Funny Stuff This Week

The Willow and the Stone Re-Released

 

Now available for e-readers and in print, the newly edited and formatted The Willow and the Stone is on sale at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, and Create Space (print). An award winner in the best fiction and novel categories at the Southeastern Writers Conference, this science fiction adventure was my first novel. I am thrilled to have this version out and available. 

Get your e-copy now from Amazon, Amazon UK, and Smashwords. You can also buy it in paperback print. For Nook users, you can get a Nook-compatible copy from Smashwords. If you prefer to buy directly from Barnes & Noble, I am hoping it will be on their virtual shelves in a week or two. I will post that link when it comes available.
 

Four years ago, insectile aliens arrived on Earth in great pyramid ships. Now mankind is reduced to a few pockets of survivors, skulking in the shadows to elude the creatures that rule the planet. Among those survivors are Carli Dixon and Renee Johnson, an ill-matched pair thrown together through circumstance.

Battling their extraterrestrial enemy and the betrayal of their own kind, Carli and Renee struggle against impossible odds to find safety. Rescuing each other from certain death cements their friendship. But to survive and save others like themselves, they must risk everything … including each other. 

Chapter 1

Renee slapped her hand over her companion’s mouth. The brunette manhandled the smaller woman into the shadows beneath the stone bridge they’d just emerged from. Carli didn’t struggle against Renee’s grip. Instead, she squealed a muffled cry of protest into the stagnant West Virginia night air.

“Sssssshh!” Renee hissed, her grip tightening. “Aliens!”

Carli froze against her for an instant before breaking free. She slammed herself against the inside of the arch to merge with the blackest of shadows. Renee crowded her, also sliding into the dubious cover of darkness. The bridge, more picturesque than a bastion of protection, was small with wooden beams buttressing the stones above. A perfect spot for vacationing tourists to pose on for pictures to bore their co-workers with, but a ridiculous spot to depend on for one’s life.

Two monstrous creatures glided into view, their elongated insectoid figures silhouetted in the bright moonlight. They stalked up to the bridge that spanned the dry, dusty creek bed and joined the women in the darkness. Carli and Renee melted behind a support beam.

Trapped, Carli’s frantic mind whispered. The monsters had them for sure this time. She squeezed her eyes shut but couldn’t block out the aliens’ cricket speech. They chirped and chittered, grating against her ears. She wished she could be struck deaf. Sweat tickled its way down her spine.

Muscular Renee, who couldn’t begin to approach the power of the spindly aliens, tensed beside her. The creatures came abreast of the hidden women, chirping ear-bleeding conversation right in front of them. Carli tried to shrink further back, mashing her backside into the unyielding, unsympathetic stone. Renee crushed against her.

A pebble slid from under Carli’s foot and clinked in protest as it dislodged and rolled down the slope. Her mouth flew open to scream; surely the monsters heard the rock crash down. No whistle of sound escaped her locked, straining throat, but her heart was a bass drum of thunder booming through the night.

Her eyes screwed shut against the sight of the looming predators, Carli waited for the bristle-haired mantis arms of an alien to embrace her. She waited for its needle proboscis to slide into her flesh and secrete its paralyzing poison. She waited to sag helpless in the grip of the monster while it sipped the life from her veins. She waited to die a slow, fading death. Her heart pounded louder than ever, as if to beat as hard and fast as it could in its few remaining minutes.

The chittering aliens, intent on their conversation, stalked past. Disbelieving, Carli’s eyes flew open. She watched them pass from under the bridge. Motes of moon-glittering dust danced in the wake of the monsters’ long, tapered legs.

She released the breath she’d been holding in a rush and sucked it in again as one alien swiveled its head around. It looked back at the bridge that hid the two women.

Carli’s stomach lurched at the pale orb of the creature’s face glowing in the moonlight. Wispy tufts of hair sprang in sparse bunches from its bullet-shaped head. Its proboscis writhed like a blind worm where a nose and mouth would have been on a human. Its grayish flesh seemed stretched too tight over its skull; there were no wrinkles, not even creases on its face.

Its eyes shocked her the most. The monster’s eyes were cold in intent but horribly human in appearance, almond shaped and ringed with black lashes.

The creatures’ naked torsos were long and smooth without benefit of hair, muscle tone, or even genitalia. Carli had no idea if skin or a harder shell covered their bones. Happily she’d never been in contact with one. Odds were she’d someday lose that joy.

