?" I asked, stupidly.

"Sawing a board," he said.

"What board?" I asked. Pause. "Are you actually sawing the deck?"

"Weeeellll," he said slowly. "Yeah. Kind of."

"A.!" I said sternly. "What are you thinking? Stop sawing the deck! In fact," I added, "Stop sawing--period! Stop playing with sharp implements. Put the tools back in the garage where you found them."

This is what comes of mom sending the kids outside to play without strict instructions and stricter supervision. You would think that an almost-12-year-old boy would know that his mom would not approve of him playing with an actual saw, and especially would not approve of him inviting the 7-year-old neighbor to also play with serrated blades.

I got a lot done in the house, though, while the kids were outside playing with pointy objects. It's sort of a trade-off, sometimes.

I don't know which is worse, playing with a saw, or digging an unauthorized trench on the side of the deck--which is what A. Peevie did yesterday with a different playdate buddy. Not only did they dig a hole deep enough to bury a body, but they did it without calling 811 ("Know what's below! Call before you dig.").

They also conscripted M. Peevie to lug buckets of water over, so they could fill the hole and...what? Stock it with bluegill and then go fishing? I don't even know. By the time Mr. Peevie busted them, all three kids were caked with mud, their shoes were unwearable, and they looked like they'd need three showers each to return to their normal pigmentation.

When I mentioned the ditch-digging to Playdate's dad--to explain the extreme filth on his son's gym shoes--he told me that they had holes all over their backyard because Playdate and his little brother also really loved to dig holes. What is up with boys and holes in the ground?

I love it when my kids play outside. I guess I just need to be a little more specific about the rules: No playing with sharp objects. No unauthorized demolition. No unauthorized digging.

There. That should do it. Until they devise another "project" involving new activities that I have not yet specifically forbidden.

I give it a week.

Haz-Mat Clean-up in Aisle Three

Who knew that glass thermometers still had mercury in them?! Guess who found out the hard way that they do?

I really thought that mercury in household thermometers was a thing of the dangerous past, like those rickety wooden spinny things on the playgrounds of my childhood. But tonight, after C. Peevie accidentally knocked the thermometer on the hardwood floor, I found out that a) mercury thermometers are NOT a thing of the past, and b) cleaning up a mercury spill is sort of a pain in my pasty white butt.

How dangerous could a few tiny balls of elementary mercury actually be? I thought to myself. I'll just wipe it up with a rag and throw everything away. No, I decided, better take a few seconds and look it up first.

Geez. You practically have to call in a haz-mat SWAT team to clean up the spill area. The EPA provides guidelines that list nine items on the clean-up supply list, including "eyedropper" and "optional powdered sulfur," and nine not-so-simple steps to get the mercury safely off the floor and into an EPA-audited safe disposal unit. Or something.

So I spent the next half hour collecting my haz-mat equipment, not including the optional powdered sulfur, but including the shaving cream and paint brush and a temperamental flashlight that worked sporadically, like a sixth grader who forgot to take his Ritalin.

Then I got down on my hands and knees and oh-so-carefully cardboarded the metallic beads into a little cluster. The flashlight turned out to be very useful for locating a multitude of tiny beads that I would not have seen otherwise--when it actually worked. It was apparently in an intermittent kind of mood--which I totally understand; trust me, Flashlight, I've been there --and it would randomly stop working, at which time I would leak swears. Just itty-bitty ones, though.

Once the beads were corralled, I was supposed to suck them up with an eye-dropper, but of course, I did not have such an archaic implement. What do you need eye-droppers for these days? Meds that require a dropper--like eye drops, for example--usually come with the dropper built into the container. So I used the "scootch method" to pick up the larger mercury beads, a method which the EPA has not yet included in its instruction manual.

Then, to get most of the teensy beads, I used the shaving-cream-on-a-paint-brush method. Unfortunately, the hardwood floor in The Green Room has very slight gaps between some of the planks, and I am positive that I am even now being slowly poisoned by left-over mercury infecting my airspace.

I'll let you know if I break out in a disgusting rash, or suddenly stop breathing.

This haz-mat episode took over an hour, which is an hour I did not get to spend watching Dancing With the Stars, dang it all to heck. I cannot believe that Mark was eliminated, which makes me sad, but Bruno, as always, came through with hilarious analysis: "It was a little bit like watching Kung Fu Panda dance the samba in 'Planet of the Apes.'"

