Now that NaNoWriMo is over and done with, I’m back at #FridayFlash! Be sure to check out the other short stories — great for a slow Friday at work or over a quick lunch break. I’d love to hear your comments re: my story below! Thanks for stopping by!
THE DEATH OF SANTA
Santa was dead.
There was no other explanation. Bernard had been on his best behavior all year long! Well, if not all year long, then at least since Thanksgiving! And didn’t that count for something?
And even if it hadn’t been enough, where was his lump of coal then? That he could have at least understood. But this! For Santa to not even show up?
Something was obviously very, very wrong. He went straight from his stockings to the window to look for evidence of foul play or perhaps even a terrible accident. The snow was thicker than he’d ever seen it, and on any normal Christmas morning, he’d be anxiously awaiting the moment — after having torn through his stocking of course — when his mother would give him permission to go outside. He’d build an army of snowmen and a base of snow forts, stocked to the brim with snowballs for the sure-to-be-epic battle he and his friends would have later in the day. But how could he think of such frivolities at a time like this?
The snow was untouched. No tracks, neither Santa-sized nor hoof-printed. No wreckage or debris of any kind. Not even a strand of errant tinsel. He had to be missing something. He hurried back to the fireplace, where his stocking sat empty, for a closer inspection. He ran a finger along the marble in front, but there was not a trace of soot to be found — and Santa always left tracks, much to Bernard’s mother’s chagrin. He jumped up onto the hearth and inspected the cookie plate: not a morsel had disappeared from the bevy of cookies he’d insisted on leaving.
And then the worst thought occurred to him. He laid down and scooted his head into the fireplace. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He let out a sigh of relief as the light from the sky shone down through the chimney — just barely, but there was clearly no large man in a big red suit blocking the way. Santa had at the very last had not expired here in his chimney. Though Bernard could not help feeling that, if he had, at least they might have had a shot at retrieving some of the presents.
Not knowing what else to do, he trudged to his parents’ room, tears beginning to sting his eyes. He opened the door to find them fast asleep — as if nothing in the world had gone amiss!
“Mom? Dad?” he asked, his voice quivering.
They stirred, and then they shot bolt upright. They each grabbed their clocks on either side of the bed, which Bernard now noticed were both flashing 12:00. They suddenly looked as terrified as Bernard felt.
“The storm…” his mom said.
“What storm?” asked Bernard.
“I thought you set your phone, too,” his dad responded, as if Bernard were not even there.
His mother grabbed her phone from the bedside table. Her face fell. ”Dead.”
It was everything he feared. Bernard sat down on the floor and burst into tears.
© 2012 Elizabeth Ditty
Some months I wouldn’t know what went on if it weren’t for looking back through my texts, tweets, photos and blog posts. And even though my memory of November is basically the visual equivalent of this…
…it appears I did actually do some stuff last month.
Some stuff I did.
- Put up Christmas decorations (on Nov. 1, because I am one of those people).
- Participated in and “won” my 8th consecutive NaNoWriMo.
- Ran a 5K on Thanksgiving at 25 weeks pregnant.
- Turned 30.
I also wrote some posts about things for which I’m thankful (and got too busy/didn’t prioritize writing about a lot of other things for which I’m thankful).
- Item 1: T
- Item 2: BREAKING DAWN Didn’t Ruin the Sensation of the Baby Kicking For Me
- Items 3 & 4: Chrissy & Kate (my sisters)
- Item 5: My Burglar
- Item 6: Ten Working Fingers
- Items 7 & 8: Mom & Dad
- Items 9, 10 & 11: Lilo, Rikku & Viola
- Items 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16: My Twenties
November in Photos
What I’m aiming for this month.
- Write four new short stories for #FridayFlash
- Pass my glucose test on Dec. 20
- Learn from and don’t get freaked out by childbirth education & water birth classes
- Work out 4 to 5 times a week, even if it’s just walking
- Finish a rough cut of STILL (most of which will come from getting voiceover sorted)
- Start thinking about/planning my next screenplay project
- Prepare freelance website to launch in January.
All right, that should keep me busy enough for the month. Do you all have any goals for the month, beyond surviving holiday shopping madness (not that that isn’t enough of an accomplishment in and of itself)?
