I saw it.  In all its sharktastic glory.  Sharks in houses.  Sharks in nursing home swimming pools.  And, of course, sharks in tornadoes.  Sharknado combined two of my favourite things — sharks and nadoes — into one action-packed documentary (I think it was a documentary) of a ragtag (but very brave) team of bar-loving good Samaritans who save California with their bare hands, a shelving unit, a few bombs, and a chainsaw.  Oh, sorry, and a helicopter.  And two cars.  And a bar stool.

Sharknado was actually the second film we watched in a double-header last night, the first being the first half of the absolutely (and I really mean it this time) spectacular Magic Camp.  I first heard about Magic Camp a few months ago when Josh showed me the trailer.  It was only being screened in film festivals, and I know this because I was constantly checking to see if it was coming to a theater in DC.  We finally saw that it was on iTunes this week and immediately bought a copy.

It lived up to everything I hoped it would be.

I love this movie so much.

It follows a set of kids during their week at Tannen’s magic camp in Pennsylvania.  The girl who doesn’t want to be pigeonholed into being someone’s assistant.  The boy with Tourette syndrome whose symptoms come under control when he’s concentrating on magic.  The new boy who blooms at camp with everyone’s support.  The boy who ends up going home early and is missed.

I love that it shows the kids taking feedback, growing as performers, overcoming fears or limitations, and — in general — finding a place in the world where their freak flags can fly.  Because that’s sort of the whole point of the movie: that there is a place out there for everyone, and you just have to find it.

The twins love it too.  Which is a good thing since we bought it, which means I expect them to watch it over and over again.  They’ve already asked if they can go to Tannen’s magic camp when they’re older, and if I’ll stay in the area and sleep in a hotel during that week.  (Josh told them no to the hotel.  I told them yes to the hotel.  We both said hells yeah to the camp.)  We’re watching the second half of the movie today.  It really is like visiting Hogwarts, only better.

The only thing that could top seeing Magic Camp and Sharknado is if the two filmmakers could get together to make Sharknado II: This Time It’s Magical.  Pennsylvania could be experiencing strange weather due to a storm. (“Don’t worry, tornadoes never make it to Bryn Mawr!)  Suddenly, sharks are raining down on the campus.  The kids save the day by killing the sharks… with magic tricks.  Truly, I think Syfy may want to look into producing that.

So… Sharknado: so bad it’s good.  And Magic Camp: truly truly good and a must-see film unless you hate magic. (And really, why do you hate magic?  What did it ever do to you?  Cut you in half?)  Maybe skip the sharks, but definitely don’t skip the magic.  I rarely care this much about a movie, but I waited so long to see it and then it managed to live up to my hopes.  It’s on iTunes, it’s on cable, it’s on whatever on-demand-movie-thing you have on your television.  Go see it; if nothing else for the moment when one boy frets that the hidden pocket in his pants is frayed, and the other boy offers him his sewing kit.  I LOVED THAT KID!

And I can’t wait to see the end.

Thank you for all the notes and comments and Facebook updates and Tweets for the twins.  They’ve been reading it all, feeling good about the article.  And it once again cements in my mind that aphorism that it takes a village to raise a child.  All your words are part of raising them too in this global community, where the actions of adults (giving them a chance to write this article and helping them out during it and cheering them on after its done) guide the future of the children.  Because you wrote a comment, the twins felt encouraged.  Because they were encouraged, they’ll continue to write.  Because they continue to write, they continue to feel good about themselves.

So not to get all gooey emotional, but it is emotional to see people care about two people you love a lot (and think are pretty great, even if they do set up their matchbox cars and Legos all around your desk so that you step on them when you try to get up from your seat) and make their world bigger.  I try to always do this for other people since I can see how much opportunities or support can change a person.  And all of your support has definitely changed them for the better.

*******

It feels like summer is moving at warp speed.  Like school just got out yesterday and now we’re suddenly at some midway point and then in an eye-blink summer will be over.  I don’t know how to slow things down.

*******

And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week.  In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “One. Enough?” (River Runs Dry)

Okay, now my choices this week.

