Not Your Hallmark Christmas

AwayInAMangerMy youngest son turns 32 today.  This flashed me back to my favorite Christmas letter of the same age, minus a month:

I HEAR HALLMARK MAKES PRETTY NICE CARDS

There is one time of the year that my family meets with as much breathless anticipation as they might welcome an impacted molar or hemorrhoids.

No, it’s not tax time or the annual Limburger Cheese and Lutefisk Breakfast. It’s Christmas card picture time.

I don’t understand. Don’t you get a warm and fuzzy feeling from the mere mention of Christmas cards?

Not my family. All they can think of is who’s going to get the tar, who’s going to get the feathers, and who’s going to tie me to the telephone pole near the ant hill. You’d think I was Roseanne Barr threatening to sing the national anthem at the World Series.

This unwarranted hostility began with my husband and his preposterous idea: “I hear Hallmark makes pretty nice cards and they’re already made.”

I don’t know what he’s got against creativity. He only had to wear a Santa costume in July once. And it’s not like I collected a big insurance settlement when he fell off the roof.

The rest of the family turned on me in 1983–just when I was about to capture the real meaning of Christmas. Picture this: a nativity scene in the old barn engulfed by the morning rays . . .

My skeptic, Ebenezer, thought this was hysterical, especially since I was considering our two children as the holy couple. I have to admit that I could see his point when I approached the kids at the breakfast table. Five-year-old Mary had two-and-a-half-year-old Joseph in a full nelson because he hid the prize from the Co-Co Puffs.

I wish I would have known some wrestling moves when I tried to wrangle him into his sister’s bathrobe. Our son figured this Joseph guy must have been a pretty big sissy and wanted no part of imitating him–until his sister screeched, “Get out of my clothes!” Then he decided he rather liked dressing funny. Mary had such a conniption, she knocked her grape juice on the floor.

I tried not to cry when I couldn’t get the huge spatter of purple off of my new wallpaper. “It’s okay, Mommy,” Mary consoled me, “People might think it’s part of the design.”

In the meantime Joseph tried to flush an entire toilet paper roll down the commode. He ran to his room before the smoke even cleared from my ears.

When Mary was ready and the flood waters subsided I summoned him out of his sanctuary. He emerged wearing nothing but cowboy boots, a ten-gallon hat, and a red bandana.

By the time I got Joseph dressed the second time, I felt like I had ridden a donkey to Bethlehem and given birth. This was a little discouraging, as I still had to get to the barn with the manger props and camera equipment, a doll to be baby Jesus, the potty chair (just in case), and two cookies for bribery. This was no easy task as I was seven months pregnant and had very little arm room to spare. Mary had to devote every ounce of energy she could muster just to drag a bawling Joseph behind.

We met old Scrooge in the yard. I tried to look like I was having fun.

“Wook, Dad,” our son sobbed, while picking his nose, “I’m Jophes.”

“Jophes. You’re so stupid, Booger King.” Mary disdainfully slapped his finger loose.

“Weave me awone!” wailed an indignant Joseph who hauled off to deck Mary, but missed, falling to the ground, splitting open his lip.

“I hear Hallmark makes pretty nice cards,” (I knew it was coming) “and they’re already made.”

I stomped on my spouse’s instep as I trudged past, pausing only to suggest where he and Mr. Hallmark could go.

I managed to ignore his annoying cackle until we reached the barn where flies, cobwebs, and bird droppings overwhelmed us. Joseph stuck his finger in a fresh deposit and asked, “What’th thith white thtuff?”

“Frosting,” said Mary. “Taste it.”

Joseph and I put the frosting on Mary’s cookie.

I was able to snap only four shots before the sunlight moved from my makeshift manger.

Away in a Manger

The resulting photograph of Jessica and Joshua and doll (Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus), captioned, “Blessed are they who see Christmas through the eyes of a child.”

I addressed our Christmas letter from the hospital after having a baby boy (Seth) on December 12th, 1983. He was due January 12th, 1984. (The doctor maintains that photography will not induce labor.)

Our unexpected Christmas present added a special significance to our handmade greetings, in which I had inscribed, “Blessed are they who see Christmas through the eyes of a child.” (Amazing how we can turn from sarcastic to serene in an infant heartbeat.)

Card recipients raved about how angelic our little darlings photographed and asked what I had planned for the next year as an encore. I always made sure my husband was out of earshot when I replied: “I hear Hallmark makes pretty nice cards–and they’re already made.”

