For weeks now, my sister has been emailing me news links and photos of the Missouri River escaping its banks upstream of my hometown in Iowa. Everyone back home just keeps saying it: The flood is coming. The flood is coming.

The road to home is starting to close. Parts of I-29 between Kansas City and Omaha will be shut down if necessary. The levees in Hamburg, Iowa were breached yesterday. Amtrack stopped the trains through Iowa yesterday.

It's not rain. It's earlier rain, and release rates from upstream dams. I asked Pa what it all meant, what caused it, and he started talking about the Army Corps of Engineers and planned releases from dams and cubic feet per second of water twice to three times the normal amount due to early rain and significantly higher snowmelt in Montana. None of it made much sense to me.

Here's how the Corps of Engineers explained cubic feet:

A cubic foot of water can be compared to the size of a basketball, Jacobson said. On Wednesday, the Missouri River was 21.8 feet at Boonville, half a foot above flood stage, and was flowing at 166,000 cubic feet per second. Imagine watching 166,000 basketballs fly by every second, as Jacobson explains it. The Corps' forecast doubles that by the middle of the month.

Farmers are going to lose entire crops. Insurance won't cover the entire loss, not by a long shot. Hamburg pretty much needs to move its entire town. Businesses shut down, houses under water.

Sometimes I wonder if it's better to get hit out of the clear blue sky, like with a tornado, or whether it's better to have weeks and months to plan, like this flood.

I'm glad my family was able to move some stored crops out of the way so perhaps those won't be lost. I'm glad people are able to evacuate. But there's also the psychological impact of knowing the water is coming and there's really nothing you can do about it. The cubic feet per second are just too great.

Here in Kansas City, Parkville is the community most affected by the river. They're planning to hold back the river with tarp and sandbags. We've always groused Kansas City doesn't make enough of its riverfront, but maybe in this case that's a good thing.

Warning, no warning: Loss is loss. Maybe knowing in advance doesn't mean a thing if you're going to lose it all, anyway.

I asked Pa if there was going to be a blame game, and he said there always is with these sorts of things, but I think this one may be just too many cubic feet of water per second. Too much rain. Too much snowmelt.

The weather is changing, and the days in which we benefited from living by the river may have floated away with yesterday's barges and canoes.

The other night, the little angel wanted ice cream. We hauled out some sort of chocolate brownie something from Blue Bunny.

"No," she said. "The brownies taste bad in that ice cream."

"Well, then we should call them and tell them that."

Her mouth dropped open.

"Seriously, that's what you do when you're not satisfied with a product."

So we looked up the 800 number on the package and called them.

Beloved introduced himself.

"We have a problem. My daughter and I like to buy your ice cream, in many flavors, but she is REJECTING the brownie chocolate ice cream."

He took a deep breath.

"She says the brownies taste bad."

"That's the problem. We have a large carton of this ice cream, but the brownies don't taste good."

And then he hung up and we had a good laugh.

Imagine my surprise when at nine the next morning, the phone rang. Area code: 712. Wells HQ, on the phone.

The woman was very pleasant. She asked for the lot number and some other information from the bottom of the carton. "It's possible there was something wrong with the brownies," she said finally, taking the entire situation very seriously. "Would you like a coupon so your daughter can try a different flavor?"

Of course we would like a coupon.

When the little angel got home yesterday after a very exciting day at summer camp, I told her about the call and the coupon.

"See?" I said. "That's how it works."

Usually.

Well played, Le Mars, Iowa. 

I've often told my daughter that I try so hard not to rush, because I've noticed that rushing is one of the only things 100% guaranteed to make me yell. Anything else is a crapshoot, but rushing = yelling for me, unfortunately. I HATE TO RUSH. And I have a seven-year-old who moves at the speed of an ant.

This hatred of rushing is a real problem, since I work with the Internets and you can literally hack at the list all day and never ever ever get done. So why do I try to do just one more thing when I know I need to leave right away? It just grows back. Just like the grass in my lawn. That grows back every three days and takes an hour and a half to mow.

