Yesterday I opened the door between the kitchen and garage to get something from the fridge out there, and sensed the presence of an intruder a split second before I heard him. And then all at once, I heard and saw wings flapping – wings belonging to a bird in distress who had flown into the garage but couldn’t quite find an escape route.

Naturally, I screeched like a little girl and slammed the door shut as if I was in danger. No one else was around, but I’m pretty sure I mumbled to myself about how creepy the whole experience had been, too.

And then I went about my usual business of walking in circles around the house picking up clutter and piles and trying to make it all go away. When I came upon some paperwork that needed shredding, I began to head to the garage.

Wings fluttering, screeching, door slamming. Kind of like lather, rinse, repeat. Talk about being on autopilot.

When it was time to leave for a family outing to the pool, the poor bird was still trapped in the garage. I told the Mr. it was time for him to intervene. He armed himself with two lacrosse sticks and a nerf gun thing and started swatting away at the bird trying to show him the way out. Our garage is a disaster — I’m telling you, only an animal with a bird brain would want to spend any time in there at all.

Every time the Mr. got the bird to come out of hiding, it would fly right back up above the open garage door, close to the rafters. The kids and I were watching the whole show from the minivan, which was parked in the driveway. It was quite entertaining.

Finally, the Mr. decided to close the garage door partially. As he did so, we watched big old globs of bird poop fall down onto the driveway. It was quite educational, as the excrement was much more “poop-like” than “guano-like.” I don’t want to get too descriptive, but it was darker and more formed than we expected. So it was educational AND disgusting, which made for lots of discussion and laughter in the minivan.

The garage door was then down far enough to prevent us from seeing what was going on, but we could still hear the ruckus in the garage. At some point, our son heard the Mr. say, “I got him!”

And then it was silent. Finally, I wondered, “Do you think he got him alive or……”

“Not so much?” our daughter added, kindly completing my question for me.

After that, we heard a little more ruckus, confirming that the bird was still alive — and then, finally, we saw the bird fly out of the small opening in the garage door and head to the open skies.

This morning, I hosed down the door and decided I was thankful that the bird was hanging out up there where the poop would be collected. Of course, it’s possible that there’s some other presents in the garage somewhere….but we’re hoping that is not the case.

Why are birds infinitely more creepy in a confined space than they are in the great outdoors?

I have documented here before that although I go by the name Turningreen and promote healthy green living, complete with farm fresh organic produce…..I do not possess green thumbs. Not even one.

Last year, at the end of the school year, I was given a living plant that had beautiful red flowers on it. It was to thank me for my time volunteering to teach the kids about the environment. It was a thoughtful and appropriate gift, but unbeknownst to the gifters – doomed from the start.

I kept it in our sunroom and watched it’s pretty flowers flourish and then whither away and die. (It was some kind of lily, but for the life of me I cannot remember the specific type.) My mom came to the rescue and suggested I move the plant outside so it would have a chance of catching some rain water on occasion. (I’m not known for remembering to water plants. It’s much easier to remember to water things that whine, like children.) The plant was placed on the deck, where it was exposed to the elements of the summer, fall, and winter. At some point it became just a pot of dried up soil, with no plant evident.

Until last month – when it was back, baby! I paid it so little attention that it was as if the plant sprouted in its entirety overnight. It was green and leafy and looked to be healthy, despite my complete and total lack of attention.

I was so proud that I transplanted it into a more permanent pot and placed it prominently in the front yard, right in the middle of the very large, very barren flower bed in which I was procrastinating planting anything.  I figured the plant would soon have pretty red flowers to distract from the large mulchy barren space around it.

But, no. The large population of Bubble bunnies decided to have it for lunch instead. When I got back from a weekend at the beach — this is what I found:

Couldn’t the rabbits have just eaten it as it was growing in the disposable pot out back? Why did they have to wait until just after I had decided to take credit for the life of this plant? And why did they eat my single potted plant, but not the line of plants of the exact same variety in my neighbor’s flower bed?

Just as I was getting over this bunny attack, something amazing started to happen. The one perennial that I planted in this large barren bed, a variety of lantana that attracts beautiful butterflies, began to come back! I could not believe my eyes! The previous year, they did not come back, so I had to buy new ones. This time, there were three of them, and they were all growing with healthy green leaves and I began to think that I did in fact have a little bit of the green thumb going.

Fast forward to this past Monday. It had rained, and the flower bed was quite muddy. The kids and I were on our way out to swim practice, when I found our 10 year old daughter standing in the mud, kicking mulch around her. As I complained about her stepping in the flower bed and getting muddy, she pointed out that the plants were gone. Not nibbled, not damaged, but GONE.