The searching alien’s too-human eyes slid over the women without alerting. Carli’s body sagged as the creature turned away and stalked on with its companion.

The women huddled under the bridge listening to the monsters’ conversation die away and smelling the sour tang of their own sweat. Carli shuddered violently. She knew that Renee could feel her quaking and didn’t care. Renee was probably shaking too. This had been their closest call yet.

Frogs broke into chorus from their shelters within the tall grass on the banks. Renee shook free of her paralysis, grabbed Carli’s hand, and yanked her out into the open. Under the moon’s accusing glare they sped away, tearing a path through the grass to escape the creatures that had all but destroyed the human race. 

Now available from Amazon, Amazon UK, Smashwords, and in print.

Sunday's Serving - Lilith's Return

 

When all the pure human members of the Segreto returned, Lena permitted them to tie her to a chair with a few lengths of scarves, most of which came from Stella.  Apparently, no one had thought to bring rope or duct tape to the hunt for Lilith.  Her stomach squirmed sickeningly to hand herself over to the Christian portion of the group.  She had no fear that any of them would harm her, at least not on purpose.  These were friends who had watched her grow up, came to birthday celebrations, babysat her when needed during her childhood, and refused to let her take their family portraits for gratis.  They were family, almost as much as those who shared Lena’s DNA.

As the Segreto bound her, they whispered things like, “You’ll be okay.”  “We’ll take care of you, Lena.”  “Stay strong, sweetheart.”  Everyone had tears standing in their eyes.  A couple wept openly, trembling with sobs even as they rendered her helpless.

They didn’t want to hurt her.  Like her, they were afraid they would have to.  Lena saw her own fear in every face surrounding her, along with grief that the worst might happen; oceans and oceans of grief.

After Lena had been trussed securely, Alex stepped forward.  Mother presented her crucifix to daughter, holding it so that only a bare inch separated the icon from her face.  “As a token of your purity as a child of God, kiss this symbol of his Son, who gave himself on the cross so that man, his greatest creation, may live forever.”

Lena did so with a frightened grimace.  The cold metal felt as if it squirmed against her lips, as if the crucifix had morphed into writhing maggots.  A dagger of pain sliced through her head, making her gasp.  As soon as Alex took the crucifix away, the pain relented.

Her mother’s relieved expression that Lena had successfully embraced the Christian talisman without coming to harm let the young woman know just how worried Alex was.  Alex next brought out a small drawstring bag; a voodoo gris-gris.  She pressed it into Lena’s hand.  “Don’t let it go.  This will shield you from the exorcism rite so that only Lilith is driven out.  Remember, your faith in God is absolute.  He has deemed you worthy of life.  Believe in that and you will not be harmed by this rite, even though you possess demon blood.”

 

Now available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.

The Re-Release of The Willow and the Stone

Next week will see a newly edited version of The Willow and the Stone released in print and e-book. I am so happy to be offering this re-issue. If you haven’t picked up my first science fiction novel, this is the version you’ll want. Read on for a description and the first chapter of the award-winning book that Manic Readers Review site called “sometimes shocking, often heartbreaking, and ultimately hopeful”.

 

Four years ago, insectile aliens arrived on Earth in great pyramid ships. Now mankind is reduced to a few pockets of survivors, skulking in the shadows to elude the creatures that rule the planet. Among those survivors are Carli Dixon and Renee Johnson, an ill-matched pair thrown together through circumstance.

Battling their extraterrestrial enemy and the betrayal of their own kind, Carli and Renee struggle against impossible odds to find safety. Rescuing each other from certain death cements their friendship. But to survive and save others like themselves, they must risk everything … including each other.

 

Chapter 1

Renee slapped her hand over her companion’s mouth. The brunette manhandled the smaller woman into the shadows beneath the stone bridge they’d just emerged from. Carli didn’t struggle against Renee’s grip. Instead, she squealed a muffled cry of protest into the stagnant West Virginia night air.

“Sssssshh!” Renee hissed, her grip tightening. “Aliens!”

Carli froze against her for an instant before breaking free. She slammed herself against the inside of the arch to merge with the blackest of shadows. Renee crowded her, also sliding into the dubious cover of darkness. The bridge, more picturesque than a bastion of protection, was small with wooden beams buttressing the stones above. A perfect spot for vacationing tourists to pose on for pictures to bore their co-workers with, but a ridiculous spot to depend on for one’s life.

