So most people know that if they ever want to set fire to something, I am not the person they should call on for help, because I suck at starting things on fire. Seriously. I can't even get a cigarette lighter lit. Nor can I set fire to a fire-starter log, which is made out of extremely flammable material. So everyone pretty much knows that.

But if you ever want to rob a house, yeah... don't call me to help you, because I will find the one thing to knock over, and it will make the loudest noise you could possibly make in the middle of the night.

Oh, and I will also run into closed doors.

*ahem*

My mom has my brother's round stand-up heater in the kitchen, because it has been freezing cold lately and... she doesn't like cooking in the cold. This heater is about ten inches in diameter, and about two feet high. It's placed quite conveniently in front of cupboards that house our coffee and tea, to the right of the stove, and sort of on the path towards the door that goes down into the basement. Not really in the way. But enough.

So at about midnight (ten minutes ago), I got the urge to eat something. As I live downstairs, I have to go through a sliding door, which isn't so quiet, and up some squeaky old wooden stairs and through the door into the kitchen. I manage to semi-silently make it to the top of the stairs without waking ANYONE, and yes... I was feeling very successful that I didn't trip and plant my face on the landing of the stairs.

Anyway, so I'm coming through the stairs door, and being all sneaky and quiet and everything, and the only thing on my mind is... FOOD. I'm going slow, though, because my dad has hypersensitive hearing, and I'm pretty sure that the sound of a cotton ball dropping on carpet would be loud enough to rouse him. So, making sure that I don't slam the old, likes-to-slam kitchen door, I am going on my merry little way in the very dark but familiar kitchen when WHAM! My leg runs straight into my brother's heater and it falls over with a bang, hitting the stove as it goes.

Now, you know... my first thought is, of course "oh crap! I'm gonna wake up dad." because... well... daddies don't like being woken up at midnight. So I figure maybe I oughta go to the bathroom first, so he'll know that it's me and he won't get worried that there's a burglar in the house.

I set the heater upright again, cringing very profusely, and close the kitchen door VERY quietly behind me, still in the pitch black, kind of using the wall as my guide to reach the bathroom. I've come this way many times, and never actually tripped over anything, even when it was full of boxes. So I'm feeling past all danger, because I can hear my dad snoring, and I figure everything is okay and I'm clear to snag some snacks and go back downstairs.

Only... I go to push the usually cracked-open bathroom door open, and smack straight into it because someone actually closed it all the way. Cue another obnoxiously loud bang.

And a very, very exasperated sigh.

I am not, never have been, and never will be a sneaky person at night.

Mara

Exactly six years ago today, a Sunday, December 14th, 2003 it was the last day for the Christmas play at church, what we call Majesty and Splendor. It was a good play, one of the most emotional ones we had ever done, called All On a Christmas Day. It encompassed the most important days of one man's life, all on Christmas days, from his birth to the present. He was born on Christmas day, injured in the war on Christmas day, his granddaughter was born on Christmas day, and he came to Christ on Christmas day. And in the present, on Christmas day, he'd had several strokes and was unresponsive in a wheelchair.

I loved that play. But the last performance was kind of a blur.

I woke up around seven am for church, tired and groggy, but excited to be in the play again. I love Christmas plays, and even though I was only a background dancer and singer, it was fun. I got to be a hippie, a Hollywood star, a window-shopper, and a poodle-skirt girl. All of the parts were fun, because we got to dance, dress up in costumes, and sing- something I love to do.

Then mom knocked on my door. She had been crying. She told me that my grandpa, who had had two or three strokes and was in a coma, had finally died. It was a blessing, really, and as horrible as it might sound, I'm glad he went home to Jesus that day instead of staying here on earth in his unresponsive state, while my grandma would have been forced to care for him in her home, turn him every day so he didn't get bedsores, change his diaper, feed him.

I heard the words, and comprehended that he was gone,but it didn't really hit me. I got ready for church, told mom I was fine, and went. I remember getting to church and walking in with one of my friends, who was excited and talking to me about something to do with horses. Either she had ridden them, or she had visited a farm, or she was going to stay with someone who had horses. Whatever it was, it suddenly hit me in the middle of her blurt that my grandpa was dead and she was going on about horses.

