Jessica L. Elliott's Blog, page 12
March 2, 2015
Knowing When to Let Go of Your Plan
I disappeared on you again, and for good reason. I was busy prepping for my son's arrival into this world. Almost a Fairy Tale was released with less fanfare than I would normally have given it. (For those wondering what this book is, it's the one I had formerly titled Happily Ever After). I totally fell off the grid with my writing challenge. I promise, I will write those missing short stories. But they won't go up on the blog, sorry. My attention in February was almost exclusively getting ready for Baby to come. And really, that's where it needed to be.
Baby did come and here's the story. Now, before I start, if you are pregnant and freak out reading/hearing other people's labor experiences, come back post-baby. I don't want you to worry that my story will be yours. Honestly, your story will more than likely be different. In fact, I hope it is!
At my last OB appointment I told my doctor that I could no longer walk without pain. My hips were shifting and it was becoming unbearable. He checked to see how I was doing and said the words every pregnant woman longs to hear, "Well, you're progressing right along. This baby could come any day now." He also said that if Baby didn't want come beforehand, he could schedule an induction for the next Thursday. I agreed because that sounded fine to me. "Being pregnant is great, but constant pain just isn't," I told him. But something was nagging the back of my mind as I walked out to my car, hope renewed that I'd be carrying my little bundle in my arms instead of my belly at any moment. I sat down, started the engine and then it hit me:
Thursday. That's my husband's birthday!
Oops. But I shrugged it off, remembering my doctor cheerfully saying, "I'll see you next Thursday, if not sooner!"
I know some women are terrified of the idea of being induced, but it holds no horrors for me. Having been induced with my first two, I already knew what to expect from it. Or at least, that's what I thought.
The week passed with only occasional contractions and Wednesday night we took our two children to a sitter so we wouldn't have to get them up at 4:30am to head to the hospital for my induction. I was sure that they would only be there the one night and Thursday evening they'd get to meet their new sibling. Boy was I wrong.
At 5:45am, I checked in at the hospital. My first labor had been 25 hours. My second 10 1/2. I was confident I could continue the trend and this baby would come in 5-6 hours. For the first time in my life, the nurse had trouble finding my vein and the IV took a while to get going. They started the pitocin at 6ish and then hooked me up to all the monitors. They brought me crackers and ice water, which was wonderful since I hadn't eaten much that morning. Then the waiting began. Around 10 my doctor came to break my water. "I'm surprised I didn't see you earlier," he said. "I was sure this baby would come before now."
I shrugged. "Elliott babies are just stubborn I guess."
The contractions started to become harder and more regular. I was getting excited because maybe I could have the baby in time to get some real lunch! And yes, I was excited to just have the baby too. Then without warning at around noon they stopped. They didn't just peter out, they stopped entirely. Disappointed and confused, I took advantage of the break to take a little nap. I figured maybe my body was just tired and would pick back up with some rest. So I got as comfortable as I could (maternity hospital beds are the worst!) and dozed for about an hour. My nurse said when I woke up, "It's probably me. Babies on my watch tend to come just before the end of my shift. So your baby will probably come between 2:30 and 3:00 if we can get those contractions going again."
Sure enough, they started again, but it was clear Baby wasn't coming before three. As she got ready to go and told me she'd be back in the morning, I smiled, "Then I'll have a baby to show you."
That didn't happen. All day Thursday, my labor would start and stop. I only dilated another half-centimeter (and I think my nurse may have said that out of pity). My doctor was called at 8 and they decided to turn off the IV for the night and let me get some real sleep before starting it again at 6 the next morning. When he checked on me he asked, "What happened? I've never seen a woman's labor do this."
Great, I was hoping he could give me some answers. "I don't know," was the only response I could give.
The night passed quietly and at 6 my morning nurse came in to start the IV, As she woke me up, she teased, "You weren't supposed to be pregnant anymore when I got back."
I was still cheerful enough to say, "I guess Baby just didn't want to share a birthday with Daddy."
"Must be a girl. That sounds like a girl attitude."
