Mourning Doves and Marriage
This morning when I went to the front porch with my cup of coffee I was surprised to see only one mourning dove! There are always two at the feeder in the mornings. Of course I immediately thought the worst. A cat had gotten the female or she'd met the bitter end, face to face with a car windshield.
The poor male sat on the tree limb, singing his mournful song, all alone.
And then it hit me. The female isn't gone. She's sitting on a nest somewhere. She's stuck with the eggs while he's at the bird feeder buffet, hanging with the starlings and the finches. All of my sympathy now transfers to the female who is probably hungry and wishes she could have a break. She's probably sitting in a tree somewhere, watching him hang with his friends and wondering if he'll get sunflower takeout and bring it back to her. He's probably clueless, of course and thinks she's happy to sit on the nest while he 'runs a fowl.' (haha).
Of course her life hasn't ended. She's just waiting for the eggs to hatch, for the babies to grow and take flight. Soon she'll be back at the feeder with her mate. The two of them will sit on the electric line again, singing their rather mournful but beautiful song. They'll watch their little mourning doves fly away to start their own families.
To all of the male mourning doves out there. Just remember that someone is sitting on the nest, making sure the kids hatch, sprout feathers, learn to fly, learn to find food. Take your turn on the nest. Telling her you appreciate all she does is wonderful, but more than that, she needs you there by her side, being a partner. She needs for you to understand that when she says, "No, go on ahead without me, I'm fine here on the nest." What she's really saying is, "I wish you would bring home a few fireflies for dinner and let me take a long soak in the bird bath."
A good marriage is all about communication. Communication includes honest conversation, listening, acknowledging your partner's feelings and action.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Daughter Chronicles: Lessons Learned
THE FASHION BATTLE
I have learned a very important lesson in dealing with the wardrobe of a teenage girl. First, let me just say that with boys (who will someday be husbands and therefore must learn), I simply tell them that what they have on doesn't work. They ask me what does work. I tell them and they change into something that is somewhat acceptable. Won't they be great husbands? You're welcome girls. The training is free.
Oh to have a girl who would do the same.
Unfortunately, they don't exist. The sooner we come to terms with that and learn to deal with it, the better. There are two common situations with girls. One is bad. One is frighteningly good.
Scenario ONE:
It's Sunday morning and you have thirty minutes to get everyone ready. Teen girl stomps out of bedroom breathing fire and spreading gloom. She's dressed in ripped jeans and a shirt that is holey not HOLY. Let's pictures something off the shoulder and more 'I'm twenty-five and going to a bar' rather than "I'm a young teen going to church."
Let me just clarify that I try to buy modest clothing for said teen but she insists on 'restyling' with scissors. And when that happens, I insist on not buying new clothing so she has to save money to buy her own.
Mom's first reaction is to scream and threaten. This is never a good way to start a Sunday morning.
You have 3 choices on how to deal with this:
A. SCREAM AND YELL
B. Tell her you'll pick her clothes and she'd better change right now.
C. Smile (probably not a real smile) and say: If that's really what you want to wear and if you don't mind what everyone thinks of you. I mean, yes, that's really disrespectful to the people in the church and to God. But okay, its your choice. We need to leave now.
At our house A and B result in major battles and with my blood pressure near the stroke level. Option C, I walk away with a smile and pretend I don't care. When I'm ready to leave for church, she has changed into something more respectful. If she doesn't, I've at least planted a seed and hopefully she feels really guilty the entire time we're at church. Either way, I win!
SCENARIO TWO
This scenario can be almost as troubling and frightening as scene one. Maybe more so, because it takes us by surprise and leaves us vulnerable and unsure.
Sunday morning and teen girl walks out of her room smiling. Yes, smiling. You immediately wonder what alien planet has invaded. The unknown and smiling species asks a reasonable question: "What's the weather going to be like today and should I wear jeans or capris?"
You choke a little and wonder what's really going on. You calmly say, "I would wear capris." IN THIS SITUATION NEVER EVER TELL HER WHAT SHE SHOULD WEAR!
Teen returns a short time later in capris, a reasonable shirt and her hair brushed. Something is up but you don't know what. You aren't even sure how to react.
Now you have to make a critical choice. Your entire day is at stake so choose wisely.
You:
A. Tell her she looks nice.
B. Question who she is and ask her what she's done with your real teenage daughter.
C. Head for the car as quickly as possible and once you are safely on the road, tell her she looks nice.
The answer is obviously C.
If you make the mistake of telling her she looks nice while you are still at home, she will immediately run back into her room and come out wearing something that starts a whole new argument and makes you thirty minutes late for church.
Accept the small blessings and enjoy what might be a peaceful Sunday. Even if she is an alien, you know they'll bring the real teenager back as soon as they try to dress her for church.
I have learned a very important lesson in dealing with the wardrobe of a teenage girl. First, let me just say that with boys (who will someday be husbands and therefore must learn), I simply tell them that what they have on doesn't work. They ask me what does work. I tell them and they change into something that is somewhat acceptable. Won't they be great husbands? You're welcome girls. The training is free.
Oh to have a girl who would do the same.
Unfortunately, they don't exist. The sooner we come to terms with that and learn to deal with it, the better. There are two common situations with girls. One is bad. One is frighteningly good.
Scenario ONE:
It's Sunday morning and you have thirty minutes to get everyone ready. Teen girl stomps out of bedroom breathing fire and spreading gloom. She's dressed in ripped jeans and a shirt that is holey not HOLY. Let's pictures something off the shoulder and more 'I'm twenty-five and going to a bar' rather than "I'm a young teen going to church."
Let me just clarify that I try to buy modest clothing for said teen but she insists on 'restyling' with scissors. And when that happens, I insist on not buying new clothing so she has to save money to buy her own.
Mom's first reaction is to scream and threaten. This is never a good way to start a Sunday morning.
You have 3 choices on how to deal with this:
A. SCREAM AND YELL
B. Tell her you'll pick her clothes and she'd better change right now.
C. Smile (probably not a real smile) and say: If that's really what you want to wear and if you don't mind what everyone thinks of you. I mean, yes, that's really disrespectful to the people in the church and to God. But okay, its your choice. We need to leave now.
At our house A and B result in major battles and with my blood pressure near the stroke level. Option C, I walk away with a smile and pretend I don't care. When I'm ready to leave for church, she has changed into something more respectful. If she doesn't, I've at least planted a seed and hopefully she feels really guilty the entire time we're at church. Either way, I win!
SCENARIO TWO
This scenario can be almost as troubling and frightening as scene one. Maybe more so, because it takes us by surprise and leaves us vulnerable and unsure.
Sunday morning and teen girl walks out of her room smiling. Yes, smiling. You immediately wonder what alien planet has invaded. The unknown and smiling species asks a reasonable question: "What's the weather going to be like today and should I wear jeans or capris?"
