Jennifer Wilck's Blog, page 52
May 12, 2014
All Talk
How do you find the balance between standing up for yourself (or someone else) and overreacting? When is keeping silent taking the high road and when is it being a doormat?
I like to think I put up with a lot, that it takes something out of the ordinary to make me angry. If that’s true, then I’m suddenly hanging out with a lot of unique people and participating in many extraordinary events, because there are a lot of things making me angry.
Perhaps I’m just tired of swallowing things and pretending everything is okay, even when it’s not. Maybe I’m frustrated with the number of people who take my “Fine” at face value when they ask how I am. Or maybe I’m finally realizing that people are not mind readers and it’s time to speak up.
I have great plans for standing up for what’s right and for punishing wrongs. Sometimes, I even write them down, so that I don’t forget what I want to say. I have a whole speech prepared for a Board meeting. I have a punishment set for a child who didn’t do what I told her to do.
But then I get second thoughts. Maybe I should speak up. Maybe a public meeting isn’t the place to say what I want to say. Maybe it’s a waste of other people’s time. And that punishment? It’s not harsh, but maybe I’m over reacting. Maybe the threat is enough. Maybe I should give one more—in a series of one mores—chance.
The other day, I had a choice when writing a letter. I could point fingers and make the blame obvious for a problem, or I could take the high road and get the point of the letter across, without laying blame. I chose the high road (my grandmother would be proud) and it felt good. It was peaceful and it was nice not to be angry anymore.
But there’s a difference between choosing whether or not to be dignified and making sure things get done the way they’re supposed to. I hate confrontation, and when I calm down, I often decide it’s easier to avoid. However, while avoidance is easier, it’s not always best.
I’m hoping that peace comes also with doing what’s right, even when it’s hard. And maybe that balance will adjust itself as I go.
I like to think I put up with a lot, that it takes something out of the ordinary to make me angry. If that’s true, then I’m suddenly hanging out with a lot of unique people and participating in many extraordinary events, because there are a lot of things making me angry.
Perhaps I’m just tired of swallowing things and pretending everything is okay, even when it’s not. Maybe I’m frustrated with the number of people who take my “Fine” at face value when they ask how I am. Or maybe I’m finally realizing that people are not mind readers and it’s time to speak up.
I have great plans for standing up for what’s right and for punishing wrongs. Sometimes, I even write them down, so that I don’t forget what I want to say. I have a whole speech prepared for a Board meeting. I have a punishment set for a child who didn’t do what I told her to do.
But then I get second thoughts. Maybe I should speak up. Maybe a public meeting isn’t the place to say what I want to say. Maybe it’s a waste of other people’s time. And that punishment? It’s not harsh, but maybe I’m over reacting. Maybe the threat is enough. Maybe I should give one more—in a series of one mores—chance.
The other day, I had a choice when writing a letter. I could point fingers and make the blame obvious for a problem, or I could take the high road and get the point of the letter across, without laying blame. I chose the high road (my grandmother would be proud) and it felt good. It was peaceful and it was nice not to be angry anymore.
But there’s a difference between choosing whether or not to be dignified and making sure things get done the way they’re supposed to. I hate confrontation, and when I calm down, I often decide it’s easier to avoid. However, while avoidance is easier, it’s not always best.
I’m hoping that peace comes also with doing what’s right, even when it’s hard. And maybe that balance will adjust itself as I go.
April 28, 2014
My Daughter, The Vegetarian?
Having two girls, I’m very conscious of food issues. Having had my own issues with food growing up, and still having them to some degree now, I’m very careful not to berate my body in front of them, and not to talk about going on a diet with them.
Unless of course, they bring it up. On Friday, I got a text from The Princess, “Can I be a vegetarian?” Now, putting aside my initial response, which was “Why the heck are you texting this to me?” my second thought was wondering where this desire came from and worrying about whether this was a symptom of an eating disorder (to all grandmothers out there, relax, it’s not, I checked).
When she got home, we had a brief discussion about the idea. I remember wanting to be a vegetarian when I was in college. Of course, my desire was directly tied to other issues, and while I love vegetarian dishes to this day, I’m not a vegetarian. There wasn’t time for much of a discussion, as she was packing to go away for the weekend, but I did have time to ask a few questions and to impart some advice.
The first thing I asked was why she wanted to be one. She has several dancer friends who spend a lot of time talking about diet and their own weight, and my biggest concern was that she was concerned about her own. Anyone who knows her would know how ridiculous that is, but there’s no telling what a fifteen year old girl sees when she looks in the mirror--I know. Thankfully, she does not think she’s fat and she’s not looking at vegetarianism as a way to lose weight. She sees it as a way to eat healthier.