Two monstrous creatures glided into view, their elongated insectoid figures silhouetted in the bright moonlight. They stalked up to the bridge that spanned the dry, dusty creek bed and joined the women in the darkness. Carli and Renee melted behind a support beam.

Trapped, Carli’s frantic mind whispered. The monsters had them for sure this time. She squeezed her eyes shut but couldn’t block out the aliens’ cricket speech. They chirped and chittered, grating against her ears. She wished she could be struck deaf. Sweat tickled its way down her spine.

Muscular Renee, who couldn’t begin to approach the power of the spindly aliens, tensed beside her. The creatures came abreast of the hidden women, chirping ear-bleeding conversation right in front of them. Carli tried to shrink further back, mashing her backside into the unyielding, unsympathetic stone. Renee crushed against her.

A pebble slid from under Carli’s foot and clinked in protest as it dislodged and rolled down the slope. Her mouth flew open to scream; surely the monsters heard the rock crash down. No whistle of sound escaped her locked, straining throat, but her heart was a bass drum of thunder booming through the night.

Her eyes screwed shut against the sight of the looming predators, Carli waited for the bristle-haired mantis arms of an alien to embrace her. She waited for its needle proboscis to slide into her flesh and secrete its paralyzing poison. She waited to sag helpless in the grip of the monster while it sipped the life from her veins. She waited to die a slow, fading death. Her heart pounded louder than ever, as if to beat as hard and fast as it could in its few remaining minutes.

The chittering aliens, intent on their conversation, stalked past. Disbelieving, Carli’s eyes flew open. She watched them pass from under the bridge. Motes of moon-glittering dust danced in the wake of the monsters’ long, tapered legs.

She released the breath she’d been holding in a rush and sucked it in again as one alien swiveled its head around. It looked back at the bridge that hid the two women.

Carli’s stomach lurched at the pale orb of the creature’s face glowing in the moonlight. Wispy tufts of hair sprang in sparse bunches from its bullet-shaped head. Its proboscis writhed like a blind worm where a nose and mouth would have been on a human. Its grayish flesh seemed stretched too tight over its skull; there were no wrinkles, not even creases on its face.

Its eyes shocked her the most. The monster’s eyes were cold in intent but horribly human in appearance, almond shaped and ringed with black lashes.

The creatures’ naked torsos were long and smooth without benefit of hair, muscle tone, or even genitalia. Carli had no idea if skin or a harder shell covered their bones. Happily she’d never been in contact with one. Odds were she’d someday lose that joy.

The searching alien’s too-human eyes slid over the women without alerting. Carli’s body sagged as the creature turned away and stalked on with its companion.

The women huddled under the bridge listening to the monsters’ conversation die away and smelling the sour tang of their own sweat. Carli shuddered violently. She knew that Renee could feel her quaking and didn’t care. Renee was probably shaking too. This had been their closest call yet.

Frogs broke into chorus from their shelters within the tall grass on the banks. Renee shook free of her paralysis, grabbed Carli’s hand, and yanked her out into the open. Under the moon’s accusing glare they sped away, tearing a path through the grass to escape the creatures that had all but destroyed the human race.

 

Sunday’s Serving – Lilith

 

 

            Alex’s mouth dried.  A tremor overcame her.  She’d faced many demons, but none looked as predatory as this creature.  The demoness moved with catlike grace, and her eyes scanned her surroundings as if searching for prey.  This was no Christmas-loving Stella Foster.  This was a voracious beast hunger-bright for something to snack on, something that would shriek and bleed.

            Run before she sees you! Alex’s instincts screamed.  Her heart hammered as if to burst from her chest.  But her legs quaked and refused to hurl her back into the truck.  Even though about twenty yards separated them, her talent drummed with insane violence, a sure indication the demoness possessed considerable power, more than Colwyn and Jacob combined. 

            The fiend’s head turned towards her.  Alex looked away and pretended to study the house for sale.  Her hands clutched at the gris-gris and holy water in her pockets as she watched out of the corner of her eye.

            The demoness stalked to the driver’s side of the BMW parked a few feet in front of her truck.  Alex glanced over and met a cold stare from eyes like black holes.  It was as if twin pits had been bored into the flesh of the demoness’ face, destroying the first impression of flawless beauty.  Alex feared if she looked too long she’d be swallowed in the dark depths.  Was Hell as bottomless and black as those eyes?   

Available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.

Funny Stuff This Week

Crossing the Line

Kiddo’s love, nay obsession, for trains permeates much of our lives. There is a train set on my dining table more often than not, which means my burrito plate perched precariously on a crossroads today as Thomas the Tank Engine eyeballed my lunch. Funny, I had no idea he was such a fan of Mexican food.