Wow, sorry. Got distracted there.

Imagine my amusement when my girl handed me a story she wrote recently about a mouse family.

Well, at least the mouse family never rushed.

He left quickly this morning, balancing coffee cups and keys. The little angel and I had been squabbling -- she shrieked when I brushed her hair, I yelped when she accidentally stomped on my bare toes in her new tennis shoes. Beloved sighed and disappeared out the door.

The little angel stomped over to an old wooden chair I'd taken from my parents' house. It made a familiar squeak as she flopped into it, her lower lip sticking out.

"Why are you mad?"

Silence.

"I can't help you unless you tell me what's wrong."

I turned my back to her to unload the dishwasher. When I looked back seconds later, her little face was blotchy, tears streaking her face.

"What's wrong?"

"I didn't get to hug Daddy!" she cried.

I dialed the phone. "Someone's crying," I said, handing it over to my girl.

I could tell from her end of the conversation he was trying to reassure her she would get hugs tonight, that all was fine, but she started crying harder. Finally, she handed back the phone.

"He's coming back," she said, running outside.

I could imagine the frustration. He'd already been kind of late when he left, and I wasn't sure how far down the road he'd traveled before the phone call.

I could've spared him. I could've handled it on my own. But I didn't.

I knew he'd be late. But I knew he'd come back. And I knew -- once he parked the car and the little angel threw herself into his arms -- that I'd see the smile that washed over his features. The look of clocks resetting, priorities stabilizing, peace as long as your loved ones love you.

Some people say the world's going to end tomorrow. But that's just formalizing what we live every day. The truth is we don't know when our cards will get drawn.

Take the hugs when you can get them.

---

Someone won a $50 Barnes & Noble gift card at Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews!

Yesterday and Wednesday I was off from work to add a Part II to my novel (fingers crossed, it was a specific request). On Wednesday, even though I forced myself to ignore my work email, I checked my personal email and immediately fell down the rabbit hole of responses and responsibilities and lost almost two hours.

Yesterday, I took a complete and total Internet hiatus. No blogging, no email (!), no Twitter, no Yammer, no Facebook, no LinkedIn. I did text with my sister a little, but I also actually spoke to her on the phone for more than an hour. And last night I called my parents and told them a bunch of things I'd forgotten to tell them in the mad rush of email that is usually my life.

My life is email? Yeah, it kind of is.

At the same time, I'm reading Super Sad True Love Story in fits and bursts, which is a novel about a bunch of people trying to stay young forever who spend their lives completely immersed in little personal data devices that hang around their necks.

A while ago, the little angel asked me if I loved my phone more than her.

The last two days while I've been off, she's gotten off the bus at home instead of after-school care, and we've set up the sprinkler and invited friends over to run through it. The weather has been glorious.

Today I'm back online, back at work, back on email. And I'm determined to not become a Super Sad True Love Story character.

But it's hard, in this world we live in. It's hard.

... you have three different notebooks from three different areas of your life open with a list of uncrossed-out things on your desk

... you have to think really, really hard to remember what you did last night, and then you remember, hey, that was important! and are amazed you forgot

... your cat won't speak to you because you forgot you wouldn't be home until an hour and a half after her lunch

... you hear Twitter go off and jump because you think it's an actual bird in your house

... you realize next week is spring break for your kid but you totally forgot it starts on Friday

... you broke all the rules today and finally bought your girl the stupid pink Kid Snuggie she's been wanting since Halloween because it made you feel more normal than the three notebooks

---

Hey! I finally reviewed a book I've had for more than six months! Check out the fabulous Nicki Richesin's latest anthology (up with anthologies!) on Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews.

We went to Iowa for Christmas.

 

This was our 2009 contribution to the memory tree.

We arrived just hours before the blizzard.

 

I can't put my arms down.

The snow fell for three days straight.