Meanwhile, C. Peevie was comfortably ensconced in his couch divot, watching Angel DVDs and snorting at my frustrated outbursts. What is wrong with this picture? If the kid didn't have a broken leg, and if the EPA didn't firmly instruct me with capital letters to NOT allow children to help clean up the spill, his 14-year-old ass would have been doing haz-mat duty.

And just because I like to provide full-service information to our Green Room visitors, here are a few fun facts about elemental mercury:

• A mere two tablespoons weighs about one pound.
• NEVER use a vaccuum or broom to clean up mercury, because doing so will increase exposure.
• Chronic exposure affects the central nervous system, causing various symptoms including tremors and irritability.
  

That's all, folks. Get rid of your old thermometers before you end up cranky and hunched over a tiny paint brush coated with shaving cream, like me.

Top Ten Reasons I Love Halloween

Yay! My favorite holiday--next to my birthday, of course, which some people oddly do not consider an actual holiday. Here's why I love Halloween:

10. It falls during my favorite season, the days of scuffing through dry leaves, admiring beautiful autumn colors against the sky, and pulling on a sweater against a not-unwelcome chill in the air.

9. Haunted houses. I do love a manufactured scare now and then.

8. Pumpkin patches. I'm so glad that our world includes the color orange. A field with hundreds of pumpkins dotted around is a thing of beauty and happiness.

7. Candy. How can you not love a holiday that is all about the candy? I'm not saying it's good for my girlish figure or anything. I'm just saying, sometimes a person is only a Heath Bar away from a really good day. And it's probably not a coincidence that "heath" is only an "l" short of "health."

6. Jack-o-lanterns. See photos. Scooping out the seeds and pulp, cleaning and scraping the inside smooth. Choosing the perfect, not-too-difficult carving stencil. Poking, cutting, carving--until finally you have a glowing work of art! And when it's a family affair--all the better.

5. Toasted pumpkin seeds. Yum. Boil 'em in salted water--or not; dry 'em out in a low-heat oven--or not; toss 'em with oil and salt, and bake at 300 degrees until toasty. As I mentioned: Yum.

4. Parties. Before we had kids, Mr. Peevie and I had a costume party for adults. We fostered the competitive spirit, and our guests did not disappoint. We had Moses, Boy George, Julius and Esther Rosenberg, Diana Goddess of the Hunt, a member of the Lollipop Guild, the Sears Tower complete with flashing lights, Peter Pan, Pepe le Pew, Aladdin, Gumby, the National Debt, the Frugal Gourmet, Christopher Columbus and Queen Isabella, and many more honored guests at our annual gala.

One year the doorbell rang, and when I answered it, the American Gothic man and woman were standing on my stoop. I looked, and looked, and FINALLY I realized that it was Mr. Peevie's mom and dad--totally unexpected! They won first place in the costume contest.

3. Trick-or-treating. I mostly love my memories of trick-or-treating, in neighborhoods that seemed to be miles away from my own, with no adults supervising, walking for hours and ringing doorbells of houses of total strangers, and coming home with pillowcases bulging with full-size candy bars which we'd sort and hoard for weeks.

2. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! I'm pretty sure I have watched this every year since I was five years old. Poor Charlie Brown, getting rocks in his pillowcase. Poor Linus--waiting and hoping in vain for the Great Pumpkin. Oh! The deep, spiritual poignancy!

Even when the GP doesn't come, and Charlie Brown commiserates with Linus, Linus is outraged by Charlie Brown's insinuation that waiting for the Great Pumpkin is stupid. "Stupid? What do you mean, stupid? Just wait 'til next year, Charlie Brown. I'll find the pumpkin patch that is real sincere and I'll sit in that pumpkin patch until the Great Pumpkin appears."

What does it mean? I can't say for sure--but here is a really astute observation and analysis of the art and meaning of Charles Schulz's "depiction of the struggle between existentialism and religious determinism."

1. Kids' costumes. What a great opportunity for kids to use their imaginations and creativity. My kids love to play dress-up, but on Halloween, they really take it to the next level.

Some years I bought ready-made costumes from the store, but the best costumes are the ones made from things around the house, or pulled together from useful purchases and with minimal cost.
This year, A. Peevie's Luigi costume cost about $20--but most of that was for a t-shirt and a baseball cap that he will wear for the rest of the year. M. Peevie's costume, including her magnifying glass, cost about the same--and I'm pretty sure she'll get her money's worth out of wearing the hat as an everyday fashion accessory.

