Today I found myself pondering the irony of planning a healthy 2013 while eating Lindor chocolate balls for breakfast. Maybe there are people out there who eat perfectly all the time, exercise every single day, and always get eight hours of sleep a night but I'm not one of them. Also, I got an absolute flood of chocolate for Christmas. Lindor balls, After Eights, Quality Street mixed chocolates, cookies filled with chocolate hazelnut, and a double handful of hot chocolate packets. The good news is I'll be starting the new year off with clean cupboards. Let's not talk about the bad news *glares at stomach*.
The chocolates are almost gone, just the After Eights are left unless son's been raiding the cupboard again. Nope, just checked and they're still there. Which is fine because two sticks are 50 calories so they'll make a nice treat on my lunch break at work. And onwards to my goals for next year...
1. See my friends more often
I'm starting off well with this one. I've made plans to visit friends on New Year's Day and am in the midst of making plans to hang out with two other friends. Hopefully this will continue throughout the year. The reality is I'm an introvert and I hate the phone. As my kids well know, I refer to it as that damn ringing thing and have been known to yell at it. I also approach it with the caution some people reserve for handling poisonous snakes, which makes it tricky to make plans. But I'm quite easy to entertain. I've had friends call up and say "Hey, we're washing the car and buying groceries. Do you want to come?" And I'm all "sure, I'll be right over". So if you're getting your oil changed and need someone to chat with, give me a call.
2. Write more
Now this one might not transfer to here seeing as I have been writing more and editing more. But it's been in my novel and not here. For years I have worked on my novel, Small Dreams for a few weeks or month then given up in defeat, declaring the novel utter garbage and walking away for several months until trying again. This time it's been different. I still read for pleasure but I'm also reading and picking apart novels. How do I get the characters to show emotion? How do I describe tone of voice? What transitions work better? I don't want to copy my favourite authors, I just want to get a general idea on how to make sections of the novel flow. And I'm cautiously optimistic it's been working. I've been using my teenage son as a guinea pig. Son has language based learning disabilities as part of his autism and has never enjoyed reading. I have bought all sorts of books over the years for him to read and for me to read to him, with minimal luck. Most of the books end up abandoned a few chapters in, with my son saying "Can't we just read tomorrow instead of today?" ad nauseam until I give up. Small Dreams isn't aimed at teenage boys, it's a novel about two young adults, in their early twenties. Jessica (the main character, it's a first person book) and Chris. The book starts the day they find out she's pregnant and ends the day she gives birth. It follows them as they struggle to make a better life for themselves despite Jessica's abusive family and a couple of false friends. Son loves the book and asks me daily if I've got another chapter to read to him. And he has favourite lines he'll remember and quote back a month or so later. I read a section to daughter yesterday and she laughed so hard she nearly fell off the couch. Thankfully it was supposed to be funny.
I submitted Piece of Mind back in October and, quite frankly, don't expect it to be accepted. I tried my best but I wrote 75% of the novel in three weeks and barely managed to scrape across the minimum amount of words for acceptance. I looked over the first few chapters a few weeks ago and realized it needs a lot of work, especially fleshing out Tamara (the main character). I have a great back story to explain why 17 year old Tamara is living on her own and working full time as a hairdresser instead of being in school. The only problem is I didn't add it to the novel. My daughter commented that she kept forgetting Tamara was a teenager as she seemed so much older. I need to add the farking back story. Also, Tamara's an orphan but for half of the book she might as well have hatched. She never once mentions her parents or older sister until she's giving birth, chapters into the book. She loved her parents, I need to have her think of them from time to time.
So my plans for this year are to finish editing Small Dreams and get that book submitted somewhere, hopefully by mid-January, then move on to Piece of Mind, flesh it out and get it submitted. Then resubmit Small Dreams and start fleshing out sequels to both books then resubmit Piece of Mind... and so on until one of them gets accepted. Then I'll run around like a chicken with it's head cut off and start revising.
In between all that I'll write in here.
3. Eat healthier and simpler
Simpler is the key part to this goal. I don't have the time to cook for hours each evening, not while working full time and writing. But I do have fifteen minutes to half an hour to cook pasta, rice, lentils, spinach, etc. And I need to make sure I've got handy things to pack in my lunch like muffins, yogourt, and rolls so I'm not buying extras at work. There is nothing at work (other than the tea and coffee) that fits into my real food diet. Nothing. Even the eggs have well over ten ingredients and the hot powdered beverages are scary. Pomegranate seeds and pistachios are a great snack... a lot better than a chocolate chip muffin with dubious ingredients.
4. Exercise
I have a gym and pool 30 seconds away by elevator. There is no good reason not to use them. Regularly.
5. Honesty
I need to stop using the monster under the bed approach to solving life's problems. You know, hiding my head under the covers and hoping it disappears. This only works for imaginary monsters, not the real ones. When I'm feeling bad, hiding and just saying nothing won't make things better. But sharing will bring support. Same goes for writing in my diary and doing a photo a day. It doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be real.
And on that, I'm heading out to buy groceries so I've got healthy food for the new year.
An optimist's view on life... one step at a time...
Sunday, 30 December 2012
Thursday, 20 December 2012
Mid winter ramblings
I haven't been writing here in a while. Not that I haven't been writing, it's just that my writing time has been reserved for brief updates on Facebook and mostly working on my novel, Small Dreams.
Today, however, is different. Today I'm home with a cold and my thoughts are skittering around madly like cockroaches when the light's turned on. I'm not really focusing well enough to edit my novel so I'm inflicting my thoughts here where they're being read for free. Not that I'm actually getting paid for my novels yet but I'm hoping that will change some day. I've got no financial hopes pinned here.
I confess, I stink at editing. Small Dreams is continually bouncing around between 452 and 460 pages, kind of like a yo-yo dieter. I hack out some pages, mostly days where the main characters do nothing but go to work, come home, chat over dinner, and wash the dishes (what on earth was I thinking when I wrote those days?) then the pages creep back up in the form of dialogue and observations.
I've been observing my kids more and more for dialogue, especially now that they're teenagers and come up with interesting statements. My son, while hilarious, ends up saying things that don't really suit the characters so it's more my daughter I use. Son, I will share with you.
My son showed signs of his offbeat sense of humour years ago. Picture it. We're standing in a busy line at the movie theatre, waiting to buy tickets. He's the picture of innocence. Bright blue eyes, gleaming dark blond hair, and a smile curving his lips. He clasps both hands together, tilts his head and announces in the sweetest voice ever, "I'm a disturbing little boy." Right out of the blue.
