This last snow was tornadic in its pattern over Kansas City -- a few inches here, a foot there. My front yard is snow up to my knees even in the areas that aren't drifted, and lanes are blocked on the road unexpectedly with piles of dirty snow. Last night, I was supposed to meet my friend for dinner a half-hour drive away. "I have to wait for Beloved to come home with the 4x4," I said, expecting the entire world to look like my street, which is plowed but peppered with snow chunks that have fallen off houses and trees.

"Well, she said, if you need a separate vehicle to traverse the city, we can always reschedule."

I started to suspect all of Kansas City did not look like my part of it.

Beloved got home, I got in the truck and took off. To completely dry highways, nary an ice patch in sight. Even the side streets in Martin City looked plowed. And, in fact, Martin City appeared to have ankle-deep snow, not knee-deep. I started to feel silly.

You see, I hadn't left my house since Sunday except on foot. As the snow continued to fall every night and every morning resulted in shoveling and snowblowing and all things involving ski pants and boots every time I left the house, I almost forgot about normal life. The little angel was out of school for four days out of five and I started to wonder if she would ever, ever go back.

The more snowed-in I felt, the more certain I became I should not leave. But the roads were completely clear.

It was all in my head.

Today we woke up to more snow! Lots more snow!

That's the driveway! But never fear, we have a snowblower!

There are currently 40,000 people without power in the Kansas City metro, but since that is not yet us, I give you the video Momo Fali shared with me this morning of Taylor Swift singing with an awesome goat.

"I feel anxious," she said, as I opened the book. Then her face turned red and she asked if Daddy could leave the room.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

She told me she'd been at a friend's house and they'd been watching music videos on YouTube. They came to the P!nk video for Perfect. She thought it would be okay because I've showed her P!nk videos before -- the lawnmower, the acrobats -- I don't blame them for thinking it would be fine.

This one was not fine.

In the video, the girl carves "Perfect" into her arm in the bathtub. Blood everywhere.

"I didn't know you could cut yourself on purpose," my girl sobbed. She couldn't stop crying, and she couldn't unsee the bathtub scene.

We prayed. I sang to her. She kept crying. I didn't know what to do.

"You know what? Sometimes you just need your daddy."

I went and got him. She was afraid he'd be mad she'd watched the video. He wasn't. We talked to her about not watching things on the Internet when we're not around, because the Internet is full of things that are very hard to unsee. Then he held her until she fell asleep.

I went downstairs, watched the video three times, called my sister.

In the morning, I told my girl I'd watched the video. I told her the storyline was actually about a girl who'd had a bad childhood but grew up to get married and have her own little girl and how she saved her own childhood bear for her little girl and in the end, everything was okay. The little angel smiled. "I think the bathtub scene was in the story to show just how bad things were before they got better," I said. "Writers do that. It's called 'conflict,' and it's a device. The video wasn't real -- it was a story to go with the song."

(Which is why it's easier for me to read fiction than nonfiction. I can always tell myself the conflict is just a writerly device.)

She went to school, and I spent the rest of the day trying not to think of all the other things she would see and not understand. All the things that would eventually chip away at her innocence until she would have to choose, as I have, to believe that 99% of people mean you no harm and the world is not a horrible, scary place unless you believe it is one.

Remember when you didn't know people could hurt themselves on purpose? I had forgotten there was ever a time like that.

Twitter: Welcome to my inner monologue.

I just saw lightning during a snowstorm. Cool.

— Rita Arens (@ritaarens) February 21, 2013

@lifewithroozle That would be an awesome dystopian YA book title.

— Rita Arens (@ritaarens) February 21, 2013

THUNDERSNOW. I can just see the trailer.

— Rita Arens (@ritaarens) February 21, 2013

Me: "How far away is Cargo Largo? Because I need more of those between bath pet wipes and they're 50 cents there and $8.99 online."

Him: "Why not just use baby wipes?"

Me: "I was afraid they might be toxic to cats. Babies don't lick their own butts."

Him: "Remember Bella? Besides, if he could lick his own butt, you wouldn't have to use the baby wipes."

* Butt was clean in this pic.

** Thank God it doesn't happen every day.

*** It could be worse.

Thanks to my friend Alice for hosting a giveaway of a copy of THE OBVIOUS GAME on her blog, Finslippy. Alice's idea was to have people comment their most awkward teenage moment, from which she would then chose a winner. I highly approve of her selection:

When I was 14, I had the biggest crush on this football player (witha bowl haircut? what?). So of course, my idiot friends, Bowl Cut, and Ithought it'd be super cool to sneak little bottles of booze into thewoods outside of a big German fest and get drunk off of god awful cheapliquor. Freshmen are totally smart and consistently make good decisions.Cut to: Bowl Cut wants me to go on a a ride called The Breakdance. Youknow the one. You're in a pod that's spinning, on an arm that'sspinning, while the whole thing SPINS. As we're hurling through the airand the neon lights are wavering back and forth and whizzing up anddown, Bowl Cut turns to me and says, "I don't feel so good." Iconfidently responded, "Me neither, but there's no way I'm going to besick." Then, my mouth opened. A river of vomit projected out of my faceand hit every single other car on The Breakdance. The ride was spinningso violently that there was nothing anyone could do but hope their eyesand mouth were closed at the right time. And guess what? Bowl Cut didNOT want to be my boyfriend after that! I know... I was confused too.

