Heather Balog's Blog, page 25

Why I Don’t Want to See a Picture of Your Gifts Under the Tree

I’m not a scrooge or a Grinch by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, I think I’m quite the opposite. The idea of the holidays makes me almost giddy like a kid. I love the lights, the music, watching A Christmas Story over and over again. I look forward to the food, the wine… I don’t even mind the wrapping or even the cooking (which I normally despise). What I don’t like about the holiday is seeing pictures of everyone’s trees. No wait, let me rephrase that…I love seeing pictures of trees and how individual they all are. I love seeing the decorated houses and living rooms full of people. It’s those pictures of the stacks of presents that I can’t stand.

Posting a picture on social media with your tree with a few gifts strategically placed underneath is one thing…it’s the shots of the living rooms that look like the tree gave birth to a Toys R Us that’s disturbing. It bothers me, not because I can’t give my children a lavish Christmas, but because I choose not to. I’m not into keeping up with the Joneses or trying to outdo all the other moms on social media. I definitely don’t want to post pictures with a overflowing tree that says “look how spoiled my kid is”.  Instead of focusing on gifts, I want them to realize what Christmas is really about.

We’re not religious, so it really has nothing to do with the birth of Christ or anything for our family (although many people emphasize that and that’s also refreshing). What I’ve hoped to give the kids is the idea that Christmas (and all the holidays) are about family and traditions. Being with the people you love and spending time with them, good, bad, or all out insane. I want them to enjoy Christmas Eve like I did when I was young…looking forward to so much more than gifts. I want them to look back in years from now and remember decorating the tree and playing with their cousins and going Christmas caroling. Putting the emphasis on “getting” sets them up for disappointment. It’ll never be enough if they’re constantly wishing for “things”. I don’t recall the gifts of 1987, but it was my last Christmas with my grandfather and I remember the events of that holiday vividly. I can’t remember what I got for Christmas in 1997, but I do know it was my first holiday that my husband and I hosted together. I remember everyone at my house and the joy it brought me (and the stress too). I don’t remember what gifts I received for much of my childhood (except that Hot Wheels City in 1983…that was the best gift EVER), but I do remember the games of Scattergories and the driving around to see the Christmas lights and Nana’s strufoli. I remember the feast of the 7 fishes and the laughter and quite often…the tears. Because it’s not always fine and dandy. Along with the joy came a lot of flipped over card tables and shattered glass. But that was the family I remember. They weren’t perfect, but they were mine, and I treasure the memories with them because many, many of them are no longer here…some are missing in body and others in spirit.

Those gifts the kids rip into in ten minutes flat (after endless nights of wrapping), will probably be next year’s garbage. What stays with them is the memories. The memories of eating cookies for breakfast of Christmas morning and the tradition of brunch at Grandma’s. Take pictures of course…you’ll want to pull out the bad hair pictures for their future spouses. Snap shots with their favorite gifts, too. Get the looks on their faces…those are priceless. Capture the joy, not the materialism.

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Make sure you check out http://www.cbc.ca/radio/q tomorro...

Make sure you check out http://www.cbc.ca/radio/q tomorrow (December 22) @ 10 am. I’ll be defending Sprocket the Elf on Canadian radio  

 

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Why I Love That Creepy Little Elf on the Shelf

Reblogged on WordPress.com

Source: Why I Love That Creepy Little Elf on the Shelf

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Top 10 Reasons My Preteen is Crying

I thought toddlerhood was exhausting. Kids that are between the ages of a year and a half to four years old seem to have meltdowns on a daily basis. In between these ages, I think that my daughter was actually crying more than not. And pretty much ANYTHING from not getting the stuffed animal she wanted in a store to having the wrong day of the week underwear one (once she actually took it off in the car on the way to school because it upset her that much). Once she hit five, I thought my days of trying to decipher irrational reasons for tears were over. I apparently forgot about the hormones…oh dear God those evil hormones. As we creep into our teen years, the crying remains…the reasons just change. (And honestly, sometimes even the reasons are the same as when she was three). Over the last year or so, she has burst into a fit of sobbing for one or more of the following reasons (and I assure you…they’re not made up despite the fact they sound absurd):

10. When she was 3: We’re having something with sauce for dinner. Or meat. Or anything that isn’t yellow. Basically, we’re not having macaroni and cheese for dinner.