During the night, the tube in my IV had gotten bent badly enough that she had to take it out and start a new one. Another first for me, and not a pleasant one. The pit was started and slowly through the day my labor progressed, it occasionally slowed, but never stopped. But I was getting restless and very tired. My legs were jumpy from being in bed for two days. My sweet husband valiantly tried rubbing them to help them relax, but after a while, that wasn't helping either. In the afternoon, they asked if I wanted an epidural and I told them I really wanted to avoid that. So they tried an IV medication to help me relax which knocked me for a loop and did help me relax for a while, but not enough. My poor morning nurse ended her shift with still no baby and the afternoon nurses came in. The one finally asked, "Why don't you want the epidural?"
I explained to her that I had felt out of control with my first labor. I couldn't work with a labor I couldn't feel. And, I hated not being able to get up and care for my baby while waiting for it to wear off.
Then she said gently, "I understand that. But you're not rested enough for your body to do what it needs to in order to have this baby. You've already had two natural deliveries, so you know your body can do this. With an epidural we can let you sleep while your body finishes progressing and we can avoid a c-section."
Tearfully I agreed and the anesthesiologist was called. While waiting for him to come (he was busy doing another case), I cried and cried. My birth plan was shot to pieces. My hope for doing this naturally was gone. My husband knew nothing he could say would help and called one of the two people he knew could help me through: my mommy. I heard her voice through the phone in that soothing voice I'd heard from infancy, "Jessica, I want you to listen very carefully. You are not a failure. You do what's right for your baby. You haven't done anything wrong and however this baby comes, you have not failed. Do you understand?"
Tears of fear and dejection turned to tears of gratitude and hope as I tried to tell her yes. A realization came to me that I should have already understood. I am not my mother. I will probably never have the short, "easy" labors my mother had. (And I know, Mom, that no labor is truly easy.) My labors are long and they're hard. And sometimes, I just can't do it completely on my own.
When the anesthesiologist came, I was feeling emotionally better, though the pain certainly had not decreased. He went through the list of risks, confirmed that I understood and still wanted to do it. Then he did his thing, all the while gently talking to me and explaining what he was doing. As soon as the medication kicked in, I was out. I don't even remember him leaving the room. That was at around 9pm. At about 11:15, the nurse woke me up and said, "I'm going to check you, but I'm pretty sure you're ready now." They called the doctor and finally, at 11:37pm, nearly 38 hours since my water had been broken, my beautiful baby boy came into the world with just 2 pushes.
Benoni (Beh-NO-nigh) Thomas was perfect in every way, especially considering how long the labor was. My husband and I got to explain our reasons for choosing such an unusual name. It's a rather common name on one line of my family history and since we'd chosen to use family names for our children, that was one of the ones that made the list. The name Benoni actually has two possible meanings, though most only know of one. In the Bible, Ben-Oni was the name Rachel gave her second son as she was dying after his birth. Most remember that it means "son of my sorrow." But in doing a little research (mostly to help others know how to pronounce the name), my husband found a second meaning: "son of my strength." Truly, both meanings capture this labor. This was undoubtedly my hardest labor and I was left often feeling sorrowful and low. But I also found my strength in this labor. I found the strength to let go of my plan and I found the strength to persevere through the challenges to labor presented. There were many times, I was ready to give up. But I'm grateful that I didn't. As I sit here with Ben in my arms, I'm glad that in my sorrow, I found strength and he came into the world healthy, beautiful and strong.
Baby did come and here's the story. Now, before I start, if you are pregnant and freak out reading/hearing other people's labor experiences, come back post-baby. I don't want you to worry that my story will be yours. Honestly, your story will more than likely be different. In fact, I hope it is!