I applaud that desire in her. While she basically eats whatever is put in front of her, she has a very limited list of things she likes, her tastes run to sweets and she’d rather skip a snack than eat a healthy one. So the advice I gave her, in the limited time we had to talk, was that eating healthy was a great idea, but vegetarianism wasn’t the only way to do it. We could limit her junk food and increase her healthy food. If she truly wants to become a vegetarian, I insist she meets with a nutritionist, who will show her what to do and how to do it. And, being the mom that I am, I told her the only way I’d allow her to consider this at all was if she agreed to eat eggs, soy, tofu and beans. I stressed the word, “and.” If she’d told me she was considering this for ethical reasons, I may have reacted differently, but I don’t want her further limiting her food choices, or only replacing protein with vegetables. She needs to be healthy.
Throughout the weekend, I got multiple texts from her telling me about the salads she was eating. I asked her what she put in them and then bought the same ingredients from the grocery store so she could have them at home. I’ve also told her if she wants to try it for a week, I’ll do it with her. Then again, I served London Broil for dinner the night she came home. ;)
I’m not sure where this is going. I’ll support her choice as long as she goes into this with the right attitude. I have a hard time picturing her actually going through with this. But if it gets her to develop a healthy attitude toward food, regardless of what her actual decision is, I'm all for it!
Unless of course, they bring it up. On Friday, I got a text from The Princess, “Can I be a vegetarian?” Now, putting aside my initial response, which was “Why the heck are you texting this to me?” my second thought was wondering where this desire came from and worrying about whether this was a symptom of an eating disorder (to all grandmothers out there, relax, it’s not, I checked).
When she got home, we had a brief discussion about the idea. I remember wanting to be a vegetarian when I was in college. Of course, my desire was directly tied to other issues, and while I love vegetarian dishes to this day, I’m not a vegetarian. There wasn’t time for much of a discussion, as she was packing to go away for the weekend, but I did have time to ask a few questions and to impart some advice.
The first thing I asked was why she wanted to be one. She has several dancer friends who spend a lot of time talking about diet and their own weight, and my biggest concern was that she was concerned about her own. Anyone who knows her would know how ridiculous that is, but there’s no telling what a fifteen year old girl sees when she looks in the mirror--I know. Thankfully, she does not think she’s fat and she’s not looking at vegetarianism as a way to lose weight. She sees it as a way to eat healthier.
I applaud that desire in her. While she basically eats whatever is put in front of her, she has a very limited list of things she likes, her tastes run to sweets and she’d rather skip a snack than eat a healthy one. So the advice I gave her, in the limited time we had to talk, was that eating healthy was a great idea, but vegetarianism wasn’t the only way to do it. We could limit her junk food and increase her healthy food. If she truly wants to become a vegetarian, I insist she meets with a nutritionist, who will show her what to do and how to do it. And, being the mom that I am, I told her the only way I’d allow her to consider this at all was if she agreed to eat eggs, soy, tofu and beans. I stressed the word, “and.” If she’d told me she was considering this for ethical reasons, I may have reacted differently, but I don’t want her further limiting her food choices, or only replacing protein with vegetables. She needs to be healthy.
Throughout the weekend, I got multiple texts from her telling me about the salads she was eating. I asked her what she put in them and then bought the same ingredients from the grocery store so she could have them at home. I’ve also told her if she wants to try it for a week, I’ll do it with her. Then again, I served London Broil for dinner the night she came home. ;)
I’m not sure where this is going. I’ll support her choice as long as she goes into this with the right attitude. I have a hard time picturing her actually going through with this. But if it gets her to develop a healthy attitude toward food, regardless of what her actual decision is, I'm all for it!
April 14, 2014
Passover Prep
I’m sitting here by myself in a quiet house. I’ve been up since six, baking for Passover. Now I’m waiting for the popovers to be done, the cheesecake to cool, and the gross box-mix cake that we eat for breakfast (cake for breakfast is the one thing both girls look forward to at Passover) to be covered. My husband has left for work, and for the moment, both girls are sleeping. It’s the first time I’ve been alone, in a peaceful house, in days.
I’ve been cleaning my house for Passover for days. My kitchen is actually sterile—or was, before I baked this morning. It was so clean, it’s almost a shame to use it again. The only time I’ve sat is when I’ve been too exhausted to stand anymore, and only for a short time before I went back to work. The hardest jobs are over.
The teen could sleep all day if I let her—I think the latest I’ve let her sleep is 11, and then I got angry because she wasn’t up yet, even though I never woke her. One more check in the mistake column. But the tween is usually up with the sun. The only thing keeping her in bed is her fatigue from a late night baseball game that, despite her best efforts, takes her a few days from which to recover.
I must have asked my husband three times this morning what was wrong, if he was okay, if he was sure there wasn’t anything wrong. He finally looked at me and said this is how he is every morning, I’m just never awake enough to notice.
True. Even on school mornings (we’re on spring break) when I’m up making the kids breakfast and lunch before they leave, I’m half asleep and counting the minutes before I can go back to bed.
But this morning, his alarm rang at six and I jumped out of bed. For me, Passover is all about the food. Literally. I’m not saying it’s not about the seder—I love the seders—or the ritual or even the cleaning. But during Passover, all of our thoughts revolve around eating. It’s not so much wishing for food we can’t eat, although that’s definitely part of it. But for me, it’s about scheduling food into our day.