Now: We’re having salmon for dinner. Bear in mind, she liked salmon last week and hated meatloaf. This week she’s demanding meatloaf or else she might starve to death.

9. When she was 3: She wanted to wear a bathing suit to preschool.  I said no. She peed on the floor.

Now: I asked her to put her shoes on. To go to school. And she’s not ready. Don’t get me started on telling her we’re going to school if she isn’t ready. Apparently we need at LEAST an hour to stare at our iPad in our pajamas in the morning before we can fathom putting on pants. And also, I told her she needed to put on different pants. Meaning “take those damn ratty sweatpants with the hole in the crotch off your body right now before I donate them AND You to The Salvation Army”. This also can lead to the “I have nothing to wear/nothing that fits me” wailing. Which leads to the “I’m fat” hyperventilating. And the eating of baked goods along with the crying.

8. When she was 3: I brushed her hair, resulting in screaming like I was scalping her because she never let me brush her hair and the knots were atrocious.

Now:  I asked her to brush her own hair. Her go-to hair style is a cross somewhere between pecked to death by chickens and rolling in the door after a frat party. Brushing is the least she could do. Usually this crying is accompanied by a hairbrush whizzing past my head.

7. When she was 3: I wouldn’t let her have a sip of my coffee. Or wine.

Now: I won’t buy her a donut or a latte from Dunkin Donuts when I make a pit stop there to keep myself awake during her gymnastics class/softball game/basketball practice….

6. When she was 3: The episode of Bubble Guppies that she was watching was over.

Now: The DVR didn’t record the latest episode of Liv and Maddie. Or Girl Meets World. Or Spongebob. Because she’s “never seen that oneeeeeeee”. The fact they play the same freaking episode forty-seven times a week is irrelevant. She wants THAT episode RIGHT NOW and she will NOT wait!

5. When she was 3: I  asked her to pick up all the toys she dragged out to play with. She throws herself on the floor in true tantrum fashion, kicking all the toys and breaking them.

Now: I had the nerve to ask her to put away her clothes,shoes, pencil toppers, books, stupid toys, or whatever else is littering my living room, stairs, and kitchen table. I barely get acknowledgement and an “in a minute”.

4. When she was 3: I threw out the broken toys. They were always her “FAVORITE”.

Now: I threw out aforementioned clothes,shoes, pencil toppers, etc., etc. after two days of asking her to put them away.

3. When she was 3: I wouldn’t buy her yet another My Little Pony in the store. Or a fish that talks. Or another fake puppy that barks. Or a princess wand. Or anything in any store that struck her fancy at that exact moment.

Now: “EVERYONE else has ALL the ShopKins and Yummy Nummys and EVERYONE ELSE’S mother buys them anything they want and EVERYONE ELSE in her class is making fun of me because MY mother won’t buy ME everything I wants. And you’re the meanest mother ever and so unfair and oh, wait…can I have this app for my iPad???”

2. When she was 3: I wouldn’t let her wear my make-up. She snuck in the bathroom and applied it all over her face and her dolls. She cut her own hair and I had a conniption.

Now: I wouldn’t let her wear my make-up. I hid my make-up from her. She can’t find it.

And the #1 Reason my 10 year old is crying? When she was 3 AND Now: I told her to go to bed. And she’s not tired because she fell asleep after school because she went to bed too late because she wasn’t tired because she napped after school that day, too and Oh. My. God. Make her stop crying before I start crying!!!

In conclusion? Preteens are just overgrown toddlers…and if she doesn’t stop crying, I’m gonna give her something to cry about.

Filed under: parenting humor

An Open Letter to BookBub from an Indie Author

My Dearest BookBub,

Thank you so much for your email at 8:21am that allowed me to drag myself half-heartedly out of bed and carry on with my day. I must say, your prompt rejections are becoming so much of my usual routine that I can almost predict them now. I send in a request on Thursday, I get rejected on Saturday morning…it’s like we’re old friends.

Except, old friends wouldn’t do this to another friend, would they? They wouldn’t laugh in their face and keep rejecting them, watching them squirm. They would support their friends, wouldn’t they? They would want to see their friends succeed.