My BATTLE BUNNY Regret

MacBarnettFan

A few Mac Barnett favorites that aren’t pictured here: SAM AND DAVE DIG A BIG HOLE, MUSTACHE, OH NO!, OH NO! NOT AGAIN!, GUESS AGAIN, and EXTRA YARN

If you get the opportunity to meet Mac Barnett, read Battle Bunny first.  Take it from me. I blew it. When Barnett visited  the Red Balloon bookstore in my neighborhood I hadn’t read it yet. MacBarnett Sept2014MacBarnettSept2014KEM friend, Elise, even pulled the  book out of a Barnes and Noble book shelf and told me I’d like it. But  I figured I’d look at it later.

Now I’m thinking the only thing I would have liked better is an autographed copy of Battle Bunny and a chance to gush about it. Dang it.

BATTLEBUNNYBOOKThe strange-looking treasure is two books in one.

 

 

It began as Birthday Bunny, written by Jon Scieszka and Mac Barnett in the style of a syrupy, grandma-friendly Golden Book.

Then it was given to  protagonist Alex (Scieszka and Barnett’s alter ego) by who else, but his doting Gran Gran. “Alex”  transforms it into a disturbingly entertaining, testosterone-ridden, hare-raising tale of doom and destruction.  (Alex’s artistic side comes compliments of Matthew Myers).

ToAlexanderLook closely.
The raw beauty of this book lurks in the details.  For instance, check out Gran Gran’s sentiments.

 

This note looks so real, I first assumed the library had a used book on their shelves. I can picture Alex gagging, choking, then gritting his teeth in response to his grandma’s  saccharine birthday endearments.

I’d type excerpts, but half the brilliance comes from “Alex’s” illustrations.AlexCredits

PluckedChicken

AlexToTheRescueAlexToTheRescueII

BackCoverBattleBunnyOur son wrote and drew BATTLE  stories in grade school. We know this because of the calls to the principal’s office.
CRACKLINOATBRANDThe principal would run his hand over his face and  suggest Ritalin. We’d try to look concerned, then save the confiscated manuscripts in scrapbooks.

Luckily, Josh had a revolutionary teacher with revolutionary ideas about letting kids be kids.

THE BEST STORY OF HANSEL AND GRETTEL Personally, I think the wrong family member creates children’s books.

 THE BEST STORY OF HANSEL AND GRETTEL

Text and spelling copyright 1991, Joshua Honeyman,
5th grade

T’was a time when sheep smoked cigars and elephants had cars and there lived a gangster group called the devils. In that group was two of the baddest, the leader Hansel and his evil side kick Grettel. Hansel and Grettel went into the woods in their nuclear tank while they redecorated it with spray paint. When they were nearly done they saw a house full of candy. They spray painted it with black, green, and purple paint. Then they knocked it down with a silver battle axe. hen I glanced at brats wrecking her  house, I got out my ninja stuff. Sharp like a knife I knocked the axes out of there hands. Suddenly Hansel kicked me into the microwave. I kicked the door down.

“You SKUM!” I yelled “NO ONE MESSES WITH ME!”

“Except us,” chuckled Gretel.

“HI-YA!” I yelled while kicking Gretel to the ground. Hansel took a missile lancher from the tank so I threw a sword it nocked it away from him.

“DIE DANDREFF DOG!” I yelled kicking them both to the TV set. I chained them to the couch and switched the channel to PBS.

“NO!” yelled Hansel and Gretel. Mr. Rogers was on. “AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!”

(Incidentally, this valiant superhero is now an Army Captain.)

BattleDuckiesWhile reading Battle Bunny to children, one must read it first as originally written, then reread it Alex’s way. Our grandkids’ faces light up as they notice each detail and witness the unleashing of an imagination (Technically, three imaginations: Scieszka, Barnett, and Myer’s).

During a recent overnight stay, our youngest granddaughter forced me (Okay, she said, “Please.”)  BattleDuckiesIIto read Battle Bunny to her twice–which, technically, means four times. The next morning she asked if she could play with the bath toys. I thought her request was unusual, because A.) she wasn’t taking a bath, and B.) we have way cooler toys than bath toys. Later, as I cooked breakfast, I overheard her, deeply immersed in her play world. “Take that! Evil Battle Bunny! You’re no match for my Superhero Duckies!”