I didn't start crying until we were nearly into Sunday school classes. She was mortified that she'd gone on about whatever she was talking about, and my grandpa was dead. I really didn't care; it wasn't her fault... but it all hit me that grandpa was dead, and I couldn't stop crying. I walked into Sunday school with tears running down my face. Nobody else was in the room except for her. So I put my head in my arms, and I cried, thinking that if I got it out then, I'd be okay for Sunday school.

But death isn't an easy thing to get over, especially when it's the grandpa you remember most. Even when you've been expecting him to die, even praying for him to be released from this world since everything about him was gone anyway. It's not easy to get over in five minutes of crying. I had to leave class just as everyone else was coming, and as I passed the teacher, he stopped me, asked if I was okay. I remember nodded vaguely, and continuing back upstairs. I really didn't know what I was going to do, just wander the hallways until church was over, crying.

My mom came and found me in the hall two minutes later; the teacher had found her and told her I was losing in in the hallway, apparently, and she offered to take me home.

I slept through most of the afternoon.

When it was time for the play, I was still in a foggy mode, but feeling better, and I decided to go and give my all for this last performance, for my grandpa. Everyone there gave me a hug, everyone said they were sorry. The director offered to have someone fill my part, since it was just dancing anyway. I said no, I needed to do this. I needed something to get me through the day. I didn't think about grandpa at all during the performance. I only knew I was doing this for him.

That last performance was the best performance we'd ever done.

Six years ago today, on this exact date and day of the week, my grandpa died. Six years ago today, I gave the play my all, and we all pulled off the best performance of All On a Christmas Day we'd ever done.

Today, Sunday, December 14th, 2009, six years after my grandpa died to the exact day, is the last performance of the second running of All On a Christmas Day.

Rest in Peace, grandpa. I miss you, but I know I'll see you in Heaven.

M

I don't remember if I've written a blog about the whole moving conundrum we've been dealing with this month, but it has probably slipped into my author's notes and review replies.

It all started about two months ago, just after we moved back from Mississippi. (And that's a whole different story in itself.) One of the sisters who owns this house we're living in- we as in my brother, two other guys, myself, and my parents- lost her house to foreclosure. We got a call. She needed us out by January first, because she would then have no place to live.

Now, this was a big problem. My dad is currently unemployed- laid off- I don't have a job (and yes, I have been searching), and my mom has major back problems and generally is unable to work jobs that are available. So first of all, we have no money. Second of all, there is no work. Thirdly, apartments weren't too keen on the fact that dad's on unemployment, because they cannot attach to it and sue him if he doesn't pay the rent. So apartments were kind of out.

Several houses popped up, but they were all either too small, too far away, or too expensive. And then there was the one small apartment we figured we would be moving into three days after Christmas, above someone's garage, and then we found out it wasn't available after all.

We had pretty much figured by now that we wouldn't be having much of a Christmas. We also feared we might be homeless in January.

Well... it just so happened, first of all, that my brother took Monday and Tuesday of this week off because they were the days he could get off, and he wanted a break.

And then it just so happened that my brother was talking to a friend in a hallway at church about moving and having no place to go, and that friend brightened and said he has a house he's been trying desperately to rent out and nobody is taking it.

It just so happened that this house has a separate upstairs complete with a kitchen, so my family can live downstairs, and the two other guys can live upstairs.

It just so happened that a lady my dad had been working for for free decided to pay him upwards of a thousand dollars for his work on her house, and we only needed eleven dollars more than she paid us to pay the first month's rent.

It just so happened that one of my dad's friends got back to us about a piano dolly to move my 2 ton piano, and he'll have it here on Monday.

It just so happened that another of my dad's friends has a trailer and he is giving it to us to help us move.

It just so happened that in the last week, all of this took place, and we now have a house for everyone, the tools to move out in a week, the money to pay the first month's rent, and a place to put up a Christmas tree. My brother happens to have two days off to help us move- two days he took off before he knew we were even moving.

You can tell me this is all chance, fate, coincidence... you can believe whatever you want about all of these pieces falling together, and I won't argue or contradict, or even try to convince you otherwise.

But I know that it just so happens I have a God who takes care of His children, and it just so happens that He had a plan all along.