“What?!? Did the bunnies dig up the roots and everything?”

Our daughter giggled. I did not find it funny and was all sorts of grumpy.

The next morning, I ranted and raved about it to the Mr. “And wouldn’t you know those damned bunnies dug the plants out by their roots and completely took them away?” To which he responded, “No, I did it.”

“Are you KIDDING me?!?!? Where are they? Can you get them back?”

He was “weeding” the flower bed and pulled up my lantana. He went into the garage, and produced the three plants that he had uprooted.

You should have seen the tangle of roots on those suckers.

“You pulled up something with that kind of root system and didn’t stop to think it might be a plant?”

He said he did not. And then he laughed and put them on top of the flower bed.

Later that morning, I managed to replant two of the three lantana. One still has leaves and one does not.

I do not think they will grow. I essentially dug a wide(ish) hole and jammed the roots in without too much finesse. So maybe I don’t have that green thumb, after all. But even if I did — would it protect me in the fight against the garden thieves….both four- and two-legged?!?!? I think not, dear readers….I think not.

The Turningreens were busy, busy this weekend. We had a lot going on, but thankfully the schedule worked out so that we only had to be in roughly one place at a time. That’s always nice.

We bookended the weekend with visits to our favorite local food festival – Friday night relaxing with friends, and Sunday night for a no nonsense trip to acquire take out dinner. By the time we sat down to that dinner, mama needed a stiff drink. You wouldn’t think that just driving from event to event and mostly just sitting there during the events would be stressful…..but for some reason it weighed on me by the end of the weekend. Too much structure and sitting still, I guess. Luckily, a cocktail with dinner, a quiet evening in front of the TV, and a high energy morning workout have calmed me. I’m sure the kids will appreciate that. Last night, I was standing in a prime location between the kitchen and family room, barking out orders and filling in the gaps by telling them just how many chores they were going to have this summer and how I was going to stand right in that very spot and “drill sergeant them” as much as it takes. (!!) Our son wanted to know what that meant, but my way of answering was to continue ordering him. It worked – the kitchen table got cleared of all the stuff dumped on it during the crazy weekend…..and it didn’t just get moved to the next available surface.

Why were we so busy? Two triathalons – the boy and the Mr. – which both went swimmingly. (Pun intended.) Two lacrosse games – one on Saturday (won) and one on Sunday (lost). One music recital with three family performances – two solid piano pieces and one little drummer girl who brought down the house.  One swim team event – only an hour long, but filled with reminders of just how much the swim season will be taking over our lives beginning today. One birthday party – attended by our son at the local mall, which provided me and our daughter with a good excuse to shop for 90 minutes.

Is that it? Yes, I think so. Plus some work on a school project and a meeting after school on Friday for me and the kids.

Whew.

I am enjoying some serenity at home today, doing laundry and planning a menu for the week which will be a) portable b) farm share friendly and c) tasty. As I mentioned, swim team starts today. Back to back one hour practices for the kids every day, beginning at 5:30pm. Not so convenient for dinner time. Some of the vegetables that need to be used this week: swiss chard, kohlrabi, asparagus, rhubarb, snap peas, lettuce, lettuce, and more lettuce. So far, I have decided on a potato and swiss chard pie and a kohlrabi slaw. Still working on ideas for the rest of it.

Here’s something I thought about while sitting on the sidelines this weekend. The Mr. has spent many hours over the years volunteering as a coach for our kids’ sports teams. I have spent many more hours volunteering in various capacities for all things school related. Almost without fail, at the end of every season, he is given a generous gift card as a thank you from his team for his time. He is a great coach and totally deserves this recognition. But it struck me that I have not had a parallel experience for my hours of volunteerism. Sure, I have gotten a few plants and other “token” type gifts, usually from a teacher and personalized by a group of kids. Don’t get me wrong, I love these gifts. (Well, honestly, not the plants. I just end up feeling bad when they die at my hands.) 

Why do coaches get “paid” for their time and school volunteers get a token of appreciation? Is it because our culture values sports so highly? Is it because men typically coach and women typically help at school — and society says men would otherwise be “employed” while women would otherwise be “home”? Is it because moms on the sidelines organize gifts for coaches while moms whose kids are in school groups are busy doing their own volunteering and don’t have time to collect money for gifts for one another? It’s probably a combination of these factors.