Last week we were grocery shopping and I needed salad fixings (I pretty much always need salad fixings). I went to grab my usual mixed greens and son blurted, "No, you need to buy this one" then pointed at one of those packages of lettuce alive. It was fresh and green so I picked it up. That was when son noticed the root ball underneath.
His eyes widened. "Mom! We have to plant that as soon as we get home.We can plant it in the tree in the living room." Yeah, the ficus tree I have growing behind the futon. Because, a, it would grow so well behind the futon and, b, I want to do flips over the back every time I make a salad. So I reminded him that lettuce needs light and it was not the right time of year to grow anything on our balcony. He looked so disappointed I assured him we could grow lettuce in the summer then wanted to know why he wanted to grow it in the first place seeing as he treats lettuce like it's poison.
"Ben and Bean [our guinea pigs] eat lettuce and they're my friends. I want lettuce for them." He paused and we kept walking then he continued. "They're friends... friends I keep in a cage and never allow free."
Okay then creepy child.
Later on we were walking home and son informed me that his class is learning about people and who to trust. His teacher had a page with pictures of various people and asked the kids who they would pick off the page to trust. Every child but one picked the shot of an innocent looking child. My son picked the 6ft tall man with a mohawk. Curious, I asked him why. Not that I have anything against 6ft tall men with mohawks, it just seemed like an interesting choice.
Son rolled his eyes. "Doesn't anyone watch movies? You never trust kids that age, they're the ones who know where all the bodies are hidden."
The plus side is, if I ever decide to write a horror, I just need to follow my son around with a pad of paper and a pen.
Now my throat has convinced me that an ice cream sundae is a splendid choice for lunch. The chocolate ice cream has calcium and the marshmallow fluff is full of egg whites and protein. And the salted caramel sauce has... well it has... it doesn't matter I'm sure it has vital nutritional requirements my body needs.
Today, however, is different. Today I'm home with a cold and my thoughts are skittering around madly like cockroaches when the light's turned on. I'm not really focusing well enough to edit my novel so I'm inflicting my thoughts here where they're being read for free. Not that I'm actually getting paid for my novels yet but I'm hoping that will change some day. I've got no financial hopes pinned here.
I confess, I stink at editing. Small Dreams is continually bouncing around between 452 and 460 pages, kind of like a yo-yo dieter. I hack out some pages, mostly days where the main characters do nothing but go to work, come home, chat over dinner, and wash the dishes (what on earth was I thinking when I wrote those days?) then the pages creep back up in the form of dialogue and observations.
I've been observing my kids more and more for dialogue, especially now that they're teenagers and come up with interesting statements. My son, while hilarious, ends up saying things that don't really suit the characters so it's more my daughter I use. Son, I will share with you.
My son showed signs of his offbeat sense of humour years ago. Picture it. We're standing in a busy line at the movie theatre, waiting to buy tickets. He's the picture of innocence. Bright blue eyes, gleaming dark blond hair, and a smile curving his lips. He clasps both hands together, tilts his head and announces in the sweetest voice ever, "I'm a disturbing little boy." Right out of the blue.
Last week we were grocery shopping and I needed salad fixings (I pretty much always need salad fixings). I went to grab my usual mixed greens and son blurted, "No, you need to buy this one" then pointed at one of those packages of lettuce alive. It was fresh and green so I picked it up. That was when son noticed the root ball underneath.
His eyes widened. "Mom! We have to plant that as soon as we get home.We can plant it in the tree in the living room." Yeah, the ficus tree I have growing behind the futon. Because, a, it would grow so well behind the futon and, b, I want to do flips over the back every time I make a salad. So I reminded him that lettuce needs light and it was not the right time of year to grow anything on our balcony. He looked so disappointed I assured him we could grow lettuce in the summer then wanted to know why he wanted to grow it in the first place seeing as he treats lettuce like it's poison.
"Ben and Bean [our guinea pigs] eat lettuce and they're my friends. I want lettuce for them." He paused and we kept walking then he continued. "They're friends... friends I keep in a cage and never allow free."
Okay then creepy child.
Later on we were walking home and son informed me that his class is learning about people and who to trust. His teacher had a page with pictures of various people and asked the kids who they would pick off the page to trust. Every child but one picked the shot of an innocent looking child. My son picked the 6ft tall man with a mohawk. Curious, I asked him why. Not that I have anything against 6ft tall men with mohawks, it just seemed like an interesting choice.
Son rolled his eyes. "Doesn't anyone watch movies? You never trust kids that age, they're the ones who know where all the bodies are hidden."
The plus side is, if I ever decide to write a horror, I just need to follow my son around with a pad of paper and a pen.
Now my throat has convinced me that an ice cream sundae is a splendid choice for lunch. The chocolate ice cream has calcium and the marshmallow fluff is full of egg whites and protein. And the salted caramel sauce has... well it has... it doesn't matter I'm sure it has vital nutritional requirements my body needs.
Sunday, 14 October 2012
My life? What life?
That title pretty much sums up my last four weeks.
Last month I went onto some forums I frequent and discovered a post saying Harper Voyager was starting a new line of ebooks and looking for new authors. You can imagine my excitement. Then reality came crashing down on me. The books were fantasy/sci-fi and could only be submitted from October 1-14th.
I have two books. One is a completed novel called "Small Dreams" that I was in the process of proof-reading, the second was not even named and maybe a quarter completed. The second was young urban fantasy. Small Dreams isn't.
I'd started the second novel after a weird dream. The dream was so bizarre I just had to write it down. Once those couple of paragraphs were written, I expanded on it. What could have happened? Why did it happen? Who did it happen to? How did those characters meet? Soon I had the makings of a novel.
I'd set the main character, named Tamara, as a 35 year old woman and created a love interest for her by the way of 37 year old Thomson. However, the remaining characters were all in their teens. By close to halfway through the book, Tamara and Thomson were relegated to the role of babysitters. I tucked the book away and ignored it.
A year later I opened it again and decided to change Tamara from a 35 year old to a 17 year old. Thomson followed suit, turning into an 18 year old. They were still older than the other characters but close enough in age to be friends instead of babysitters. And frankly, Tamara's relatively immature personality suited being 17 instead of 35. As a teenager she comes off as smart and mature for her age, as a 35 year old she ended up being immature and a bit whiny.
