My kids worked their tails off this weekend.

It is Science Fair season and we’ve got a busy January, so we were all in agreement:
time to get cracking.

Tall One partnered with a friend and launched a labor-heavy experiment comparing the rising capacity of various bread flours (white, wheat, spelt). Small One created a scientific template for comparing key characteristics of potential pets (habitat requirements, food needs, cuddliness, etc.). Needless to say, our house was all yeast, scissors and glue sticks, from Friday afternoon ’til last night.

There were hiccups —  Papa Bear had to make a panicky run to Whole Foods when the scientists ran out of spelt flour…  cats were continually banished from the poster boards… Google somehow lost "the perfect Red-Slider Turtle site."

But all in all, it was productive and pretty jolly — musical soundtracks on the stereo, quite a few ah-haa moments, and some really good fresh toast on Sunday morning. By last night, both girls had nearly complete presentation boards with facts, photos and fun fonts. Science Fair 2010 — pretty much in the bag.

Still, I did not expect what I heard this morning — that this weekend felt "like a mini spring break".

"It was so much fun doing our projects," said Tall One.
"It’s almost like we went on adventures," echoed her sister.

Seriously.
You could have knocked me over with a baby corn snake.
Science Fair Projects=Spring Break???
Dang.
I want some of that kool-aid.

But, really, there are work days that feel not just gratifying but exhilarating.
I’ve had them and now, so have my girls.

So the question is, how to bring them on with some degree of regularity?
How to make work feel a little bit more like an adventure every day?

I’ve got no controlled methods, objective deductions or hard data, but my hypothesis goes something this: 

Do the work you love…
Believe it can be joyful…
Go all-in…

Spring Breakish feeling will follow.

I’m on my way to test it out now.
Peer reviews of this study are welcome.

Sometimes when I’m a little cold and a little blue,
I just like to open all the windows and get colder and bluer.
Well, I mean, not literally.
It’s freezing here and I’ve got the heat cranked.
But I do love a good wallow now and again.

So this morning I decided to read a bunch of Edward Hirsch — I thought I’d start with The Night Parade because it’s very midwestern and a little desolate, but also nostalgic, which fit the bill for where I wanted to be. But one thing led to another and before long I was here, with this poem, feeling different. Lighter. A little warmer. And on my way to the library…

Branch Library

by Edward Hirsch

(Read the rest here and you can listen to it here, too…)

Today, my nephew won the GeoBee at his school.

I’m his auntie, so I think this is just mega-cool for a bunch of reasons.

1. Living in a few different states and halfway around the world has apparently paid off for the little guy in terms of global awareness.

2. He’s an awesome, thoughtful kid with a mind like a Masterlock and that’s clearly paying off, too.

3. Winning something — be it a game of Go Fish, the GeoBee or the lottery — always feels mighty fine.

Best of all, though, is that this comes at a time when he needed a bit of a lift.

Lately, he’s been struggling with what most of us struggle with now and again — carving out a comfortable spot for himself among his peers where he can both be himself and be adored. He’s been feeling a little wobbly about that, even though those of us who know him can see about 10,000 things to love and think there ought to be a line around the block of kids signing up for playdates and sleepovers with the kid. 

But the thing is, most everyone feels a little wobbly about their own self in the context of everyone else sometimes. There are so many talents and beauties and big personalities out there, it can be darn hard to keep your rudder in the water and realize that you are your own fine boat.

One of the best ways to right oneself, I think, is to put your best self out there occasionally — scary though it may be.
To put your best self out there and really shine.
In front of people.
What they see gets reflected back at you and the shine becomes downright dazzling.
And dazzle is mighty powerful.
Honestly, I can see my nephew’s from here.

May it last a good long while.

My Tall One (who is now truly living up to that moniker, towering above most of the 5th graders and sharing my shoes) will go to middle school next year.

Only it’s not that easy.

She has "choices and opportunities" — magnet schools and leadership academies and such.
Nevermind that she’s eleven.
Working on essay applications.
Makes you almost yearn for the good old days when we just stepped blindly into our next school like good little sheep into a paddock.

Except not really, of course.
Because an interesting thing happens when we have choices about schools or jobs or relationships — we assess them.
A decision becomes a process rather than a event.
And afterwards, we know something more about who we are, what we like and what we want.
Which, I’ve got to admit, is better than just ending up somewhere.
Nothing against sheep.

So here I am, getting to know my girl ever better as she gets to know herself.
I hope she likes what she’s seeing as much as I do…

So, Jon Scieszka-rhymes-with-Fresca spent the last two years as our very first ever
National Ambassador of Young People’s Literature.

Did this mean he had to attend top-secret summit meetings? 
Or travel by Air Force One?
Did it mean he had to weigh in on the health care debate?
Or be followed by a secret service detail?
Did it mean he had to dress up in a Fresca costume and visit every library in the U.S. with his "sparkling" personality?

No!
I don’t think so!

I think he just did what he does better than almost anyone — take things like children’s literacy very seriously while somehow wielding the most monstrously phenomenal sense of humor this side of anywhere. Especially for a knucklehead.