Yay, Kate!

If you need a laugh on this Friday, go read the 52 awkward moments in the comments. Many, many are worthy.

My parents and sister were down last weekend. Right before they left, my mom looked at me and said, "You seem happy." And she's right -- I am happy fairly consistently right now.

I would say I'm in a good place, only I no longer believe in good places and bad places, only places. One might think I'm happy because my novel just came out, but in actuality, I got totally anxious and angsty when I signed my contract, so good things happening for me professionally don't necessarily translate into good things happening to my mental health. I'm sure that seems ridiculous, but it happens all the time. Look at how many people -- particularly creative people -- fall apart a little right after they get a break. I think change is hard no matter what type of change it is, because it's fucking scary. Putting out a novel means I have to up my game next time, and people will read it and maybe hate it and talk about it -- so many things for my anxiety to grab onto.

I'm actually shocked I'm happy right now. Even though that sounds ridiculous.

Last Saturday I woke up snarly and snarled at Beloved and the little angel before I took her to ballet. As I was sitting there waiting for ballet to be done, I realized how familiar that snarl had felt, how I used to an extremely frequent snarler, and how I had committed to myself and my husband a few years ago to really stop snarling and try to look at the world more optimistically. I'm by nature melancholy, and it's a real effort for me to instantly see the good instead of the bad. However, I've noticed the more I work at it, the easier it is. When I snarled, he responded with, "Why are you yelling at me?" and I didn't know the answer to that question. I think I surprised him because I have not snarled quite like that in so long.

I sat there worrying I'd introduced a new tone into our house that was going to creep back into our lives. I texted him, called him, made sure he knew I didn't mean it and wanted to start the day again. And then we did, and my family showed up, and my mother's takeaway is that I seem happy.

I've learned to work toward happy. I still have mood swings, sometimes very bad ones, but I try not to show my irritability or randomly thrash those around me when my heart beats fast and the hair on the back of my neck stands up for absolutely no reason but my body chemistry. I pray with my daughter, and we talk about the best part of the trip instead of what went wrong, and I pet the cats and wish for the thousandth time I could invent a purring, warm neck wrap to wear around when they aren't available. I try to take advantage of sunny corners the minute I see them, even if it's just for a few minutes. I try to do one thing at a time and give that one thing my full attention.

And even then, sometimes it still doesn't work. Sometimes I find myself deep breathing and staring at the wall without knowing why, and in those times I've learned to ask myself what human need could be met right in that moment that would make me feel better. Am I cold? Am I stiff? Am I thirsty? Am I tired? Would I like some music, less music? Are my clothes itchy?

I tell people I spend as much time managing my anxiety as some people do managing diabetes or asthma. I no longer look at these little breaks as wasting time, because that makes me more anxious, and the faster I can get things under control, the more productive the day will actually be, the more creativity I will be able to bring to my work. If I am not anxious, I won't foist that tone on my household.

And so when my mother told me I seemed happy, I actually took it as a compliment more than an observation. I haven't always been a happy person, but I'm working toward that. I want to be a happy old person one of these days.

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• The Obvious Game review and giveaway on What If No One's Watching?
• The Obvious Game excerpt and giveaway on A Dream Within a Dream
• The Obvious Game excerpt on Book Maven's Picks
• Interview on I Like These Books
• Review on author Kelly Hashway's blog

Every year there is one day when I realize the mornings aren't quiet any more as my girl and I wait for the bus. This was that morning in 2013. The birds are back.

No matter how life is going, the day I realize the birds are back is a good day.

My sister says February is the worst month. I used to think it was October, when I was younger, because that meant winter was coming. Now I love October and hate February, too, even though it's the month of my birthday and Valentine's Day and expressions of love. It's that spring often feels so very far away in February, and we are all so sick of the cold and the short days and being stuck inside for long weekend days and weeknights. Yesterday morning as we waited for the bus huddled together under a blanket, my girl said, "When are we going to DO something again?" And so yesterday I took her and the neighbor girl to the library after school, just to be out, just to be gone.

I, too, am very tired of the inside of this house, even with the two new cats frolicking and fighting and at least keeping it real. I can't wait to eat dinner outside again.

But here we are, almost halfway through it. And the birds are back.

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Today I posted on Deva's blog about life on the other side of an eating disorder.