Faced with rewriting this novel or brushing up on Small Dreams, I chose the latter. It was a lot closer to being ready to submit and it made more sense to focus on it. Then came this opportunity. My first thought was despair, there was no way I could finish this book in time. I work full-time and have my autistic teenager living with me. There's only so many hours in one day.
That was when it dawned on me. If I never tried then I was right, there really was no way I could finish this book. The only way I'd know for sure was if I tried. When I opened the novel, it was at just under 30,000 words with at least 10,000 words needing to be deleted. I needed to bring it up to a minimum of 70,000 words.
My life for the past month has consisted of me waking up, getting ready for work, and racing out to the bus. On the bus I sit with a notepad and pen and jot down novel ideas in point form. I work for 8 to 8.5 hours then take the bus home again, re-reading my notes. Then I sit at the computer and write, squeezing out a brief time for eating dinner with my son.
Slowly the framework for the novel built up, I hacked out everything that spoke of "babysitter" and chucked in a new murder to keep it a bit more face paced. Everything in my life revolved around my novel. My son came home from school one afternoon and asked me how my day went. My response? It went fine. Tamara and Dre are on the bus now and she's in labour.
Another evening he asked me what I was making for dinner. I turned around wild eyed and said "I can't make dinner right now. Tamara's giving birth and having rape flashbacks". Son shrugged then said "okay, I'll get out the leftovers". My life? My life was the book.
October first came and went. I was halfway through my novel word-count wise and rapidly running out of plot. Co-workers would ask me if I'd have the novel ready on time and I'd smile and say "of course" and "I'm giving it my best shot". In reality I felt only the second was true. I was trying my hardest but still had 30,000 words to write in two weeks, while adding a lot more plot. I didn't think I could make it but still, the only option was to try. I'd never make it if I gave up. Thanksgiving flew by. I cooked ravioli and begrudged the time it took for the water to boil. We ate and I went right back to my room.
Yesterday morning I sat down at the computer with 60,000 words written... 10,000 words to go. Then I did nothing but write. Our fire alarm went off in the afternoon. I picked up my netbook and wrote downstairs outside our building. By evening I was averaging 1,000 per hour. I was going to do it.
Just before midnight I was at 69,200 words. I decided to save my novel in Word format and finish it up there, just so I knew I had the right word count for submission. My heart sank. Open Office counts every word written for their word count. Word ignores small words like "a", "and", and "the". Within seconds I'd gone from being 800 words away from minimum to being 3,500 words away. I'd hoped I'd have the novel finished by midnight. By 1am I was up to 68,000. By 1:30am I decided I'd open the submission form and get that finished so I could just attach the novel when I was done. I had the form bookmarked but, when I scrolled down it wasn't there. Instead was a bunch of letters wanting to know why the page had closed so soon. I closed the page and went to bed.
I woke six restless hours later and decided I was going to just keep on trying. I'd find a submission email on the page and email my novel instead. It wasn't the best option but it was better than sitting in my bedroom and crying. I sat back down and wrote the last 1,500 words then edited what I'd written the previous night, adding a few badly missing transitions (note Kathleen... your characters are telepaths, they can't teleport). It was done. At least as done as I could make it today.
I went on the website and found a message saying there'd been a technical error and the submission form was going back up soon. I felt like singing. I felt like dancing. Well not really, that was when I realized it was 1pm, I'd been up for five hours and I hadn't eaten anything. I was also so exhausted my eyes were crossing and I desperately needed a shower. By the time I woke back up and had a shower the submission form was up. I ate before my nap, I think I had soup, I wasn't that awake.
Of course there were a few glitches after that. The biggest, most heart attack inducing was when I made a new word document so I could make sure I had 1,000 words for the submission. I saved it as "first thousand words" then closed it and opened my novel. Piece of Mind opened up as 1 of 3 pages, 1,005 words. I usually save my novel every single night but, last night I'd just gone to sleep. My last saved version was Open Office and I'd written almost 5,000 words since then. I was able to retrieve the novel and restart my heart.
And I am so grateful for my friends who really came through for me, answering questions on Facebook like "what colour is the umbilical cord during birth?" "if someone got shot, where would the best place be?" "are chest tubes removed through surgery and would a minor need someone to sign paperwork?" "what would people grow and raise on a small farm?" and my all time favourite:
Also, lets say someone's killed by a mental attack, described as a thought that pushes into the mind like a knife. In an autopsy, what would make more sense to find, a stroke or an aneurysm? I'm waffling between the two and frankly don't know enough about either to make a decision.
A friend of mine emailed her mother multiple times before we decided it was six of one half dozen of the other, both were similar and an aneurysm could cause a stroke.
And my friends pulled through for naming the novel as well. I tossed out a synopsis and asked for name suggestions. My friend, Robert, came up with Piece of Mind. Which doesn't even get him a cup of coffee but will net a mention in the credits if this ever gets published.
If my friends didn't know I was insane before I started this writing blitz, I'm sure they've guessed by now. A friend of mine posted this on my Facebook page and I felt it summed things up nicely:
And now I need to restart my life. I haven't set foot in our pool in a month. It's in the basement, a 30 second elevator ride away. I haven't read a book other than briefly on the bus. I haven't gone for a walk. And you don't want to see my kitchen or living room. I don't want to see them either. It might be easier to burn them and start fresh. I haven't blogged here either.
I don't know what will happen now. I won't stop writing, that's for sure. I've got Small Dreams to whittle down and polish and I left enough open ends for sequels to Piece of Mind. This opportunity was just that, one opportunity. But first I'm going to go grocery shopping and shovel out my kitchen and then I'm going for a swim.
Last month I went onto some forums I frequent and discovered a post saying Harper Voyager was starting a new line of ebooks and looking for new authors. You can imagine my excitement. Then reality came crashing down on me. The books were fantasy/sci-fi and could only be submitted from October 1-14th.
I have two books. One is a completed novel called "Small Dreams" that I was in the process of proof-reading, the second was not even named and maybe a quarter completed. The second was young urban fantasy. Small Dreams isn't.
I'd started the second novel after a weird dream. The dream was so bizarre I just had to write it down. Once those couple of paragraphs were written, I expanded on it. What could have happened? Why did it happen? Who did it happen to? How did those characters meet? Soon I had the makings of a novel.