You choke a little and wonder what's really going on. You calmly say, "I would wear capris." IN THIS SITUATION NEVER EVER TELL HER WHAT SHE SHOULD WEAR!
Teen returns a short time later in capris, a reasonable shirt and her hair brushed. Something is up but you don't know what. You aren't even sure how to react.
Now you have to make a critical choice. Your entire day is at stake so choose wisely.
You:
A. Tell her she looks nice.
B. Question who she is and ask her what she's done with your real teenage daughter.
C. Head for the car as quickly as possible and once you are safely on the road, tell her she looks nice.
The answer is obviously C.
If you make the mistake of telling her she looks nice while you are still at home, she will immediately run back into her room and come out wearing something that starts a whole new argument and makes you thirty minutes late for church.
Accept the small blessings and enjoy what might be a peaceful Sunday. Even if she is an alien, you know they'll bring the real teenager back as soon as they try to dress her for church.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Writer's Block
Overcoming Writer's Block.
I'm always a little nervous when it comes time to talk writing. For me it's like giving marital or spiritual advice. Who am I to even think that I can give advice when I'm still trying to figure it all out? With each and every book I learn something, struggle with something, finally get it, and sometimes forget it before I start the next project. I will always be learning.
I've been married twenty-six years this year. I'm just now starting to think maybe I've got marriage figured out to the point that I can give someone advice. I definitely wouldn't have given advice the first few years. Or the first ten. And I still think I have a lot to learn.
With writing, as with marriage, we encounter problems or obstacles. With experience we learn how to overcome or get past those problems.
Today's writer's block problem:
I TOOK THE WRONG PATH.
Imagine yourself hiking along, enjoying the scenery, watching birds, and breathing in the fresh air of the forest. Suddenly the previously wide trail narrows. The birds stop singing. The forest grows dark. Ahead of you there are three paths to choose from. One seems like the obvious choice. You decide to meander down that path. As you walk you realize your mistake. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself this is the right path, it just isn't working.
What do you do?
Stay on that path, even if it feels wrong, and hope it comes out right in the end?
Take off through the brush and hope for the best? Swing your warms at spider's webs, avoid skunks and reptiles. Struggle against vines that snare and hold you back.
Go back to the path you were on and make a better choice for moving forward. Sometimes that means trying several paths until you get the right one.
Yes, I'm digging the analogies today.
Now, back to the real problem, writer's block brought on by taking the wrong path, the wrong scene, the wrong plot turn.
I've been dealing with this problem, fighting it, struggling against it. I had my story down. I knew my characters (for the most part, but that's a different blog post). Suddenly I found myself struggling, unable to get the scene the way I wanted. I couldn't figure out where to go next with the characters. I kept digging in, moving forward and hoping it would all work out. I just knew I'd eventually break free.
My very smart editor once told me to trust my instincts. And I constantly remind myself of her advice. Trust my instincts. I think if we're going the wrong direction, we usually know it. Sometimes we think we'll eventually find the right direction if we keep going the wrong direction. Or we want to wait a little while before we turn around because we might find the right way, maybe its just around the next bend. But the wrong path is the wrong path.
Accept it: If the scenes aren't working, if they aren't allowing you to move forward with strength and conviction, DELETE. Don't get stuck fighting what doesn't work. That's a sure ingredient for writer's block.
The wrong path shifts everything in the story. It changes voice, it changes the plot, the characters and it drags the story down.
When I hit 'wrong path writer's block' I have one option: I go back to the main path of my story, to the last scenes that worked. From there I find a starting point that I know matters to the story and to my characters and that's the path I take. I have to find the scene that gets the characters back in the story. A scene that matters to the plot.
With the story that I'm working on, it took me a few tries to get it right. I started scenes, deleted scenes, started new ones. Finally I hit on the right scene for my characters, my plot and my story. The words started to flow.
There are times we have to just move forward, to keep writing because we need to get those words down and that's okay. But learn to recognize when writer's block is happening because you're on the wrong path or chasing the wrong thread. If your story has meandered off the beaten path it's up to you, the author, to get it back on track.
I'm always a little nervous when it comes time to talk writing. For me it's like giving marital or spiritual advice. Who am I to even think that I can give advice when I'm still trying to figure it all out? With each and every book I learn something, struggle with something, finally get it, and sometimes forget it before I start the next project. I will always be learning.
I've been married twenty-six years this year. I'm just now starting to think maybe I've got marriage figured out to the point that I can give someone advice. I definitely wouldn't have given advice the first few years. Or the first ten. And I still think I have a lot to learn.
With writing, as with marriage, we encounter problems or obstacles. With experience we learn how to overcome or get past those problems.
Today's writer's block problem:
I TOOK THE WRONG PATH.
Imagine yourself hiking along, enjoying the scenery, watching birds, and breathing in the fresh air of the forest. Suddenly the previously wide trail narrows. The birds stop singing. The forest grows dark. Ahead of you there are three paths to choose from. One seems like the obvious choice. You decide to meander down that path. As you walk you realize your mistake. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself this is the right path, it just isn't working.
What do you do?
Stay on that path, even if it feels wrong, and hope it comes out right in the end?
Take off through the brush and hope for the best? Swing your warms at spider's webs, avoid skunks and reptiles. Struggle against vines that snare and hold you back.
Go back to the path you were on and make a better choice for moving forward. Sometimes that means trying several paths until you get the right one.
Yes, I'm digging the analogies today.
Now, back to the real problem, writer's block brought on by taking the wrong path, the wrong scene, the wrong plot turn.
I've been dealing with this problem, fighting it, struggling against it. I had my story down. I knew my characters (for the most part, but that's a different blog post). Suddenly I found myself struggling, unable to get the scene the way I wanted. I couldn't figure out where to go next with the characters. I kept digging in, moving forward and hoping it would all work out. I just knew I'd eventually break free.
My very smart editor once told me to trust my instincts. And I constantly remind myself of her advice. Trust my instincts. I think if we're going the wrong direction, we usually know it. Sometimes we think we'll eventually find the right direction if we keep going the wrong direction. Or we want to wait a little while before we turn around because we might find the right way, maybe its just around the next bend. But the wrong path is the wrong path.
Accept it: If the scenes aren't working, if they aren't allowing you to move forward with strength and conviction, DELETE. Don't get stuck fighting what doesn't work. That's a sure ingredient for writer's block.
The wrong path shifts everything in the story. It changes voice, it changes the plot, the characters and it drags the story down.
When I hit 'wrong path writer's block' I have one option: I go back to the main path of my story, to the last scenes that worked. From there I find a starting point that I know matters to the story and to my characters and that's the path I take. I have to find the scene that gets the characters back in the story. A scene that matters to the plot.
With the story that I'm working on, it took me a few tries to get it right. I started scenes, deleted scenes, started new ones. Finally I hit on the right scene for my characters, my plot and my story. The words started to flow.