This time around, the coach’s gift was a gift card to the mall. How many of the (man) coaches will spend those gift cards on themselves and how many have had it spent on their families before they even put it in their wallets? After the 90 minute mall excursion that our daughter and I took during the birthday party on Saturday…..I’ll just consider myself paid. 

(Although, really, only our daughter got stuff. Darn kids.)

I have a weird headache that keeps making me think that I should take my glasses off the top of my head — but they’re not there. It also kind of feels like glasses are pressing down too hard on my nose….but my glasses are on the table next to me. I guess this is the lingering effect of the two 40 minute school bus rides I took earlier today with a gaggle of 8 year olds. They were well behaved, but it’s noisy on a bus even under the best circumstances – especially when it is hot and humid outside and you’re riding on the interstate with the windows open.

The weather forecast was for rain, so I was wearing jeans tucked into some black rain boots, with a rain jacket tied around my waist. This turned out to be not the best wardrobe for a sunny, humid day – but how was I to be sure the weather forecasters would get it wrong again?

The kids mostly kept busy on the bus by reading books, which was admirable and kept the noise level down. (Except for the boy behind me who kept trying to lick his seat mates - which included my own child - in between pages of his Pokemon book and therefore caused a lot of squealing and squirming.) I kept pretty busy reading things on my phone, including Xanga blogs. On the ride home, I tired of the tiny phone screen and asked my son if I could read his school journal, which he had brought along on the bus. Reading his letters to Rick Riordan and J.K. Rowling (his favorite authors) and his principal (“When classes go on a field trip do you have to tell the owners of the place that they are coming?”), along with his poetry and similes (“I wish I was as smart as an ape.”), was so enjoyable that I tried to continue even when I began to get nauseous.

Don’t worry, I didn’t yack on the bus. But it did take a good hour to feel normal again after getting back on solid ground. Whew!

We visited one of the first British settlements in Virginia, a place we had visited before as a family. Some, but not all, of the tour guides were in period costumes and personas. It was kind of weird to be handed off from the very authentically corporal Sergeant at Arms in the settlers village to the hippy-esque girl with ribbons in her hair wearing a rocker t-shirt in the Indian village, but the kids didn’t seem to notice. They loved being barked at by the Sergeant, and didn’t listen quite as well to the girl who started every sentence with, “Guys!” They came dangerously close to crashing from too-early-snack-time while trying to listen to a long presentation in a settler household, and then nearly uncaged the farm animals when they were finally let loose from the confined primitive kitchen space.

All in all, it was a nice day and I’m glad I got to chaperone. I only had 6 kids to keep tabs on and we traveled in a bigger pack that included 2 other parents and 2 teachers. Easy peasy. Not like the 1st grade trip to the zoo I did 3 years ago, where the 6 kids ran frantically in 6 directions from one habitat to the other, spilling cups of animal feed. I was sure I would lose a kid on that trip. Thankfully, I was able to follow the trails of animal food before anyone got too lost.

Field trip season is over for this year – on to the next round of events…..music recitals  – drums, piano, and recorder (my personal favorite ). Think that weird ghost-glasses-on-the-head headache will go away anytime soon?!?

Yesterday, I stopped at a shoe store to find a replacement for a well loved pair of shoes. I have had them for about 3 years and use them for my more “rugged” outings (my family members are laughing at that use of “rugged,” for sure), so they have worn out on the faster side.  I wanted the same brand and a similar style. They had ONE pair of exactly what I wanted, in MY size on the CLEARANCE rack. Boo-yah! When does that ever happen? And do you want to hear the best part? I also happened to have a coupon in my purse for a free tote bag with purchase of $30, which I spent a tad more than on my new kicks. Do I need the new bag? Probably not, but it’s freeeeeeeeeeee! Nice.

This morning I went for a run, using an app on my phone that tells me my distance, pace, etc. (I have detailed on the blog before that I am perhaps the most high maintenance runner who ever existed. I own my crazy, if nothing else.) Anyway, that sucker was all out of whack today. I had definitely not gone a mile when the automated voice congratulated me on my less-than-10-minute mile, part of which I had walked as a warm up. I was wondering what my automated running coach was up to on this fine morning. Trickery to get me to run more? Or faster? I tried to ignore her, because I have run this very basic route before, many times. But part of me wanted to believe the awesome stats she was throwing my way. In retrospect, I’m wondering if she has been lying to me for months, and I haven’t been running as far or as fast as I think I have. However, using my other skills – such as common sense and reading a watch – I do believe she has just started to fail me now. Must be time for an update in the app store. So, as I was running and listening to my tunes, I was also thinking all these wackadoo thoughts about my running app. Which is perhaps why I nearly screamed in terror when a gardener stepped out of the bushes across from the elementary school.