What do I have to do to get you to like me, BookBub? You pretend you want to help me by peppering your emails with “unfortunately” and “Best wishes” and all that insincere crap that makes it look like you care. But do you REALLY care? Look at your advice for getting a promo for instance. Really, BookBub? I feel like you don’t really know me at all. Here they are (and I QUOTE):

-Submit your book for a Featured deal at a lower price point—I submitted it for FREE. Would you like me to PAY people to read it????

-Submit other books from your backlist—Um, I have…MANY, MANY, MANY times. And you’ve rejected them all…MANY, MANY, MANY times. And I’m currently working on more books for you to reject.

-Re-submit your book in a few months, when it might be a better fit for our readers—Oh, okay…so when the chick lit/cozy mystery readers finally say oh, wait, I like to read chick lit/cozy mysteries?????

It’s partly my fault, I guess. After twenty-seven rejections, I keep coming back for more. And you keep kicking me to the curb with the same old form letter that tells me that you only accept 20% of all submissions. Hmmmm, I’ve never been too good at math (I’m more of a language arts kinda gal) but wouldn’t that mean you should have accepted me 5-6 times already??? Maybe you need to go back to elementary school, BookBub. Because it seems like we’re in high school all over again, BookBub.

I feel like you don’t listen to me, BookBub. When I apply to be part of your world TWENTY-EIGHT times, that means something to me…why doesn’t it mean anything to you? That’s right, I said TWENTY-EIGHT. One time you accepted me…you let me into your world for a sneak peak. In the UK. Don’t get me wrong, it was my best sales day EVER. I was over the moon happy. But what a tease you are, BookBub. You got me all excited, thinking that I had a foot in the door…now you liked me and I proved to you I could sell books. But no…apparently you were the popular kid who accidently invited the nerdy girl to his party.

What don’t you get, BookBub? Do you not understand that you single-handedly have the power to make an Indie author? I get that they’re a dime a dozen, but when they’re jumping through hoops to prove themselves to you, don’t you think you should throw them a bone? I’ve sobbed to my fellow writers and they’ve commiserated with me. We cry on each others’ shoulders and swear we won’t let you get us down. And we swear we won’t desire you anymore…we’ve got other promo sites that like us…Robin Reads and ENT and Fussy Librarian. THEY don’t care if we’re big name authors or not. They like us for who we are. But we’re all secretly longing for your acceptance. I know that we’re all still trying to get your attention, despite telling each other you’re not important. And then, you accept one of them out of the clear blue sky and I can’t help thinking…bitch. What does she have that I don’t have?

I think we need to break up, BookBub. Okay, so maybe we’re not officially an item, but I can’t keep holding out hope that you’ll finally accept me. I feel quite insecure and I’m lacking confidence now, constantly second guessing myself. Is it my covers? I admit, in the beginning, they were kind of primitive. And I get it…people judge on appearances. So I did a little make-over, but still…you won’t even glance my way. They seem appealing to me, but maybe you’re more superficial than I thought. Is it my number of reviews? I know I don’t have many, but my mother always said it’s better to have a few good ones than a whole bunch of fake ones. It can’t be the quality of my work because you’ve never even taken the moment to get to know my books. How can you reject something when you don’t even give it a chance?

I’m leaving you with that thought, BookBub. Maybe you need to think about what you’re doing to people. Maybe you need to reconsider your elitist take on acceptance and make someone’s world by throwing them a promo. (pick me, pick me…)Meanwhile, I’ll be on the couch with a pint of Rocky Road, watching “Sixteen Candles”, and writing bad poetry about you, BookBub.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: book sales, Bookbub, ENT promo, eReader News Today, getting a bookbub promo, humorous take on Bookbub rejection, promo sites for authors, rejection by bookbub, robin reads, writer promos

Hey Kindle Unlimited Members!Filed under: Uncategorized ...

Hey Kindle Unlimited Members!

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Double Deal

This week in the UK, “Letters to My Sister’s Shrink” AND “Falling When the Bough Breaks” are both only £0.99 until Friday. That’s two books for less than £2!