There are times we have to just move forward, to keep writing because we need to get those words down and that's okay. But learn to recognize when writer's block is happening because you're on the wrong path or chasing the wrong thread. If your story has meandered off the beaten path it's up to you, the author, to get it back on track.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
DRIVING MS CRAZY
Driving Ms Crazy
It is a right of passage for children everywhere. Turn sixteen, get a driver's license. I remember getting my license. Barely. But being raised on a farm, it feels as if I've been driving forever. In my early teens I was helping my dad in the hay field--driving a truck and trailer. I could back a boat into the lake at an young age. I grew up driving.
I've somehow blocked from mind the times I sat in the truck and cried because my dad was yelling to ease off the clutch, ease off the clutch, and I didn't and the truck kept dying.
Now I have to let my children take this 'right of passage.' It isn't easy and for some reason, my kids don't like to drive with me in the passenger seat.
As my middle kid gets ready to take his driving test, I'd like to give you a little taste of what he gets in a five minute drive with Ms. Crazy. (me)
"Pull up, look both ways. Wait, there's a car coming. Don't pull out. Pull out. Hit the gas and go, don't dawdle. Slow down."
We ease on down the road. "Stay in the middle of the road. Stop swerving. You really have to control the wheel. I don't care what the speed limit is, you're not ready for it. Always watch for other cars. It's the other drivers that will kill you. See that big drop off next to the road. Stay between the lines or you'll end up down there."
Deep breath. Kid is turning a little green and shaking. I think I've done my job and scared him into being a safe driver.
Next intersection. "Look both ways. What are you doing? What, you're looking both ways. You need to pull up and be ready to go. What are you doing easing out like that. Hit the gas, go..."
Kid is thinking that he might need tranquilizers for himself or for me.
Pull into driveway. "That's a car. Don't hit that car. Always turn into your lane, don't ease into the other lane. You're going to hit a car. You're going to crash. What, you're going to park? With me in the car. I can't take this. I don't think you're ready."
He gets out of the car and walks away. I collapse.
Another day of Driving Ms Crazy.
It is a right of passage for children everywhere. Turn sixteen, get a driver's license. I remember getting my license. Barely. But being raised on a farm, it feels as if I've been driving forever. In my early teens I was helping my dad in the hay field--driving a truck and trailer. I could back a boat into the lake at an young age. I grew up driving.
I've somehow blocked from mind the times I sat in the truck and cried because my dad was yelling to ease off the clutch, ease off the clutch, and I didn't and the truck kept dying.
Now I have to let my children take this 'right of passage.' It isn't easy and for some reason, my kids don't like to drive with me in the passenger seat.
As my middle kid gets ready to take his driving test, I'd like to give you a little taste of what he gets in a five minute drive with Ms. Crazy. (me)
"Pull up, look both ways. Wait, there's a car coming. Don't pull out. Pull out. Hit the gas and go, don't dawdle. Slow down."
We ease on down the road. "Stay in the middle of the road. Stop swerving. You really have to control the wheel. I don't care what the speed limit is, you're not ready for it. Always watch for other cars. It's the other drivers that will kill you. See that big drop off next to the road. Stay between the lines or you'll end up down there."
Deep breath. Kid is turning a little green and shaking. I think I've done my job and scared him into being a safe driver.
Next intersection. "Look both ways. What are you doing? What, you're looking both ways. You need to pull up and be ready to go. What are you doing easing out like that. Hit the gas, go..."
Kid is thinking that he might need tranquilizers for himself or for me.
Pull into driveway. "That's a car. Don't hit that car. Always turn into your lane, don't ease into the other lane. You're going to hit a car. You're going to crash. What, you're going to park? With me in the car. I can't take this. I don't think you're ready."
He gets out of the car and walks away. I collapse.
Another day of Driving Ms Crazy.
Friday, February 24, 2012
The Daughter Chronicles
Once upon a time I thought girls were pretty little beings with pigtails and pink dresses. Sugar and spice, and everything nice. WRONG! After I had one, I learned the truth. They cry when you brush their hair, they never like the clothes you buy them, and there is never anything good to eat.
Story one in the 'daughter chronicles.' This morning I made French toast. I was sitting with my computer in my lap, coffee at my side and the daughter stated, "There's nothing to eat!"
Mom mode kicked in. "Do you want me to make French toast?" Did I really just say that? Yes, I did. I actually offered.
French toast? She made that face, the one that should have warned me. But then she seemed compliant, so I jumped up to do my mom duty thinking that I'd just scored sunshine points from kid 3. There should have been a disclaimer of some kind attached to her forehead: "Could spontaneously combust." All girls should come with that warning. No, instead there was a smile and something resemblings sweetness. (this is the look that gives me hope for the future)
The problem is that my idea of 'fixing French toast' is ordering it at a restaurant. This project meant googling a recipe, hauling out the eggs and milk, soaking the bread and firing up the stove. Really? This early in the morning? (Cooking before noon??)
Batch 1 went terribly wrong. I soaked the bread too long and put it in a skillet with too much oil. THe daughter's reaction to this oozing mess: I'm not eating that. I kind of agreed and we scraped the gooey bread into the trash.
I'm still in sunshine land so I say, "I'll try again if you want."
She agreed. I went back to work on a second batch. This time it turned out much better. I put the lovely, golden brown French toast on the plate. Kid 3 melted into the stormy cloud of blech and said, "I'm not going to eat that. It's gross."
The moral of the story: Girls can be sweet. They can also be icky. Don't get too bent out of shape if you have one and you can't make her happy. Happiness makes them angry. They come with a self-destruct button that is immediately pushed if they sense their own happiness or the happiness of anyone else.
The good news, I've heard that they grow out of this stage and return to normal human beings by the time they're thirty.
Story one in the 'daughter chronicles.' This morning I made French toast. I was sitting with my computer in my lap, coffee at my side and the daughter stated, "There's nothing to eat!"
Mom mode kicked in. "Do you want me to make French toast?" Did I really just say that? Yes, I did. I actually offered.
French toast? She made that face, the one that should have warned me. But then she seemed compliant, so I jumped up to do my mom duty thinking that I'd just scored sunshine points from kid 3. There should have been a disclaimer of some kind attached to her forehead: "Could spontaneously combust." All girls should come with that warning. No, instead there was a smile and something resemblings sweetness. (this is the look that gives me hope for the future)
The problem is that my idea of 'fixing French toast' is ordering it at a restaurant. This project meant googling a recipe, hauling out the eggs and milk, soaking the bread and firing up the stove. Really? This early in the morning? (Cooking before noon??)
Batch 1 went terribly wrong. I soaked the bread too long and put it in a skillet with too much oil. THe daughter's reaction to this oozing mess: I'm not eating that. I kind of agreed and we scraped the gooey bread into the trash.
I'm still in sunshine land so I say, "I'll try again if you want."
She agreed. I went back to work on a second batch. This time it turned out much better. I put the lovely, golden brown French toast on the plate. Kid 3 melted into the stormy cloud of blech and said, "I'm not going to eat that. It's gross."