There was a very large, obvious truck parked on the side of the road, with a big tarp of mulch behind it.  There was rustling in the bushes. I should have realized someone was working in there. But all of a sudden, two hands filled with mulch protruded onto the sidewalk in front of me, and as my hand went to my heart in a dramatic response, the rest of the man’s body stepped onto the sidewalk beside me. I laughed as he apologized, and his co-worker got a huge kick out of the whole scene, laughing more at the other guy than at me. At least that’s the version I’m telling. I think he said something like, “Hey! You got one!” (I do not blame the mulch guys for wanting to mess with the suburbanites out exercising in all our high maintenance glory.)

I can’t tell you how many times I hear, “I saw you running!” these days. Maybe now someone will say, “I saw you nearly have a heart attack when the mulch guy came out of the bushes!” Variety is the spice of life, you know.

Right now, I am suffering from a case of yard sale denial. We are supposed to be participating in the community yard sale tomorrow, but I have done pretty much nothing to prepare. We did the one in the fall and made some decent cash, so we were planning to skip this one. But now that our garage is so messy that it includes everything AND the (old) kitchen sink, it seems like a wise choice to drag some of the crap onto the driveway and see who wants it. I may even be willing to pay the customers to get them to haul stuff out of the garage. Do you think that’s a sound business plan?

I just finished eating lunch in our sunroom. The foliage in the yard has come along enough that I cannot tell from here which adjacent yard is having some work done on its deck. I keep hearing power tools and wood and screws and such, but I see nothing around me. Am I going insane? One would think the noise would be coming from the (scaled back) farm in the yard behind us, but I don’t think it is. Hmmm. Also, birds keep flying into the closed windows of this room. This is definitely not a testament to my window cleaning skills, by the way.  I’m thinking that there may be a tendency toward bird suicide in the area. Maybe they just can’t take the pressures of being a bird in the Bubble.

On that note….later, gators. Have a great Mother’s Day if you’re a mother, which most of you are. I know my audience. 

So have you seen the picture on the cover of Time Magazine, with the no-longer-a-baby aged kid being breastfed by his thin, attractive, blonde mom? Of course you have, because it’s EVERYWHERE online. I didn’t watch the news tonight, because I rarely watch the news with our kids around, and they seem to always be around. But if I had watched the news, I bet I would have seen the magazine cover there and heard more about the shock factor.

It is a shocking photo – duh, they want to sell magazines.

I know the article is about attachment parenting, but I can’t find the article online to actually read it. From what I can tell, you need a Time subscription to read it there, and I don’t have one. Did all the other people who commented on the photo pay to read the article? Or are they more cyber savvy than I and manage to find free access to read it? Or did they (horrors!) not read the article at all and just comment on the cover?

Eh, who cares. I only feel like I want to read the article because I want to know if I need to be on the offensive, ready to be attacked by anyone. There’s a war on women, you know, in case you hadn’t heard. And thanks to Mrs. Romney, we SAHMs have been taking it on the chin a bit. So when I see the tag line under the photo on Time says, “Are You Mom Enough?” — I get suspicious as to whether or not I’m being mocked or attacked or judged.

HAHAHAHA! Of course I am. That’s what women do to each other. We don’t need a magazine cover to get us going. Silly Time Warner.

The real reason I bring up this magazine cover is because a guy I know from college, a guy with a very odd sense of humor, decided to alter the photo today on his Facebook page. He pasted the face of a mutual friend from college (very poorly) onto the nursing child’s body and made some lame joke about this being how the guy keeps his youthful appearance. Stupid, not worth my comment. But he tagged me in the photo. WHAT? So now everyone who I’m friends with sees this creepy picture of my now-a-dentist college friend suckling on this blonde babe of a mom and sees my name associated with it? Gross.

I untagged myself, because apparently my Google skills are good enough to figure that one out.

(I know @ordinarybutloud is now mumbling about how Facebook is the devil, so let’s pause for a minute so she can get that out of her system.)

There. That’s better.

It’s really not that big of a deal, but it made me mad to have someone else trying to mess with my Facebook persona, which is carefully constructed, I might add. If you were to spend some time on my FB page, you would get inklings of my political leanings and causes that I support. But I’m not in-your-face about it, because you know what I always say – keep it light and fluffy on the devil FB. That picture did not really scream light and fluffy, what with the middle aged man face and all. Maybe I should go post a picture of a teddy bear or something, to restore the fluffiness.

