Maybe I should sue.

I ordered some replacement probiotics, and the bottle was broken when it arrived, an oblong shape protruding from its shoulder. When I tried to open it up, I accidentally cut my ring finger on the broken part. It's a weird, flappy cut right next to the nail. It bled a lot, and now I have to keep replacing the band-aid there, as it comes loose when I wash my hands, which I do quite frequently.

Annoying! I feel I should be compensated for my injury and inconvenience. Maybe a free bottle of probiotics? The things aren't cheap, and now I have to store the whole load of them in a plastic bag, rather than taking advantage of the special storage system with the dark colored glass/plastic that they bragged about on the label.

Maybe I'll email the company and ask. Or, maybe it's not really worth it.

Maybe I should adjust my new rule about school night commitments just for the awesomest things. Remember how I finally decided after 18 years in the teaching profession that I would no longer accept weeknight invitations during the months of Septemeber, October, January, February, or May? That's a really smart and self-preserving policy, based on my work experience.

However, if I had already enacted the policy this year, I would have missed something really cool.

Last night was May 4th, and I went to a storytelling event called "Listen to Your Mother." My friend Emily had attended several times, and she said I'd love it. What happens is people from the community audition, and then they tell their stories related to mothering in front of an audience.  Some of the stories were hilarious, and some were pretty sad. Some people talked about being moms, and other people talked about their own moms and mom figures.

The whole thing was really warm and community-building, and afterwards at the wine bar across the street, everyone was talking and making friends. I struck up several conversations in the long bathroom lines. "We should all audition for this next year," my friends and I decided.

And I kind of thought, well, maybe I'll start my own storytelling circle. Today's stories are going to be about teaching. Come on! Today's stories are about sports! Today it's about fear! You get the idea. I think I could find enough people to fill a room. Stories bring people together. Maybe we should write them and tell them.

Maybe I'm not done with running.

I haven't been running for the same reason I haven't done much of anything. It's because I'm working on the book project. But, sometimes, it's nice to be in a little bit better shape; so I've recently added running back to the to-do list.

I'm keeping the goals really reasonable. Basically, I just make myself do one weeknight workout and then two weekend workouts. That brings the total to three, which seems like a big accomplishment.

I'm feeling good about it. Feeling a little stronger. I'm not going to sign up for any races or anything like that. Gonna keep my eyes on the book prize and run a little bit sometimes for health reasons. Maybe throw in some squats and a couple of plank poses. Basics.

Maybe I won't give up on the blog.

I've been tempted. And, I've thought to myself, "It's been a good 13 years." Which is true. But, still, giving up on the blog is probably not the right thing to do. If I gave up on the blog, where would I store memories like the one that happened last week?

Luckily, for now, since I haven't given up on the blog, I can store it right here:

The story is that my car had to get fixed. It was going to be wicked expensive, but then I discovered I'd purchased a warranty. All it took to activate the warranty was six or seven calls from my attorney husband to the warranty company. The last call was a little heated, but he got the job done.

In the end, the warranty company paid $2000 for the water pump repair, which is apparently part of the powertrain.  I only had to pay $324 for some wiring issue, which was, sadly, not part of said powertrain.

Anyway, in all the hullaballoo, I got a loaner vehicle, a totally serviceable Ford Fusion, and I drove it for two days. Mac thought it was the fanciest car in the whole world. "Whoa," he said, on sliding into the back seat of the four-door, "this is a NICE car."

Shef and I exchanged glances and said things like, "Well, it's a Ford Fusion."

But Mac was undeterred. "No, I LOVE this car," he said, stroking the faux leather seats. "This is a sports car," he told us.

"It's a sedan," I agreed. No use fighting with him. I whacked at Shef when he opened his mouth to tell him that a Ford Fusion sedan was emphatically not a sports car. "Do you like riding in a sedan rather than a minivan or SUV?" I asked.

Turns out the answer is yes. Maybe we'll get a sedan next. Seems to make the kid happy, even if it doesn't totally fit the hockey equipment.

So, maybe the blog isn't dead.

Have you heard of the May Bee Challenge? It's on.

Well, I've become completely obsessed with the book project. This week, I forced myself to take a little time off to let the thing rest. My fingers have started feeling itchy from the lack of drafting.

I'm filling my time by writing a new book review (Rich and Pretty by Rumaan Alam), checking in here, and of course, doing my full-time paying job with the middle schoolers. I also called to schedule some overdue appointments and got my car serviced.

