The Average Blogger

Number Nine...

Nine years ago, Not Your Average Blogger and I took the day off work to go kill some time in a hospital, and we emerged with a brand new boychild.

For the most part, I think we've done a pretty good job on the upkeep.  A few scratches, a few dents, but the Young Prince is still running great.

(Hmmm.  Wearing the same sweatshirt as last year, I think.  Or we are dreadfully uninspired in the clothing arena...)

As if the universe knew I was going to write about him today, a bunch of material came home from school yesterday.  He got all As and Bs during this grading period.  He took a bunch of standardized tests and the results came back that he's an ace reader and reasonably good at "nonverbal reasoning" -- what NYAB refers to as "FSO" tests. Also not surprising, his math scores were pretty abysmal -- but even this isn't necessarily cause for dismay -- there were 60 problems and he finished 30. Of those 30, he got 29 right.

So I suspect this score is actually yet another chorus in the "Dude, pay ATTENTION!" song. He CAN add and subtract, he just DOESN'T.  I also suspect that many of the B grades he got could have been A's for the same reason. I continue to believe that once he finally figures out that These Things Matter, he'll start acting like they do. Now it's up to me to figure out how to make them matter in the micro, so he'll be equipped for the macro.

He also brought home a note alerting us that his bus driver had died over the weekend, possibly (although I can't verify this,) preceded by some mishap at the school last week. ("He fell and had to go to the hospital, and the buses left late," Thomas said. I don't know if this means the man died because he fell, or fell because he was dying, or the two were completely unrelated.) In any event, this was a bit more complicated than grades, needless to say.  The YP was quite fond of this man apparently.  The guy used to call him by a different sci-fi name every day when he'd get on the bus, and those of you who know anything about the YP can imagine what this meant to him. So this is a note of sad growing-up-ness in a week of birthday celebration.

And yet, the kid still loves his Captain America gear. And his Tron shirt. Well, yeah. 

Last weekend, obviously, was gifts.  The haul included the above, along with a Kindle Fire, assorted Tron items and videogames. This weekend, NeighborGirl is home, so we are making a day of it and going to Steak and Shake, then to see Star Wars in 3D.  That pod race should be something else.  We are all quite excited. And if I'm lucky, I'll finally get a few decent photos of the kid where he isn't "posing" with ridiculous Steve Perry-esque facial expressions.

Happy birthday, YP.  I'm gratified that I will (probably) still be taller than you when you turn 10.

 

It's an Honor Just Being Nominated

Well, it would be.  I don't recall ever being nominated for anything, come to think of it. 

But! I was contacted regarding my interest in applying for change of venue, workwise.  I am equal parts gratified and horrified that I have priced myself out of certain markets.  I'm sure my boss feels the same way.

The Young Prince is taking an active interest in the political primaries, and for about five minutes there he was all fired up about SOPA and PIPA.  I'm not sure where this sudden civic interest originated, but it has led to some interesting dinner table chat.

The other kid excitement was we went to see all his old pals in the second show of the kid-theater season, which was Annie.  I like the show, I grew up listening to the record and it's amazing how many of the lyrics were still stuck in my brain. It was a well-done production, much better quality than the first one.  Will be interesting to see what they do with the third one.

And because the silly boy can't stand not having an audience even when he's in the audience, at one point in the play Daddy Warbucks mentions "Babe Ruth is the right-fielder for the New York Yankees,"  and my kid hollers out "Boo!"  from his seat dead center in the last row of the auditorium.  Not Your Average Blogger high-fived the kid. A big help he is.  I desperately tried to sink through my chair, face in my hands, while surreptitiously counting how many mothers of kids on stage whipped their heads around to glare at us. To his credit, the kid appeared to realize he'd been a bit too loud, as he too sank down in his chair and asked if he should leave.  

In other news, I finished the rough draft of my second book.  After setting myself a limited word count and still coming in 4,000 words long, my friend in publishing says it's too short. The good news is I know what I need to add and I know how much to add, so I still  might have it into a solid Real First Draft before March.

That, or I'll temporarily ditch the fixes and instead start on a third book I've got banging around in my brain. I can get back to rewrites when Outburst Fever has run its course.

Tomorrow the great agent quest begins for my first effort.  365 agents in 365 days. I polished my query again, and picked 20 recipients.  That'll get me through Presidents Day, which should give me time to find the next 20.  

The kid's birthday is next week. Nine years. Good lord. All that attention-sucking aside, we are doing something right, because he has asked to be taken to Steak and Shake for his birthday dinner.  Happy to oblige!