Kids playing peekaboo in spaghetti and laughing so hard at the dinner table that they get the hiccups; What could be better?

It is a cruel cruel irony that at a time when it is the most important to have food in your stomach it is impossible to keep it there. Blek.

unholy jeans

My six-year-old son just holed his last pair of unholy jeans. Now all of his jeans are holy. It sounds like a good thing, but little boy jeans are one of those things that you want to remain unholy.
They say it's the style to wear holy jeans, but it's not really true. The only holes that are really acceptable in holy jeans are the ones you can tell are pre-made. Pre-made holy jeans are expensive. Holy jeans can be more expensive than unholy jeans, but accidentally hole your unholy jeans and they're now holy rags. What does that say about the advancement of our society?
Well, now off to buy more unholy jeans. Do You want to take bets on how long before they are holed into holy ones again?

Paperless

The other day I was visiting my parents. I had a few things run across my mind that I wanted to write down, but I discovered I had forgotten my red book. After the screams died down I looked for a scrap of paper to hold me over, only to discover that there was none. No paper in the entire house. Not a post-it. Not even my collage student brother had a notebook to tear a page from.
"I have a lap top." He shrugged.
I shouldn't be upset. I'm sure there are many households that now live paperless. Soon it will be a rare sight to spot a spiral bound or find a sticky-note to scribble on. It's a good thing, right? It saves trees.
So why do I find myself wondering around holding out an open notebook ready to catch any words that might fall out of virtual reality? Why am I staring at the end of my pen, watching the unused ink evaporate?

avoidance behavior

Do You know the definition and motivations of avoidance behavior? Well. . .uhm. . .I think I'll go do something else.

Why is it different?

Hello You,

Tonight I'm looking out at the park across the street where my we played earlier today. The night makes it different. If I were out there I wouldn't sit on the benches. I would slide down the cool slides. I would walk in the cool sand. I would climb the cool ladders with bare feet.
And my children are asleep.
Why is it different?

Bye You.

yucky

I have so many clever posts written in my head, but I just feel yucky. Yucky, yucky, yucky. The only person who can make it better is my mother and she's at work. How dare she? She needs to be available to sooth my sorrow at every moment. I know that there are many other people who love me and would say, 'I'll help.' But sorry, I want my mommy.

I am now sticking my tongue out at You as a goodbye.

p.s. I just realized something. I'm a mommy. I hope I can sooth sorrow as well as my Mother. Yikes!

journal edition-bad memory

My memory is so bad. There is so much that I want to remember. So much of it is gone already.
Today I want to remember two cute kids (Kailie and Wesley) sitting on the floor against the wall with orange stained fingers and lips from eating marshmallow-sized Cheetos.
I want to remember Wesley wailing, "Mommy my eyebrows are cold."
Well, there are two memories that I can keep now. If You know how to get back all the ones that I didn't write down please tell me.

Red Book journal edition

I've always felt guilty that I haven't kept a steady journal. I've written entries here and there in my red book, but they are few and far between. There are a lot of reasons why I haven't. They are good reasons, but I've decided I'm tired of feeling guilty. So I've created Red Book journal edition. It is perfectly understandable if You are not interested in chronological updates on my life. So I will warn You with a journal edition title. Read what You will. And so. . .

Red Book journal edition March 30, 2010

Things go on as they always do at this time in my life. I'm still a mother of three and I still do all the things that go along with this calling. Most of which are not that interesting to write about, but every moment is full and things are happening that are interesting and momentous to me.

Lincoln finished hid last reading lesson yesterday. For Christmas he received a reading lesson book and a video game from Santa Clause. The book was to help him read his video game. He's worked hard on it. It has been something that he has wanted to do. I am very proud of him. I couldn't read at his age.
Wesley is working on his potty training. I'm sure if he ever reads this he will be thrilled that I mentioned it, but I am proud of him.
Kailie's first word is pretty. I guess that goes to show how much we tell her about her looks. It's darling the way she says it too. I hope I can capture it on video.
David is wonderful as always.
I just keep cleaning, and writing and dreaming.