"When's the book getting published?" one class asked me today.

"Maybe never," I said, "but creative projects aren't always about the end result. "They're about the process of making the thing."

"You could always make your own book on the internet," one kid said. I appreciated that. I'll consider it when the time comes.

Anyway, I've noticed some side effects of becoming enveloped in a writing project. A big one is that I cannot just read a novel. Instead, I'm constantly thinking about the author's structure. Like, "What is the writer doing here? This is too much 'telling,' and yet, I'm still engaged. How did she make that happen? How is she working the transitions work between narrators? This plot has no action, and yet I can't stop reading. Why? Oh look, another commercial fiction story wrapped up in a bow at the ending! Where's the action on the first page of this one? Why am I bored right here?" And on and on. I guess this is reading like a writer? It's interesting, but it's also gotten a little out of hand.

As you know, I'm a life-long learner. Trying to write a book has been one big learning experience.

I've always wanted to write a book, and I think I thought deep down that because I've always had the desire and because I read quite a few books, I'd just know how to write one.

For better or worse, that hasn't been the case. I did not just intrinsically know how to write a book. I've had to study and research and take classes. I've made spreadsheets and storyboards and written lots and lots of drafts. This is making it seem like I'm done. I'm not done, but I've made progress.

I've also had feedback.

Sometimes feedback is tricky to digest, but I've gotten to the point where I look forward to it. Something I've learned recently via feedback is that I tend to be good at writing dialogue and less effective at writing setting.

I agree that this is true, and so right now I'm going to practice writing setting details about the inside of a school. It's an exercise that I just made up. Here's what a high school might look or smell or sound like:

• White-washed cinder block with bits of gray showing through in the places where the backs of metal chairs have rubbed the walls at the conclusion of each class period, the back row kids standing up so fast that their chairs slide out behind them.
• The fourth-period class that enters the room with a chill attached to their thick cotton sweatshirts, fresh from a non-sanctioned off-campus lunch.
• The earthy, sticky smell of a kid who thought he could go one more morning without a shower, his greasy, cheekbone-length hair pushed back from his hairline and then falling down in thick ribbons toward scattered stubble on his jaw.
• One hundred tattered copies of The Things They Carried stacked precariously on a side shelf, some spines facing out, others in,  the corners of covers and pages of the ones on top turned up like bumpers.
• A blue plastic trash emblazoned with the recycling icon, white papers variously crumpled, poking out from the top. A giant wad of wet pink gum spat in the middle of a recently graded test. The test was a B.
• A teacher unlocks her classroom door in the dark morning, the room stale smell - a mix of Cheetoh's and Old Spice - wafts up from the carpet. She flicks on the fluorescent lights and checks to make sure the plastic, industrial clock above her desk matches her watch.
• In the middle of reading Chapter 12 aloud to the class, the strobe light begins to pulse, followed quickly by a jarring blare, a high-pitched tone that made her molars ache. The students heads popped up, and she said calmly, "Fire drill. We're going out door 17. To your left." She watched each of the students file out, grabbed her laminated attendance list from the hook by the door, flipped off the lights, and entered the hallway. She stood, her back flattened against the door, as the students filed past, their faces reflecting a emotions ranging from glee to anxiety. "Is this real?" one asked her. She shook her head. In truth, she didn't know, but it probably wasn't. Finally, she joined the teachers who comprised the end of the throng. "Damn it," said one, "I was giving a test."

Well, the time has come to return to my paying job. It's been a lovely reprieve here on spring break, and I've accomplished plenty of tasks. Here are some highlights:

I'm sort of finished with the complete rough draft of my book project. In the last week of break, I forced myself to write 1000 words per day. I once again learned the lesson that writing begets writing, and by the end, cranking out the words wasn't totally excruciating. Except on the days that it was. When I say "sort-of finished," I mean that I still have to write some scenes, but very few compared with the number I've already written. Don't worry: I'm going to keep going.

I have supported Shef in the getting of his braces. Braces are mighty unpleasant. None of us like the braces. Shef especially doesn't. I think later, like in several years when his teeth are straight, we might all be grateful that we spent thousands of dollars on braces.

I spent time with many members of the family, and I was reasonably well behaved throughout. I hosted a family dinner, I met a cousin I'd never known before, I went on a whole vacation with my in-laws, I spent full days with my children and my dog. And there was almost no yelling.

I think we can all agree this was a successful spring break. I'm going to give it 5 of 5 stars. That's how good I think it was.