When I looked under the coffee table, her request made perfect sense. A rebel  squeeze toy rabbit peered through his transparent plastic cup prison at an intimidating fleet of rubber ducky wardens.

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m so proud of my bunny-trapping granddaughter. (Sheer genius, like her Gretel-kicking uncle.)

Gran Grans, Nanas, Grandmas–whatever you call yourself–UNITE! We owe it to our grandkids to supply each one of them with a copy of Battle Bunny (for inspiration), a box of markers,  and a mushy Golden Book with a title page note from us urging them to go wild and re-create.

I do hope their parents (and their school principals) will forgive us.BATTLEBUNNYMEETSBATTLEDUCKIES

B J Brilliant

Someone once said “A picture book without pictures is like the Pips without Gladys Knight.”

BJ Novak proved this wrong.

BUSYTOWN THE MUSICAL

BUSYTOWNIIAny children’s book writer or illustrator would think they’d gone to Heaven if their work was brought to life in a musical. That’s why Richard Scarry is probably smiling right now. His awesome picture books have  achieved that prestigious honor with Busytown The Musicaladapted by playwright Kevin Kling and composer Michael Koerner.

Yesterday, my daughter, three granddaughters, and I attended this lively, pickle-car, chug-a-wug-a-choo-choo show at the Children’s Theater in Minneapolis.  I’ll be honest. I enjoyed it as much as anyone. My cheeks still hurt from ginning.
BUSYTOWNSET
The caliber of acting, singing, and performing far exceeded my expectations. The show was almost over before I realized only six actors played the bazillion busy parts. The most phenomenal multitasker, however, was the one-woman organist/flutist/kazooist/percussionist/every-instrumentalist who played the musical accompaniment. (Sorry, I don’t know her name.)

Reed Sigmund, the  actor who played Huckle the Cat (and a back-up singing nurse and various other characters) had the  voice and endearing presence of Chris Farley. I kept hoping he would break into lame ninja moves or warn the kids about living in a van down by the river.

Meghan Kreidler played a brassy mail carrier so well, she reminded me of Rosie O’Donnell in A League of Her Own. And she had no problem seamlessly transitioning into a lovesick nurse, Grocer Cat, a train car, or a busy commuter.

Dean Holt had the perfect voice and feathered hat-wearing head for heart-throb Lowly Worm.

I’d mention all the cast members and behind-the-scenes stars, but you need to  experience the colorful set, funny costumes, energetic choreography and happy audience yourself. Busytown the Musical is playing until October 26, so get your tickets now.

CHILDRENSTHEATERCheck out other Children’s Theater Company productions. We’re bringing in the holiday spirit with The Grinch Stole Christmas. (I can’t wait to meet Cindy Lou Who. Can you?)

And, remember, there’s no better way to get your children’s book creations in shape for future musicals than the 2014 MN Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators Annual Conference. It’s not too late to register!

One More Moment, Please

“We’ll be friends forever, won’t we?” asked Piglet.
“Even longer,” Pooh answered.
~A.A. Milne, WINNIE-THE-POOH

FIXMEUP600Piglet and Pooh’s thoughtful exchange opens the “Fix Me Up” music video featuring Zach Sobiech, Sammy Brown, and Reed Redmond of A Firm Handshake.

The “Fix Me Up” soundtrack sprouted from the trio’s resolve to bring beauty and goodness out of 18-year-old Zach’s terminal diagnosis and impending death from osteosarcoma. In “Fix Me Up” Sammy pleads, “One more moment, please.” The Piglet/Pooh dialog fittingly echoes Sammy and Zach’s heartache, love, dread, and hope. By communicating their conflicting emotions with such urgent truth and transparency, the life-long friends remind us that sooner is better. Their message has hit a universal cord, as proven by Zach’s #1 hit single “Clouds”.

Bestselling children’s book author Kate DiCamillo uses music to create a specific mood in her books. In 2006, a New York Public Library Author Chat participant asked,”Which music would be the best soundtracks to accompany your books?”

DiCamillo answered,  “I wrote Despereaux to Bach, Winn-Dixie to Van Morrison, Edward to Rachmaninoff. Does that help?”

