The summer drama of a newly minted teenager, a six year old who decided he has to be a drummer right now, and a mom who can't remember her kids' names.

I took Will and John to a library event called Tinkertopia. So cool. They bring bins of random stuff, junk in the minds of anyone who likes things tidy and minimal, candyland to anyone who lives in their imagination, and you build whatever you want. The program guide said six and up. Will took one look inside the room and fixed me with his death ray stare. So maybe a few parents brought their little tykes and maybe there wasn't a soul in there older than eight. "Mom, I'm thirteen!" I was speechless because my mind spat out "So what!" Not the most sensitive approach. He walked out. John created Bumblebee from Transformers and told me that it is also a drum set. Awesome. I scored as mom of the summer by getting wave pool passes for all of us. It's a place where you cannot not bump into random strangers wearing almost nothing. I try to encourage the boys to play with kids their own age but they still swarm me. I run and screech, but they catch me by way of tackling. The lifeguards think it's funny. Ha ha ha. In between, they bicker. They push and pull and yell at each other. I separate them and like some cosmic genetic twist, they gravitate back immediately to play the game all over again. I've taken to calling them "Whatever your name is there, quit it. Grrh." There are laughs and time outs and the little guy keeps telling me I'm adorable to throw me off. He also tells me I'm a fuzzy pink bunny, which I am not. It's been that kind of summer. How has it been for you all? Laughs, shouts, cries, maybe a couple sunburns?

Think Out Loud [29] Bullying Starts Real Young

I planned to gush about the writer's conference I attended over the weekend because I had been thinking nonstop about the wonderful people, workshops, and awesome Butt In Chair Challenge meant to inspire writers to finish that damn book. I have a fun paranormal story idea and everything. Then bam. Life.

This morning I fired my younger son's school because they failed to protect him from bullying. Yep. I yanked him out and I'm homeschooling him until he's placed in a new school. My four year old has a bruise on his cheek. He's been punched in the eye, the stomach. He's been teased, had his things yanked from his hands and thrown on the floor. He's been spit on. All in one month. The school failed him. I failed him. My voice wasn't loud enough. My conversations and eye witness statements to the teacher were not enough. How come? I know the world of hitting. I was hit in school, not by students. My teachers had a fondness for paddles, wide and skinny, with and without holes. They liked metal rods and rulers. I developed my "fuck them" attitude before I was ten years old. I learned if you cry you could get away with five paddles instead of fifteen, but it's not worth how much you hate yourself for crying in front of the whole class. I learned to take it with my chin high and my mind wandering. I don't want John to learn that shit. So I fired them. Hard, with a hard voice. The girl who tried her best not to burn bridges because motherhood and divorce taught me to play nice burned a few in a matter of hours and more are lined up. I see a lot of tantrumming hugs in my future. A lot of conflict resolution. I see deadlines being pushed back and blog posts being neglected, but John will heal from this. We all will.

Think Out Loud is a mind freeing meme. Post whatever you want because we're paying attention. Promise.

(By Venera N. Lekaj - Lela (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons)

Poetry time! robgirlbooks' Review of Transitions by Greg Schroeder

Transitions
by Greg Schroeder
Published by CreateSpace (10/4/13)
Poetry
4 STARS
(author provided me with an e-copy for an honest review)

Pictures of nature flowed in and out of my mind frequently as I read Transitions. Many of the poems take you through the changing seasons, some pull you right into Hurricane Sandy and the harsh aftermath. I felt the wind crashing on shore with the unforgiving tide. I felt the darkness of no power and little hope.

My favorite poems revolved around parenthood. A father watched his son play a sport in Dichotomy. The words built until I was thrown back in time to the days when my dad cheered me on from the stands. The poem Slowing was so fun I could see it as a children's book. And Depths drew me into a love story I wasn't ready to leave.

The word choice went from down to earth to whimsical to scholarly. I loved the calm that came over me as I read the poems, but I had to take my time or my mind skipped over the meaning. Greg Schroeder writes daily life poems. There are static moments like working in a cubicle with no window. There are times when you come home from a busy day and find nature putting on a show and doing her best to be just as noisy. I enjoyed the humor, the hope, and Greg's ability to make his words ring true.