The moral of the story: Girls can be sweet. They can also be icky. Don't get too bent out of shape if you have one and you can't make her happy. Happiness makes them angry. They come with a self-destruct button that is immediately pushed if they sense their own happiness or the happiness of anyone else.
The good news, I've heard that they grow out of this stage and return to normal human beings by the time they're thirty.
Monday, February 20, 2012
DO NOT DISTURB
I need a sign to hang around my neck. "DO NOT DISTURB."
There are a few people in my world who don't understand these words: Deadline. Working. Later. Can you do it yourself?
The two-year-old great niece has a list of demands and if she doesn't get them, the chihuahua is a gonner. She wants water, no milk, no water..she grins as she plays this game. She would like to clean the floor, it's really a mess. (she might have a point) As I type this, she's flat on the floor, whining that she needs to sweep. I know how to deal with her. I'll turn off Tangled. That's like waterboarding a 2 year old. Or I'll turn it on! That's like waterboarding the rest of the family.
It isn't just the two year old. The dogs need out. They need in. They need water in their bowl. And they ALL need to cuddle in the chair with me and my laptop.
The rest of the family has a list of wants and needs that range from 'why isn't there anything to eat' to 'why isn't there anything to eat.' Their list goes something like this: I'm bored. I don't have anything to wear. What's for dinner. Can we go out to eat. (Oh, that one is mine)
Writing is not an easy job. It really does take time, focus, and more time. There are days that I can't figure out where the characters are going. At times the plot just isn't working or the next sentence is like pulling teeth. Of course there are days that the words flow from my imagination to the computer with little effort. But those days are rare. Writing is a job. A real job.
True, my office attire is whatever I woke up in. My desk is the recliner. But I really do work, no matter what my kids tell you. They think I drink coffee and play mahjong for a living. I promise, if I could get paid for those two things, I would apply for that job.
Do not disturb. But then again, please do. I love my life and I love that I work at home where my kids can tell me about their day, know that I'm here for them if they need something, the great niece can come to stay for weeks, the dogs can cuddle in my lap. I've learned to write a book with a chihuahua between me and the computer and a two-year-old next to me, drinking my coffee.
The question today is balance. Whether you work for home or not, how do we balance all that we have to do and keep our family a priority?
For me, the most important thing is recognizing what can wait until later and what needs attention now. And of course, a good dose of procrastination thrown in, along with a game or two of mahjong.
There are a few people in my world who don't understand these words: Deadline. Working. Later. Can you do it yourself?
The two-year-old great niece has a list of demands and if she doesn't get them, the chihuahua is a gonner. She wants water, no milk, no water..she grins as she plays this game. She would like to clean the floor, it's really a mess. (she might have a point) As I type this, she's flat on the floor, whining that she needs to sweep. I know how to deal with her. I'll turn off Tangled. That's like waterboarding a 2 year old. Or I'll turn it on! That's like waterboarding the rest of the family.
It isn't just the two year old. The dogs need out. They need in. They need water in their bowl. And they ALL need to cuddle in the chair with me and my laptop.
The rest of the family has a list of wants and needs that range from 'why isn't there anything to eat' to 'why isn't there anything to eat.' Their list goes something like this: I'm bored. I don't have anything to wear. What's for dinner. Can we go out to eat. (Oh, that one is mine)
Writing is not an easy job. It really does take time, focus, and more time. There are days that I can't figure out where the characters are going. At times the plot just isn't working or the next sentence is like pulling teeth. Of course there are days that the words flow from my imagination to the computer with little effort. But those days are rare. Writing is a job. A real job.
True, my office attire is whatever I woke up in. My desk is the recliner. But I really do work, no matter what my kids tell you. They think I drink coffee and play mahjong for a living. I promise, if I could get paid for those two things, I would apply for that job.
Do not disturb. But then again, please do. I love my life and I love that I work at home where my kids can tell me about their day, know that I'm here for them if they need something, the great niece can come to stay for weeks, the dogs can cuddle in my lap. I've learned to write a book with a chihuahua between me and the computer and a two-year-old next to me, drinking my coffee.
The question today is balance. Whether you work for home or not, how do we balance all that we have to do and keep our family a priority?
For me, the most important thing is recognizing what can wait until later and what needs attention now. And of course, a good dose of procrastination thrown in, along with a game or two of mahjong.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Peaceful Country Living
I'm almost finished with my first cup of coffee, but I'm thinking this could be a five cup day. And after I'm done drinking coffee I'm hunting down that police officer who doesn't understand proper night time siren use.
Once upon a time the country was quiet. Tree frogs, crickets, the occasional coyote howling. At 4:30 am you might hear a neighbor's rooster crow.
At 4:30 am this morning I was sound asleep (Which doesn't happen that often), dreaming a nice dream. Suddenly a firetruck showed up in my dream. What? Why is there a firetruck here in my dream? I tried to dream it away but it remained, blowing its horn, sounding its siren in short bursts.
What? Siren?
TORNADO!! I jumped out of bed, thinking the first responders were using that annoying fire truck foghorn, blasting their siren, trying to warn us, wake us up. Common Sense says a siren and horn at that time of night are a good sign that we're being warned to head for an interior room.
My husband and I jumped from our bed to see what was the matter. I threw open the door and stepped out on the porch. What to my wondering eyes did I see, but a cop with a spotlight, parked in the road. I yelled (not really) a bad name and shivered in my robe. I flashed my porch lights as if to say, "Stop that you dummy, we're awake, we're awake."
The police car flipped his siren again and hit that annoying horn. He flashed his spotlight upon the dark field. I flipped our porch light, thinking he understood, "we're awake, we're coming, stop it right now." The siren he did sound. The horn he did blare. He ignored my distress signal. My children he did wake. (I have a lot of respect for police officers, but seriously...all of this over a horse.)
My husband jumped in the truck, thinking the officer must need our help. I yelled, "he's an idiot, tell him to turn that thing off." (Is this a christmas story or Dr. Seuss. I've lost track) The kids were not sleeping, dreaming of sugar plums. THe dogs were all barking, wanting to go out. The neighbors were up. Their lights came on.
The nice police officer continued his sounds.
My husband rushed to his side, asked "what could be the matter." The officer shined his light and said, "Hey, someone has a horse out."
REALLY? REALLY? He couldn't back up fifty feet, turn in a driveway, knock on a door and say, "Do you have a horse. It's out."
My husband explained. "It isn't our horse. It doesn't belong to any of our neighbors."
The officer got another call, used my husband's phone, turned on his siren, and tore into the night. THe horse ran away, afraid of the siren. We all went back to bed until someone knocked on the door...Do you know you have a horse out?
Once upon a time the country was quiet. Tree frogs, crickets, the occasional coyote howling. At 4:30 am you might hear a neighbor's rooster crow.