Because there are so many foods we can’t eat, there is a lot of thought that goes into what we can. Most of those foods are handmade. I joke that during Passover I feel like a pioneer woman, because just as I finish making one meal, I have to start preparing for the next one. We plan our daily activities around making sure we’re home in time to prepare lunch or cook dinner.
And this morning, even though Passover doesn’t start until tonight, I had to start early. My house is cleaned for Passover. That means no non-Passover foods can be eaten here, which means we need to go out for breakfast. But I also needed to bake for tonight (the cheesecake), tomorrow’s breakfast and my husband’s lunch for the week (we’ll get home too late tonight for me to do it). Add in a dental appointment, which seemed like a good idea when I scheduled it, and a lunch date with camp friends for my girls and leaving for Pennsylvania mid-afternoon, and there is little time to actually do any baking. Especially if I want to get a shower in. J
So, I was up early and functioning early. And now I have time to relax before the rest of the house descends.
I’ve been cleaning my house for Passover for days. My kitchen is actually sterile—or was, before I baked this morning. It was so clean, it’s almost a shame to use it again. The only time I’ve sat is when I’ve been too exhausted to stand anymore, and only for a short time before I went back to work. The hardest jobs are over.
The teen could sleep all day if I let her—I think the latest I’ve let her sleep is 11, and then I got angry because she wasn’t up yet, even though I never woke her. One more check in the mistake column. But the tween is usually up with the sun. The only thing keeping her in bed is her fatigue from a late night baseball game that, despite her best efforts, takes her a few days from which to recover.
I must have asked my husband three times this morning what was wrong, if he was okay, if he was sure there wasn’t anything wrong. He finally looked at me and said this is how he is every morning, I’m just never awake enough to notice.
True. Even on school mornings (we’re on spring break) when I’m up making the kids breakfast and lunch before they leave, I’m half asleep and counting the minutes before I can go back to bed.
But this morning, his alarm rang at six and I jumped out of bed. For me, Passover is all about the food. Literally. I’m not saying it’s not about the seder—I love the seders—or the ritual or even the cleaning. But during Passover, all of our thoughts revolve around eating. It’s not so much wishing for food we can’t eat, although that’s definitely part of it. But for me, it’s about scheduling food into our day.
Because there are so many foods we can’t eat, there is a lot of thought that goes into what we can. Most of those foods are handmade. I joke that during Passover I feel like a pioneer woman, because just as I finish making one meal, I have to start preparing for the next one. We plan our daily activities around making sure we’re home in time to prepare lunch or cook dinner.
And this morning, even though Passover doesn’t start until tonight, I had to start early. My house is cleaned for Passover. That means no non-Passover foods can be eaten here, which means we need to go out for breakfast. But I also needed to bake for tonight (the cheesecake), tomorrow’s breakfast and my husband’s lunch for the week (we’ll get home too late tonight for me to do it). Add in a dental appointment, which seemed like a good idea when I scheduled it, and a lunch date with camp friends for my girls and leaving for Pennsylvania mid-afternoon, and there is little time to actually do any baking. Especially if I want to get a shower in. J
So, I was up early and functioning early. And now I have time to relax before the rest of the house descends.
April 7, 2014
Counting
I’ve been spending my days counting.
Counting down until Passover. Counting how many meals to plan for the holiday and how much of each ingredient I need. Counting ways to make this holiday more than just numbers—trying to find the meaning.
Counting guests and invitations and kippot. Counting on my daughter to help me find the joy and pride in this milestone, when right now, it all seems to come down to numbers.
Counting mg of Tylenol given to the teen and hoping her liver outlasts the back pain. Counting on her future to have made all of this worth it. Counting on the love of my friends and family, who pulled us through.
Counting words, both good and bad, and pages and scenes and chapters to get my manuscript ready for submission, and wondering if it’s any good, or whether it even matters. Counting on my critique partners to understand, when no one else does.
Counting down to an auction, counting money, counting volunteers and realizing how little there are of both. Counting on my ability to hide my own fears about pulling this off from those around me and pretending “It will be fine.”
Counting sunny days and sunshine and being thankful that winter is over. Even though I hate complaining about weather.
Counting calories and numbers on a scale and knowing they’re only numbers. Remembering to stop counting in front of my daughters, because they don’t need my disorders.
Counting the hours and minutes in a day and trying to get everything done before the bus pulls up and the lives around me take precedence. And digging deep for a smile, no matter how tired I may be.
I’ve been spending my days counting, and I need to stop.
Counting down until Passover. Counting how many meals to plan for the holiday and how much of each ingredient I need. Counting ways to make this holiday more than just numbers—trying to find the meaning.
Counting guests and invitations and kippot. Counting on my daughter to help me find the joy and pride in this milestone, when right now, it all seems to come down to numbers.