Last night, as I was falling asleep, I had a great idea for the blog. It was a great topic, and I even came up with a catchy title for the entry. (I’ll wait while you glance up above to re-read the title, since you’re thinking, “Huh, I don’t remember an eye grabbing title.”) 

I can’t remember anything about the topic or the title. Nothing.

So instead, let me regale you with a bit of a dream I had this morning. I know it was morning, because our daughter came in to wake me up just as I was getting to a crucial part of the dream. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

My dreams are usually long, meandering epics that are never scary, sometimes funny, and often quite bizarre. I recently mentioned in a comment on my friend @ordinarybutloud ‘s site that I even tend to retell myself the dream before I wake up, in an effort to force my subconscious to remember it after I’ve awakened. While this is an impressive bit of overachievement by my subconscious, alas, it rarely works.

The first part of this particular dream that I remember involves me walking down the street. It was a leisurely stroll, and then I guess I decided to spice it up by levitating a few feet above the ground. Just my luck, as soon as I decided to levitate, the small green dinosaur that was walking by on the other side of the street decided to turn back and confront me. I was calm, because I had encountered this type of dinosaur in the neighborhood before, and they were usually friendly.

Luckily, I was of sound enough mind to realize that the increasingly agitated and aggressive dinosaur was only upset because I was levitating. So I simply returned to the ground, and the dinosaur not only retreated, but tucked his tail between his legs and turned his eyes to the side while bowing his head in submission to the non-levitating human.

When I got back to my house, I decided to sit in a mostly realistic version of our family room and watch “The Price is Right,” a show I never watch in reality and find to be as annoying as fingernails on a chalkboard. But on this dreamy occasion, it was my post-levitating walk entertainment of choice.

As soon as I settled in for some quality time with the show (not sure if it was hosted by Bob Barker or Drew Carey), I was interrupted by someone making noise in our sunroom. Just as I looked up, two teenagers began to unlock the sliding glass door leading to the family room (a door that does not exist in reality), and I started saying, “Uh, excuse me! I’m here you know!”

I got up and walked into the sunroom, which was suddenly filled with a large group of kids who were all drunk and acting rowdy. I walked out on the much-bigger-than-in-reality deck, and found a few stragglers who were not just drunk, but also smoking cigarettes. 

I demanded that they all come into my house. It was a bit like herding cats, but I eventually got them all in and locked them in somehow. Oh, and also one of the ladies from the PTA Executive Committee, who just happened to be working at a laptop in my yard and got scared when I started yelling about how everyone needed to come inside “right this minute”!

Once they were inside, I asked the kids how old they were. As they were pacing drunkenly around my house, I said, “You’re in 6th grade, aren’t you?” They had looked older on the porch, but looked much younger and more innocent once inside. One of the girls nodded in agreement — 6th graders.

I was about to do something about all this drunken breaking in at my house. But then, I heard, “Mommy? Mommy? Can you come downstairs now?”

I was awakened by our daughter.

Was I going to call the cops? Or call their parents? Was the dinosaur going to return? Would I have levitated some more? And where did the PTA lady go? Was she upstairs snooping in my messy closets?

What would you do if you found a group of drunken kids who morphed from teenagers into middle schoolers breaking into your house while you were watching a lame game show?

Today was Field Day at the kids’ school. It was a very hot day, and I’ve been around the block a few times…..so I was smart enough to pass on the outdoor morning activities this year. Like everything else at school these days, parents are encouraged to participate. Unlike most other things, though, they don’t really ask parents to contribute any supplies or volunteer time on Field Day, so that’s a nice change of pace. Lunch is eaten in the classrooms (or outside when it’s not sweltering) and many parents head up to school to eat with their kids.

This year, I asked the kids if they wanted to buy the bagged lunch sold through the cafeteria. That was a negative, times two. It seems that last year our daughter ordered a hot dog in her lunch, and it was served frozen on a soggy bun. (GAG) My next question was, “Do you want me to eat lunch with you?” Our son said yes right away, but his sister gave me a sort of non-committal head wag/shoulder shrug combo. “Let me rephrase that — do you want me to bring you something to eat for lunch?” That got a big nod, especially once I mentioned sandwiches from Subway. So, in case you’re not clear – she doesn’t want my company, but she does want whatever food I might be delivering.