I'd set the main character, named Tamara, as a 35 year old woman and created a love interest for her by the way of 37 year old Thomson. However, the remaining characters were all in their teens. By close to halfway through the book, Tamara and Thomson were relegated to the role of babysitters. I tucked the book away and ignored it.
A year later I opened it again and decided to change Tamara from a 35 year old to a 17 year old. Thomson followed suit, turning into an 18 year old. They were still older than the other characters but close enough in age to be friends instead of babysitters. And frankly, Tamara's relatively immature personality suited being 17 instead of 35. As a teenager she comes off as smart and mature for her age, as a 35 year old she ended up being immature and a bit whiny.
Faced with rewriting this novel or brushing up on Small Dreams, I chose the latter. It was a lot closer to being ready to submit and it made more sense to focus on it. Then came this opportunity. My first thought was despair, there was no way I could finish this book in time. I work full-time and have my autistic teenager living with me. There's only so many hours in one day.
That was when it dawned on me. If I never tried then I was right, there really was no way I could finish this book. The only way I'd know for sure was if I tried. When I opened the novel, it was at just under 30,000 words with at least 10,000 words needing to be deleted. I needed to bring it up to a minimum of 70,000 words.
My life for the past month has consisted of me waking up, getting ready for work, and racing out to the bus. On the bus I sit with a notepad and pen and jot down novel ideas in point form. I work for 8 to 8.5 hours then take the bus home again, re-reading my notes. Then I sit at the computer and write, squeezing out a brief time for eating dinner with my son.
Slowly the framework for the novel built up, I hacked out everything that spoke of "babysitter" and chucked in a new murder to keep it a bit more face paced. Everything in my life revolved around my novel. My son came home from school one afternoon and asked me how my day went. My response? It went fine. Tamara and Dre are on the bus now and she's in labour.
Another evening he asked me what I was making for dinner. I turned around wild eyed and said "I can't make dinner right now. Tamara's giving birth and having rape flashbacks". Son shrugged then said "okay, I'll get out the leftovers". My life? My life was the book.
October first came and went. I was halfway through my novel word-count wise and rapidly running out of plot. Co-workers would ask me if I'd have the novel ready on time and I'd smile and say "of course" and "I'm giving it my best shot". In reality I felt only the second was true. I was trying my hardest but still had 30,000 words to write in two weeks, while adding a lot more plot. I didn't think I could make it but still, the only option was to try. I'd never make it if I gave up. Thanksgiving flew by. I cooked ravioli and begrudged the time it took for the water to boil. We ate and I went right back to my room.
Yesterday morning I sat down at the computer with 60,000 words written... 10,000 words to go. Then I did nothing but write. Our fire alarm went off in the afternoon. I picked up my netbook and wrote downstairs outside our building. By evening I was averaging 1,000 per hour. I was going to do it.
Just before midnight I was at 69,200 words. I decided to save my novel in Word format and finish it up there, just so I knew I had the right word count for submission. My heart sank. Open Office counts every word written for their word count. Word ignores small words like "a", "and", and "the". Within seconds I'd gone from being 800 words away from minimum to being 3,500 words away. I'd hoped I'd have the novel finished by midnight. By 1am I was up to 68,000. By 1:30am I decided I'd open the submission form and get that finished so I could just attach the novel when I was done. I had the form bookmarked but, when I scrolled down it wasn't there. Instead was a bunch of letters wanting to know why the page had closed so soon. I closed the page and went to bed.
I woke six restless hours later and decided I was going to just keep on trying. I'd find a submission email on the page and email my novel instead. It wasn't the best option but it was better than sitting in my bedroom and crying. I sat back down and wrote the last 1,500 words then edited what I'd written the previous night, adding a few badly missing transitions (note Kathleen... your characters are telepaths, they can't teleport). It was done. At least as done as I could make it today.
I went on the website and found a message saying there'd been a technical error and the submission form was going back up soon. I felt like singing. I felt like dancing. Well not really, that was when I realized it was 1pm, I'd been up for five hours and I hadn't eaten anything. I was also so exhausted my eyes were crossing and I desperately needed a shower. By the time I woke back up and had a shower the submission form was up. I ate before my nap, I think I had soup, I wasn't that awake.
Of course there were a few glitches after that. The biggest, most heart attack inducing was when I made a new word document so I could make sure I had 1,000 words for the submission. I saved it as "first thousand words" then closed it and opened my novel. Piece of Mind opened up as 1 of 3 pages, 1,005 words. I usually save my novel every single night but, last night I'd just gone to sleep. My last saved version was Open Office and I'd written almost 5,000 words since then. I was able to retrieve the novel and restart my heart.
And I am so grateful for my friends who really came through for me, answering questions on Facebook like "what colour is the umbilical cord during birth?" "if someone got shot, where would the best place be?" "are chest tubes removed through surgery and would a minor need someone to sign paperwork?" "what would people grow and raise on a small farm?" and my all time favourite:
Also, lets say someone's killed by a mental attack, described as a thought that pushes into the mind like a knife. In an autopsy, what would make more sense to find, a stroke or an aneurysm? I'm waffling between the two and frankly don't know enough about either to make a decision.
A friend of mine emailed her mother multiple times before we decided it was six of one half dozen of the other, both were similar and an aneurysm could cause a stroke.
And my friends pulled through for naming the novel as well. I tossed out a synopsis and asked for name suggestions. My friend, Robert, came up with Piece of Mind. Which doesn't even get him a cup of coffee but will net a mention in the credits if this ever gets published.
If my friends didn't know I was insane before I started this writing blitz, I'm sure they've guessed by now. A friend of mine posted this on my Facebook page and I felt it summed things up nicely:
And now I need to restart my life. I haven't set foot in our pool in a month. It's in the basement, a 30 second elevator ride away. I haven't read a book other than briefly on the bus. I haven't gone for a walk. And you don't want to see my kitchen or living room. I don't want to see them either. It might be easier to burn them and start fresh. I haven't blogged here either.
I don't know what will happen now. I won't stop writing, that's for sure. I've got Small Dreams to whittle down and polish and I left enough open ends for sequels to Piece of Mind. This opportunity was just that, one opportunity. But first I'm going to go grocery shopping and shovel out my kitchen and then I'm going for a swim.
Saturday, 15 September 2012
Parenting, prejudice, and tough love
Several days ago I posted a link to this entry on a forum I frequent. That day the woman who set up the forum posted the picture on her own blog, Regretsy. Yesterday someone came onto the forum to claim the person was her niece and had been framed; she also posted a reply on my blog. I sent her a message asking her for more information but heard nothing. Thankfully Helen, the pseudonym of the woman running Regresty, was able to talk to the person who supposedly wrote this status. Her son is three years old, no where near old enough to walk home on his own with anyone. She hadn't written it.