Counting mg of Tylenol given to the teen and hoping her liver outlasts the back pain. Counting on her future to have made all of this worth it. Counting on the love of my friends and family, who pulled us through.
Counting words, both good and bad, and pages and scenes and chapters to get my manuscript ready for submission, and wondering if it’s any good, or whether it even matters. Counting on my critique partners to understand, when no one else does.
Counting down to an auction, counting money, counting volunteers and realizing how little there are of both. Counting on my ability to hide my own fears about pulling this off from those around me and pretending “It will be fine.”
Counting sunny days and sunshine and being thankful that winter is over. Even though I hate complaining about weather.
Counting calories and numbers on a scale and knowing they’re only numbers. Remembering to stop counting in front of my daughters, because they don’t need my disorders.
Counting the hours and minutes in a day and trying to get everything done before the bus pulls up and the lives around me take precedence. And digging deep for a smile, no matter how tired I may be.
I’ve been spending my days counting, and I need to stop.
March 31, 2014
Cloverleaf
When I was growing up, we had a cloverleaf on the local highway. Actually, attaching four local highways—Route 208, Route 4, Route 17 and Route 3. It was known statewide, and perhaps nationwide, for being one of the most dangerous intersections anywhere. Eventually, I think while I was in college, they redesigned it into some massive set of overpasses, making it more modern and much more safe.
While I applaud safety, I do think it took away a bit of New Jersey flavor.
It classified the shoppers. In order to get to the mall, one had to use the cloverleaf (unless you were using the back roads). You had to want to do some pretty serious shopping in order to be willing to risk you life on the merge of any of those ovals in order to pull into the mall parking lot. You could see the look of pride and accomplishment on those shoppers who made it, and the green tinge of the newbies, as they exited their cars. And finding a parking space? No one was going to mess with any of the drivers, knowing how they’d actually gotten there.
It was a driver’s rite of passage. Just like learning to drive a stick shift on hills, no driver in Bergen County could consider their driver’s ed complete without learning how to navigate the cloverleaf. If you were brave enough to look at the other driver’s faces as you circled and merged left and right almost simultaneously, you could see the looks of horror on the newbie driver’s faces (and their accompanying parent), compared to the looks of confidence on the more experienced drivers. It was easier to spot the new drivers than that ridiculous red sticker they put on license plates now.
It taught you math and physics. In order to survive the cloverleaf, you had to master speed and turns and merges. You needed to know exactly how slowly to drive on the curves so you wouldn’t spin off the edge, while being able to speed up appropriately on the highways—have you seen how fast people drive there—in order to not be crushed. You had to calculate how fast the cars coming at you were going, so you could slip in between them for a few feet, before moving over and going back onto the cloverleaf again. One wrong calculation and you got mushed. It was a bit like Darwin, for drivers.
So fill those potholes, fix those traffic nightmares, and add those traffic lights and extra caution lights. Whatever you think you need now to make things safer for drivers. Just try to leave a little bit of the flavor for those of us who remember the cloverleaf.
While I applaud safety, I do think it took away a bit of New Jersey flavor.
It classified the shoppers. In order to get to the mall, one had to use the cloverleaf (unless you were using the back roads). You had to want to do some pretty serious shopping in order to be willing to risk you life on the merge of any of those ovals in order to pull into the mall parking lot. You could see the look of pride and accomplishment on those shoppers who made it, and the green tinge of the newbies, as they exited their cars. And finding a parking space? No one was going to mess with any of the drivers, knowing how they’d actually gotten there.
It was a driver’s rite of passage. Just like learning to drive a stick shift on hills, no driver in Bergen County could consider their driver’s ed complete without learning how to navigate the cloverleaf. If you were brave enough to look at the other driver’s faces as you circled and merged left and right almost simultaneously, you could see the looks of horror on the newbie driver’s faces (and their accompanying parent), compared to the looks of confidence on the more experienced drivers. It was easier to spot the new drivers than that ridiculous red sticker they put on license plates now.
It taught you math and physics. In order to survive the cloverleaf, you had to master speed and turns and merges. You needed to know exactly how slowly to drive on the curves so you wouldn’t spin off the edge, while being able to speed up appropriately on the highways—have you seen how fast people drive there—in order to not be crushed. You had to calculate how fast the cars coming at you were going, so you could slip in between them for a few feet, before moving over and going back onto the cloverleaf again. One wrong calculation and you got mushed. It was a bit like Darwin, for drivers.
So fill those potholes, fix those traffic nightmares, and add those traffic lights and extra caution lights. Whatever you think you need now to make things safer for drivers. Just try to leave a little bit of the flavor for those of us who remember the cloverleaf.
March 24, 2014
My Social Media Resolution
I love social media. It’s a godsend for stay-at-home moms/dads and work-from-home people. It’s our version of a water cooler. In theory, I can pop onto Facebook or Twitter or whatever, spend five minutes checking out the latest posts and commenting, and then return to my work.