First post by new blog, The Second Bedroom, is a frank look at an infertility diagnosis, as well as moving into a new blogging space, one that gets her to say quietly, “This is me, an infertile.”  It conveys that disbelief one feels ending up somewhere completely unexpectedly.  It’s a great first post.  Go welcome her into this corner of the blogosphere.

I am really really happy that the Listen to Your Mother videos are now up for those of us who couldn’t crisscross the United States to support our fellow ALI bloggers.  Both Family Building with a Twist and Lavender Luz have up videos of their performances.  Please let me know any others that are up (sorry — I’m behind in my blog reader) so I can update this entry.

From IF to When has a powerful piece on the way the online ALI community has changed.  She writes, “Like the elephant in the room, it’s sucking up the clean air to the point where all I can smell is shit. I’m stating a fact that’s been somewhat apparent for a while, but that no one has wanted to address. Me included.”  It’s a thought-provoking piece, meant to start a conversation.

Lastly, Project Progeny has a post about going back to Albania.  I love this line because it’s applicable to so many places and people: “It took me five seconds to remember why I love Albania, and three days to remember why I was so ready to leave.”  It’s a post about finding the place you love is also the source of your frustration.  Sort of like family itself.  A great post.

The roundup to the Roundup: Thank you.  Summer is going too fast.  And lots of great posts to read.  So what did you find this week?  Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between July 5th and July 12th) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week?  Read the original open thread post here.

Six hours at the White House wilts a kid. When we got home after the event yesterday, they were listlessly staring out their car window, their eyes half-closed.

“And now we have to write?” the ChickieNob whispered.

“And now you have to write,” I told her.

Thus is the life of a kid reporter.

Actually, the ChickieNob bristles at the term “kid reporter.”  She’s a journalist; a plain journalist who doesn’t need a diminutive superlative, thank you very much.  She informed me during dinner that she’s actually half-girl, half-journalist — as if writerly genes were similar to inheriting a mermaid tail — and zero percent kid reporter.

Anyway, they’ve always wanted to come to work with me, though what they mean is not visiting me in the living room where I write, but coming with me to an event.  And then this opportunity came up where it made sense to not only bring them along but make them do most of the labour.

On Tuesday morning, we hopped on the metro and went down to the White House.  Our first stop was to wait in the press briefing room (you know, that room with the blue chairs you see on the news where they hold press conferences).  The cameraman from ABC helped them try to balance a video camera on their shoulder, and they went up on the stage and pretended to hold a press conference. (Thank you, people in the press briefing room, who gave them the step stool.  That podium is high!)

And then it was time for a pre-event, a smaller press event before the main event, where we could watch the arrivals and call over people they wanted to interview.  They had researched all the participants beforehand and knew which ones they wanted to call over.  The ChickieNob is a very quiet person who rarely speaks in school.  But I told her that while quiet was okay for her to be in everyday life, when she’s working, she has to channel someone who speaks loudly and clearly with confidence and assertion.  It was amazing to watch her transform as she politely and firmly called over kids, telling them that she had a question, and then conducting a three or four question interview with each one.

The crowning moment was when Sam Kass came into the hall.  We had been told beforehand that he wouldn’t be available for interviews, but there he was, and when the ChickieNob saw him, she called him over and not only got to ask him a few questions but he posed for pictures with them.  It was like meeting a rock star.  You see, she read that he designed the White House vegetable garden, and the vegetable garden is the first one on White House property since Eleanor Roosevelt’s Victory Garden.  The ChickieNob is obsessed with anything even remotely connected to Eleanor Roosevelt, hence how seeing Sam Kass (twice — he stopped for more questions later in the day) was one of the highlights of her day.  Actually, she listed it as her favourite part.

After the pre-event, we went back to the press briefing room and had a short break.  I think it was eye-opening for them to see the back offices.  The counters with bottles of Tums and old coffee.  The bulletin boards.  The cramped desks covered with papers and computers.  By this point, they were a little tired and hungry and were starting to realize that being a journalist was actual work: a lot of work considering the pay.  That it’s not just about sitting down and writing.  That there was a lot of time spent gathering information and THEN sitting down and writing.