Now comes the scary part. Within a half-hour of my blog entry, someone had already created a Facebook page, "[name]: Homophobe and Child Abuser?" with people sending her messages and threatening violence. And, remember I said I found three or four entries under her name? Google now brings up 17,500 results. Many of which show up as "Let's draw some more attention to [name] and her friend, [name]. ... How absolutely disgusting and disgraceful, thank you, [name] and [friend's name] ..." Page after page of identical listings. I got up to the 16th page before I found an entry that didn't have anything to do with her (one of those "Did you go to school with anyone named [first name] or [last name]? Find your friend here" entries). Note that wasn't where the entries against her ended, it was just where it stopped being all her. There are many pages beyond that.
I removed the reply to this post as it mentioned her by name. I have also removed her name from the picture and from my blog. I'm keeping my blog entry up but please keep in mind the photo is fictional. And, if you have written a blog about this photo and the women involved in it, please un-tag them and remove their names. They've had enough negative attention and would like to fade out of the public eye.
***************************************************************
I have seen this picture on Facebook several times since last night and each time it makes my heart heavy. Here's a mother determined to stamp out what should be nurtured in her child; kindness, open-mindedness, and empathy. It makes me want to give both those kids hugs. Both deserve to be able to walk home with their neighbour without threats of violence.
Her friend's comment about tough love baffles me. Obviously this person has no idea what tough love is. Tough love is allowing your teenager to deal with the consequences of their actions. They do something wrong and you do not step in to fix things for them, hoping that the results will show them in a way lectures won't. Tough love involves stepping back, you are not the consequences and you don't deal the consequences. It is not an excuse to violently pass your prejudices onto your children.
The other part that confuses me is their ages. How old are they? If they're prepubescent children then how does she know this boy is gay? Is she assuming because of interests or personality? My son was uniformly described as "sweet" when he was a child. He used to bring his baby doll to school and loved the colour pink. He's 15 years old now and hanging out with his girlfriend as I type. You can't judge kids (anyone for that matter) based on stereotypes. And, if they're old enough for this kid to have actually come out, then why on earth is she spanking her son? If she is putting her hand on her teenage son's backside, I hope someone from child protective services is investigating this family.
One proud moment in my life came one afternoon when my daughter got home from school. This was back when she was in grade eight and, for some unknown reason, the school decided it would be fun to invite all the boys and girls in the senior classes to stay at school for a sleepover. It was going to be heavily supervised and my daughter was eager to attend. All the kids were talking about it. That afternoon, however, my daughter was angry. Sarah*, a classmate of hers, had confided in one of her friends that she was bisexual. On the bus ride that morning, the friend had spread that information around. Her excuse was that she felt everyone should know before the sleepover. And, of course, that information spread within minutes of the buses arrival. Daughter got to school in time to hear a group of her classmates loudly proclaim that there was no way they'd sleep anywhere near Sarah. That was when my daughter walked up to her and told Sarah that she could put her sleeping bag beside daughter's bag. She wasn't going to spend the sleepover alone.
Anyone who's had a preteen/young teen girl knows what these years are like. Sleepover central. Two days later my daughter got an invitation to go for a sleepover at Sarah's house. What does a parent do? In my home, I request to go and visit the parents. I spoke to the Mom and got a general idea of what their home was like. Squalid and disorganized but I didn't see anything that would actively harm daughter and hoped maybe the rampant messiness would be an eye opener to prod her into cleaning her own room (it wasn't). They slept over at each other's homes a few times before Sarah moved.
I allowed daughter to deal with the consequences of her actions, with support and praise from me. If you stand up for someone in front of bullies you paint a target on your shirt. Daughter learned this as vandalism of school property (namely graffiti against Sarah) quickly occurred and was blamed on daughter by the same girls who had refused to sleep near Sarah in the first place. What did daughter learn from her actions? She has about three friends now who are "out" (I'm sure she will tell me the exact number once she reads my blog) so I figure one thing was standing up for friends and supporting them.
This woman too has learned one thing from her actions, her page is no longer totally public since her status went viral (her friend, on the other hand, seems to have missed this lesson). I can only hope she's learned something as well that her son already knew, kindness and empathy.
* yes, I just picked a name at random
Saturday, 1 September 2012
The weirdest guests ever
It was almost twenty years ago and my now ex-husband T* and I were engaged. He was chatting on the phone with a friend of his when the friend got a call from another high school classmate and drew her into the conversation on 3-way. T was not impressed as he remembered the classmate as someone who thrived on drama and created it wherever she went. By the end of the call he'd decided the classmate had changed and exchanged phone numbers with her. Over the course of several months they chatted back and forth and eventually we decided to get together for a visit. Her kids were living one town over from us with her parents and she and her boyfriend visited them every weekend. They could come over for lunch... tomorrow.
This was back in the early 90's when internet was dial-up and rare and cellphones were as big as cordless phones and equally as rare. They didn't know where we lived and Google Maps and GPS devices weren't options. We settled on having them call us once they reached her parents' house to get further directions and to give us a head's up they were on their way.
T rolled out of bed the following morning, walked to the window and announced "they're here". I laughed and told him to quit joking. He ran to the closet and pulled on the first pair of pants he found (thankfully his) then said "I'm not kidding. They're walking across the street right now. I'll try to stall them so you have time to get dressed." And off he ran, pulling on his shirt as he barrelled across the living room and down the stairs.
I jumped out of bed and looked around in a panic. I was in my pjs with messy hair and unbrushed teeth, the bed was unmade, I had nothing ready, food-wise, at all. Of course it was only 8:30am and they were supposed to be coming for lunch. I pulled up the sheets and got myself presentable as quickly as possible. Finished brushing my teeth as they were walking up the stairs.
T's friend announced she was tired and needed coffee then made a beeline for the kitchen. The little girl raced right to the bookcase and started throwing books around the living room. The little boy ran for the furniture, where he alternated between trying to poke holes in the fabric so he could rip the stuffing out and jumping off the back of a chair, narrowly missing the coffee table. The boyfriend glanced around then scoffed, "This is it? Where's the rest of your apartment?" then started detailing how much bigger and better their place was.