In reality, it’s a time suck. It’s so easy to get distracted by people’s posts and to engage in “conversations” with them, riffing on something they, or I, said. All of a sudden, I look at the clock, and twenty minutes have passed. How did that happen?
Social media is making me judgmental. It’s incredibly easy to point fingers at people’s mistakes online, whether those mistakes are grammatical, ideological, or just plain stupid (see, I told you!). For one thing, while you’re supposed to put more thought into writing, the type of writing done on social media is so fast-paced, no one agonizes over what they’re posting. Chances are, we’d think more about it if we were going to have a conversation in person, rather than across WiFi. For another, I don’t care how many emoticons there are, no one reads what I say in exactly the way I meant them to hear it.
Snark is lauded, even when it progresses to mean and bitchy. The quiet ones become the popular ones, because they’re funny and make people laugh. Only, that laughter is often at the expense of others, who can’t comment for fear of repercussions. And others, who have no relation to the original comment, join in, twisting words even further and taking those words in directions they weren’t intended. Meanwhile, the ones we hurt disappear into the Facebook ether and we never know why.
Social media is also killing my attention span. Because it’s so easy to pop on and off the various sites, whenever I am stuck doing something I’d rather not do, I distract myself with Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. It’s gotten to the point where I have to remind myself to finish something before going to “have fun.”
And social media prevents me from engaging with the people around me. I’m so busy formulating cute status updates or tweets, or reminding myself to post that photo on Instagram, that often I forget to just be in the moment.
I’ve been denying it’s an issue for a long time, but I think I need to start using a bit more discipline. Rather than trolling on a site when I’m bored, I’m going to read a book, or clean (ugh) or go for a walk (providing it ever gets warm enough). I’m going to stop thinking of how funny this would sound on Twitter and just participate in the actual event. And I’m going to be careful how I speak on Facebook, especially when I speak to/of others (about myself, well, I still have no problem making fun of me). And if I screw up, call me on it!
Social media is still going to be my water cooler. I’m just going to be a bit less hydrated.
In reality, it’s a time suck. It’s so easy to get distracted by people’s posts and to engage in “conversations” with them, riffing on something they, or I, said. All of a sudden, I look at the clock, and twenty minutes have passed. How did that happen?
Social media is making me judgmental. It’s incredibly easy to point fingers at people’s mistakes online, whether those mistakes are grammatical, ideological, or just plain stupid (see, I told you!). For one thing, while you’re supposed to put more thought into writing, the type of writing done on social media is so fast-paced, no one agonizes over what they’re posting. Chances are, we’d think more about it if we were going to have a conversation in person, rather than across WiFi. For another, I don’t care how many emoticons there are, no one reads what I say in exactly the way I meant them to hear it.
Snark is lauded, even when it progresses to mean and bitchy. The quiet ones become the popular ones, because they’re funny and make people laugh. Only, that laughter is often at the expense of others, who can’t comment for fear of repercussions. And others, who have no relation to the original comment, join in, twisting words even further and taking those words in directions they weren’t intended. Meanwhile, the ones we hurt disappear into the Facebook ether and we never know why.
Social media is also killing my attention span. Because it’s so easy to pop on and off the various sites, whenever I am stuck doing something I’d rather not do, I distract myself with Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. It’s gotten to the point where I have to remind myself to finish something before going to “have fun.”
And social media prevents me from engaging with the people around me. I’m so busy formulating cute status updates or tweets, or reminding myself to post that photo on Instagram, that often I forget to just be in the moment.
I’ve been denying it’s an issue for a long time, but I think I need to start using a bit more discipline. Rather than trolling on a site when I’m bored, I’m going to read a book, or clean (ugh) or go for a walk (providing it ever gets warm enough). I’m going to stop thinking of how funny this would sound on Twitter and just participate in the actual event. And I’m going to be careful how I speak on Facebook, especially when I speak to/of others (about myself, well, I still have no problem making fun of me). And if I screw up, call me on it!
Social media is still going to be my water cooler. I’m just going to be a bit less hydrated.
March 17, 2014
Helping to Celebrate A Friend's Book Birthday
Today, I'm helping a friend celebrate her book birthday. Please welcome Jane Wakely to my blog:
Book Birthday/Spotlight: Jenn’s Wolf
Thanx so much for hosting me today, Jennifer!
Hi Everyone!
Thanx for joining me here on Jennifer’s blog! This blog is one of the four stops in today’s Birthday Celebration! JENN’S WOLF (Chestnut Rock Shifters, Book 1) is one year old!
Here are the other Birthday Party stops: Jane Wakely Blog: www.janewakely.blogspot.com Lori J Gordon Blog: http://ljgordon.wordpress.com/ Denisea Kampe Blog: http://deniseakampe.blogspot.com/
To enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway, you need to visit all four blogs and collect all four BIRTHDAY WORDS. Once you have them, unscramble the sentence and enter the giveaway!