 

Is that a burrito in your boxcar, or are you just happy to see me?

More train sets double as tripping hazards throughout the house. Why does this child have so many trains and tracks? Mostly because members of our family know this is a safe bet when it comes to Christmas and birthday presents. Plus Kiddo spends the majority of his allowance on these sets.  And yes, Mommy has a bad habit of occasionally indulging a begging child, even though she swore only days ago, “No more trains!” After all, we’re coming up on a dozen different train sets, not counting the virtual ones he plays with on his tablet. 

A new wrinkle has arrived in the last couple of weeks when it comes to train-related fanaticism. Kiddo discovered that trains should not cross into barricaded territory such as abandoned mines, dilapidated bridges, and Mommy’s meals. Seriously, get that cheeky little engine away from my food. 

Inspiration when it came to barricades (especially the delight of wayward locomotives crashing through them) has reached a fever pitch. Kiddo must act on said inspiration ... by constructing barricades throughout the house. 

I watched bemused as my progeny began attacking my printer paper supply to cut long strips and then tape them together to create even longer strips. Cheerfully humming the theme music from the ‘60’s television version of ‘Batman’, he then wandered to the back of the house, long strips of paper and more tape clutched in his perpetual grubby grip. I debated on whether or not to follow my paper-swiping crusader. Since there were no crashes (or Kapows, Biffs, or Splats), I thought the resulting mayhem might not be too bad. If monumental destruction has not ensued and no child is screaming, I can usually afford to put off the chaos and muster my sanity for when I do venture to see what is happening.

 

 

The soundtrack of my life



 

After several minutes of happy crime-fighting humming and the scritchy sound of much tape being dispensed, Kiddo re-appeared at my desk to swipe another piece of paper. He’s pretty much the reason behind de-forestation and why shares of Scotch brand tape are skyrocketing. Corporate America loves this child. 

“Spell ‘danger’,” he said to me. 

I did so, wondering if our lives were in it, and he carefully lettered it over the page. Then he left the room again. More humming. More tape. Then a shout of triumph shot down the hall. I finally got out of my chair. 

The time to face my fear of what had been going on had arrived. I drew a deep breath and walked down the hallway. 

Kiddo was grinning as he stared at the bathroom door. As I neared, he called a warning. “Danger. Bathroom is out. Do not cross the line.” 

‘The line’ was apparently twenty strips of paper taped over the open doorway. His danger sign was taped to the centermost strip.  

“I see you’ve barricaded the bathroom,” I said, looking at my proud child’s handiwork. He had reason to beam. He had accomplished much. There was no way in. 

“Yes. The old bathroom is danger,” Kiddo said with a strange mix of delight and concern.  

“Okay. So what happens when you’ve got to use the toilet?” 

“Do you have money?” he asked. 

Wondering where the hey this line of conversation would end up, I said, “Maybe. What do I need money for?” 

“You will build a new bathroom. Then no danger.” 

“So you’ll wait to use the toilet until I have a new one built?” 

“Yes. This old bathroom is danger. You cannot cross the line.” 

“Okay.” I was fine with that. I have my own bathroom. I left Kiddo standing proudly with his barricaded facility while I went to fetch aspirin. 

Eventually, he decided danger is worth facing when one’s bladder is full. The barricades came down, and he got a version of a ticker-tape parade (now referred to as a peerade). He even cleaned it up afterward with no prodding ... that’s what nearly blew my circuits.  

And all is quiet in the kingdom again. I should enjoy this, but truth be told, I don’t trust it for a second. Something tells me this was to give me a false sense of security. I have the feeling that the next lines to be crossed will not end with both child and mother happy.

 

 

If he's wearing this look, run.

Sunday's Serving: Willow in the Desert

 

 

The night was alive with the low roar of the fire, occasional screams, and gunfire.  Everyone was on edge, looking back and forth for enemy ambush.  The four men in front of Carli dodged the bundle of tattered clothing in their path with scarcely a glance.  Perhaps the reason Carli noticed the whiteness of bone sticking out from the rags was because her size put her so much closer to the ground.  She uttered a small groan as she drew to a halt next to it.  Alerted by the sound, the whole party stopped and looked.  The faces around her went grim in an instant. 

Whoever it had been was far beyond their help now.  They moved on.