T's friend wandered into the living room. She was wearing spandex pants and a ratty t-shirt with a huge hole over the nipple... and no bra. I spent our whole conversation alternating between staring at her feet and the wall behind her. She was heartbroken she hadn't gotten us a wedding present but was great at doing nails and had all sorts of colours and rhinestones that she could use. Wouldn't it be so cool? We'd have matching nails.
Before I could answer, the little boy announced that his sister had peed on one of our cushions... that she'd placed on a stack of my books. I raced to grab the books and asked the parents to deal with their little angels. The Mom immediately remembered that her coffee wasn't finished yet and scuttled off to the kitchen. Her boyfriend informed me it was his meditation time, then proceeded to sit cross legged in the corner with his fingers beside his head and hum loudly. Both kids were screaming by this time and jumping off any furniture they could find onto yet more of my books.
I grabbed every book and shoved them into my room then announced I was making lunch. It was 9am. I'd had some ideas for lunch but those plans had revolved around me getting up and cooking for a few hours before our guests arrived. And, by this time, I didn't want them in our house any longer than necessary. I hauled two cans of soup out of the cupboard and chucked them in a pot then tossed together a salad. It didn't seem like much of a meal so I pulled out one of those microwavable powdered sauce and cake mixes. Then I called Mr Meditation and kids into the kitchen to eat.
While I was childless at the time, I wasn't an idiot, and I'd placed the kids half full bowls of soup in the freezer to cool. The boyfriend walked in and immediately started complaining. He never bought canned foods, he made everything from scratch. He had at least twice as many spices as us and couldn't imagine cooking with that few. And our storage space, or lack thereof, he had no idea how we could function with so little space.
As I placed the bowls on the table, the boyfriend started telling us about how he'd been badly abused as a child and this had left him super macho and totally impervious to pain. Just then I put the girl's tepid bowl of soup in front of him, he knocked it onto his lap and immediately started screaming about the pain and how badly it was burning him. Thankfully he shut up when I told him the bowl had been in the freezer for the past five minutes and the soup was almost cold. T was obviously trying to stifle laughter by this point.
The soup was finished fairly quickly and I started making dessert. Once again the boyfriend complained. His desserts were all (of course) from scratch and he hated packaged desserts. He hated it so much he inhaled his helping then took seconds before T and I had a chance to get our first serving, finishing the bowl.
T saved the day. He hated to be rude but we'd been invited to a (nonspecific) family function and we needed to leave now. It was great seeing them and, oops, don't forget your purse or your son. We'd finished lunch and had them out the door before 10am.
That was the last time we ever spoke to them. Heartbreaking, I know. I'm sure she would have decorated my nails up really fancy for my big day too. Pink and purple leopard spots with rhinestones or something equally tasteful. It would have been a memory to remember.
*T has nothing to do with my ex-husband's name. It's just the key I jabbed while picking an initial.
This was back in the early 90's when internet was dial-up and rare and cellphones were as big as cordless phones and equally as rare. They didn't know where we lived and Google Maps and GPS devices weren't options. We settled on having them call us once they reached her parents' house to get further directions and to give us a head's up they were on their way.
T rolled out of bed the following morning, walked to the window and announced "they're here". I laughed and told him to quit joking. He ran to the closet and pulled on the first pair of pants he found (thankfully his) then said "I'm not kidding. They're walking across the street right now. I'll try to stall them so you have time to get dressed." And off he ran, pulling on his shirt as he barrelled across the living room and down the stairs.
I jumped out of bed and looked around in a panic. I was in my pjs with messy hair and unbrushed teeth, the bed was unmade, I had nothing ready, food-wise, at all. Of course it was only 8:30am and they were supposed to be coming for lunch. I pulled up the sheets and got myself presentable as quickly as possible. Finished brushing my teeth as they were walking up the stairs.
T's friend announced she was tired and needed coffee then made a beeline for the kitchen. The little girl raced right to the bookcase and started throwing books around the living room. The little boy ran for the furniture, where he alternated between trying to poke holes in the fabric so he could rip the stuffing out and jumping off the back of a chair, narrowly missing the coffee table. The boyfriend glanced around then scoffed, "This is it? Where's the rest of your apartment?" then started detailing how much bigger and better their place was.
T's friend wandered into the living room. She was wearing spandex pants and a ratty t-shirt with a huge hole over the nipple... and no bra. I spent our whole conversation alternating between staring at her feet and the wall behind her. She was heartbroken she hadn't gotten us a wedding present but was great at doing nails and had all sorts of colours and rhinestones that she could use. Wouldn't it be so cool? We'd have matching nails.
Before I could answer, the little boy announced that his sister had peed on one of our cushions... that she'd placed on a stack of my books. I raced to grab the books and asked the parents to deal with their little angels. The Mom immediately remembered that her coffee wasn't finished yet and scuttled off to the kitchen. Her boyfriend informed me it was his meditation time, then proceeded to sit cross legged in the corner with his fingers beside his head and hum loudly. Both kids were screaming by this time and jumping off any furniture they could find onto yet more of my books.
I grabbed every book and shoved them into my room then announced I was making lunch. It was 9am. I'd had some ideas for lunch but those plans had revolved around me getting up and cooking for a few hours before our guests arrived. And, by this time, I didn't want them in our house any longer than necessary. I hauled two cans of soup out of the cupboard and chucked them in a pot then tossed together a salad. It didn't seem like much of a meal so I pulled out one of those microwavable powdered sauce and cake mixes. Then I called Mr Meditation and kids into the kitchen to eat.
While I was childless at the time, I wasn't an idiot, and I'd placed the kids half full bowls of soup in the freezer to cool. The boyfriend walked in and immediately started complaining. He never bought canned foods, he made everything from scratch. He had at least twice as many spices as us and couldn't imagine cooking with that few. And our storage space, or lack thereof, he had no idea how we could function with so little space.
As I placed the bowls on the table, the boyfriend started telling us about how he'd been badly abused as a child and this had left him super macho and totally impervious to pain. Just then I put the girl's tepid bowl of soup in front of him, he knocked it onto his lap and immediately started screaming about the pain and how badly it was burning him. Thankfully he shut up when I told him the bowl had been in the freezer for the past five minutes and the soup was almost cold. T was obviously trying to stifle laughter by this point.
The soup was finished fairly quickly and I started making dessert. Once again the boyfriend complained. His desserts were all (of course) from scratch and he hated packaged desserts. He hated it so much he inhaled his helping then took seconds before T and I had a chance to get our first serving, finishing the bowl.