At 4:30 am this morning I was sound asleep (Which doesn't happen that often), dreaming a nice dream. Suddenly a firetruck showed up in my dream. What? Why is there a firetruck here in my dream? I tried to dream it away but it remained, blowing its horn, sounding its siren in short bursts.
What? Siren?
TORNADO!! I jumped out of bed, thinking the first responders were using that annoying fire truck foghorn, blasting their siren, trying to warn us, wake us up. Common Sense says a siren and horn at that time of night are a good sign that we're being warned to head for an interior room.
My husband and I jumped from our bed to see what was the matter. I threw open the door and stepped out on the porch. What to my wondering eyes did I see, but a cop with a spotlight, parked in the road. I yelled (not really) a bad name and shivered in my robe. I flashed my porch lights as if to say, "Stop that you dummy, we're awake, we're awake."
The police car flipped his siren again and hit that annoying horn. He flashed his spotlight upon the dark field. I flipped our porch light, thinking he understood, "we're awake, we're coming, stop it right now." The siren he did sound. The horn he did blare. He ignored my distress signal. My children he did wake. (I have a lot of respect for police officers, but seriously...all of this over a horse.)
My husband jumped in the truck, thinking the officer must need our help. I yelled, "he's an idiot, tell him to turn that thing off." (Is this a christmas story or Dr. Seuss. I've lost track) The kids were not sleeping, dreaming of sugar plums. THe dogs were all barking, wanting to go out. The neighbors were up. Their lights came on.
The nice police officer continued his sounds.
My husband rushed to his side, asked "what could be the matter." The officer shined his light and said, "Hey, someone has a horse out."
REALLY? REALLY? He couldn't back up fifty feet, turn in a driveway, knock on a door and say, "Do you have a horse. It's out."
My husband explained. "It isn't our horse. It doesn't belong to any of our neighbors."
The officer got another call, used my husband's phone, turned on his siren, and tore into the night. THe horse ran away, afraid of the siren. We all went back to bed until someone knocked on the door...Do you know you have a horse out?
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Dieting
What is it about spring that makes us think we need to diet? Is it the looming of swimsuit weather? Is it the thought of T-shirts and shorts. I mean, sweaters and jackets really do cover a multitude of sins (better known as too much chocolate, lack of exercise due to deadline, love of carbs, etc). In two months we'll be on our way to the beach. That gives me two months to diet. In honor of the season of dieting, I did two things at the grocery store today. I bought Agave Nectar for my coffee. It's healthy, you know. It also has more calories than good old sugar. I bought banana chips, trail mix and mixed nuts. And cupcakes. But I didn't buy the caramel cake or the Paula Deen Ooey Gooey Butter Cake. Any good tips on dealing with self-control? Never go shopping might be at the top of the list.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Me Again
Where has all the time gone? Months without a blog post! Amazingly enough the world kept spinning. So what has happened in the last few months? In my world, family, church and two books finished and another started. The first is a novella, Her Christmas Cowboy. It will be released in November along with a story by Gail Gaymer Martin. The second, The Cowboy's Christmas Blessing, will be released in December. Do we see a trend? Yes, the answer is COWBOYS. These two cowboy books kick off the beginning of the Cooper Creek series which means plenty of stories featuring cowboys! So what will I be doing this summer? Writing more cowboy books, of course. I'll also be running like crazy with kids, hopefully drinking a lot of coffee, and definitely making a trip to the beach. What are your plans for the summer? If you're writing, how goes the journey?
Monday, November 15, 2010
Giving
Yesterday I witnessed the sweetest example of giving. It happened at a birthday party for a 4 year old boy.
A little boy attended the party and he brought his gift wrapped in his coat. He set that coat on the counter of the church and said, "This has my present in it. I need to keep it right here so I can give it to him when he opens his presents."
The coat was then placed with the other gifts and when it was time for presents to be unwrapped that little guy went and got his coat. His little face beamed as he handed over the gift. He had brought it and wrapped it all by himself. When the coat was unwrapped the gift inside was a cracked and battered little truck. Both the giver of the gift and the child who received were thrilled.
As adults how many of us would be excited to have a dirty little coat to unwrap? How many of us would shout for excitement when we pulled out a very used toy?
We might pretend. But would we really be thankful? Would we pull back from that coat and wonder when it was last washed? Would we put the little truck on the table and move on to something else, something more worthwhile?
To that little boy, his coat held the most precious gift in the world. It was the best he had to give.
A little boy attended the party and he brought his gift wrapped in his coat. He set that coat on the counter of the church and said, "This has my present in it. I need to keep it right here so I can give it to him when he opens his presents."
The coat was then placed with the other gifts and when it was time for presents to be unwrapped that little guy went and got his coat. His little face beamed as he handed over the gift. He had brought it and wrapped it all by himself. When the coat was unwrapped the gift inside was a cracked and battered little truck. Both the giver of the gift and the child who received were thrilled.
As adults how many of us would be excited to have a dirty little coat to unwrap? How many of us would shout for excitement when we pulled out a very used toy?
We might pretend. But would we really be thankful? Would we pull back from that coat and wonder when it was last washed? Would we put the little truck on the table and move on to something else, something more worthwhile?
To that little boy, his coat held the most precious gift in the world. It was the best he had to give.
Friday, September 3, 2010
SUMMER'S SLIPPING AWAY
This has been a crazy summer. I hadn't realized it had been so long since I visited my own blog. How sad is that?
So, what happened to make the summer crazy. Not a lot, really. Writing deadlines, kids, kids, kids, vacation, the RWA NATIONAL CONFERENCE in Orlando, kids, kids, kids....
My husband and I celebrated our 24th anniversary this summer. Twenty-four years...and we actually still like each other!
Yes, people are amazed. Most particularly the people who wonder why he married me in the first place. Yes, I know who you are.
We've been asked how we do it. How has our marriage survived. I've thought about it and i think the secret is this: friendship. Okay, there is more to it than just friendship. Communication. Mutual Respect. Determination. Communication. Firm Grasp on Reality. Yes, seriously, reality. It's that place where you leave behind the fantasy you built around marriage and your partner and you accept REALITY.
But friendship is a great place to start building a healthy marriage. Friendship will get you through the tough times,( and there will be tough times).
We need to put the same energy into building a relationship with our spouse as we put into our friendships. The difference between our BFF and our spouse is the time spent together. Seriously, if our BFF moved into our house and left her dirty dishes on the coffee table, we'd get tired of her, too.
Your spouse is the best friend that moved in.
Remember when you were a kid and a friend spent the night. It was great. You played, rode bikes, stayed up all night. The next day you did't want the fun to end, so you asked your friend to spend another night. By the next day the two of you were fighting, tired, and never wanted to speak again.
Of course someone threatened to walk home or said the infamous words; I don't want to be your friend anymore. And of course you always made up. Why? Because you were friends and that's what friends do.
Marriage is a slumber party times infinity. There are going to be times when you just want the other person to go home. But then you remember: THEY LIVE WITH YOU.
