What is it about kids and tiny spaces? My three three-year-olds can have an entire downstairs, an entire yard, an entire playground to play in, but they all clump into the tiniest corner within inches of each other. Is it a triplet thing? Is it because that’s how they existed in my belly, all scrunched up together, elbowing for space? (Or kicking, for that matter—we actually watched on a sonogram screen as one of our identical babies repeatedly kicked the other in the head, presumably shouting into the primordial goo, “Move over! Stop touching me! Move over!”) This sono shot shows all three of their heads, ear to ear. Yes, I suppose that would set the stage for a life of clumping.* Read More…
Operation Facelift continues: I have re-relaunched the new & improved www.DeborahHalverson.com. Yes, you internet-savvy Americans (or wherever you hail from), thanks to the fine programmers of Dreamweaver 8, the optimistic authors of the 900-page tome “Dreamweaver for Dummies,” and the tireless patience of lifelong “pull Deborah from the flames of her own ineptitude” friend Theresa Stanton, Read More…
If I wasn’t so darn likeable, I could be really annoying. Just ask my triplet mom friends, who have been exposed to my particular ways of doing things for three years now. They’ve seen it all because when it comes to my offspring, I’m particularly particular. Read More…
The San Diego Children’s Book Festival is this Sunday, May 4, 10:00-4:30. It’s a free event for families and teens. I’ll be on the teen panel at 3:00 in the Library Community Room and signing HONK IF YOU HATE ME afterward. Other authors and illustrators there will include David Shannon, Gerald McDermott, Janell Cannon, Bruce Hale, and Kadir Nelson; they will be doing readings and signings. There will also be a continuous story time, magic, games, music, crafts, food, and drink. This is San Diego’s first book fest, and we’re hoping it’ll be a success. San Diegans, come on by. And spread the word! Read More…
It’s true that writers must suffer for their art. Take me, for instance. Since I’ve become a writer, I’ve had to see how many hot dogs I could eat in an hour and then write about how I felt (nauseous), eat as much of the world’s biggest Cold Stone hot fudge sundae as I could and then write about how I felt (nauseous), and watch other people stuff hot dogs into their mouths at the rate of 5.5 a minute and then write about how I felt (nauseous). It follows, of course, that when I did finally vent that nausea, I wrote about that, too. Seriously. Just read the opening chapter of BIG MOUTH when it pubs in June and you’ll see where my ralphing came in handy. I believe actors call this kind of “becoming your art” The Method. In writing, it’s called The Puking Pen. At least by me it is.
Last week I had to suffer for my art yet again. Read More…
Musicians write songs about the strangest things. Loudon Wainwright’s “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road,” for instance. Or “Milkshake,” by Kelis. I find this phenomenon sad and wonderful at the same time. One of my favorite groups is, after all, They Might Be Giants, and those guys crank out some deliciously strange stuff. “Purple Toupe”, “Snail Shell,” “Exquisite Dead Guy.” If you don’t know TMBG, check them out; your world will be better for it. Don’t dawdle too long with the “Milkshake” lady, though—her song is just painful. And it might ruin milkshakes for you.
Comedian Dana Carvey has a great spoof about rock’n’roll lyrics in his brilliant ditty “Choppin’ Broccoli.” But the song I’m about to share with you is no joke. Read More…
Update: The “new” www.DeborahHalverson.com website is back in the shop for repairs. The old one is up and running as before.
My website just got a new look! After a few months of tinkering in my “spare time” (and desperately thumbing through a 900-page “Dreamweaver for Dummies” book), I have revamped and now relaunched my main website, www.DeborahHalverson.com. Check it out and let me know what you think. Do keep in mind, though, Read More…
Hello to the gang at Bishop Gorman High School in Las Vegas! We just spent a day together, with another ahead of us tomorrow, and I’m totally jazzed. Your questions and enthusiasm about HONK IF YOU HATE ME and BIG MOUTH have been nothing short of super. And your input so far for Novel #3 has been incredibly useful. Note to myself: Self, visit a school in EVERY city you choose to set a story! Truly, you’ve given me the skinny on a side of Vegas I would otherwise never know. I can’t wait to get to work revising the novel. But it’ll have to wait, because tonight I’m going to see Trent Carlini’s Elvis Tribute show. Read More…
Welcome to Rock Day, the day set aside by the Halverson Clan to do everything “rock.” We kicked off the festivities this morning over bowls of Cheerios. Taking out a large purple Sharpie, I wrote R-O-C-K on an index card. “Today is Rock Day,” I announced. The boys didn’t care or they didn’t hear; they were too busy marveling at the uncanny resemblance of the 2nd letter on the card to the cereal in their bowls. Read More…
When my triplets were but gleams in their father’s eye, I swore I’d stab a red pencil into my own eye before I’d let any offspring of mine watch “The Wiggles.” The first I heard of those animated men was at Margaret Chodos-Irvine’s book signing at San Diego’s Yellow Book Road. While Margaret spoke to a group of kindergarteners, I spun a rack of paperbacks. It stopped at a row of Wiggles books. 
It was a jarring moment. “Who are they?” I asked the marketing lady next to me. “The Wiggles. You don’t know them?” “No. Thank God.” I’ve since caught glimpses of Wiggles videos showing them in action and I swear, Read More…
Reason #1,081,003 to love my sons: their unfailing joie de vivre. Even a morning with psycho hormonal mom can’t snuff it.
Normally, an afternoon at the dentist is my excuse for a nap. I often doze during a teeth cleaning, and once—when my triplets were barely a month old—I even started snoring. The kind hygienist actually stopped working and let me sleep for half an hour. So it was strange for me to go into the hygiene chair feeling tense today. But how else does one go into a one-hour dental appointment when she’s got her three-year-old triplets in tow? Read More…
Three-year-old triplets and PMS are a highly combustible combination. On days like this, I’m not sure who I feel more sorry for, the boys or myself. The normal rambunctiousness, busy-bee underfoot shenanigans, and nonstop demands of three little boys who each expect immediate attention are pummeling me at a time when all I want is to be by myself. I have no tolerance for human beings of any age or size today, let alone three three-foot-tall three-year-olds. Do you know what I’m talking about, moms? When Aunt Flo comes a visitin’, children should scatter, right? The thing is, my children are not old enough to have learned this yet. I know it, though. If I could call in sick, I would. But I am a work-at-home mom, and my job is to suck it up and plow forward.
Or not. Read More…
Imagine, if you will, the faces of the passengers on our plane to England when we stroll on board with three three-year-old boys. I’ve been thinking a lot about that . . . and laughing. Do I have a cruel streak? Perhaps. Read More…
The Halversons are moving to England! That’s right, come summer, we’re packing up our three-year-old triplets and one grandma and hopping over the pond to live in the United Kingdom for the coming academic year. My husband got a match with the Fulbright teacher exchange program, which has him trading jobs with a British science teacher. Since my jobs of writing and freelance editing can be done from anywhere thanks to the Internet, off we go! Read More…