At my last OB appointment I told my doctor that I could no longer walk without pain. My hips were shifting and it was becoming unbearable. He checked to see how I was doing and said the words every pregnant woman longs to hear, "Well, you're progressing right along. This baby could come any day now." He also said that if Baby didn't want come beforehand, he could schedule an induction for the next Thursday. I agreed because that sounded fine to me. "Being pregnant is great, but constant pain just isn't," I told him. But something was nagging the back of my mind as I walked out to my car, hope renewed that I'd be carrying my little bundle in my arms instead of my belly at any moment. I sat down, started the engine and then it hit me:
Thursday. That's my husband's birthday!
Oops. But I shrugged it off, remembering my doctor cheerfully saying, "I'll see you next Thursday, if not sooner!"
I know some women are terrified of the idea of being induced, but it holds no horrors for me. Having been induced with my first two, I already knew what to expect from it. Or at least, that's what I thought.
The week passed with only occasional contractions and Wednesday night we took our two children to a sitter so we wouldn't have to get them up at 4:30am to head to the hospital for my induction. I was sure that they would only be there the one night and Thursday evening they'd get to meet their new sibling. Boy was I wrong.
At 5:45am, I checked in at the hospital. My first labor had been 25 hours. My second 10 1/2. I was confident I could continue the trend and this baby would come in 5-6 hours. For the first time in my life, the nurse had trouble finding my vein and the IV took a while to get going. They started the pitocin at 6ish and then hooked me up to all the monitors. They brought me crackers and ice water, which was wonderful since I hadn't eaten much that morning. Then the waiting began. Around 10 my doctor came to break my water. "I'm surprised I didn't see you earlier," he said. "I was sure this baby would come before now."
I shrugged. "Elliott babies are just stubborn I guess."
The contractions started to become harder and more regular. I was getting excited because maybe I could have the baby in time to get some real lunch! And yes, I was excited to just have the baby too. Then without warning at around noon they stopped. They didn't just peter out, they stopped entirely. Disappointed and confused, I took advantage of the break to take a little nap. I figured maybe my body was just tired and would pick back up with some rest. So I got as comfortable as I could (maternity hospital beds are the worst!) and dozed for about an hour. My nurse said when I woke up, "It's probably me. Babies on my watch tend to come just before the end of my shift. So your baby will probably come between 2:30 and 3:00 if we can get those contractions going again."
Sure enough, they started again, but it was clear Baby wasn't coming before three. As she got ready to go and told me she'd be back in the morning, I smiled, "Then I'll have a baby to show you."
That didn't happen. All day Thursday, my labor would start and stop. I only dilated another half-centimeter (and I think my nurse may have said that out of pity). My doctor was called at 8 and they decided to turn off the IV for the night and let me get some real sleep before starting it again at 6 the next morning. When he checked on me he asked, "What happened? I've never seen a woman's labor do this."
Great, I was hoping he could give me some answers. "I don't know," was the only response I could give.
The night passed quietly and at 6 my morning nurse came in to start the IV, As she woke me up, she teased, "You weren't supposed to be pregnant anymore when I got back."
I was still cheerful enough to say, "I guess Baby just didn't want to share a birthday with Daddy."
"Must be a girl. That sounds like a girl attitude."
During the night, the tube in my IV had gotten bent badly enough that she had to take it out and start a new one. Another first for me, and not a pleasant one. The pit was started and slowly through the day my labor progressed, it occasionally slowed, but never stopped. But I was getting restless and very tired. My legs were jumpy from being in bed for two days. My sweet husband valiantly tried rubbing them to help them relax, but after a while, that wasn't helping either. In the afternoon, they asked if I wanted an epidural and I told them I really wanted to avoid that. So they tried an IV medication to help me relax which knocked me for a loop and did help me relax for a while, but not enough. My poor morning nurse ended her shift with still no baby and the afternoon nurses came in. The one finally asked, "Why don't you want the epidural?"
I explained to her that I had felt out of control with my first labor. I couldn't work with a labor I couldn't feel. And, I hated not being able to get up and care for my baby while waiting for it to wear off.
Then she said gently, "I understand that. But you're not rested enough for your body to do what it needs to in order to have this baby. You've already had two natural deliveries, so you know your body can do this. With an epidural we can let you sleep while your body finishes progressing and we can avoid a c-section."