I’ve toiled to find the perfect songs for my work.  For children’s books, I’ve found that Veggietales Radio produces better results than Etta James. For my family memoir, baroque keeps me serious, but too stuffy. Buddy Holly helps me remember, but I find myself dancing instead of writing and regressing to an age nobody else remembers.  Colbie Callait helps me forget, but that’s not good when you’re writing a memoir.

I could waste a lot of time selecting songs and never do the work. My distracted mind needs music of focused urgency. Tuesday, my craft received a defribulating jolt when I won the “Fix Me Up” Deluxe Edition CD and music video DVD in a door prize drawing.

I’d already received a what-are-you-waiting-for kick in the pants while laughing, crying, and crying some more through Zach’s mother Laura Sobiech’s memoir, Fly a Little Higher.

Laura wrote Fly a Little Higher  in only twelve weeks, just months after her son’s death–with no lack of professionalism or clarity. I hadn’t been so inspired by a family story since Atticus raised Scout and Jem in To Kill A Mockingbird. And I’d never experienced such a graceful, life-giving death in someone so young–or old–ever. The Sobiech experience spoke to me. It said, “What are you waiting for?”

I bought extras for gifts. Shhhh.

I bought extras for gifts. Shhhh.

 

Zach (and Laura) raised the bar to billowy heights, but Zach’s short life reminds us to share our talents, not hide or waste them. And now we have his music to encourage and inspire us to reach higher in whatever we’re doing.

Now my favorite ear candy while writing for children: “Sandcastles” and “Star Hopping”. For living, breathing, memoir writing, and everything else: the “Fix Me Up” soundtrack set to repeat.

A Firm Handshake‘s melodies soar; their words stir, yet fill you with hope. By baring and sharing the fruit of their young, wise souls, the trio challenges others to be real, to step into the unknown despite our fears, and to live while dying.

“Because, let’s face it–we’re all dying.” ~ Laura Sobiech.

To experience more of this story, go to Zach Sobiech’s Page on the Children’s Cancer Research Fund website, especially SoulPancake’s  documentaries preceding and one year after Zach’s death.

Other links for you

I’ll leave you with KS95’s Largest Choir’s singing “Clouds” .

Zach Sobiech-RIP
May 3, 1995 – May 20, 2013

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying good-bye so hard.”
~A.A. Milne, WINNIE-THE-POOH

Autism and Disney

“I am not the hero. I am the sidekick. I help others fulfill their destiny.'” ~ Owen Suskind

To those in the business of creating stories for children, your work has the power to impact lives in ways you’ve probably never imagined. In Life, Animated, a memoir, Pulitzer Prize-winning Ron Suskind shared how Disney movies provided the key that unlocked his autistic son from a prison of silence. Suskind’s book led CBS Sunday Morning to feature a report on this remarkable family by 60 Minutes journalist Leslie Stahl.

Watch “Breaking through autism with Disney movies“, produced by Sari Aviv and edited by David Ehagat. It’ll make your day.

Thank you, Ron and Cornelia Suskind, for raising the bar on parenting; to Owen Suskind, a hero in my book, for celebrating quality children’s stories with others; and to CBS Sunday Morning, for drawing attention to this positive and enlightening story!

Studies show that autism afflicts 1 out of 68 children in the U.S. – up 30 percent from 2013. Learn more about animation’s effect on this disorder through the official Life, Animated website.

Sugar-coated Love

TeddyBearCarWith children, the quality of an “I love you” often depends upon how much sugar we say it with. My mom passed this world eight years ago, yet the smell of molasses cookies still pulls me beside her at the kitchen counter; me standing on a chair, sneaking fingers full of batter. Nothing makes me miss her more.

Last evening we promised to bring dessert  for Sunday dinner with our daughter, son-in-law, and four grand-children. I saw these cute candy racecars on Facebook, and cooking only required a tiny double boiler of chocolate.

TeddyBearCars

At their house my grandkids tried to break us with hugs and kisses and cute sentences:

“Why awe you washing my wacetwack, Gwamma?”

“You’ll see.”

“Gwamma, can I see the dessewt? I can keep a secwet.”

“You’ll see.”

“Papa, I bet the dessewt you and Gwamma made is weawwy, weawwy good.”

The key to feeding fun desserts to kids without freaking their parents is to keep the sweet stuff secret until after the kids eat their healthy food. Sugar will not make the zucchini go down. Especially if it’s staring you in the face.

The key to making kids think you’re cooler than you really are: presentation. At the very least, you’ll think you’re cooler than you really are.