Here are the links:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00IK00FYI?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00JHQV57K?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

And if you’re in the US, don’t feel left out…”Letters to My Sister’s Shrink” is just $0.99!

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00IK00FYI?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: 99cents, Kindle Countdown deal, kindle deals, sale in UK

“The Dead of Summer” is Available now!

“Adults insist that you never completely remember your childhood. They say that as the years pass by, those little details that once captured your undivided attention become fuzzy around the edges. As time marches on, the sharp memories start crinkling up like a piece of newspaper burning in a campfire; first you can just make out the sentences, and then, the white hot fire laps at the pages, blurring them and obscuring the actual words. Until all that you are left with is a fine white ash and the vague memories of what used to be. As long as I’m breathing, I know I will never forget my sixteenth summer. It’s been years, but that summer is etched finely in my memory. That was the summer I finally kissed a boy, found the body in the basement, and discovered that keeping secrets just might kill you. And believe me, that isn’t something you forget too easily, no matter how hard you try. And I sure as hell have tried.”

Funny and charmingly awkward Kennedy Ryan is sixteen years old with a dominating (and gorgeous) best friend, a mother who won’t leave the house, and a crush on Carson, the mysterious new boy in town. Her life is totally normal…or so she keeps telling herself until her mother begins acting strangely, or at least more strangely than usual.When Kennedy stumbles upon a dead body hidden in the basement, she enlists Carson’s help to solve the mystery and it’s sayonara normalcy, and quite possibly goodbye to everything she knows.

Check out “The Dead of Summer” for Kindle or paperback:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Dead-Summer-Heather-Balog-ebook/dp/B012BBZBAO

Filed under: novels Tagged: kindle books, Kindle scout, mystery/suspense novels, YA novels

Being the “Okay-est” Mom

This is the first blog post I’ve written in over a month…probably closer to two months. Believe me, I’m not happy about that. I enjoy writing the blog…it gives me an outlet to bitch and moan….if you know me personally, you know I love to bitch and moan. And the fact that I haven’t blogged has not escaped the attention of several people, including my 14 year old. Apparently he likes to read about me bashing his father or complaining about his sister…who knew? Just this morning I was complaining to the hubs about something or other and he says to me, “Why don’t you just blog about it?” When I told him I haven’t had time to blog, he said, “Blog about why.”

So here I am. I’m going to tell you why I’ve been too busy to entertain the masses with stupid stories about my family. I’ve been busy…being “okay”. What the hell does that even mean…is that what you’re wondering? It means, I have so much going on right now, so much on my plate, so many responsibilities, that I’m not doing any of them well. I’m just “okay”.

I’m doing what I need to do to not drown in laundry or dishes, but I’m never caught up. There isn’t poop on the toilet seat, but I’m pretty sure that wet spot I just stepped in on the bathroom floor is pee. We have food in the house, but a lot of that food is canned goods and cereal. And God knows when the last time they took their vitamins was. I’m making sure my kids are fed and go to bed at night, but I haven’t had time to just spend time with them or do anything fun with them. I’m writing, but the at the bare minimum…just enough to say I haven’t quit altogether. I’ve got a book coming out next week, and I should be working on a successful release. Instead, I find myself never having time to get on the computer and work the social media channels like I should be. A tweet every couple days is all I can remember to do. I make a point to spend ten or fifteen minutes with the hubby at night…enough to stave off a divorce, but that’s it. I’m too tired for TV or talk and I want to go to bed. I’ve been going to work and doing my job…but I want to do so much more there to catch up, and I just run out of time everyday. Because I have to run home and half heartedly prepare dinner or pull out the takeout menu again. And I want to run over to my sister’s house and help her with her newborn or her other three kids…but I don’t do that as much as I like. And I try to take care of myself. I’ve been working out, but only enough to not gain a bazillion pounds from the stress eating I’m doing….not enough to reach any goals I’ve set for myself. I still get my manicure and pedicure…but I’ve been stretching it to a month. Hell, I went three days without shaving last week. When does that slowly become three days without showering???