I’m closing the last few days of my 20s this week. I know the big 3-0 freaks a lot of people out, and maybe I’ll feel a little out of sorts once it hits, but for the most part, I’m pretty happy to say goodbye to my 20s. They’ve been a little too tumultuous for my tastes, but I’m grateful for my experiences, too. Some highlights:
I was good at school, so the classwork at college came to me pretty easily. The social aspect did not, really, as I wasn’t comfortable yet with who I am. I felt constantly in the shadow of my then-boyfriend. And let me tell you, folks, in the quest of how to find oneself, introducing yourself as anyone’s anything is a bad start. (Lesson learned, much later: You are more than your relationships to others, and if you don’t acknowledge yourself as such, then you can’t expect others to either.) Nonetheless, I learned a lot from my professors (shout outs to Boss and Lamer, above all), and I wrote a lot of solid news articles and editorials. College was where I really honed my basic writing skills and got to embrace my editing skills. I also learned how to coach writers thanks to some incredible coaching by one of my first editors, Abby Simons. She was the first student editor to take me aside and work with me to figure out how to improve an article instead of handing me back a piece of paper with a few red marks on it.
I’ve never been fickle when it comes to relationships. My first crush lasted two years, my second another year, and I took great pride in the eighth grade that I managed to hold on the longest to the boyfriend we all passed around — a whopping three months! My next crush after that lasted a good three & a half years. And then I met the guy I would eventually marry after 4 years and divorce after another 4. That relationship defined half of my twenties, and recreating myself after it defined the second half. I cannot bring myself to say I am thankful for that relationship, but I am incredibly thankful for having come out of it who I am today. Learning to stand up for myself and demand respect as well as giving myself the freedom to pursue my own passions and explore my own beliefs was one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been given. I call that realization my Eowyn Moment. (This was shortly followed by what I now call My Dorothy Experience, but I’ll have to save that story for another time).
So, during the second half of my twenties, I became the person I wanted to be with. I started writing like a madwoman, I made travel a priority, and I made pursuing random interests a habit. I took this Oscar Wilde quote to heart: “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.” And it just so happens that that led me to meeting the true love of my life.
Health & Fitness
I’ve written about my weight loss experience before, but taking control of my health was maybe the landmark moment of my 20s, to be honest. (It’s funny how I was so mortified by the first picture when now I’m kind of embarrassed of the second one, too.) It was a reflection of learning to love myself and gaining the confidence to present myself to others how I felt on the inside. Finding the strength to do get through those workouts gave me the mental fortitude to do a lot of other things, too. Will Smith actually sums it up pretty well here.
By the time I was done, I’d lost about 110 pounds from my highest weight ever, and I’d gone from a size 22 to a size 4. But I think the biggest difference has nothing to do with my size and everything to do with how I carry myself. I was always trying to hide when I was big, and while I’m not exactly a showboat now, I don’t hide from cameras or people. That’s an inner confidence thing.
And now I’m pregnant and it’s all RUINED!
Just kidding, obviously. Even though I’ve gained more than I’d have preferred, I still carry myself with more pride than I did when I was heavier. I’m still dealing with a lot of self-image issues, especially now, but they’re not what they once were, and I also know they’re temporary. (And as much as people tell you, “You’re gaining weight because you’re carrying a baby!” it is still not easy when you’ve had a major weight loss experience. Oddly, there is ZERO writing on this out there on the internet that I’ve found, which I’ll have to change soon, I think.)
I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to getting back into my normal fitness routine, but it’s out of joy rather than desperation (most of the time) at the opportunity to lose the baby weight in a healthy way while setting a good example for my son.
As I noted above, I made travel a big priority in my life, especially in the last few years. The following places stand out:
- London (twice)
- New Orleans
- Austin (twice)
- New York City
- St. Louis
- Bentonville & Fayetteville (Arkansas)
- Plymouth & Sheboygan (Wisconsin)
- Returns to Tampa, Roaring River (Missouri), and Joplin (Missouri)
Travel changes a person. It opens up your eyes to different cultures and perspectives. Whether you go near or far, or even play tourist in your own city, I can’t recommend it enough. And I’m incredibly thankful to have gotten to visit the amazing places I have in just the past couple of years, and I’m looking forward to continuing to make travel a priority in my 30s.
It was my own version of a student film, and while my inexperience shows, I still think it’s a sweet story. It’s also managed to steadily gain more than 2,000 views in the two years since I first posted it. And while that’s a tiny drop in the very large bucket of the internet, it’s a lot more people than I ever thought would see it when I first screened it for 30 friends and family.