Truth be told, that was just fine, because they were both eating at the same time and I can only be in one classroom at a time. What I didn’t expect was the reception I got from the 4th grader when I hand delivered her Subway sandwich, bag of Sun Chips, Honest Kids berry drink, and fun sized Skittles bag. Her classroom was dark, as they were cooling off from the heat while watching a movie in the room. I snuck in and she darted out of her seat when she spotted me. As I leaned in to whisper a hello, she must have thought I was going to give her a — wait for it — KISS! Naturally, her embarrassment level immediately went to DEFCON 1, and she sort of nudged me toward the door as she took the bag of food and scurried back to her seat. Wow. She’s lucky she mumbled a thank you as she sprinted away from me or I would have broken into a dance right then and there and made sure everyone knew I was HER mom!!!

My ego was soothed when our son gave me a kiss on the lips right in front of all the other little 2nd grade boys and invited me to sit on the carpet and eat lunch with him and his buddies. He wanted me to stay for the afternoon activities, and since they were inside in the air conditioning, I obliged. He also invited me to dance with him right there in the cafeteria, in front of his entire grade level. I was the only parent who got up there and did it, and I loved every minute of it.  If my daughter had walked by, I would have gotten down on the floor and done some sort of break dancing solo while screaming her name at the top of my lungs.  Lucky for her, she was in another part of the building then.

Now that they are home from school, they are both having idyllic childhood afternoons. Our son’s best friend came over to play in his room, away from the heat. There, they discovered some old plywood from a school Tae-Kwon-Do exhibition. They proceeded to break those boards into little shards of wood all over our front porch in a glorious display of boy power and prowess.  And then they cleaned up, using an elaborate system that involved one kid holding a stack of wood shards while the other quickly opened the big garbage dumpster lid, and then both kids holding their breath and running away for precisely 5 seconds while the air cleared. They repeated this until all shards were trashed. Now they are swinging together in the neighbor’s yard while listening to their respective iPods. I wonder if they are each singing their own tune? My guess is yes, but I can’t hear them from here. That’s probably a good thing!

Our daughter had some down time to clean up and recuperate from hotter than hot Field Day. Her favorite part was “the part where we got to be inside.” Yup, that’s my girl. Now she is down the street at a friend’s house for an American Girl party. She has never been to a party like this before, and her friend put it together “just because” – it’s not her birthday or anything. The small group of girls are all 10 and 11 and have loved AGs for years. They are quickly approaching the age where they will outgrow them, so it is so sweet to know that they are gathered today making crafts and “tea cakes” for their dolls. So few girls are interested in dolls at that age anymore. Everyone is in such a rush to grow up, so I am more than happy to have a girl who is equal parts mature and innocent.

See what nice things I say about her, even though she finds me hideously embarrassing?!?! It’s much more fun to embarrass them on purpose than it is to do so without even trying.

What do you do to embarrass your kids? 

Recently I wrote about a string of Young Adult novels I’d been reading. The “Hunger Games” trilogy was captivating and “The Book Thief” was moving and beautifully written. I pushed my luck a little too far when I decided to read “The Future of Us,” about a couple of high school kids in 1996 who log onto AOL and somehow end up on their own Facebook pages 15 years in the future.

I know I read multiple favorable reviews of this book, but I can’t remember where. I wish I knew, because I’d have to doubt future reviews from those sources. Unlike with the other YA books I read, the entire time I was reading this one I was painfully aware that I was about 25 years older than the intended audience. The language was bland, the character motivations were juvenile, and the whole thing was a snooze. Yes, I just criticized a book for teenagers by calling it juvenile from my ripe old age of 40. So sue me.

About a year ago, I led a lunchtime reading group in our daughter’s classroom. We read a book called, “11 Birthdays,” by Wendy Mass. That book was all about a girl who keeps waking up over and over on her 11th birthday, Groundhog Day style. As the book goes on, she and her former best friend (a boy who happens to have the same birthday) realize that they are both reliving the same day but no one else knows it. They eventually figure out the magic that allowed this to happen and what they need to do to break the spell and get on with their lives.

“The Future of Us” reminded me a lot of “11 Birthdays,” but was less interesting. The girl with the AOL account confides in only her former-best-friend-who’s-a-boy when she discovers her future Facebook page. The two of them live through a week trying simultaneously to alter the future (her) and carefully avoid doing so (him). Ultimately, we find out nothing about their real futures or how they virtually time traveled 15 years ahead on the internet. And frankly, we don’t really care. 

Yeah, so you can go ahead and cross that one of your list of teeny bopper books to read. You’re welcome.

My next novel is for adults, so I’m hoping it won’t be so juvenile.