The dog needs grooming and the newly painted office needs touch ups and organizing. I should text my friend back…she texted me two days ago. My daughter has been on me to paint her desk that we bought six months ago and to buy her pants to replace the ones she outgrew. I want to check my son’s grades onLine and make sure he’s doing well in high school. I should call my mother in law and she if she wants to go to the store or catch her up on the what the kids have been doing. Oh, and the school pictures that came in…I should give them to people. But I probably won’t until I hastily send out my Christmas cards (three days before Christmas). Today I was off from work and all I wanted to do was lie in bed till 9:00, but I couldn’t. That’s a waste of time when I have so much to do. And you all know. There’s. Just. Never. Enough. Time. There’s only one of me and too many hats to wear.

I don’t think I’m alone. I used to pride myself on being that Supermom that could do it all and hold it together, while laughing at moms who fell apart. But that was when my kids were like three months old. And it was definitely wrong thinking. Because we all fall apart at the seams at one point or another. We have so much responsibility…both real and self imposed…that we just cannot do it all. We need to realize that, right? Stop beating ourselves up for being “okay”? Stop striving for an A+ in everything and barely squeaking by with a C? I probably won’t ever be able to accept that, though, and I’m pretty sure most moms go to their grave wishing they could have been better at something, better at everything. I can’t explain it…I just never feel like I’ve been enough. I want to be an A+ mom and wife and school nurse and writer and sister and friend…the list goes on and on. But I have to pick one at a time to work on, because I’m spreading myself too thin for it all. And then what suffers? I don’t want any of those things to suffer? I’lI probably never know the answer to this, or how to make it all work. And I will have to be okay with just being “okay”.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Being an ok mom, imperfect moms, mom stress, Never enough time, Spreading yourself too thin

I know I have been neglectful to my blog….but…I have a go...

I know I have been neglectful to my blog….but…I have a good reason. Not only have I been hard at work on the 3rd Amy Maxwell book, I have finished editing “The Dead of Summer” and have been notified by Kindle Press that it will be released next Tuesday, September 29! if you were among the kindle Scouts who nominated the novel, you should have received your free copy…I’d love if you would leave a review on the Amazon page.

If you weren’t one of the lucky ones who got a free copy, you can pre-order the novel by following this link:

http://www.amazon.com/Dead-Summer-Heather-Balog-ebook/dp/B012BBZBAO/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

Check out this excerpt from “The Dead of Summer”:

“Adults insist that you never completely remember your childhood. They say that as the years pass by, those little details that once captured your undivided attention become fuzzy around the edges. As time marches on, the sharp memories start crinkling up like a piece of newspaper burning in a campfire; first you can just make out the sentences, and then, the white hot fire laps at the pages, blurring them and obscuring the actual words. Until all that you are left with is a fine white ash and the vague memories of what used to be.

As long as I’m breathing, I know I will never forget my sixteenth summer. It’s been years, but that summer is etched finely in my memory. That was the summer I finally kissed a boy, found the body in the basement, and discovered that keeping secrets just might kill you. And believe me, that isn’t something you forget too easily, no matter how hard you try. And I sure as hell have tried.

My sixteenth summer was a strange time in Novella, South Carolina. When that first honeysuckle bloomed in early June, we were sure as hell done with summer already that year. For some reason, it had been unseasonably warm for nearly three months, the moon had been unnaturally full, and the events of that time inexplicably crazy, making me remember it even more. It was the summer that Shayla Wilson’s daddy discovered that she had been the one who was been stealing the cold cuts from his grocery store and giving them to the homeless couple that lived in the back alley. The day after that, Mrs. Busby’s (or aka Mrs. Busybody’s) barn burned down and her cows were discovered completely unscathed three miles down the road. And that all happened after the thirty-something-year-old principal of my high school ran off with Mrs. Nelson, the married sixty-five-year-old chemistry teacher. But none of that was what changed my life.

It was a blistering hot day in June when I was pretty sure my life trajectory had been altered forever. That was the day I met him. Him was Carson Tyler, and I truly believe that if I had not met him, had he not breezed into our quaint little town, my life would have taken a totally different path from that point on. Better or worse, I’ll never know, but one thing is for certain; Carson Tyler’s arrival set into motion the events that would change me forever. He was like that first domino that falls, causing all the other dominoes that are perfectly lined up to come crashing down in rapid succession.”

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