Doing that gave me the confidence to try another short film a few years later, which is still in post, but nearing completion. I’m hoping to enter STILL in some festivals, and I’ve already got a few other ideas I’d like to get into production in the next few years.
There’s no better way to learn about screenwriting and filmmaking than by doing, so if you’ve been writing for a few years and are desperate to see something of yours come full circle, then pick up a camera, grab some friends, and go make something. Even iPhone cameras take decent video for web these days, so the excuses are getting harder and harder to find. Go create. You won’t be sorry.
I could go on and on about why I’m thankful for my 20s (as well as why I’m thankful to be leaving them behind), but I think this is a good enough spattering. There’s no fighting the years coming on, but we can definitely choose how we spend those years. As for me, I’m with Tony Horton.
Back on New Year’s Eve of 2004, I brought home a furry little thing that I named Lilo. She was nervous & her nerves tired her out, and she spent much of her first day in her new home sleeping inside her very large-for-such-a-small-dog house.
She eventually came out of her shell, and it turned out she’s pretty much the canine version of me. She has an innate sense of adventure and ADD that has led her down many neighborhood streets, giving me a heart attack every time she wanders off when I’m not paying close enough attention (which thankfully is not too often). She never runs away, mind you. She just catches a scent or sees a leaf and follows it to who knows where. And even when I’m scolding her, she is always THRILLED to have had one of her little adventures.
Rain and snow don’t really bother her, thanks in large part to her super crazy thick fur. I’m pretty sure she was a St. Bernard in a past life. And when she’s not adventuring, she is the most mellow creature in the world. Except when she’s hungry.
And then she is the biggest punk of a dog you’ve ever met. She will whine and bark and scratch at closed doors, even if it’s 4:30 a.m., until someone gives her what she wants.
She is also the only dog I’ve ever seen fake cry, which only ever happens when I try to cut her nails. She is my canine soulmate.
A couple of years later, on Nov. 18, I brought home another long-haired chihuahua, thinking Lilo might like to have a companion. It took me several days to nail down a name for her, and in the end, I settled on Rikku, after the Final Fantasy X character. It turned out to be apropos, as she turned out to be a tiny little ball of energy, much to Lilo’s chagrin.
For a while, I’m pretty sure Rikku thought that “Lilo” meant both of them, while “Rikku” meant just her, but she seems to have figured it out more or less. In those first few days, she would not leave Lilo alone, and she hated to be left alone. She’d howl like she was suffering the worst heartbreak in the world when she’d have to go in her kennel. And Lilo wanted nothing to do with her. I was actually afraid it wasn’t going to work out, that I’d have to take Rikku back, but then something kind of amazing happened. Rikku was all up in Lilo’s business, and Lilo, finally having had enough, bit her. And after that, they got along pretty spectacularly. And now, Rikku is still a bundle of energy, and she’s still pretty much Lilo’s inverse.
She doesn’t really care too much for adventuring unless there’s a human along with her, and in fact she’ll often make her way back on her own after only a few minutes. She is very, very, very wary of strangers.
But once you’re in, you’re in. And she is totally, absolutely in love with T.
She is a hilarious, patient little dog.
And I love her dearly, too.
And then there’s this little monster.
She’s actually only a monster about 53 percent of the time, but when she is in monster mode, it is pretty impressive.
I brought her home on August 11 to surprise T, who, as much as he loves and helps take care of the pups, is very much a cat person at heart. We’d seen her at Petco a couple of weeks prior, and she’d come right up to us and started licking our fingers through the bars of a cage, just like a dog. It seemed like a sign. Lilo has gotten used to her, and she and Rikku even hang out together (though Rikku remains wary, which is understandable considering that just the other day, Viola accidentally jumped from the counter onto Rikku’s head).
When she’s in monster mode, she sprints from one level of the house to another, leaps from the kitchen down to the parlor in one fell swoop, and goes from one “VIOLA, NO!” to another in a matter of seconds. The other day, I watched for two minutes as she attacked the stair. I’m certain that in a past life she was a cartoon. But when she’s not in monster mode, she’s actually incredibly sweet.
When I pick her up, she’ll literally hug my neck & lick my cheek. She’s been known to fall asleep on T’s shoulders (after she’s jumped from the ground up to them, whilst in monster mode, of course). She’s curious and hilarious, and I fell in love with her very quickly once T started cutting her claws. Really, though, she’s been a wonderful addition to our little family.
Between these three, I feel about as prepared for Mr. Baby as I can without actually having taken care of babies.