Tearfully I agreed and the anesthesiologist was called. While waiting for him to come (he was busy doing another case), I cried and cried. My birth plan was shot to pieces. My hope for doing this naturally was gone. My husband knew nothing he could say would help and called one of the two people he knew could help me through: my mommy. I heard her voice through the phone in that soothing voice I'd heard from infancy, "Jessica, I want you to listen very carefully. You are not a failure. You do what's right for your baby. You haven't done anything wrong and however this baby comes, you have not failed. Do you understand?"
Tears of fear and dejection turned to tears of gratitude and hope as I tried to tell her yes. A realization came to me that I should have already understood. I am not my mother. I will probably never have the short, "easy" labors my mother had. (And I know, Mom, that no labor is truly easy.) My labors are long and they're hard. And sometimes, I just can't do it completely on my own.
When the anesthesiologist came, I was feeling emotionally better, though the pain certainly had not decreased. He went through the list of risks, confirmed that I understood and still wanted to do it. Then he did his thing, all the while gently talking to me and explaining what he was doing. As soon as the medication kicked in, I was out. I don't even remember him leaving the room. That was at around 9pm. At about 11:15, the nurse woke me up and said, "I'm going to check you, but I'm pretty sure you're ready now." They called the doctor and finally, at 11:37pm, nearly 38 hours since my water had been broken, my beautiful baby boy came into the world with just 2 pushes.
Benoni (Beh-NO-nigh) Thomas was perfect in every way, especially considering how long the labor was. My husband and I got to explain our reasons for choosing such an unusual name. It's a rather common name on one line of my family history and since we'd chosen to use family names for our children, that was one of the ones that made the list. The name Benoni actually has two possible meanings, though most only know of one. In the Bible, Ben-Oni was the name Rachel gave her second son as she was dying after his birth. Most remember that it means "son of my sorrow." But in doing a little research (mostly to help others know how to pronounce the name), my husband found a second meaning: "son of my strength." Truly, both meanings capture this labor. This was undoubtedly my hardest labor and I was left often feeling sorrowful and low. But I also found my strength in this labor. I found the strength to let go of my plan and I found the strength to persevere through the challenges to labor presented. There were many times, I was ready to give up. But I'm grateful that I didn't. As I sit here with Ben in my arms, I'm glad that in my sorrow, I found strength and he came into the world healthy, beautiful and strong.
January 31, 2015
Good Things Coming
As awesome as January has been, February is going to be even better! Why? you may ask.
Let me tell you:
February 4 an amazing new author friend of mine, Kathryn J. Fogleman, is posting a blog article about yours truly. That's right! My first official interview on someone else's blog. Am I excited? Oh yeah! And yes, I will be sure to share it here and on Facebook and just about anywhere else I can think of to share it. :)
February 9 the website for the Whitney Awards will announce the finalists for the 2014 Whitney Awards. This means that I'll finally find out if Prince Charming's Search or Becoming Prince Charming have made it to the final round. A big thank you to everyone who nominated me in the first place. Just to be nominated is a huge honor. But it would sure be awesome to make it as a finalist, so be sending your best wishes and good luck and all that fun stuff my way!
And now for a secret some of you have been wondering about. I posted on my Facebook that I'd had an awesome idea and didn't know if there was time enough to make it happen, but that I was going to try anyway. I'm happy to say that it's looking like my secret project will be ready just in time.
What is it?
February 14, for Valentine's Day, I will be releasing a novella entitled "Happily Ever After", unless I change the name between now and then which is a possibility. It has fairy-tale roots, sort of, with some unique little twists. No, this is in no way part of the Charming Academy series. This is a separate book and geared more for adults, though like all my writing it is clean. Teenagers would probably enjoy it just as much. But, be looking for more news and announcements as we draw closer to that special day. The other good news in this? It will be immediately released as an eBook, so for those of you who love your devices, it will be available right away without having to wait for shipping! How's that for awesome?