 

The little angel in her new snow bed.

It fell and fell and fell, and so we were obligated to go terrace sledding in our insulated coveralls.

 

As you do. I love a man in Carharts.

We played and played until her face matched her new Walmart snow pants,which we procured for $12 after realizing we brought the boots and coatand forgot the rest at home.

Less than enthused when the snow gets in the hood.

 And she screamed and laughed, fearless in the face of snow up to her thighs, and we played Queen of the Mountain and rode saucers over broken cornstalks and ate springerle and stollen and brownies.

All in all, it was the best Christmas yet.

Okay, here's the other reason I love my new job: The Holiday Hot Mess Photo Contest. It was birthed from a discussion of holiday visitors and OH THE COATS AND THE BOOTS AND THE PRESENTS AND THE TISSUE PAPER.

AND THE PACKING PEANUTS.

AND THE CARDBOARD.

AND THOSE LITTLE TWIST TIES.

I hate the little twist ties with the force of a thousand suns.

The only good part about all this crap is that it's funny! Who doesn't love a photo like this?

 

Just throw your coat anywhere.

Seriously, if you don't think that's funny, then your heart is too sizes too small.

This post is inspired by Maria Niles' post on BlogHer.

1) I meant to be more present. I try, really I do, to always be listening when someone is talking to me. Sometimes, though, something I read or see or want to write about squirrels its way into my head, and no matter how I bat it down it pops up again like a rubber duck. It particularly bothers me when I find myself doing this with friends or family. They've pointed it out, this bad habit of mine, and I'm ashamed of it. So even though I meant to do it in 2009, I'm going to try harder in 2010.

2) I meant to find an agent for my children's book, Bella Eats the Monsters. I wrote it, then Bella died, and after hearing back from a few agents that it wasn't quite there, that monsters were overdone, that it was "cute," I just gave up on it and started my novel. I'm happy with that decision. There is only so much time to write, and I feel more connected to the novel than I did to the children's book. So I'm stowing it for future reference, and perhaps I'll get it published by the time I'm pressuring the little angel to make me a grandmother.

3) I meant to call my parents more often. I have done a better job in the past few weeks, but there were weeks that I went by without talking to my parents. Normally we talk quite a bit, but somehow when things got really bad and busy at work and life just felt so overwhelming, calling home was forgotten. It didn't help that for a year we took long-distance off our home phone, so I had to find and unlock my cell to call home. I'm much more likely to talk for any length of time on a larger phone. Now we have long-distance back, and lo! I dial.

4) I meant to take more photos. We have a digital camera, and there's really no excuse. I wish I'd taken more video, too. I have all the tools. I just forget. Then a whole year has gone by and my daughter looks so different and I worry I'll forget what she looked like making cookies in her little apron. And then I want to cry.

5) I meant to read more. I read quite a few books in 2009, but they were almost all review books. I'm severely curtailing the books I will review in the future. Some of those review books were awesome, but some took away from great fiction. I won't let that happen again. It's easy to let that happen.

Lest I depress myself with this post, here are some things I'm proud that I did in 2009.

• I got a new job with a fabulous media company doing something I love.
• I weathered the death of Bella and brought Petunia Cookie Dough into our lives.
• I had a lot of dates with my hot husband, and we talked about all sorts of things that don't involve housework, children or scheduling.
• I wrote the rough draft of a novel.
• I threw a shower for my very pregnant best friend.
• I went to Disney World on my birthday with my family.
• I attended my first ASJA conference.
• I spoke at BlogHer and Chicks Who Click.
• I published articles at Super Eco and Babble and in Scholastic Parent and Child.
• I started getting together regularly with some writer types to talk shop and drink wine.
• I listened to War and Peace. I liked it.
• I helped Beloved's parents move to a more accommodating location.
• I helped Beloved remodel two closets and a garage in the Transformation of Chateau Travolta (which seems to drag on and on).
• I enjoyed myself quite a bit.