I’ve always hated it when mothers make exclusionary statements like, “You just don’t know love until you have kids.” (And if I ever say anything like that, please punch me in the arm in a faux-playful-but-actually-kind-of-serious manner.) Having pets is a unique and special love, too, and these three will always have their own very large compartments in my heart.
I’ve gone ahead & just changed this from “days” to “items” since I’ve obviously failed miserably to keep up. But hey, here’s a bonus item I’m thankful for: I DO WHAT I WANT. And lately what I’ve wanted to do eat, watch The Walking Dead on Netflix, and indulge my pregnancy-induced mania by cooking and cleaning. But I do have a lot of other things to be thankful for, so off we go.
Mom & Dad
I’m thankful for my parents all year and every year, but in a year where I’m preparing to be a parent myself, they’re obviously on my mind even more than usual. I count myself lucky in that I have my parents close by, just a few minutes away, and that they’re the kind of parents where this is a good thing.
Growing up, I have no recollection of my family ever coming close to any sort of June Cleaver or Donna Reed sort of existence. I can’t imagine any way my parents could have achieved that with the three little tomboys they ended up with. But what I do remember is that they were always there, doing their best, and doing a pretty amazing job.
My parents read to me and told me stories, growing up, as did my grandparents, and from as early as I can remember they encouraged me to read and write. I credit (and sometimes blame) them for my current creative endeavors.
Another thing they did right, in my opinion, was get all of us involved in soccer (and other sports) at an early age. That may sound strange, but my own experience as a child plus the few years I spent coaching a little girls’ soccer team with my mom, sister & a family friend have convinced me there’s no better pre-school development method than organized team sports. And it’s my opinion that soccer’s probably the best one of them. I started at 5, though these days they start at 3 in a lot of places. And what that does is, prior to entering school, you learn about teamwork, when it’s appropriate to goof off and when you need to listen, what discipline feels like, and the importance of loyalty and consistency. Kids also learn some coordination and get in some exercise, which in this day and age seems to be more important than ever.
So, in addition to learning all of those things, I had my dad there coaching me for about a decade, whether directly or as pre- and post-game rundowns. I had my mom there cheering for me, carting me to a billion different practices, and encouraging my dad to tone it down when he got a little over invested after a game. (Note to parents of pre-teens and teens: after a game, they’re not going to want to listen to you. It’s not really right or wrong; it just is. Make a list if you want, and save it for later. You’ll save yourself a ton of grief, which I know because all three of us sisters gave my dad plenty.)
Another thing my parents instilled in me: an insanely strong notion of social equality and empathy. My kindergarten teacher was Jewish, and she was awesome. I knew this was unique to my social group, and my parents encouraged me to learn more. When I went to church with a friend a couple of years later, during Sunday School, they talked about the Jews condemning Christ. Now, I have no idea what was actually said, but what my young mind took from that discussion was that these people were saying that Jewish people were bad. And I knew that to be absolutely, categorically untrue. I was furious, and I’m pretty sure I never went back to that friend’s church again. Similarly, I had a good schoolfriend growing up who happened to be black. It never even occurred to me that there was a difference until one of my other good friends pointed it out and started calling her “chocolate.” I in turn started calling him “vanilla.” He meant no harm, but there was no way in H-E-double-hockey-sticks I was going to let him single her out.
Similarly, along with this notion of social equality and cultural curiosity, I was raised with the notion that we were Christian. But what I remember about what they taught me was this: Jesus was a special being who lived in my heart, helped me make the right decisions, and loved me unconditionally. There was never any notion of the guilt or need to convince others that my version of Christianity was right that’s so common these days. Instead, I grew up with a sense of security and confidence in myself that helped me through a number of scary moments in my childhood, and a version of which I still carry with me now. It’s also probably a reason why organized Christianity never really sat entirely well with me, though I did try for a very long time, but why I still hang on to many of those ideals (i.e., the Jesus version of things, which tends to look very Buddhist, rather than the church version of things). It’s important to note that I came to my current beliefs on my own, but that I was given the freedom, the curiosity, and the desire for the pursuit of knowledge to do so is one of the greatest gifts in my opinion.