Mara

I've just posted the long-awaited first chapter of Chaotic Soul, and it's the weirdest thing... I'm nervous. I've never been nervous about posting a story before. Curious, yes. Excited, yes. Anticipating the reaction of reviewers, definitely. But being nervous over posting a story hasn't ever come up before. I feel... anxious to know what people think.

Chaotic Soul has the honor of being the first sequel I have ever started, as well as being the sequel to the first novel I ever finished. These characters are definitely my favorite that I have ever created, and I think the nerves stem from a hope that I still have the knack to write about them. They are the most popular characters out of all of the ones I've done, and the most loved.

I can't believe I'm writing a sequel to My Beloved. I never thought I would be continuing Alaric and Anwen's story. I thought I had finished it with the death of Sigebehrt. But... obviously, if you've been following the stories... I changed my mind. I don't really know why I changed my mind. Maybe it was because I missed them. Maybe because I had considered a sequel about Edana and didn't really want to write about her. Or maybe... I don't know.

But they're back.

I had forgotten how much I loved Alaric. I was sitting there writing a segment from his point of view, going over his troubles and loves, his insecurities, his strengths... and I realized that I totally have a crush on my own leading man. Yes, I know, pathetic. But I mean... I can't help it. Alaric is just the perfect mix of passion, temper, strength, weakness, love, and hate. Plus, he's got beautiful eyes and great hair. Who could resist him?

I am slightly at a loss with Anwen, because most of her tribulations are over. She's forgiven Alaric for the death of her mother, and there really isn't anything else for me to throw in her way just yet. I mean... okay, there are a few worries in her future. But for the most part, she's pretty at peace with her life. She's in love with her husband, and she's going to have a baby.

Not that I don't know what to do with her entirely. I am glad that I still seem to have the feel for her character. I'm just not sure how interesting she will be until later in the story.

Then again, Chaotic Soul is really more about Alaric than it is about Anwen, so more of the story will be from his point of view than in My Beloved. (And all the fangirls scream)

The thing I'm most impatient to know right now, and most deviously happy about, is the prologue. I know several people reviewed the original Sigebehrt prologue, so I'm not sure whether they've even read the new one. I am in love with it. It's horrible, but I am. And the best thing about it is that nobody will know what happens after the fact until pretty much the end.

Yes, I relish in being evil. It's just... I'm sorry. I can't help it.

Anyway. I'm pretty sure I won't get any reviews tonight. I really want to stay up forever until I get a review, but... that may not happen.

I hate waiting.

Mara

No, those aren't actually related. So far as I know.

I'm going Christmas shopping tomorrow. Let's hope I don't forget my lists; my mom will be easy to shop for, I already got my dad something, but might find something else too, and my brothers... well... oh, brothers. I know what to get one of them, anyway. The other two are six and seven years older than me, and we weren't ever really very close, so I have absolutely no idea what they would even want. And I have sister-in-laws (or is it sisters-in-law?) to buy for, and I'm not really sure what to get them, either. I'll have to call them all while I'm at the mall.

That rhymed.

But you never know how much less it matters to get presents for brothers and sisters-in-law and parents when you have three nieces and a nephew. Now, my youngest niece and nephew are too little to care. The niece is... (I'm a bad aunt) somewhere in the range of three months old, and my one nephew was born the day before Thanksgiving. This year. Which makes him just about too young to care about anything but bright colors and being fed on time.

But my other two nieces are three and one, and both of them are too cute for their own good. I've told the older one, who remembers everything, that I will get her a scarf for Christmas (I need to write that down) because we had a conversation about scarves, in which she told me she didn't have one while eying the one I was wearing. I have to remember to get her one, too, because she will remember and she will ask me why I didn't get it for her like I said I would. Or something to that effect.

The other niece, the one year old... well, I'm pretty sure she's usually more entertained by the boxes and putting them on her head, as she did today instead of playing with the Legos IN the box... so I'll be sure to get her something fun that comes in a good sized box.

Babies are always fun to buy for. I'm pretty sure I'm going to go all out and get both of the babies some cute winter clothes. I just love shopping for people...

Tomorrow is also my deadline to update The Day I Married My Stalker. Which is turning out to be much more than I expected, and it's going in a direction I didn't imagine it would... but a direction that is much easier to keep the humorous tone with.