I will also be continuing my 52 Week Writing Challenge with some fun prompts like New Planets and more!
And of course, we'll be getting closer to the point that Baby Elliott #3 will make his/her appearance.
So be watching in February for all this awesomeness to appear. It's going to be a great month and I can't wait to see what surprises will lie in store!
P.S. Want a sneak peek at "Happily Ever After"? Read below!
Rosalyn glared out the window. She couldn’t believe she’d been so gullible. “If it is true love you want,” the witch had said, “you simply need to wait here for him to arrive.”
And like an idiot she had. She had willingly followed the witch up the stairs and into the tower to await her Prince Charming. Ha! Prince Charming. Like such a man existed. She didn’t even know how long she’d been up here waiting, but it was long enough to know that absolutely no one was coming for her. There was no prince on a white charger coming to rescue her from the trap that had been so easily laid for her. No one was waiting for her and no one was looking for her.
“If I could go back,” Rosalyn grumbled, “I’d just marry that fat, old man Father picked for me.”
As she watched the sun slowly setting for what seemed the millionth time, she thought about everything that had gone wrong. First, her father had announced that she was to marry a man nearly forty years her senior. “It will be good for our country,” her father had said when she’d refused. “What’s good for the country is good for us. So you will marry him.”
It hadn’t been a question or a request. It had been a command. A command that led to the second thing that went wrong: her decision to run away. Ignoring the advice of her lady-in-waiting, Rosalyn had climbed out her window with a small bag of coins, mounted her horse and left the castle. She hadn’t thought about where she was going or how she would get there, which had been the third thing to go wrong. Not long at all into her escapade she was horribly lost in an old forest that most of the people thought was enchanted, and not in a good way.
Which brought her to bad thing number four: running into Matilda the witch. The witch had invited the cold, hungry princess into her hovel for tea and listened sympathetically to her plight. “I want to marry someone I love.”
“You want a Prince Charming, yes?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I want.”
“Come with me,” the witch had said.
So Rosalyn had followed her deeper into the woods to a lofty tower. Ignoring the icy pricks of foreboding up her spine, she had climbed the stairs and followed Matilda into a room at the top. “What is this?”
“This is the tower Prince Charming will come to in order to seek his bride,” Matilda said with a gap-toothed smile. “If it is true love you want, you simply need to wait here for him to arrive.”
“How long will that take?”
“Oh, not long at all, pet. Not long at all.”
Then the witch had slammed the door shut with a cackle, locked the door and Rosalyn had been stuck in that room since. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried to escape. She had tried breaking the lock on the doorknob. But no matter how many pins she used, the lock never gave. She had tried tying all the sheets and blankets together to create a ladder, but it was never long enough. She’d even tried to break the door down, not that it had done her any good. The door remained irritatingly solid, the lock unbroken and the tower too tall for her to make a good way down.
She sighed. In some ways it hadn’t been all bad. The witch hadn’t intended for her to die up here. Meals regularly appeared, though she didn’t know how. Water magically filled a basin in the corner for her to bathe in and in a pitcher for her to drink. Her clothes seemed to clean and mend themselves. And her mirror showed that she hadn’t aged at all in the long years of waiting for someone to arrive. But she had been stuck in the tower for years with no friends, no family, and no contact at all with the outside world. It was lonely and she was tired of waiting for someone to find her.
Glaring once more out the open window, she grabbed the half-eaten apple from her dinner plate. With a growl she hurled it out the window and turned away. It wouldn’t curb her hunger, but it did make her feel slightly better.
“Ouch!”
Let me tell you:
February 4 an amazing new author friend of mine, Kathryn J. Fogleman, is posting a blog article about yours truly. That's right! My first official interview on someone else's blog. Am I excited? Oh yeah! And yes, I will be sure to share it here and on Facebook and just about anywhere else I can think of to share it. :)
February 9 the website for the Whitney Awards will announce the finalists for the 2014 Whitney Awards. This means that I'll finally find out if Prince Charming's Search or Becoming Prince Charming have made it to the final round. A big thank you to everyone who nominated me in the first place. Just to be nominated is a huge honor. But it would sure be awesome to make it as a finalist, so be sending your best wishes and good luck and all that fun stuff my way!