I also have a theory that kids raised on Disney cartoons vs. WB cartoons (the classics; not the stuff they’re spewing out today, for the most part) have a greater sense of empathy and narrative ability. (And no one is allowed to steal that as it’s going to be my thesis if I ever go back to school for my master’s.) And, well…
So that’s the philosophical view of why my parents were awesome. They’ve also been awesome in concrete ways, and I have never not been aware that I am incredibly spoiled. While I worked hard in school and was awarded scholarships that paid for most of my college, there was never any pressure from my parents to do so (beyond that they expected me to do my best — always), and there was never any doubt that I would be able to go to college. When I first got out on my own, they provided a huge safety net by helping me get into a house and a dependable, long-lasting car. I just bought the house from them finally this year, and I’ve been driving my Prius for nearly 9 years.
Sometimes I feel like I should apologize for how relatively scandalous my life seems to have become over the past 5 years or so (at least on paper). I was a pretty tame high school & college student, and despite my best intentions, I’m now I’m a divorced, knocked-up cradle-robber with no immediate plans to get married any time soon. And I could not be happier with any of those circumstances. And I know they’re super happy for me, too. I was a pretty nervous to tell them I was pregnant, but they’re over the moon about it all and have been since the moment I broke the news. Dad never even threatened to go out, buy a gun, & shoot T, much to his (& my) relief. Dad is already looking out for Mr. Baby’s future, & Mom & T have done about 98 percent of the designing/decorating and 100 percent of the remodeling for the baby room. I couldn’t be more excited for Mr. Baby to have my parents as grandparents, and I’m so thankful to have them around as we embark on this new adventure.
Tonight I am thankful that most days I have two working hands & ten useful fingers. After burning my finger on a very hot pot tonight, I am left typing one-handed, as my finger cannot go more than about 5 to 10 seconds outside of cool water or a cool surface without some pretty impressive pain for such little injured surface area. (A word of advice: when you take a pot out of the oven, do not grab the handle one minute later, because then you will have to eat your dinner like a wild beast because your boyfriend will declare, after failing to properly cut chicken from the bone, “Well, I guess we know who’ll be cutting our son’s food for him.” But you’ll love him for trying, so at least there’s that.)
As a writer, and as a NaNoWriMo participant who was hoping for a 2 or 3k night, this is pretty big downer. But the silver lining is that I know my hand will be back in action tomorrow. Not everyone is that lucky. And if people like Jean-Dominique Bauby can manage ro write entire novels with far fewer than nine fingers at their disposal, then I really have little to complain about and much to be thankful for.
Back in March, some of you may recall my home was broken into while I was at a rehearsal dinner for T’s mother’s wedding. I came home and didn’t notice anything for probably a good half hour — until I went into my bedroom and saw big, muddy boot tracks all over the floor, along with the contents of my wardrobe and the covers from my bed.
Perhaps it was one too many childhood viewings of THE BODYGUARD, but that freaked me the heck out. At that point I had no idea that anything had been stolen, nor that my house had been forcibly entered. It just looked like someone had rummaged around in my bedroom for who knows what reasons. I couldn’t fathom any purpose or any person who would do such a thing. I called T and asked if he could come over (which of course he did). I also called my parents and worried the heck out of them, though they called off the brigade once they knew T was on his way over. While I was waiting for him, I started looking around (a no-no if you’re looking for lessons here, though I think I was at least carrying around my bat at this point) and noticed the front door looked slightly ajar. Sure enough, it had been pried open with some sort of crowbar-like contraption.
Up until then, I was still half-convinced I was just hallucinating. But the door brought everything back down to earth, and I called the police. While on the phone with them, I discovered that my beloved MacBook Pro, which had been in its laptop bag by the door (also not exactly a smart move) had disappeared.
I looked through the rest of the house, and amazingly, nothing else was taken. Neither of the flat-screen TVs, amazingly not my iMac, nor anything else of worth. Just my laptop, my laptop bag, and everything contained therein.
Luckily, I operated solely in Dropbox AND had Carbonite installed on my old laptop, so I lost no data, and none of my accounts were ever hacked, thank goodness. So, in light of silver linings, right now I would like to take the opportunity to say this.
I hope you are enjoying my six-year-old laptop with zero battery life (which was probably not even compatible for OSX Lion). I know it’s still a fine computer as long as you don’t mind keeping it plugged in at all times and never accidentally yank out the magnetic power cord because then you only have about three seconds before it dies. I can’t tell you how happy I am that it found a new (if surprising) home. Do treat it well, as it treated me well for many years. A lot of stories were crafted with those keys.
I also want to thank you for forcing me to get a new laptop, which I’d been planning to do anyway toward the end of the year or the beginning of next. I’d been saving toward one but still had a ways to go, but your plan saved me the hassle and allowed me to fork over nothing more than a $500 deductible instead of the $1800 I’d been planning.