Well, catch You latter

P.s. I'm sending out my queries the first of next week. Wish me luck.
P.p.s I think a lot should be one word-alot. Who is with me?

Good morning?

Why is it that I always think of such good ideas when I'm trying to fall asleep. I'm sure that I will remember the next day and then I don't. Does this ever happen to You? Does that mean that perfectly brilliant ideas are just gone from existence. Will they float around in the back of my brain until I can catch them again?

I do remember that the last brilliant idea I had was about good books. The kind that keep You up all night. You tell yourself just one more page. Just one more chapter and then one more page and then one more chapter. I had a very clever paragraph going in my mind. I was actually composing it after I'd forced myself to put down one of those addicting books, and was trying to fall asleep. I can't put the book down, and then when I finally work up the will power to close it, my mind is awake, alive, and racing,with the inviting book just a reach away on my cedar chest. I tell myself that as long as I am awake I might as well read. Then when I put the book down again I can't sleep again and so it continues. It's a vicious trap. Especially since my brain is not entirely stable and lack of sleep makes sanity more precarious. Am I doomed to a life of dry reading? Must I limit myself to passable writing and mildly entertaining plots? IS THERE NO HOPE?

My name is MeLisa Stone and I am a bookaholic.

P.s. I think I caught my idea back. I guess that answers that question.

I don't mind waiting for trains.I don't mind sitting at the crossings. I have no choice but to be still. There is a soft rumble. I can't predict when it's going to end. Each car could be the last, or not. I like watching the graffiti float across my line of sight. The loud works fit with my rebellion against rushing forward.

I have no choice but to be still.

Dear You,
As promised I'm not worrying at all about what I write. I'm just going to write what is there bouncing around my head. My heart is racing so fast. Yes, lucky me is having a panic attack. Why? Oh for no real reason, just part of being insane. Have I told you my insane theory. No? Well, I have decided that anyone who is truly creative has to be a bit crazy, whether they admit it or not. I admit it. Completely off my rocker. Not all there. No full deck for me. Hopefully I can put my off kilter metal capacities to good work. So I guess I'll just endure the frantic pounding, the shivering, and the certainty that something terrible is afoot, even though there is not.

Words before me
sent to You
make them real?
Clear my heart

Smashed to smithereens

That's all I have to say

Red Book Blog

Hello You,
I suppose I should explain that this blog is dedicated to a thick, red-bound notebook that I carry around with me everywhere. Hence the title Red Book Blog. In it I write. . .everything. I can never be bored if I have a pen and my red book handy. It's contents include; idea webs, notes, quotes, and excerpts from my stories. Then much less glamorous are; shopping lists, budgets, doodles, and drawings from my three children, who all believe that whenever I am writing in my red book they should be writing in my red book.

I have to admit that my heart is racing at the thought of writing to You. I've always written to You. In my red book everything was addressed to You, but I never had any idea that You would actually read it. The possibility that you might is slightly greater now. I suddenly feel extremely self conscious. My thoughts are disjointed. My grammar is far from flawless. At least my spelling will be much improved thanks to spell check. I've also been told that no one can read or write cursive anymore so typing is a plus. It would seem that since You are now listening I should be more formal and carefully consider each thing that I put down. Well too bad. I'm not going to. If I try to write for anyone besides myself, even You, it turns out terribly. (Not to mention that I am the mother of three and my time has to be carefully guarded. For example it has taken me an hour to write these paragraphs due to the number of times I've had to get up and take care of something.)

Don't worry. Hopefully this red book internet edition will still have some merit.

Well, live long and prosper.

p.s. I am currently on red book IV. Red book III was lost. If You have seen a ragged red book filled with mostly illegible nonsense please let me know. I miss it terribly.

p.p.s. I'm about ready to pull my hair out. Two of my children are fighting over the keyboard. It makes writing, as You can imagine, rather difficult!