The one with the green tires approaching the bridge is speeding.

The one with the green tires approaching the bridge is speeding. We ate him first.

This was the bottom of the batch. We had lots more colors and cooler presentation, but I forgot to take pictures.

This was the bottom of the batch. We had lots more colors and cooler presentation, but I forgot to take pictures.

“That’s why you washed my wacetwack!”

Social media helps us think more creatively than our parents because of that collaborative dynamic. We can capitalize on others’ innovations and brilliance.

For a fun summer activity, my granddaughters and I made Rice Krispie Paintbrushes. I wish this photograph did them justice. We used more colors of the rainbow. But, you get the idea.

ReindeerandMolassesCookies

Even reindeer like Grandma’s Molasses Cookies.

For Christmas, we made Reindeer Cookies. Paintbrushes and Santa’s helpers came to our families compliments of Pinterest pins which led me to the original blog posts that provided instructions.

I’ve already purchased the Peeps for my Easter project. (I don’t have to worry about my secret being out of the bag, because my grandkids don’t read my blog.)

PeepEasterCake

This photograph came from http://cakecentral.com/.

Funny, though–even after the extra attention to flamboyance and detail, the first dessert to disappear at any family function are Grandma’s Molasses Cookies. There’s something about that traditional smell of love.Grandmas Molasses Cookies

Seasonal Danger-The Tootsie Pop

We Minnesotans consider ourselves a hardy bunch. That girl on the ski slope in the bikini–that guy ice fishing using his big toe for bait–that family waiting out the snow storm in the outdoor hot tub–they’re probably from Minnesota.

I’ve survived a 270 degree spinning “cookie” in my compact car on Interstate 494 during an ice storm in heavy traffic after dark. Lights blinded me as a ginormous grill  careened toward my driver’s side windows. Thankfully, it stopped just in time to slow other traffic, allowing me to maneuver my vehicle back into the flow. It’s hard to drive when every cell in your body is shaking.

Another time, I shivered in the frigid air over an hour, waiting for a wrecking truck to arrive and pull my smoldering car off of springs that had coiled up in the undercarriage.  Someone lost a twin mattress in the middle of my 55 mph lane after dark. I found it.

My dad said the challenges of life make us stronger. He needed to explain why Grandpa homesteaded in North Dakota.

Yes, living in these Arctic states, we’re proud of our storm-weathering resilience. But experience should also give us a healthy fear of sub-zero temperatures and icy roads. This brings me to the one other thing I now fear. It may seem esoteric, but, in my opinion, the third most dangerous winter season threat in Minnesota is the Tootsie Pop Lollipop.

Seasonal Minnesota hazard-The Tootsie Pop Lollipop

Seasonal Minnesota hazard-The Tootsie Pop Lollipop

During a recent visit to babysit my grandchildren, I was met at the door with the usual, “Gramma, Gramma, look-what-I-can-do/look-what-I-made/look-at-my-bleeding-gums-where-my-tooph-used-to-be” chaos.

I marveled at all of the wondrous sights. Before I could shut my gaping mouth, five-year-old “Sadie” swabbed my tongue and tonsils with her lollipop. She had the finesse of an ER nurse, only she was much more cheery. “Taste this, Gwamma! It’s fwuity!”

“Yummmm!” I said. “It is fruity. Is that mango or is it just sweet because it’s yours?”

She didn’t hear my question. Instead she coughed into her hand and twirled, “Goodness! I’ve just been coughing and sneezing all day!” as if she was experiencing something new and wonderful.

My daughter snickered apologetically.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m immune. I never get sick.”

It’s now 5:05 a.m. and I’m in the bathroom writing this blog in long hand so I won’t awaken my husband. Seems I’ve acquired this exasperating tickle in my throat and no amount of coughing, sneezing, hacking, lozenge sucking, tea sipping, broth slurping, moist air snorting, honey, lemon juice, salt, turmeric, cinnamon, Vapor Rubbing, deep breathing, symptom ignoring, and blind optimism will make it go away.

Every time I go back to bed I fall into another coughing spell. I’ve sucked so many cough drops, they’ve carved a menthol trench to my throat. My ears itch so intensely, I’m contemplating affixing a Q-tip to my husband’s Black & Decker drill. To trick myself back to sleep, I’ve even tried pretending I’m a concentration camp escapee hiding in a culvert. If I cough, the Gestapo will find me and all of the others (including children). I inhale slowly, counting “one-two-three-four-five”, while pretend footsteps crunch snow on the ground above our heads. I inhale for the third time and–I start convulsing like a cat trapped in a paper bag. My husband rolls over and pulls the blankets over his head. Our cover is blown. We’re dead.