Three prizes are up for grabs: One $17 Amazon Gift Card, One JENN’S WOLF Swag Pack, and one PDF copy of JENN’S WOLF! The giveaway ends Wednesday, March 19! (Winners will be chosen on Thursday, March 20 and notified by email the same day!)
Learn more about the Birthday Book:
Title: Jenn’s WolfSeries: Chestnut Rock Shifters, Book 1Author: Jane WakelyGenre: Paranormal/Shifter Romance
Blurb: Jenn is used to being overlooked by men. She’s short, slim, shy and her past keeps her guarded against others—especially men. It also gets her labeled as having a “good personality.” When she sees Matt for the first time, she realizes he’s the first man she’s willing to take a chance on.
Matt is a wolf shifter worried that he’ll never find his mate. Without a mate, a shifter’s life is incredibly drawn-out and lonely. Willing to try anything, he agrees to a blind date with Jenn and is stunned to find out she’s the one.
A misunderstanding interrupts their first night together and leaves them both miserable. After determining she may have overreacted, Jenn apologizes and they agree to start over. When Matt tells her about his wolf, she has to decide whether to trust her heart or run from the only man she’s ever wanted.
Buy Links: Amazon: http://amzn.to/116bhlsv Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/1458lX1 All Romance Ebooks: http://bit.ly/WtMrsU
Author Links: Website: www.janewakely.com Blog: www.janewakely.blogspot.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/JaneWakelyRomanceAuthor Twitter: www.twitter.com/JaneWakely
BIRTHDAY WORD: ROCK
Have fun finding the rest of the words and don’t forget to eat cake today! :)
***
Rafflecopter Code:
<a id="rc-3ad2769" class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/3ad2769/" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><scriptsrc="http://jenniferwilck.blogspot.com//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>
Book Birthday/Spotlight: Jenn’s Wolf
Thanx so much for hosting me today, Jennifer!
Hi Everyone!
Thanx for joining me here on Jennifer’s blog! This blog is one of the four stops in today’s Birthday Celebration! JENN’S WOLF (Chestnut Rock Shifters, Book 1) is one year old!
Here are the other Birthday Party stops: Jane Wakely Blog: www.janewakely.blogspot.com Lori J Gordon Blog: http://ljgordon.wordpress.com/ Denisea Kampe Blog: http://deniseakampe.blogspot.com/
To enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway, you need to visit all four blogs and collect all four BIRTHDAY WORDS. Once you have them, unscramble the sentence and enter the giveaway!
Three prizes are up for grabs: One $17 Amazon Gift Card, One JENN’S WOLF Swag Pack, and one PDF copy of JENN’S WOLF! The giveaway ends Wednesday, March 19! (Winners will be chosen on Thursday, March 20 and notified by email the same day!)
Learn more about the Birthday Book:
Title: Jenn’s WolfSeries: Chestnut Rock Shifters, Book 1Author: Jane WakelyGenre: Paranormal/Shifter Romance
Blurb: Jenn is used to being overlooked by men. She’s short, slim, shy and her past keeps her guarded against others—especially men. It also gets her labeled as having a “good personality.” When she sees Matt for the first time, she realizes he’s the first man she’s willing to take a chance on.
Matt is a wolf shifter worried that he’ll never find his mate. Without a mate, a shifter’s life is incredibly drawn-out and lonely. Willing to try anything, he agrees to a blind date with Jenn and is stunned to find out she’s the one.
A misunderstanding interrupts their first night together and leaves them both miserable. After determining she may have overreacted, Jenn apologizes and they agree to start over. When Matt tells her about his wolf, she has to decide whether to trust her heart or run from the only man she’s ever wanted.
Buy Links: Amazon: http://amzn.to/116bhlsv Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/1458lX1 All Romance Ebooks: http://bit.ly/WtMrsU
Author Links: Website: www.janewakely.com Blog: www.janewakely.blogspot.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/JaneWakelyRomanceAuthor Twitter: www.twitter.com/JaneWakely
BIRTHDAY WORD: ROCK
Have fun finding the rest of the words and don’t forget to eat cake today! :)
***
Rafflecopter Code:
<a id="rc-3ad2769" class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/3ad2769/" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><scriptsrc="http://jenniferwilck.blogspot.com//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script>
March 10, 2014
The Dress
Banana Girl found her Bat Mitzvah dress this weekend. One store, one and half hours. It might be a record.
She loves it.
I...don’t.
We went into the shopping experience with a few ground rules. She hates being influenced by other people, because she feels guilty if she has a different opinion than the other person, and she really wanted to pick out her own dress. Therefore, I was the only one allowed to go with her, since she and I work fairly well together. The rules were that if I said the dress was inappropriate, she couldn’t get it, but I wouldn’t give my opinion unless asked.
She tried on about six dresses, narrowed it down to three and then to one. And then we looked around the store one last time. She found another dress whose top she liked. It was the same designer as the one she liked and that designer customizes dresses. She hemmed and hawed about the two dresses and finally decided to take the bodice of one, the skirt of the other, to change the skirt color, and to add a jacket in the same color as the skirt.