And now for a secret some of you have been wondering about. I posted on my Facebook that I'd had an awesome idea and didn't know if there was time enough to make it happen, but that I was going to try anyway. I'm happy to say that it's looking like my secret project will be ready just in time.
What is it?
February 14, for Valentine's Day, I will be releasing a novella entitled "
I will also be continuing my 52 Week Writing Challenge with some fun prompts like New Planets and more!
And of course, we'll be getting closer to the point that Baby Elliott #3 will make his/her appearance.
So be watching in February for all this awesomeness to appear. It's going to be a great month and I can't wait to see what surprises will lie in store!
P.S. Want a sneak peek at "
Rosalyn glared out the window. She couldn’t believe she’d been so gullible. “If it is true love you want,” the witch had said, “you simply need to wait here for him to arrive.”
And like an idiot she had. She had willingly followed the witch up the stairs and into the tower to await her Prince Charming. Ha! Prince Charming. Like such a man existed. She didn’t even know how long she’d been up here waiting, but it was long enough to know that absolutely no one was coming for her. There was no prince on a white charger coming to rescue her from the trap that had been so easily laid for her. No one was waiting for her and no one was looking for her.
“If I could go back,” Rosalyn grumbled, “I’d just marry that fat, old man Father picked for me.”
As she watched the sun slowly setting for what seemed the millionth time, she thought about everything that had gone wrong. First, her father had announced that she was to marry a man nearly forty years her senior. “It will be good for our country,” her father had said when she’d refused. “What’s good for the country is good for us. So you will marry him.”
It hadn’t been a question or a request. It had been a command. A command that led to the second thing that went wrong: her decision to run away. Ignoring the advice of her lady-in-waiting, Rosalyn had climbed out her window with a small bag of coins, mounted her horse and left the castle. She hadn’t thought about where she was going or how she would get there, which had been the third thing to go wrong. Not long at all into her escapade she was horribly lost in an old forest that most of the people thought was enchanted, and not in a good way.
Which brought her to bad thing number four: running into Matilda the witch. The witch had invited the cold, hungry princess into her hovel for tea and listened sympathetically to her plight. “I want to marry someone I love.”
“You want a Prince Charming, yes?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I want.”
“Come with me,” the witch had said.
So Rosalyn had followed her deeper into the woods to a lofty tower. Ignoring the icy pricks of foreboding up her spine, she had climbed the stairs and followed Matilda into a room at the top. “What is this?”
“This is the tower Prince Charming will come to in order to seek his bride,” Matilda said with a gap-toothed smile. “If it is true love you want, you simply need to wait here for him to arrive.”
“How long will that take?”
“Oh, not long at all, pet. Not long at all.”
Then the witch had slammed the door shut with a cackle, locked the door and Rosalyn had been stuck in that room since. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried to escape. She had tried breaking the lock on the doorknob. But no matter how many pins she used, the lock never gave. She had tried tying all the sheets and blankets together to create a ladder, but it was never long enough. She’d even tried to break the door down, not that it had done her any good. The door remained irritatingly solid, the lock unbroken and the tower too tall for her to make a good way down.
She sighed. In some ways it hadn’t been all bad. The witch hadn’t intended for her to die up here. Meals regularly appeared, though she didn’t know how. Water magically filled a basin in the corner for her to bathe in and in a pitcher for her to drink. Her clothes seemed to clean and mend themselves. And her mirror showed that she hadn’t aged at all in the long years of waiting for someone to arrive. But she had been stuck in the tower for years with no friends, no family, and no contact at all with the outside world. It was lonely and she was tired of waiting for someone to find her.
Glaring once more out the open window, she grabbed the half-eaten apple from her dinner plate. With a growl she hurled it out the window and turned away. It wouldn’t curb her hunger, but it did make her feel slightly better.
“Ouch!”