The worst part of this is that Sadie has been out-of-sorts–complaining about hot flashes, her aching back, and not enough fiber. (Okay, I made that part up.) In reality, Sadie is now wearing a cast–and she’s super excited because she’s the first member in her family to break a bone. I’m just happy broken bones aren’t contagious, since Sadie loves to spread her joy.

The point is–if you want to survive winter in Minnesota, drive carefully, stay out of the cold, and share the love, not the saliva, no matter how sweet it is.

Reminder
If you love funny, feisty girls like Sadie, read CLEMENTINE with us and post your thoughts in the Comment Section January 15 or after.

Joyous in the Land of the Groanups

My Christmas present to you:

Joyous in the Land of the Groanups
by Ken Bradshaw

Joyous NativityOnce upon a time there was a land whose inhabitants were called Groanups.  They were called Groanups, because all they did was groan and grumble all day long.

And no wonder, because this was the time of the Groanin’ Empire.  The Groanups were ruled by King Hatred.  He hated everybody.

Living in that land was a lady named Merry.  She was one of the few people there who was happy.  When she learned that she was to be the mother of God’s Son, Merry and her husband, Jovial, were full of joy.  When the baby was born, he was such a cheerful baby they decided to call him “Joyous,” at the suggestion of a Messenger of Good News.

Three wise guys came to see the child, and gave him gold, nonsense, and mirth.  But when King Hatred learned about the child, he was angry.  He did not want anyone spreading joy and hope among the Groanups, so he sent some soldiers to find and kill Joyous.  But Jovial took Merry and Joyous away before the soldiers could find them.

When Joyous was a young man, he went all over the kingdom telling the Groanups to turn from their ways to be born again, and to become like little children.  Then they would have sunshine and health in this life and the next.  When he saw Groanups with especially heavy hearts, he would touch them and say, “Lighten up,” and they would be healed.  That’s why he was called “the Light of the World.”  God smiled on His Son and was pleased with him.

But most of the Groanups were not pleased.  They were too set in their ways and did not want to become young and healthy and joyful again.  King Hatred especially did not want anyone to be happy.

So the king and his Groanups seized Joyous and had him whipped.  They put thorns on his head and called him the clown of thorns.  Then to show the world how cross he was at anyone who would dare to spread joy in his kingdom, King Hatred had Joyous nailed to a cross to die.

But Joyous had the last laugh, for after he died and was buried, he came alive again.  Many Groanups heard this wonderful news and finally believed that Joyous was really the son of God.  They stopped groaning and became as children again.  Then they went and spread the good news that whoever accepted the Spirit of Joyous would have life and laughter everlasting.

Fantastic Brain

FantasticImaginationLike most five-year-olds, our youngest granddaughter has a well-formed, confident  imagination. She gets lost in her own world for hours–exploring the carpet ocean on the backs of throw pillow sea turtles, creating LEGO pirate ships and Dr. Seuss-ian towers, or transforming the living room into an elaborate hospital for stuffed animals.

FantasticCreationYesterday, when I complimented her on a particularly inventive  architectural masterpiece, she peeked up from her couch cushion fort, threw up the palms of her hands and breathlessly gushed, “Thanks! My brain is fantastic when it comes up with ideas!”

As I unimaginatively swept the kitchen floor, I contrasted her response to a typical  adult’s. Most of us would have downplayed or dismissed our accomplishment. “Oh, that old thing. Thanks. It’s nothing.” Or, “I made a mistake on my gangplank. See.”

Unencumbered by the false humility or squelched confidence of groan-up-FantasticPirateShiphood, she joyfully and gratefully celebrated her fantastic brain.

Imagine the outcome if we followed our everyday accomplishments with such exuberant thankfulness.

Today, after I think a thought (particularly clever or not) or write sentence or complete a task, I plan to marvel out loud, “My brain is fantastic when it comes up with ideas!”

I can guarantee it will add a twinkle to my eyes, a smile to my lips, and a skip to my step.

And the more I appreciate my fantastic brain, the more fantastic ideas it will give me.