Then we headed upstairs to the East room for the actual event.  The kids got to experience a much more realistic press pool than the one they were in at the pre-event that only had 20 or so people.  This one was packed tight, and they had to jostle for space.  But they got to the front of the rope and tried to take in everything around them.  There was a lot that didn’t make it into their article on BlogHer due to space, pages of description that are languishing in their notepad.  They listened to the First Lady speak (she was about 15-20 feet away the whole time).  And they enjoyed Rachel Crow’s performance.  And they talked to a few more kids.

And then the president came.  I had a feeling he was going to attend the event, but I didn’t tell the twins in case he didn’t.  But there he was, striding into the room.  As he delivered his remarks, the Wolvog kept saying, “I can’t believe I’m in the room with the president.”  The Wolvog was wearing the outfit he had on when he played Barack Obama in his school play. (The child only has two nice outfits.)  And there was the real Barack Obama 20 feet away.  Craziness.

And then they realized that they weren’t going to get to meet him because he was only going around to the tables, and they were in the press.  They were crushed.  But Hannah arranged for the five kids who were in the press pool to go with her across the room to meet him.  They came back smiling these insanely wide grins: “I just shook hands with the president!”  The ChickieNob also couldn’t resist throwing out one of her hard-hitting questions, and he answered it.  So fabulous, life-changing moment (that the Wolvog couldn’t stop whispering to himself for hours afterward: “I can’t believe I just shook hands with the president!”).

President Barack Obama greets young reporters at the Kids’ State Dinner in the East Room of the White House, July 9, 2013. (Official White House Photo by Pete Souza)

And then we went out to the White House garden.  By that point, it was drizzling, and the Wolvog does not like the rain.  The ChickieNob took every chance to tease him, pretending to melt onto the lawn.  And finally, we bid goodbye to the huge cabbages and bee hives, and passed the White House playground and the Oval Office, and finally exited the White House back out the press gates.

I was told I was the coolest mum ever not because I got them into the White House or coached them on how to conduct an interview or helped them get through six hours of work or asked if there was any chance they could meet the president. No, what made me the coolest mum ever was that I took them out for doughnuts despite the fact that we should have gotten a healthy meal after spending that much time around quinoa and lettuce wraps.  But we were all starving and though I am usually queasy over the mere thought of doughnuts, I scarfed one down, pointing out that the life of a journalist usually consists of grabbing odd meals at odd hours.  Anything to chase the story.  So ending the day with a doughnut was fitting.

I asked them if they still wanted to be writers after this first writing assignment.  The Wolvog loved meeting the president and working the equipment, but probably will end up setting up his own computer company.  But the ChickieNob is hooked.  She pointed out that she now knows that it’s not a glamourous job as she once thought.  It’s a hard job that sometimes takes you to glamourous locations or situations that make it feel as if it’s not really work.  And yeah, she’s right.  When we clearly know the story we need to write, and we get to meet the president and see the First Lady (and interview Sam Kass!  Did I mention that we got to interview Sam Kass and it blew the ChickieNob’s little mind), and the day ends with doughnuts, it doesn’t really feel like work.

Until you get home and you have to sift through over 500 images and listen to the interview recordings and figure out how to tell people about the event.  Then it feels like work.  But they went to bed, their bodies still buzzing over a job very well done.

We were insanely proud of them before we actually got down to the White House.  And now that they’ve actually nailed their first writing assignment… there are no words.  Just happy sounds.  I loved having them with me, seeing them in action and getting to include them in that world.  I am so incredibly lucky that I get a front row seat to their lives.

As the winners of the best “How I Spent My Summer Vacation” essay topic ever, the twins are in the press pool at the White House, interviewing people at the Kids State Dinner.  Their article will appear on BlogHer and in their school newspaper, and I will also hopefully have a post here tomorrow with their thoughts about what it’s like to be eight years old and reporting alongside CNN.

Uh… and I’m covering the event too.  But I’m not nearly as interesting.  Nor am I even half as cute.