January 29, 2015
Two For One
No, I'm not behind in my challenge. But today is a special day here in Kansas. It's Kansas Day! Both of my stories are pretty short this time around. Like, really short. :) But I hope you'll enjoy them. The first is our prompt for the week: solar eclipse. I remember seeing one as a kid and this captures some of the thoughts I had that day. The second story is my bonus state story. It's short and sweet this time around, unlike last year's. So, enjoy and Happy Kansas Day!
Solar Eclipse
It happened so rarely that many had forgotten that it happened at all. On a clear sunny day, suddenly the light began to dim. While there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the sun began to fade behind the moon.
Sarah knew it had been coming, but it didn’t stop the slight anxiety. What if the moon stayed there? What if all that was left of the sun was that burning ring? Would things go back to normal?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the teacher telling them to sit in the story corner. She got out a book about solar eclipses and began reading from it. As the students clung to her every word, Sarah thought about the strange sight they’d gone out to see. Before leaving the building, her teacher had warned them not to look up at the sky. “The light of the eclipse could hurt your eyes very badly. You might even be blinded.”
Terrified, Sarah had kept her head down until it was her turn to look through the special glasses. She had looked and seen a fiery ring around a blackened circle. “Pretty neat, huh?” the guy from the science museum had said.
“Yeah, neat.”
Now as her teacher’s voice went over her, she tried to think of how she would get home. How was she supposed to keep her little brother from looking up at the strange sight? “How long does an eclipse last?” one of the boys asked, breaking through her thoughts.
“Not very long, actually,” their teacher said. “Eclipses are fairly short lived. They don’t happen often. In fact, you may not see a full eclipse like this again in your lifetime.”
“Whoa!”
“Cool!”
“Bummer.”
“So, will it be done before we go home?” Sarah asked.
“Definitely before you go home.”
Relief flooded her, but she still wondered. What if this time things were different? What if this time the moon stayed where it was? She hardly paid attention to the rest of the lessons her teacher taught. Her mind strayed from her homework and when the bell rang, she barely noticed it. She followed her classmates to the cubbies and began putting her things in her backpack. Then she walked down the halls to her brother’s classroom.
“Sarah, did you see the eclipse?”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“Wasn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever seen?”
“It was pretty neat,” she admitted.
“I’m going to go home and write a story all about it,” her brother declared as they walked toward the front door.
For a moment, Sarah hesitated. Then seeing that everyone else seemed to be fine, she strode out into the sunshine. The moon had moved out of the way. The sun was shining brightly once again with nothing to block its radiant beams. “Sounds like a good plan. What will you write?”
“Something about aliens,” her brother said. “They’re going to pull the moon in front of the sun and then use lasers or something. I don’t know all the details yet.”
Sarah laughed, “Sounds fun. Can I read it when you’re done?”
“Of course, I need a good critique.”
Laughing again that her little brother even knew that word, Sarah said, “Come on, let’s go home and write that story.”
Kansas Day
She’d heard all the jokes. She knew them by heart. But she laughed anyway, even when she wanted to groan. It amazed her that people still thought it was original to say, “Guess you’re not in Kansas anymore, huh?” Then they’d laugh and she’d pretend to laugh only to not offend them. She sometimes cursed her brown hair which had just enough curl to look like Dorothy’s when braided. She’d been asked where she kept her ruby slippers. She’d been asked how many witches her house had fallen on. Do you have flying monkeys? Has the scarecrow visited before? The more naïve asked if she had electricity. Do you live on a farm? Do you ever worry about Indians attacking?
As she looked out the plane window at the checkerboard of fields below, she smiled. It was good to be going home. The wide open skies and fields were as much a part of her as her flesh and blood.
“Ugh, a layover in Kansas,” the person next to her said. “How boring! Couldn’t they have picked a more interesting state for us to spend three hours?”
“I don’t think so.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Where are you headed?”
“Kansas. This is my home.”
He had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry. I guess, well, you’ve probably heard all the jokes, haven’t you?”