The two up front, Arner and one of his soldiers, came out of the alley to the main thoroughfare.  They immediately froze, and everyone else followed suit.  When Arner and the other man faded back into the alley, everyone drew back and pressed themselves against the walls of the brick building.

Seconds spun by before the reason they hid was revealed.  The night vision goggles Carli wore gave her a perfect view of the half dozen creatures that walked past the alley.  Her heart skipped several beats at the horrifying vision.  Seemingly melted skins erupting in sores, misshapen heads and extra limbs, those gaping mouths full of fangs … it was as if some long ago special effects department had gone all out for a horror or sci-fi film.  That the creatures had once been human, that the Old Ones had tried to transform them, was not in question.  What Carli wondered was at what point had it gone wrong?  Had these monsters been humans inflicted with radiation sickness when they were dragged through the nuclear wasteland into the San Francisco Pyramid?  Or had the horrific mutations resulted after they’d been transformed and escaped the alien stronghold?

Available from Amazon, Barnes &Noble, and Smashwords. You can get it in paperback too.

Funny Stuff This Week

...and This is Why I Have Control Issues

You know, nothing can wreck someone’s life, work, and all things between quite like ... someone else. Ah, other people. Can’t live with them, can’t continue the human race without them. Damned indispensable others!

Seriously, I do like other people. Really, I do. But when they’ve goofed mightily and taken me down the drain with them, I start to think about saving my money and buying my own island to get away from the whole bunch.

You may ask, what’s setting you off THIS time, Queen Whines-A-Lot? Well, let me tell you – the long awaited re-issue of my first book, The Willow and the Stone.  Oh, how I’ve longed for this day (which is actually still three weeks away). I have chafed in my bonds to its publisher, much like a new pair of panties chafes a first-time thong wearer. This thing has been riding uncomfortably up my butt for three years. Is it any wonder I’m eager to tear free with giddy cries of relief?

Being published was a long-cherished dream. I was so happy when I signed that contract. At last! The book that I’d submitted to one house after another had finally found a home. I danced. I laughed. I made merry. This wasn’t one of my naughty books ... this was the serious book, the mainstream one that I could attach my real name to and not get shocked looks from decent churchgoing ladies (at least not for my writing, anyway – they give me shocked looks for other reasons that I am delighted to own).

The book came out. I got my copy. Bursting with enthusiasm, soaking in euphoria, and not having yet discovering the chafe, I opened it. And just like that, my balloon burst. My butt began to throb.

There is a reason I self-publish now, even though it means more work and less people taking me seriously. It stems from The Willow and the Stone and the other five books I signed contracts for at about the same time. What happened through their publisher turned a laid-back, let-it-ride-because-it-will-all-work-out chick into the Wicked Witch of Total Control.

I don’t know who fell asleep at the wheel. This publisher had released five previous books with no problems whatsoever. My Alt-Tam identity quickly became a known name in erotica circles. Why shouldn’t I have trusted them with more books, including the mainstream titles?

Unfortunately, someone in that organization turned to drugs or alcohol or smoking funny stuff through the hookah pipe and chewing on the Caterpillar’s mushroom. Something happened, and it wasn’t anything deep like asking existential questions like “Who are you?”  Nope, it was more along the lines of “Who gives a shit?” 

Starting with The Willow and the Stone, the publisher sent out all but unreadable books. The formatting was so messed up, one couldn’t tell where one paragraph started and another ended. In places they were run together. Sometimes a new paragraph was started in the middle of a sentence. Even the ebook versions of some books were in bad shape. Worst of all, my pleas to get the mess straightened out fell on deaf ears. There were assurances of, “We’re working on it, we’re fixing it, just a little longer.” But no, these books were not fixed. It was so bad that some vendors, like Barnes & Noble, stopped carrying the books altogether.  

So for the last three years, I have looked at my babies languishing out there, mutilated beyond recognition. I’ve cringed to think of people buying them and trying to read them ... and associating my name with the Frankenstein monsters they were turned into.  

A writer pours herself into her creations. Hours and angst fill every page the reader encounters. The Willow and the Stone has earned more angst than I ever dreamed it would. Soon, however, it will be made right. The contract expires the last week of this month, and I am so happy to fix the mess those others made. At that point, all shortcomings are mine, all mistakes to do with that book are on me. 

That’s perfectly fine. The Wicked Witch of Total Control would not have it any other way.

Sunday's Serving - The Willow and the Stone

 

               Adam's mouth tightened in a straight line.  Renee winced and braced herself for the coming explosion.  Somehow he managed a gentle tone as he called to the tiny blonde who had wandered off yet again.