Flarp, Luigi and Smelly Cheese

"How will I know what's going on if you don't post?"

This from Mr. Peevie, who actually lives in this household. The rest of you, who live several zip codes away AT LEAST are probably FREAKING OUT by now.

So, in a lame attempt to jump-start my blogging mojo, and in order to get everyone up to speed on the Peevies, life in the Windy City, and Everything Else That Matters--here's what's been going on lately:

1. C. Peevie got his giant cast sliced off and replaced with an adorable, below-the-knee red cast. When I drove him to school that morning, I noticed that the car had an odor of old, smelly CHEESE. It was his leg. Gross.

2. It's three days before Halloween, and my kids don't know what costumes they're going to wear yet. This happens every year. I start trying to get everyone going on costumes in mid-September, we plan to get great deals on Ebay, the kids change their minds, we go shopping at the costume stores, we don't find anything, and here we are--three days to go, and no costumes.

One year A. Peevie employed his vivid imagination and his apparent lack of peer influence, and came up with a homemade costume he cleverly called Box Head With Knife and Gun. He cut a narrow slit in a regular cardboard box and put it on his head; and he held a rubber Bowie knife in one hand and a gun-looking sort of metal thing in the other hand--and that was his costume.

Lately he's been wearing Flarp on his hands and arms for no apparent reason, and I suggested that he could be Blob Boy, with Flarp covering his exposed skin. Of course that suggestion was met with much ridicule, and A. Peevie is back to wanting to be Luigi, his first choice. But of course it's too late to buy the costume on-line, and the stores are out. Anyone have any size 12 overalls, green turtleneck, and a green beret?

M. Peevie has gone from wanting to be a karate girl, to a ninja, to a detective. So now I have to find a Sherlock Holmes hat, brown pants, a trench coat, and a "real magnifying glass."

3. Tonight I saw my first preview for Season 8 of 24, that train wreck of a TV show that I love nonetheless, with its hot mess of a main character. I will be posting my predictions soon for S8, but just to titillate your TV taste-buds, here's the first one: Spawn (Kim) will be in DANGER sometime during the season.

And here's a bonus prediction: Spawn of Spawn (SoS)--Jack's granddaughter--(I KNOW!) will be in DANGER sometime during S8 also.

4. Someone stole one of our pumpkins right off our front steps last week. I mean, come ON. We live in one of the most densely-cop-populated (ooh, ouch--that almost came out wrong!) neighborhoods in the city of Chicago, and my PUMPKIN is not even safe on my stoop? SERIOUSLY? People are just rude.

What Will He Remember?

One more week before (fingers crossed) the big cast comes off and is replaced with the walking cast. Now that the pain is gone, C. Peevie's biggest broken-leg-related problem is the under-the-cast itching, which we treat with Benadryl and a fly swatter.

Oh, it's not clear how a fly swatter can cure itching? It turns out that a fly swatter is the perfect common household implement for scratching an itchy leg under a thigh-high cast. He tried other re-purposed scratchers--a ruler, an unbent hanger, a pen--but they were either too short, too inflexible, or too thick to fit between his leg and the cast.

Now that he's nearing the end of his short-term disability, I'm wondering what he will remember about this episode 30 years from now?

Will he remember WillDad and HarDad splinting his leg so well that the ER staff at Door County Memorial Hospital thought he had been field-dressed by a physician?

Will he remember his pain during the first three days that made him aaaalmost cry, and definitely made his mother cry? Will he remember fidgeting and moaning and shifting and adjusting his pillows at night, trying to find a comfortable position, until his breathing grew even and finally, he slept?

Will he remember falling in the bathroom, shaking and whimpering from fear and pain for about 45 minutes after we got him safely back on the couch?

Will he remember the Buckeyes chocolate candies and the Costco-size box of individual bags of M&M trail mix that my peeps brought him?

Will he remember that he missed his first two weeks of high school? Will he remember navigating the halls in a wheelchair, and refusing to eat lunch in the cafeteria because he didn't want to ask for help?

Will he remember the kindness and support of his teachers and counselors, who helped him navigate the physical and emotional challenges of the first messed-up weeks of school?

Will he remember getting progressively better on his crutches until stairs barely slowed him down? Will he remember doing wheelies in his chair, and me yelling at him to knock it off before he broke his skull?

Will he remember the stories people told him about their own broken bones and assorted traumas?

What will he remember?