Additionally, as I’m sure you noticed when you broke into my house, my front door has long had a nasty habit of sticking like crazy, to the point that I had to kick it to open it most of the time. Thanks to you, I will soon have a lovely new door that opens and shuts properly, and without that nasty draft it let in underneath. The cost for that was nearly $1700, but it was paid by my insurance company rather than me. I also received some cash for some other items, so in the end I think I came out way ahead compared to you. So I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude.
But you have my laptop, and my favorite laptop bag which they no longer make, plus some story notes and a notebook with who knows what in it, and probably a few G2 pens. Plus I had to clean up your mess, and spend my time on the phone with the insurance company (I’m guessing I bill at a higher rate for my time than you do), not to mention dealing with the hassle of getting a new door installed. So that probably makes up for any debt I owed you after all. I think we can call it even.
Learn to wipe your damn feet, jerkface.
No list of things for which I’m thankful would be complete without listing my two sisters, Chrissy & Kate. I could write books on why my sisters are awesome, but for the sake of brevity I’m going to stick to one major trait about each of them that I admire.
We always joke that Chrissy is adopted.
Mostly because Kate & I are both pretty even-keeled. Chrissy, on the other hand, is hilariously either super happy or super sad or super frustrated. She only operates on Super level, basically. She also ended up being like half a foot taller than either of us somehow, with feet to match, and the craziest curly hair you ever did see, which is GORGEOUS, by the way. The truth is, I’ve always admired Chrissy’s ability to put herself out there, starting when she was about two years old when, around 1 a.m., on a bus back from Disney World full of very tired, somewhat crabby people, she started singing “Do, a Deer” and somehow managed to get the whole bus singing along with her just by being cute and precocious. She’s a pretty amazing chick, and I’m proud to call her my sister, whether she’s actually adopted or not.
And then there’s Kate, who is kind of a more intense version of me.
Despite the fact that she always includes a critique of the actress’s hair in any given film review, and that she inexplicably has a thing for gingers, we’re kind of cut from the same cloth. Maybe different ends of the cloth, but the same nonetheless. The thing I admire most about my littlest sister is that she does not take crap from ANYONE. Seriously, you screw her over once, and she’s done. That’s it. There’s no seeking revenge or trying to get an apology. She just moves on. That is something I have been very, very bad at in my life, historically speaking, and I think it’s awesome that it’s a skill she’s learned so early in her life. In addition to that, she has some of the best comic timing ever, and she was (and continues to be) my workout/eating-healthy motivating buddy during my weight loss journey in 2010 (a journey which Chrissy has taken on this year, too — with spectacular success).
Nerdy Mathy Trivia: There was one year where we half each other’s ages. I was 12, Chrissy was 6, and Kate was 3. I think this probably contributes somehow to us being super weird.
Another neat fact: while we all dabble in pretty much anything creative, we’ve ended up each being really passionate about one major branch of the arts — me as a writer, Kate as a truly brilliant artist, and Christina as an incredibly talented vocalist. I’m not sure how, but I figure this bodes well if we ever decide to take over the world.
And the three of us together? Watch out. Seriously, I feel bad for T sometimes when we’re all together and being nuts like we usually are, but he seems to handle it with a large dose of amusement and by sticking close to Chrissy’s husband when things get too crazy.
Every year, I get more and more thankful I have these two around. That especially ramped up the first year I wasn’t living at home so they couldn’t steal my stuff anymore. Brats. But seriously, I love them tons and tons and tons, and dealing with them sneaking into my room from time to time as an adolescent was a fair price to pay for having them in my life today.
If you haven’t read the book or seen the movie, I’m going to do some pretty major spoiling here. Just fair warning.
So, Bella’s pregnancy. Holy hell, people. After reading about broken ribs and spines, I was pretty freaked out at the whole idea of feeling a baby moving & kicking inside me some day. And those videos on youtube where you can actually see the baby moving? Not helpful.
I did have one moment, the first time I could feel the baby kick on the outside, where I thought, “Whoa. Don’t think about BREAKING DAWN. Don’t think about BREAKING DAWN.” Which of course immediately leads one to thinking about BREAKING DAWN. A few minutes later, he kicked me hard enough that I doubled over from the jolt of it. Because my son is already a punk with a dark sense of humor.
And in my book, that’s actually pretty awesome.