                “Carli, please come back here.”

                She looked up and smiled.  Renee marveled at Adam’s patience as he returned the smile.  He'd worked with Carli for the last hour trying to teach her to shoot the small handgun he’d taken from a pawn shop.  He hadn't accomplished much.  Carli didn't refuse to learn outright, but she had her own devious ways of getting out of what she didn't want to do.

                “Sorry,” she said and rejoined them.

                Adam sighed as he handed her the unwanted Firestar.  The small gun seemed massive in her tiny hands, but she held it steady as she pointed at the rusted cans lined up on a fallen log.

                The log, with its collection of beer cans they'd found strewn all over the weed-choked ground, marked the edge of a wooded area.  The trio stood in the foothills of the Virginia mountains.

                Renee wrinkled her nose in distaste.  The surroundings reminded her of too many redneck hovels back home.  Behind them stood an unpainted ramshackle house, its boards gone silvery gray with time.  A refrigerator perched on the porch, kept company by a torn, stained sofa.  A dented school bus, its tires rotted and flat, rested by one side of the shack.   Its shattered windshield glared in the bright sun.  On the other side of the house a Buick crouched on cement blocks.  Ivy invaded the car's interior; indeed the foliage worked to swallow it. 

                Nature triumphs over technology, Renee thought.  Man is by no means guaranteed a footnote in time.

                Adam's voice reclaimed her attention as he instructed Carli, and Renee noted how close he stood to the blonde.  He'd shaved his beard, and as she’d suspected, a handsome face had emerged.  Thus far, Carli maintained only a friendly sparring relationship with him.

                Let it go, she advised herself.  If she decides she wants to be with him, it's none of my business.  

Available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.

 

Newly edited version releasing end of July.

Funny Stuff This Week

 

 

He Blinded Me With Science (Well, Covered Me With It, Actually)

Much to my son’s dismay, summer vacation has not meant leaving behind learning. Four days a week, we spend time polishing up his grammar, writing, and math skills. Once a week, I read him a history lesson (which I’m quite sure he’s ignoring). He does not enjoy it. I know because he loudly informs me of it each time we sit down at the dining room table with workbooks in hand.

However, one subject has maintained its luster for Kiddo. That subject is science. He’s head over heels for it, and for good reason: I’ve managed to make it fun.

Okay, so maybe it has not so much to do with me making it fun. The kits I bought are fun. We started off the summer with magnets and have moved on to rockets. Crystal making is in the future, as is soap making. Yes, the soap project is more for me than him. It has two-fold advantages; first off, pretty smelling soap. Second of all, it may convince my little unwashed beast that baths are a good thing.

Now that we’re well into our projects, it has come to my attention that soap making should have been our first venture. Heaven knows it would have come in handy many times over. Not so much because our science endeavors mean Kiddo is making a mess ... no, it’s actually his clumsy twit of a mother who is guilty of that.

First of all, magnets. This kit provided us two weeks of experimentation that included metal screws and paper clips ending up everywhere. My bright idea. “Look! The magnets magnetize other things. Look at the tower we can make with all this stuff.” The lesson was a success, but it meant small metallic objects have migrated all over the house. The vacuum cleaner is not pleased. It clanks quite loudly these days because it has found our work before we have.

 

You can see the attraction, right?

 

We also ended up with a flood in the kitchen. Demonstrating how magnets work underwater is thrilling and fun to my son. Mopping up the spills is a headache for me. Oh well, at least the floor was clean for an hour.

Then came shooting off a rocket in the back yard. Mom the Klutz strikes again. I simply cannot pour baking soda and vinegar neatly. At least Kiddo was delighted with our rocket’s drunken and less than spectacular flights. I think the greatest altitude we achieved was about ten feet. Note the kit's claim that it could soar up to 50. Ha! Not in my hands it won't. It's lucky it made it to the backyard without me falling and bashing it between me and the ground. My bodily coverage in ‘rocket fuel’ was much more impressive than the rocket's flight: I was coated in baking soda and vinegar from head to toe. Sign me up, NASA.

 

Yes, I am a rocket scientist...but apparently, not a very good one.

 

 

A child’s laughter lasts but just a few minutes. Yet the cleanup from making him laugh so hard lasts what feels like a lifetime. Science rocks, but it’s not for the fainthearted...or those who think vinegar reeks.

 Soap, anyone?