There are a lot of sequins. No, take what you’re thinking and double it. Now add more. And probably more on top of that. It’s not a dress I would have chosen. First of all, I don’t like sequins. Second of all, it’s an afternoon party. But she loves it. And it covers all body parts that need covering.
Her personality is very different from mine. She likes to stand out, to make an entrance. I prefer to remain quiet (unless you tick me off; then, watch out). I’m also not thirteen (well, neither is she, yet). She shouldn’t have to wear a dress that I like just because I like it.
I’ve spent a lot of time worrying to myself that it might have been a mistake to let her have full control over the dress. I’ve worried that people are going to look at her and wonder, “what was the mother thinking?” I’ve been concerned about how pictures are going to look, because the rest of us will NOT be in sequins (unless she can convince her Rabbi to wear a sequin tie ;) ).
But then I remember something she told me as she was kvelling about the dress all weekend. “Grammy gave me great advice, Mom. She told me I should pick the dress that makes me feel like a princess. And this one does.”
You know what? She gets a day to feel like a princess. She’s putting a ton of work into her Bat Mitzvah and the party is a bit of the reward. And if this dress makes her feel like a princess, she deserves it. The dress wasn’t a mistake. To anyone who wonders (or is uncouth enough to ask), I was thinking that the dress is an easy thing to give in on and her face when she tried it on was enough for me to say, “Yes!” The pictures are going to show an ecstatically happy teenager.
This is her chance to be princess for a day and to shine (literally and figuratively).
And next time I see a 13-year-old girl in a dress I wouldn’t wear, I’m going to keep my mouth shut.
She loves it.
I...don’t.
We went into the shopping experience with a few ground rules. She hates being influenced by other people, because she feels guilty if she has a different opinion than the other person, and she really wanted to pick out her own dress. Therefore, I was the only one allowed to go with her, since she and I work fairly well together. The rules were that if I said the dress was inappropriate, she couldn’t get it, but I wouldn’t give my opinion unless asked.
She tried on about six dresses, narrowed it down to three and then to one. And then we looked around the store one last time. She found another dress whose top she liked. It was the same designer as the one she liked and that designer customizes dresses. She hemmed and hawed about the two dresses and finally decided to take the bodice of one, the skirt of the other, to change the skirt color, and to add a jacket in the same color as the skirt.
There are a lot of sequins. No, take what you’re thinking and double it. Now add more. And probably more on top of that. It’s not a dress I would have chosen. First of all, I don’t like sequins. Second of all, it’s an afternoon party. But she loves it. And it covers all body parts that need covering.
Her personality is very different from mine. She likes to stand out, to make an entrance. I prefer to remain quiet (unless you tick me off; then, watch out). I’m also not thirteen (well, neither is she, yet). She shouldn’t have to wear a dress that I like just because I like it.
I’ve spent a lot of time worrying to myself that it might have been a mistake to let her have full control over the dress. I’ve worried that people are going to look at her and wonder, “what was the mother thinking?” I’ve been concerned about how pictures are going to look, because the rest of us will NOT be in sequins (unless she can convince her Rabbi to wear a sequin tie ;) ).
But then I remember something she told me as she was kvelling about the dress all weekend. “Grammy gave me great advice, Mom. She told me I should pick the dress that makes me feel like a princess. And this one does.”
You know what? She gets a day to feel like a princess. She’s putting a ton of work into her Bat Mitzvah and the party is a bit of the reward. And if this dress makes her feel like a princess, she deserves it. The dress wasn’t a mistake. To anyone who wonders (or is uncouth enough to ask), I was thinking that the dress is an easy thing to give in on and her face when she tried it on was enough for me to say, “Yes!” The pictures are going to show an ecstatically happy teenager.
This is her chance to be princess for a day and to shine (literally and figuratively).
And next time I see a 13-year-old girl in a dress I wouldn’t wear, I’m going to keep my mouth shut.
March 3, 2014
Dad, Don't Read This*
I made fun of my dad on Facebook the other day. It was harmless and I did it with full knowledge that even though he’s not actually on Facebook, my mother is and, therefore, he’d see it.
He was a bit surprised. I’m not sure why; I always make fun of him and I’ve done it on Facebook before. He has a good sense of humor—I’ve gotten some of my snarkiness from him (thanks Dad!)—and he doesn’t get offended easily. If I thought there was any chance of him being embarrassed by what I said, I wouldn’t have done it. Facebook is public, after all.
One of the reasons why I made fun of him was that it was funny. It involved a phone conversation we had:
My dad is not a big telephone person. That’s not to say he doesn’t like conversations; he just doesn’t use the phone for them. He’d much rather have them in person. And believe me, we have lots of them. In fact, after the above comments, we continued to have an actual conversation.
After I posted this on Facebook, several people empathized with me by telling me their dads weren’t big conversationalists either. My dad called to ask why I posted this and to joke about payback. I even responded to some of the comments by sticking up for my dad’s conversation skills.