Build a friendship with your spouse. Spend time together the way you spend time with your best friend. Learn to communicate. (that includes listening as well as talking). Drink coffee together. Go to lunch. Talk.
I think I can speak honestly and say, you aren't always going to feel in love. But if you have friendship, you'll have a foundation to stand on.
So, what happened to make the summer crazy. Not a lot, really. Writing deadlines, kids, kids, kids, vacation, the RWA NATIONAL CONFERENCE in Orlando, kids, kids, kids....
My husband and I celebrated our 24th anniversary this summer. Twenty-four years...and we actually still like each other!
Yes, people are amazed. Most particularly the people who wonder why he married me in the first place. Yes, I know who you are.
We've been asked how we do it. How has our marriage survived. I've thought about it and i think the secret is this: friendship. Okay, there is more to it than just friendship. Communication. Mutual Respect. Determination. Communication. Firm Grasp on Reality. Yes, seriously, reality. It's that place where you leave behind the fantasy you built around marriage and your partner and you accept REALITY.
But friendship is a great place to start building a healthy marriage. Friendship will get you through the tough times,( and there will be tough times).
We need to put the same energy into building a relationship with our spouse as we put into our friendships. The difference between our BFF and our spouse is the time spent together. Seriously, if our BFF moved into our house and left her dirty dishes on the coffee table, we'd get tired of her, too.
Your spouse is the best friend that moved in.
Remember when you were a kid and a friend spent the night. It was great. You played, rode bikes, stayed up all night. The next day you did't want the fun to end, so you asked your friend to spend another night. By the next day the two of you were fighting, tired, and never wanted to speak again.
Of course someone threatened to walk home or said the infamous words; I don't want to be your friend anymore. And of course you always made up. Why? Because you were friends and that's what friends do.
Marriage is a slumber party times infinity. There are going to be times when you just want the other person to go home. But then you remember: THEY LIVE WITH YOU.
Build a friendship with your spouse. Spend time together the way you spend time with your best friend. Learn to communicate. (that includes listening as well as talking). Drink coffee together. Go to lunch. Talk.
I think I can speak honestly and say, you aren't always going to feel in love. But if you have friendship, you'll have a foundation to stand on.
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Haunted Crescent Hotel
This past weekend I had the great honor of being invited to Books in Bloom, a book signing event at the Crescent Hotel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. What a wonderful time, and wonderful people! The weather didn't cooperate, but it really didn't matter. We sat on the veranda, under shelter, and with plenty of coffee to keep us going.
My husband and I really NEEDED this weekend to get away. We've planned it for months, booking a room at the Crescent, preparing the kids for our departure. And booking a room at the Crescent.
The Crescent Hotel. Yes, I'm easily spooked. It isn't really that I believe in ghosts. But I do have an wild imagination and I am afraid of my own shadow. I didn't read up on any of the Crescent Hotel ghost stories. Instead we went bravely, even laughing when our bellhop, John, made this comment, "Oh, room 218. Wow, they put you in the haunted room."
We laughed and happily checked into ROOM 218!! ewwwww, scary.
Saturday evening we snickered as we followed the ghost tours. Yes, they give tours. They stopped outside our door and discussed the construction worker that died, the crazy doctor who did research on patients, and on and on.
And then inspiration hit. We hurried into our room, laughing and plotting. I tossed a towel over my head, joking that I would run into the hall and scare the ghost hunters. When I opened the door, still joking, Doug pushed me into the hall and in the path of a couple of wayward ghost hunters. I yelled boo. They were less than amused.
That evening we had fun sitting on our veranda making ghostly noises.
And then we went to bed. After a full evening of MOCKING THE GHOST. Now, if I was a ghost and I'd been mocked all night by a couple singing the theme song from Ghost Busters, I'd be thinking of ways to get back at the non-believers.
At 3:30 am, I woke up. What was that noise? Oh, the TV. AND THEN, wait, the curtains are moving. Why are the curtains moving? Back and forth, back and forth. I kept watch, one eye cracked open. (because everyone knows that you can't be attacked if your head is covered up or your eyes closed)Back and forth, back and forth went the curtains. Shouldn't the ghost's arm get tired?
Oh, never mind, it was the air conditioner blowing the curtains.
I have to admit, I made my husband leave the bathroom light on.
Perhaps I'm just not a ghost magnet, but I can happily say that nothing appeared the night we stayed in room 218.
My husband and I really NEEDED this weekend to get away. We've planned it for months, booking a room at the Crescent, preparing the kids for our departure. And booking a room at the Crescent.
The Crescent Hotel. Yes, I'm easily spooked. It isn't really that I believe in ghosts. But I do have an wild imagination and I am afraid of my own shadow. I didn't read up on any of the Crescent Hotel ghost stories. Instead we went bravely, even laughing when our bellhop, John, made this comment, "Oh, room 218. Wow, they put you in the haunted room."
We laughed and happily checked into ROOM 218!! ewwwww, scary.
Saturday evening we snickered as we followed the ghost tours. Yes, they give tours. They stopped outside our door and discussed the construction worker that died, the crazy doctor who did research on patients, and on and on.
And then inspiration hit. We hurried into our room, laughing and plotting. I tossed a towel over my head, joking that I would run into the hall and scare the ghost hunters. When I opened the door, still joking, Doug pushed me into the hall and in the path of a couple of wayward ghost hunters. I yelled boo. They were less than amused.
That evening we had fun sitting on our veranda making ghostly noises.
And then we went to bed. After a full evening of MOCKING THE GHOST. Now, if I was a ghost and I'd been mocked all night by a couple singing the theme song from Ghost Busters, I'd be thinking of ways to get back at the non-believers.
At 3:30 am, I woke up. What was that noise? Oh, the TV. AND THEN, wait, the curtains are moving. Why are the curtains moving? Back and forth, back and forth. I kept watch, one eye cracked open. (because everyone knows that you can't be attacked if your head is covered up or your eyes closed)Back and forth, back and forth went the curtains. Shouldn't the ghost's arm get tired?
Oh, never mind, it was the air conditioner blowing the curtains.
I have to admit, I made my husband leave the bathroom light on.
Perhaps I'm just not a ghost magnet, but I can happily say that nothing appeared the night we stayed in room 218.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
THE COWBOY'S SWEETHEART
My August Love Inspired. And I LOVE this cover! This is definitely my favorite so far. I kind of like the story, too. Andie Forester is twin to my March heroine, Alyson.(The Cowboy's Courtship)
Ryder Johnson, her hero, has been her best friend forever. You'll have to read the book to find out what happens! Oh, and make sure you read The Cowboy's Courtship so you don't miss anything.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Contentment
Isn't it true that we often learn lessons from unexpected sources?
Every other Sunday evening we have church at the nursing home where my dad is a resident. The service has grown and as it grows we find ourselves growing.
This ministry is dear to our hearts and so are the residents who attend.