T saved the day. He hated to be rude but we'd been invited to a (nonspecific) family function and we needed to leave now. It was great seeing them and, oops, don't forget your purse or your son. We'd finished lunch and had them out the door before 10am.
That was the last time we ever spoke to them. Heartbreaking, I know. I'm sure she would have decorated my nails up really fancy for my big day too. Pink and purple leopard spots with rhinestones or something equally tasteful. It would have been a memory to remember.
*T has nothing to do with my ex-husband's name. It's just the key I jabbed while picking an initial.
Saturday, 25 August 2012
Chocolate cake with salted caramel sauce
I came home from work yesterday afternoon absolutely craving chocolate. My daughter was coming over a half hour after I got home and I decided to splurge and make cake for when she arrived. I was making the frosting when she walked in the door. Got the butter softened, went to measure the icing sugar then cursed under my breath, I only had half the amount needed. With half the frosting I wouldn't have enough to cover the whole cake. Then I had the brilliant idea of making a caramel sauce to drizzle on the cake as well. As you can see from the picture above, it worked really well and the kids and I have pretty much demolished it.
The recipes come from a variety of sources. The cake itself came from a member of an online forum I frequent. I don't think she's been on the forum in a year, but I got the recipe a year ago and have used it frequently since then. Here it is... Pixie Holly's cake recipe in her own words:
My go-to is the old family recipe... it's more of a method than a recipe, really, since it's so scalable. Equal amounts of butter, sugar and self-raising flour, and an egg for every 2oz of the other ingredients. So for a small batch of cupcakes it would be 6oz of flour, 6oz sugar, 6oz butter, 3 eggs. For a double layered cake I'd do 8oz and 4 eggs.
The equal parts + eggs thing is BASICALLY just a pound cake (the name of which comes from using a pound of each ingredient) but that would make a FUCKOFF GIANT CAKE so I tend to go a bit smaller. ;)
You cream together the butter and sugar, then add the flour and eggs alternately a little at a time until all of the eggs are in and there's a little flour left. Fold in the remaining flour and then stick it in the oven @350 until it passes the toothpick test. If you have milk or cream, adding a splash of that is even better.
You can alter it up by replacing some of the flour with cocoa or putting in lemon or coconut or chocolate chips or WHATEVER YOUR GREEDY LITTLE HEART DESIRES.
I love this recipe because it has 4 basic ingredients as opposed to the 50 fucking things they put in a box mix and they're ingredients you can have on hand whenever you need them. Also, you get to say "I baked it from scratch" and look all smug even though it isn't ANY more difficult than making one out of a box. ;)
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My only advice if you add chocolate chips, toss them in some flour first before adding them to the mix. I made my daughter a vanilla cake with chocolate chips for her 16th birthday and all the chips fell to the bottom of the pan while baking. I also find the cake makes very small layers. When I make the cake as a double layer cake I use 8 inch instead of 9 inch pans. Yesterday I poured the whole double layer version into one 9 inch pan and it worked well.
Next comes my Nana's Butter Frosting recipe, again in her words:
Butter Frosting
1/4 cup butter
2 cups icing sugar
1 tsp vanilla
3 tbsp cream or milk
Cream butter till fluffy. Add half the sugar gradually and beat. Add flavouring and cream and beat. Add remaining sugar and beat.
1) Butter can read margarine.
2) Beat with a spoon or an electric beater. Make sure your bowl is not too big.
3) Cream/milk - I sometimes use hot water
4) If it's too runny, add more sugar
5) If it's too stiff, add more liquid - carefully, a little goes a long way.
6) Half this recipe will frost an 8 inch single layer cake
Variations for butter icing
Chocolate - add 2 or 3 tbsp dark cocoa or 2 squares melted
Orange or lemon - use 1 1/2 tbsp grated rind and 3 tbsp orange or lemon juice in place of vanilla and cream
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As for the salted caramel recipe, I found it on a website called Alli 'n Sons while looking for a chocolate and salted caramel ice cream recipe. I didn't need the ice cream part for this recipe but the caramel sauce came in quite nicely:
Sea Salt Caramel Sauce
- 4 tablespoons unsalted butter (1/4 cup)
- 1 cup brown sugar, packed
- 1/2 cup half-and-half
- 1 teaspoon sea salt
- 1 tablespoon vanilla extract
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I didn't have any unsalted butter so I skipped the teaspoon of sea salt, sprinkling a little over the top of the sauce to taste.
So there you have it, a symphony for your mouth. Enjoy!
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
It can happen to you
A couple of year ago my, then 14 year old daughter argued for her right to go forth and chat with other teenagers online. I didn't like it but, after multiple conversations regarding online safety, finally let her sign up for an account on a site called TeenSpot. I can't remember how long daughter went on the site, a half year maybe. She'd gone there to chat with kids her own age and grew tired of being propositioned instead. She left the site with two friends. Erik, a teenager near her age in a town an hour from us and Brad, a 17 year old from Ohio.
At the beginning daughter primarily chatted with Erik and he was the one who made my shit-meter skyrocket. The kid had enough drama in his life to fuel a dozen soap operas. His girlfriend was pregnant and abusive. She tied him down and burned him with a lit cigarette when he tried to break up with her. Then had a miscarriage. Then raped him and became pregnant again. He'd been living with his Dad and step-mother, who was pregnant with twin girls. His sister was also pregnant with a girl and due at the same time. Suddenly his Dad and step Mom couldn't deal with all the kids and the new babies so him and his sibling were off to his Mom's house to live. At least he got along with his step Dad. But wait. Mom's having an affair with her abusive ex-boyfriend who moved in at the same time as the kids.
The story continued through planted drugs, two beatings by the boyfriend (requiring hospitalization), going to juvenile detention (where he could apparently borrow phones and text for hours at a time)... and culminated with his Mom being beaten to death by her boyfriend, first giving birth at 18 weeks to a healthy baby girl while in a coma. Apparently the baby was taken home by the boyfriend since no one could prove the Mom hadn't fallen down the stairs a few times and accidentally killed herself. And his girlfriend gave birth to twins, also born months premature and fine. All babies went home after a few days. And, of course none of this ended up in the paper.
That was only some of the drama. I knew Erik was a liar. I knew most of the stories were false. I also knew daughter was no where near ready to hear that her wonderful online boyfriend was fake. Through it all she quietly chatted with Brad and slowly decided that he was the one she wanted to date. My first reaction was a sigh of relief. He lived in another country, unlike Erik who could hop on a Greyhound to visit, and I never heard any drama from him.