Whew!!!!

Thank you, Jon Scieszka, for spreading the good word.
We’re all better for it…

No. Seriously. We are.
Don’t make that funny face.
I’m not kidding.

1. I am thrilled and flattered that All the World has been chosen as a Cybils Picture Book finalist. The Cybils, folks. These are my peeps. And honest to goodness, did you SEE all the other finalists? Dang, I wish that sale at BookPeople had been longer than one day. I’m starting to think that when they say "Customer Appreciation" they mean, in particular, me.

2. I am thrilled and flattered again (and also kind of light-headed) that All the World was included in the 2009 Horn Book Fanfare. Cannot say much more than that, what with the light-headedness and all. Sheesh.

3. The always big-hearted Lisa Schroeder is hosting a truly inspiring series of posts this month over at Lisa’s Little Corner of the Internet. It’s called Dream Big, and there’ll be a new spin on that topic every day but Sundays. Go check out the awesome Matthew Holm’s post and the indefatigable April Henry’s post right now. And then bookmark Lisa’s site, because why’d you want to miss posts on dreaming???

4. And speaking of dreaming, it is time for me to say in public that one of my goals for Twenty-Ten (not including drinking more water and making something that sounds like music with this dang dulcimer) is to complete a draft of this YA novel that’s stuck in my craw. There. I said it. Picture books, scootch aside for a minute, wouldja?

5. Have you said your goals in public yet? Um, might I suggest that you do? That’s what the comment section’s for, folks…

6. Time, space, health and happiness to each and every one of you, today and all year long.

New Year’s Day

Usually I consider

September

the new year

the beginning

of so much

ever since 1^st grade

in that red felt jumper

my name on my backpack

and my missing teeth.

But today

I’ll go ahead

and take January 1^st

at her word – the dirt

nearly mud, so eager

for this year’s

Drummond Phlox

and Gayfeather;

the morning light

clear enough to trust

that it will last.

In each bed

in this house

the people I love

still sleep – to think,

their days not even

begun yet!

while mine has,

unhurried but mindful

that by tonight,

the full moon

like the year

will have already begun

its slight wane.

– L.G.S., 1/1/10

(Poetry Friday hosted today by the most excellent Mary Lee at A Year of Reading)

Hello, dear friends.
I’m back, and just in time to reflect upon the year decade before starting fresh tomorrow morning.

Am I the only one who thinks it’s kind of crazy that an entire decade has zipped by since all that millenium hoopla awhile back?

I would get depressed, except reallly, quite a lot has happened.

And, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from parenting, its that every stage is flush with newness and opportunity.
So, bring it on, I say.
The adolescence of the era.

But first this:

At the beginning of this decade, I was 32. Now I’m 42.
At the beginning of this decade, I’d been married 5 years. Now it’s been 15.

At the beginning of this decade, I had one daughter. Now I have two.
At the beginning of this decade, I had four living grandparents. Now they’re all gone.

At the beginning of this decade, we lived in one house, now sold.
Then we bought another house, now rehabbed.

At the beginning of this decade, we had two cats and a dog. And we still do.

At the beginning of this decade, I had one agent. Now I’ve got a different one.
At the beginning of this decade, I had sold one book. Now I’ve sold six.
And I hadn’t published any. Now there are two.

The beginning of this decade was pre-9/11. Now it’s post-.
The beginning of this decade was pre-hurricane Katrina. Now its post-.
The beginning of this decade was Bush era. Now its Obama.

At the beginning of this decade, we talked about Y2K. Now we remember the year two thousand.
And it suddenly seems like an awfully long time ago.
I think I was eager and hopeful then. And I still am.

You?

Happy New Year, friends, and namaste.

Hello, friends…

Didn’t really plan an announced blog outage but seeing as how it’s been nigh on a week, it’s clear that my current priorities rest with cookies, wassail and the like.

So, on that note, I think I’ll sign off for a bit, with wishes for good spirits, good health and good friends for you all…

Namaste…

Yesterday was the last day of school for my daughters.

We went up in the morning for the holiday sing-along and back in the afternoon to deliver gifts to teachers. (And to hear the kids called out, "See you next year!" and then cracked up.
Some things never change…)

In between, Small One’s class presented a short program on Peacemakers.
They’d each chosen one (Ghandi… Cesar Chavez…. Helen Prejean… Pete Seeger…) to research and tell us about.
There’d obviously been some rehearsing because they were clear as bells — all of them — talking about nuclear disarmament and nursing the poor and civil rights.

They stood in front of the little village of papier mache houses they’d made and a big bulletin board bedecked with images of the peacemakers. Imagine my surprise to see that the headline on the bulletin board read, "Hope and peace and love and trust, All the world is all of us." I think it’s my favorite reading of the book so far, and it was a silent one.  

The kids had all taken UNESCO’s Pledge for Peace, too, and I was left with an overall sense of hopefulness that if these 8- and 9-year-olds grow up to run the world, things aren’t gonna be half bad.