I won't use names, but I want to thank one of those residents( should he happen to read this). For the last couple of months he has joined us and ministered with his musical gifts. He's an amazing soul and God is really using him. He's blooming where God planted him!
We would like to believe that God always plants us in the best possible place. Wouldn't it be wonderful if that were the case? But we're not always going to be planted in the perfect spot, with perfect conditions. Take a look outside. There are flowers growing in soil that is so poor, you wonder how they can thrive. Dandelions are a great example. They grow in cracked sidewalks, they pop up in a gravel driveway, they sprout in soil that is mostly clay. I'm sure the dandelion would love to be a petunia, planted in a flowerbed, nurtured, watered, tended. Instead they sprout up and do their job. They're called weeds. They're sprayed with herbicide, pulled from flower gardens, tossed aside.
But they bloom where they're planted.
They're determined, sunny little flowers with a great purpose. They have more vitamin A than broccoli and when they turn to seed they attract birds to our back yard. They cover bare areas where grass can't grow.
Last night a sweet resident made a comment about being where God wants him to be and being content until God takes him home. He explained that God has given him this good home and he is thankful. This man has peace that truly surpasses all understanding. God put that peace in his heart and an acceptance of his circumstances that is hard to understand. Before our service he saw that I had a lot to carry and thought it might be heavy and that maybe he could help. During our service he got up to ask the young woman cleaning the dining area if he could help her. After the service he told me about his prayer life and how he always talks to God before he goes to bed. And he never has a hard time sleeping. He sweetly asked me if I could show him his room, because he couldn't remember where it was.
But he doesn't forget to be pray and be thankful.
Bloom where you're planted, even if it isn't where you want to be. Find God's purpose for putting you there AND BLOOM.
Every other Sunday evening we have church at the nursing home where my dad is a resident. The service has grown and as it grows we find ourselves growing.
This ministry is dear to our hearts and so are the residents who attend.
I won't use names, but I want to thank one of those residents( should he happen to read this). For the last couple of months he has joined us and ministered with his musical gifts. He's an amazing soul and God is really using him. He's blooming where God planted him!
We would like to believe that God always plants us in the best possible place. Wouldn't it be wonderful if that were the case? But we're not always going to be planted in the perfect spot, with perfect conditions. Take a look outside. There are flowers growing in soil that is so poor, you wonder how they can thrive. Dandelions are a great example. They grow in cracked sidewalks, they pop up in a gravel driveway, they sprout in soil that is mostly clay. I'm sure the dandelion would love to be a petunia, planted in a flowerbed, nurtured, watered, tended. Instead they sprout up and do their job. They're called weeds. They're sprayed with herbicide, pulled from flower gardens, tossed aside.
But they bloom where they're planted.
They're determined, sunny little flowers with a great purpose. They have more vitamin A than broccoli and when they turn to seed they attract birds to our back yard. They cover bare areas where grass can't grow.
Last night a sweet resident made a comment about being where God wants him to be and being content until God takes him home. He explained that God has given him this good home and he is thankful. This man has peace that truly surpasses all understanding. God put that peace in his heart and an acceptance of his circumstances that is hard to understand. Before our service he saw that I had a lot to carry and thought it might be heavy and that maybe he could help. During our service he got up to ask the young woman cleaning the dining area if he could help her. After the service he told me about his prayer life and how he always talks to God before he goes to bed. And he never has a hard time sleeping. He sweetly asked me if I could show him his room, because he couldn't remember where it was.
But he doesn't forget to be pray and be thankful.
Bloom where you're planted, even if it isn't where you want to be. Find God's purpose for putting you there AND BLOOM.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Alien Abduction Day
I was so bummed when I realized that I missed Alien Abduction Day. Yes, March 20th was not only the first day of spring, it was also Alien Abduction day.
I didn't get the tree put up or the lights hung! I didn't buy gifts.
But since it has already come and gone, I guess we'll just shoot for abduction next year.
After all, I wasn't really ready to travel.
I have a list of reasons why this wouldn't have been a good time for a trip (in case you're an alien and you're reading this).
First of all, I didn't have a thing to take with me. What kind of clothes does a girl need in space. Is the weather warm or cold? Flip flops or hiking boots? Both?
Second language barriers. I would at least like to brush up on my alienese.
I don't have a passport.
I like to vacation where there's a beach.
Last, but not least: I really do not like things stuck up my nose, in my ears or placed beneath my skin. You never know what kind of harmful effects you'll suffer later in life. I'd hate to see a class action lawsuit brought against aliens because they didn't know that their micro chips might someday cause burning skin, dry mouth, bladder control issues or insomnia.
All in all, it was a good day NOT to get abducted by aliens.
I didn't get the tree put up or the lights hung! I didn't buy gifts.
But since it has already come and gone, I guess we'll just shoot for abduction next year.
After all, I wasn't really ready to travel.
I have a list of reasons why this wouldn't have been a good time for a trip (in case you're an alien and you're reading this).
First of all, I didn't have a thing to take with me. What kind of clothes does a girl need in space. Is the weather warm or cold? Flip flops or hiking boots? Both?
Second language barriers. I would at least like to brush up on my alienese.
I don't have a passport.
I like to vacation where there's a beach.
Last, but not least: I really do not like things stuck up my nose, in my ears or placed beneath my skin. You never know what kind of harmful effects you'll suffer later in life. I'd hate to see a class action lawsuit brought against aliens because they didn't know that their micro chips might someday cause burning skin, dry mouth, bladder control issues or insomnia.
All in all, it was a good day NOT to get abducted by aliens.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
How to Lose Weight
Disclaimer, this is not a standard, recognized weight loss program.
Never ever weigh yourself on a standard scale. If you do, make sure you turn the little dial so that it is negative a few pounds. Yes, start out with the scale below zero. There's nothing like positive reinforcement!
If you use the Wii to weigh yourself, make sure you count your clothing!
This is a conversation I had with my son, who caught me 'dieting.'
The wii asked, "how much do your clothes weigh."
I think that question is subjective so I clicked the four pound option with confidence. And yes, I know that shorts and a T-shirt don't weigh four pounds.
Dear Son says, "Your clothes don't weigh four pounds."
Me to son, "Yeah, but I just had two cups of coffee, yogurt and a glass of water."
Dear Son, "That doesn't count."
Me, "It does count. It makes me weigh more."
The great news, I've lost 8 pounds on the Brenda Diet Program!
Never ever weigh yourself on a standard scale. If you do, make sure you turn the little dial so that it is negative a few pounds. Yes, start out with the scale below zero. There's nothing like positive reinforcement!
If you use the Wii to weigh yourself, make sure you count your clothing!
This is a conversation I had with my son, who caught me 'dieting.'
The wii asked, "how much do your clothes weigh."
I think that question is subjective so I clicked the four pound option with confidence. And yes, I know that shorts and a T-shirt don't weigh four pounds.
Dear Son says, "Your clothes don't weigh four pounds."
Me to son, "Yeah, but I just had two cups of coffee, yogurt and a glass of water."