Brad had talked to daughter about how he wanted to come up to Canada to go to college, which didn't faze me at all. I didn't think either of them had thought of the logistics of him applying for school in another country. What concerned me more was his talk of coming down to visit for her birthday. These talks went on for months and I grew more concerned as summer grew closer. I flat out insisted on being there for the initial meeting and bringing a friend with me as my middle-aged 5ft 3in self isn't that intimidating. I assured daughter that I was not going to embarrass her, we'd sit on the other side of whatever restaurant they picked. But I had to be there. My parents meanwhile offered free use of their trailer to Brad. Said trailer is parked in their driveway under their bedroom window.
This is when my shit-meter started rising with Brad. He disappeared for two weeks and didn't resurface until my daughter changed her status to "single" on Facebook. He immediately reappeared with a tale of a horrific car accident that left him with two broken legs, a concussion, second and third degree burn, and a bunch of other injuries. A very convenient accident and an even more convenient reappearance. And, once again, I couldn't find a single mention of this horrific accident online in his local paper.
Thankfully daughter began to have some concerns of her own. Brad had been stocking shelves in a grocery store one day and working at a plastic factory the next. Then she looked at his Yahoo ID and realized he had a different last name on there. I promised to search up with I could and ask a friend to help me. I had daughter on one Facebook chat and friend on another. She's messaging me to see if we'd found anything and my friend's messages popped up. Thirty-six years old (as of last year)... 275lbs... married father... new baby. I'm relaying messages to daughter and consoling her at the same time.
Since then we've gone to the police, who aren't sure if there's anything they can do. She's over the legal age and talking, even if you're pretending to be a teenager, isn't illegal. The big concern is his interest in coming for a visit.
There's not much I can say to parents. You're totally hampered by what your kids want to hear. All you can do is be there and be ready to listen when they want to talk. As for the kids. Please, please trust your instincts. Don't assume nothing could ever happen to you. Don't assume that just because you've been talking to someone for ages, everything's obviously fine. This guy talked like a teenager. He acted like a teenager. Daughter had been texting him for year. He had a cellphone and she'd been talking to him. Never, ever meet someone for the first time alone. Thankfully my daughter could see no reason why he couldn't meet her with someone else there. Please don't be the one who does meet him because it would be fine to show up on your own. It can happen to you.
And here are my daughter's words: Daughter's blog
At the beginning daughter primarily chatted with Erik and he was the one who made my shit-meter skyrocket. The kid had enough drama in his life to fuel a dozen soap operas. His girlfriend was pregnant and abusive. She tied him down and burned him with a lit cigarette when he tried to break up with her. Then had a miscarriage. Then raped him and became pregnant again. He'd been living with his Dad and step-mother, who was pregnant with twin girls. His sister was also pregnant with a girl and due at the same time. Suddenly his Dad and step Mom couldn't deal with all the kids and the new babies so him and his sibling were off to his Mom's house to live. At least he got along with his step Dad. But wait. Mom's having an affair with her abusive ex-boyfriend who moved in at the same time as the kids.
The story continued through planted drugs, two beatings by the boyfriend (requiring hospitalization), going to juvenile detention (where he could apparently borrow phones and text for hours at a time)... and culminated with his Mom being beaten to death by her boyfriend, first giving birth at 18 weeks to a healthy baby girl while in a coma. Apparently the baby was taken home by the boyfriend since no one could prove the Mom hadn't fallen down the stairs a few times and accidentally killed herself. And his girlfriend gave birth to twins, also born months premature and fine. All babies went home after a few days. And, of course none of this ended up in the paper.
That was only some of the drama. I knew Erik was a liar. I knew most of the stories were false. I also knew daughter was no where near ready to hear that her wonderful online boyfriend was fake. Through it all she quietly chatted with Brad and slowly decided that he was the one she wanted to date. My first reaction was a sigh of relief. He lived in another country, unlike Erik who could hop on a Greyhound to visit, and I never heard any drama from him.
Brad had talked to daughter about how he wanted to come up to Canada to go to college, which didn't faze me at all. I didn't think either of them had thought of the logistics of him applying for school in another country. What concerned me more was his talk of coming down to visit for her birthday. These talks went on for months and I grew more concerned as summer grew closer. I flat out insisted on being there for the initial meeting and bringing a friend with me as my middle-aged 5ft 3in self isn't that intimidating. I assured daughter that I was not going to embarrass her, we'd sit on the other side of whatever restaurant they picked. But I had to be there. My parents meanwhile offered free use of their trailer to Brad. Said trailer is parked in their driveway under their bedroom window.
This is when my shit-meter started rising with Brad. He disappeared for two weeks and didn't resurface until my daughter changed her status to "single" on Facebook. He immediately reappeared with a tale of a horrific car accident that left him with two broken legs, a concussion, second and third degree burn, and a bunch of other injuries. A very convenient accident and an even more convenient reappearance. And, once again, I couldn't find a single mention of this horrific accident online in his local paper.
Thankfully daughter began to have some concerns of her own. Brad had been stocking shelves in a grocery store one day and working at a plastic factory the next. Then she looked at his Yahoo ID and realized he had a different last name on there. I promised to search up with I could and ask a friend to help me. I had daughter on one Facebook chat and friend on another. She's messaging me to see if we'd found anything and my friend's messages popped up. Thirty-six years old (as of last year)... 275lbs... married father... new baby. I'm relaying messages to daughter and consoling her at the same time.
Since then we've gone to the police, who aren't sure if there's anything they can do. She's over the legal age and talking, even if you're pretending to be a teenager, isn't illegal. The big concern is his interest in coming for a visit.
There's not much I can say to parents. You're totally hampered by what your kids want to hear. All you can do is be there and be ready to listen when they want to talk. As for the kids. Please, please trust your instincts. Don't assume nothing could ever happen to you. Don't assume that just because you've been talking to someone for ages, everything's obviously fine. This guy talked like a teenager. He acted like a teenager. Daughter had been texting him for year. He had a cellphone and she'd been talking to him. Never, ever meet someone for the first time alone. Thankfully my daughter could see no reason why he couldn't meet her with someone else there. Please don't be the one who does meet him because it would be fine to show up on your own. It can happen to you.
And here are my daughter's words: Daughter's blog
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