What most people failed to notice, and the real reason I posted this on Facebook to begin with (aside from the fact that it’s funny) is that it’s really a slam on me, not my dad. If you read this closely, you’ll realize I’m showing a conversation where my dad it making fun of me for only calling when I need something.
Okay, I’ll admit, I often do call my parents when I need something. They live nearby and are extremely helpful. My dad it King when it comes to carpooling and schlepping. But I also call just to check in and say hello, even if he’s not aware of that.
In my opinion, the best Facebook jokes that I share are ones that make fun of myself as well. I love laughing at myself. I am very entertaining, at least to me, and laughing at myself prevents me from taking myself too seriously.
Which really should be the point of Facebook, anyway!
*If you choose to ignore the warning, none of this is my fault.
He was a bit surprised. I’m not sure why; I always make fun of him and I’ve done it on Facebook before. He has a good sense of humor—I’ve gotten some of my snarkiness from him (thanks Dad!)—and he doesn’t get offended easily. If I thought there was any chance of him being embarrassed by what I said, I wouldn’t have done it. Facebook is public, after all.
One of the reasons why I made fun of him was that it was funny. It involved a phone conversation we had:
Actual phone conversation between me and my dad (who is not on FB--hee hee):
Me: Hello.
Him: Hi? What are you calling for?
Me: To say hi.
Him: Oh. You don't usually do that.
Me: Yes I do, you just don't usually answer the phone.
Him: Oh.
My dad is not a big telephone person. That’s not to say he doesn’t like conversations; he just doesn’t use the phone for them. He’d much rather have them in person. And believe me, we have lots of them. In fact, after the above comments, we continued to have an actual conversation.
After I posted this on Facebook, several people empathized with me by telling me their dads weren’t big conversationalists either. My dad called to ask why I posted this and to joke about payback. I even responded to some of the comments by sticking up for my dad’s conversation skills.
What most people failed to notice, and the real reason I posted this on Facebook to begin with (aside from the fact that it’s funny) is that it’s really a slam on me, not my dad. If you read this closely, you’ll realize I’m showing a conversation where my dad it making fun of me for only calling when I need something.
Okay, I’ll admit, I often do call my parents when I need something. They live nearby and are extremely helpful. My dad it King when it comes to carpooling and schlepping. But I also call just to check in and say hello, even if he’s not aware of that.
In my opinion, the best Facebook jokes that I share are ones that make fun of myself as well. I love laughing at myself. I am very entertaining, at least to me, and laughing at myself prevents me from taking myself too seriously.
Which really should be the point of Facebook, anyway!
*If you choose to ignore the warning, none of this is my fault.
February 24, 2014
If You Give Me A Pen
I’m writing again. I spent my free time over the weekend, what little there was, sitting at my computer and working on my sequel to TheSeduction of Esther. It was wonderful to get back to it and to feel free to dive into my dream world for a bit, without fear that the real world would come crashing down around me.
But it was also good for another reason. If I’m writing, it means I’m dreaming again. I’m thinking about my characters before I drift off to sleep, which is when I get most of my inspiration. I’m not waking up with a pounding heart from stress dreams (although I admit I did dream my husband left the dog in the garage all night—while we sometimes forget where she is since she doesn’t bark, we’ve NEVER left her anywhere all night! Promise!).
Dreaming means I’m sleeping. Yep, actually shutting my eyes and keeping them closed for multiple hours at a time. I’m no longer waking to administer meds, being disturbed by anyone entering to check vitals, or sleeping on uncomfortable sofas that really weren’t ever meant to be sofa beds.
And sleeping means I can function the next day and use my rest to gain perspective. It’s true, what they say about big things putting life into perspective. I’m not stressing over the small stuff and I’m not even rushing to get back into the small stuff. I don’t miss it and I don’t care about it.
I’m thinking this might lead to some changes in my life in the next few months so stay tuned. But in the meantime, I’m off to write!
But it was also good for another reason. If I’m writing, it means I’m dreaming again. I’m thinking about my characters before I drift off to sleep, which is when I get most of my inspiration. I’m not waking up with a pounding heart from stress dreams (although I admit I did dream my husband left the dog in the garage all night—while we sometimes forget where she is since she doesn’t bark, we’ve NEVER left her anywhere all night! Promise!).
Dreaming means I’m sleeping. Yep, actually shutting my eyes and keeping them closed for multiple hours at a time. I’m no longer waking to administer meds, being disturbed by anyone entering to check vitals, or sleeping on uncomfortable sofas that really weren’t ever meant to be sofa beds.
And sleeping means I can function the next day and use my rest to gain perspective. It’s true, what they say about big things putting life into perspective. I’m not stressing over the small stuff and I’m not even rushing to get back into the small stuff. I don’t miss it and I don’t care about it.
I’m thinking this might lead to some changes in my life in the next few months so stay tuned. But in the meantime, I’m off to write!