Dear Son, "That doesn't count."
Me, "It does count. It makes me weigh more."
The great news, I've lost 8 pounds on the Brenda Diet Program!
Monday, March 8, 2010
Utopia
A magic world where laundry is caught up, and never needs to be washed again. A place where children scrape their own plates and put them in the dishwasher, rather than at the opposite end of the counter from the sink. A world where girls actually wear the clothes they try on, rather than take them off and toss them in the hamper.
Utopia, a place where men toss clothes in the laundry basket, not on the floor next to it.
Utopia (sigh).
But now, back to reality. Dishes. Laundry. Whose stuff is this on the table?
Utopia, a place where men toss clothes in the laundry basket, not on the floor next to it.
Utopia (sigh).
But now, back to reality. Dishes. Laundry. Whose stuff is this on the table?
Monday, February 1, 2010
What's Next
There are a few questions that I get asked about being published, my schedule and how I do it all. All meaning, writing, kids, house, church...
The truth is, I don't do it all. I prioritize by putting off what doesn't have to be done. Writing has to be done. Family, of course is a priority. Church is a priority. Housework is NOT a priority. That means dust bunnies run rampant; if we aren't wearing it-it doesn't get washed; if you run out of dishes-wash one.
As for what happens next in the writing world, here's how it works:
I recently finished a manuscript that will come out in November 2011. I also finished a proposal for my January 2011 cowboy romance. Last Thursday I got the approval on the proposal (three chapters and synopsis) which means time to start writing. Friday I got word that the November book was good to go and line edits will follow.
So for now I'll be working on the new cowboy story: The Cowboy's Family. The deadline for finishing is April.
Of course I'll fit some priorities into my schedule: drinking coffee, talking on the phone and shopping!
The truth is, I don't do it all. I prioritize by putting off what doesn't have to be done. Writing has to be done. Family, of course is a priority. Church is a priority. Housework is NOT a priority. That means dust bunnies run rampant; if we aren't wearing it-it doesn't get washed; if you run out of dishes-wash one.
As for what happens next in the writing world, here's how it works:
I recently finished a manuscript that will come out in November 2011. I also finished a proposal for my January 2011 cowboy romance. Last Thursday I got the approval on the proposal (three chapters and synopsis) which means time to start writing. Friday I got word that the November book was good to go and line edits will follow.
So for now I'll be working on the new cowboy story: The Cowboy's Family. The deadline for finishing is April.
Of course I'll fit some priorities into my schedule: drinking coffee, talking on the phone and shopping!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Mom 1, Kid 0
Me to husband: Can you go get garlic bread?
Husband to me: Right now?
Me: Pretty soon.
Middle Kid at computer in dining room: I want to go. I want to go.
Husband: Isn't it ju...
Me: Shhh, go with it.
Kid: Isn't it just what?
Me (yes, lying): Nothing, its just almost time to eat.
Kid: Wait for me. I want to go. I want to go.
Husband (finally seeing the fun in this): Okay, I'll wait for you but you have to hurry.
Kid: I'm turning off the computer. Hold on. Don't leave. I have to get my shoes.
Me to kid: On your way, take the trash out.
Kid: Okay.
Husband: Come on, let's go.
Kid 3 to Kid 2 as he goes out to the door: You're just going to the shed to get the garlic bread out of the freezer.
Kid 2, halfway to the car, brain catches up with ears: "WAIT A SECOND, I THOUGHT WE WERE GOING TO TOWN."
Dad: Nope, just going to the freezer to get the garlic bread. Thanks for taking out the trash.
Oh yeah, I rock.
Husband to me: Right now?
Me: Pretty soon.
Middle Kid at computer in dining room: I want to go. I want to go.
Husband: Isn't it ju...
Me: Shhh, go with it.
Kid: Isn't it just what?
Me (yes, lying): Nothing, its just almost time to eat.
Kid: Wait for me. I want to go. I want to go.
Husband (finally seeing the fun in this): Okay, I'll wait for you but you have to hurry.
Kid: I'm turning off the computer. Hold on. Don't leave. I have to get my shoes.
Me to kid: On your way, take the trash out.
Kid: Okay.
Husband: Come on, let's go.
Kid 3 to Kid 2 as he goes out to the door: You're just going to the shed to get the garlic bread out of the freezer.
Kid 2, halfway to the car, brain catches up with ears: "WAIT A SECOND, I THOUGHT WE WERE GOING TO TOWN."
Dad: Nope, just going to the freezer to get the garlic bread. Thanks for taking out the trash.
Oh yeah, I rock.
Monday, January 4, 2010
HELLO 2010!
Another year.
We're 4 days into 2010 and I'm looking around to see how it is different from 2009.
Dirty dishes: check
Laundry backed up: check
Scattered toys: check
Kids fighting: CHECK
Nope, looks like 2009 to me.
I guess the point in a new year is to make it look less like last year by changing myself. (we all know that the dishes are still going to get dirty, clothes will still need to be washed)
But honestly, who decided that it was a good idea to make a New Year's Resolution? I need to google and find out who he was, because this little plan for improving is backfiring. This isn't making me a better person, its just killing my self-esteem and making me feel like a failure. Before the year even gets off to a good start I'm thinking about last year's resolution that I didn't keep and knowing that I'm probably not going to keep this one.
So really, if you think about it, a New Year's Resolution is really a negative thing!
I will no longer promise myself to eat healthier, lose weight, exercise more.
I'm not going to promise that my house will be organized and everything will get done.
I'm making the same resolution I made last year: to do my best and to make this year better than last.
And to anyone who doesn't know me, if you haven't figured out my warped personality, please take this with the humor intended. Have a wonderful 2010. Laugh more, enjoy your family and friends and be the best you that you can be. If you have a dream, make it a reality.
We're 4 days into 2010 and I'm looking around to see how it is different from 2009.
Dirty dishes: check
Laundry backed up: check
Scattered toys: check
Kids fighting: CHECK
Nope, looks like 2009 to me.
I guess the point in a new year is to make it look less like last year by changing myself. (we all know that the dishes are still going to get dirty, clothes will still need to be washed)
But honestly, who decided that it was a good idea to make a New Year's Resolution? I need to google and find out who he was, because this little plan for improving is backfiring. This isn't making me a better person, its just killing my self-esteem and making me feel like a failure. Before the year even gets off to a good start I'm thinking about last year's resolution that I didn't keep and knowing that I'm probably not going to keep this one.
So really, if you think about it, a New Year's Resolution is really a negative thing!
I will no longer promise myself to eat healthier, lose weight, exercise more.
I'm not going to promise that my house will be organized and everything will get done.
I'm making the same resolution I made last year: to do my best and to make this year better than last.
And to anyone who doesn't know me, if you haven't figured out my warped personality, please take this with the humor intended. Have a wonderful 2010. Laugh more, enjoy your family and friends and be the best you that you can be. If you have a dream, make it a reality.
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