It's so incredibly easy to write this story. Right now, I'm working on two of my favorite stories- Chaotic Soul, which is, of course, the sequel to My Beloved and thus contains my two favorite characters of all time, (Is it weird that I sort of sigh for Alaric? In a kind of crush way?) and then... I just love Macy. She's so wildly imaginative and funny and random. She's kind of me, only much exaggerated. Also, I'm not short.

But I've finally made up my mind as to where the plot really is going. Some of my readers may be disappointed, some may be fine with it, some might even be excited. Believe you me, it's going to be... interesting. Fun. Sarcastic. And at first, you'll probably think it's going to turn into a cliche. ;)

My facebook stalker is gone, by the way. I scared him away with a message about not knowing what his motives were, and if he was looking for more than friendship I wasn't really open to that, but I was always open to friends. He hasn't replied since he asked if we could hang out, I said no, he reiterated that it's better to get to know people via real life rather than facebook messaging, and I said for one... no... and for two, I don't hang out with guys I don't know very well. Oh, and for three, I don't hang out with guys one on one.

So I hope he's not mad or hurt, but I had to be honest, and I WAS nice, despite how that may have sounded. I just had to clear it up and I had an opportunity to do so, so I went for it. I'm glad I did, too, because I am pretty sure that he was after more than friendship although he tried to hide it after I came out and asked him bluntly.

The only Christmas gift I won't be able to get tomorrow is for my best friend, because she's coming with me.

Yes, that was random. But I took a bite of my seven-layer-bar (dessert, if you don't know what that is) and that's where my brain went.

Oh yeah, I'm on a health kick right now. Yes, I'm eating dessert. But I haven't had sugar all day, and my choices have been relatively healthy. One of my close friends challenged me to see who can lose the most weight by January eighth, and I'm pretty sure she's going to win because she goes to the gym and I hate exercising. But y'know. I need to quit eating sugar anyway.

It is the WORST time to start eating healthy. This means I have to limit my Christmas cookies, and most likely won't be able to eat the cake I'll be making for Christmas. I've limited myself to sugar two times a week. Yesterday was the day I started stopping... and that was my first day of the week. And today is my second. So no more sugar until next Monday.

Yes, I have horrible eating habits and self-control when it comes to food. Can you tell?

Mhmmm...

You know, I did this last year. The whole no-sugar thing. Also, I didn't eat white flour. Not that that's super hard for me, since I prefer whole grains anyway. But last year, I stayed on my sugar-free kick for four months. I lost about 35lbs and was ten pounds away from my goal of 135 when my close friend from New Mexico visited, and then she left and I got depressed (for reasons other than her leaving.) and I quit being good. And I gained back about fifteen pounds. (So yes, if you were trying to do the math just then, I currently weigh 160.2 lbs. The .2 is very important. ;) )

And no, obviously I don't really care about the faceless internet knowing my weight, because my weight-to-height (5'6-1/2") ratio isn't all that bad. Well... okay, yes, I am overweight. I'm aiming for a BMI of 21, and it's currently 25. (which, if you don't know, is the very bottom of the overweight category.) Really, though, if I lost 5lbs, I'd be fine according to BMI standards.

All this talk about my weight makes me feel weight-obsessed, which I am not and never have been. It also makes me feel fat, but it's something I will always be open to talk about, because not enough women are honest about health issues, and not enough women have support from someone who knows the difference between healthy eating and unhealthy dieting.

I am not a dieter. I do not drink slimfast for two meals a day and then eat real food for the third meal. I generally just eat badly because there is not healthy food in my house. Once I get a job, I will be buying my own food, and I will have more freedom of what I can eat in the fridge. I am obsessed about reaching a point where I make healthy choices without thinking twice, and don't eat sugar every single day of my life. I don't like craving things, and I do crave sugar.

So I wasn't planning to talk about my weight issues. But y'all can be rooting for me to get back to making healthy choices. My goal is to lose eight to ten pounds this month- that's about two pounds a week, which is the most I ever want to lose in one week. I'm not shooting for quick weight loss, and losing more than two pounds a week is NOT good for you.

I think that's about all my brain has to say. My fingers are cold and not wanting to type any longer.

By the way, it sucks to live in the basement of a house with no heat in the winter. It really does.

Mara