Normally, when I’m covering any event that takes place outside my living room (and requires me to put on something other than yoga pants), I’m pretty nervous beforehand.  Not really during the event, but jittery in the lead up to the event.  But for the first time ever, I didn’t feel nervous at all because I was going to be spending the day with my mostly companions.  It was like taking a security blanket with me.  I wouldn’t be alone.

Instead the ChickieNob was nervous since she’s not fond of big crowds, and she waited until the night before to mentally add up the participants (54) and their parents (let’s say another 100) and the staff, First Lady, and all the press, and announced that it was many more people than she bargained for.  But she also told me that she’d be fine.  The Wolvog, not as articulate at pinpointing the cause of any emotion just said that he’s “nervous but excited.”  He practically added a “duh” at the end of that thought.

The only thing I felt jittery about was whether I prepped them enough to feel good about how they covered the event.  I think I did.  They did some research, watched the First Lady’s remarks from last year’s event, wrote up interview questions.  They practiced using the recording equipment, and speaking loudly and clearly.  They interviewed me several times.

So I think they’re prepared.  There will always be the opportunities that you miss because you didn’t think quickly enough or the ones that you capture by sheer luck.  But every journalist — even the mini ones — should go into covering an event thinking about their angle, the questions they need to cover with their article.  While they can’t control those magical moments that are either captured or slip away, there is a basic feeling you get when you’re there — either feeling as if you know what is going on or feeling as if you haven’t done your homework — and I want them to feel that they did their best possible job with their first real writing job.

And may this be the first of many writing jobs if they enjoy it.

We are insanely proud of them.  Back when I was writing about how hard it was to give up the bottle, I had no clue that several years later, I would be writing about the twins as eight year olds, going to the White House for their first reporting job.

I finished my final (for now) edit of Apart at the Seams, bid goodbye to Rachel and Adam and Arianna and Ethan, and sent the manuscript to the publisher.  There will be more edits down the road and page proofs, and then the book release next winter (January 2014, I think) and publicity stuff.  We’ve talked about doing an additional short story with these characters.  But for all intents and purposes, I’ve said goodbye to them.

Ending a writing project is like losing your bones.  Your mind suddenly lacks structure.  For weeks/months/years, it has been focused on this one project, writing part of it in your mind before it ever shows up on paper.  And then you go through an amorphous period until you find your skeleton again.

By which I mean that I know what comes next; I know what I’m writing next.  But it’s sort of like knowing you’re going to college in the fall.  You have no idea what college will be like, how long it will take you to settle in, whether the place you picked will be a good fit, if you may need to transfer.  Will I make friends with these new characters and think about them throughout my day?  Or will it feel like work to be with them?

For the last 9 months, I wrote like it was my job.  Which is funny since… you know… writing is my job.  But I finally treated it as such, and perhaps I’m the sort that needs a deadline in order to do that.  I got in the habit of doing 5 pages a day/20 pages per week.  I don’t want to get out-of-shape, though I can’t keep that pace over the summer because the twins are home and we have things we want to do.  I plan to keep a low pace over summer — maybe 5 pages per week? — and then go back to 5 pages per day come fall.

Right as I was wrapping up the book, my friend came back to America after working abroad and then traveling for over half a year.  I asked her about the re-entry because I’ve always felt that returning from a major trip feels much akin to finishing a book.  There’s sort of the let down, and the excitement of wanting to relive your trip by talking about it with others, and the feeling that life here has continued without you and you need to figure out your way back in.  Because part of me has been away this year, at least mentally, hanging out with these characters.  And I was the only one there with them.

She pointed out that there is a big difference in your mental state when you return because you want to return vs. the times you return but you could have also been happy staying a few more weeks.  The reality is that I’m done with Rachel Goldman and Arianna Quinn.  Don’t get me wrong; I really really love her.  She will always and forever be my first published character, my oldest fictional friend.  But I am ready for all these characters who are standing in the hallway with their stuff, ready to move into my brain and be my new roommate for the next year or so.

So I’m taking a deep breath, opening the door, and letting them in.

And you guys have about six months to read Measure of Love so you follow Apart at the Seams.  Just sayin’.