“And then some,” she admitted. “I’ve gotten used to them.”
“Don’t know what you see in the state, personally. It’s so flat and there’s nothing to do.”
“That all depends on your perspective. I grew up in Kansas and parts of it are pretty flat, but there’s also some beautiful hill country. Not quite mountains, but they’ll give you a workout nonetheless. We have wonderful museums, art galleries, restaurants; the same kind of things you’d look for in other states. Really, I don’t think Kansas is missing anything that people really need.”
“Spoken like a true Kansan.”
She laughed. “I can’t help it. It’s in my blood.”
He smiled. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy here.”
“No reason not to be. Maybe you should take a look around town during your layover, if you can.”
“What? And spoil my preconceptions?” he teased.
“You never know, you might find you like it here,” she retorted.
“Touché. I probably can’t make it into town during this trip. I’ve got work to catch up on and airports are almost like a second home to me anymore. I spend enough time in them. But maybe someday I’ll give Kansas a try.”
“It’d probably do you some good.”
The plane began to descend into the airport. She couldn’t help the excitement building in her chest. Home at last. As cliché as it was, it was true.
“There’s no place like home, is there?” the man asked, winking.
“Nope, there’s really not,” she replied with a smile. There really is no place like home.
Solar Eclipse
It happened so rarely that many had forgotten that it happened at all. On a clear sunny day, suddenly the light began to dim. While there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the sun began to fade behind the moon.
Sarah knew it had been coming, but it didn’t stop the slight anxiety. What if the moon stayed there? What if all that was left of the sun was that burning ring? Would things go back to normal?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the teacher telling them to sit in the story corner. She got out a book about solar eclipses and began reading from it. As the students clung to her every word, Sarah thought about the strange sight they’d gone out to see. Before leaving the building, her teacher had warned them not to look up at the sky. “The light of the eclipse could hurt your eyes very badly. You might even be blinded.”
Terrified, Sarah had kept her head down until it was her turn to look through the special glasses. She had looked and seen a fiery ring around a blackened circle. “Pretty neat, huh?” the guy from the science museum had said.
“Yeah, neat.”
Now as her teacher’s voice went over her, she tried to think of how she would get home. How was she supposed to keep her little brother from looking up at the strange sight? “How long does an eclipse last?” one of the boys asked, breaking through her thoughts.
“Not very long, actually,” their teacher said. “Eclipses are fairly short lived. They don’t happen often. In fact, you may not see a full eclipse like this again in your lifetime.”
“Whoa!”
“Cool!”
“Bummer.”
“So, will it be done before we go home?” Sarah asked.
“Definitely before you go home.”
Relief flooded her, but she still wondered. What if this time things were different? What if this time the moon stayed where it was? She hardly paid attention to the rest of the lessons her teacher taught. Her mind strayed from her homework and when the bell rang, she barely noticed it. She followed her classmates to the cubbies and began putting her things in her backpack. Then she walked down the halls to her brother’s classroom.
“Sarah, did you see the eclipse?”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“Wasn’t that the coolest thing you’ve ever seen?”
“It was pretty neat,” she admitted.
“I’m going to go home and write a story all about it,” her brother declared as they walked toward the front door.
For a moment, Sarah hesitated. Then seeing that everyone else seemed to be fine, she strode out into the sunshine. The moon had moved out of the way. The sun was shining brightly once again with nothing to block its radiant beams. “Sounds like a good plan. What will you write?”
“Something about aliens,” her brother said. “They’re going to pull the moon in front of the sun and then use lasers or something. I don’t know all the details yet.”
Sarah laughed, “Sounds fun. Can I read it when you’re done?”
“Of course, I need a good critique.”
Laughing again that her little brother even knew that word, Sarah said, “Come on, let’s go home and write that story.”
Kansas Day
She’d heard all the jokes. She knew them by heart. But she laughed anyway, even when she wanted to groan. It amazed her that people still thought it was original to say, “Guess you’re not in Kansas anymore, huh?” Then they’d laugh and she’d pretend to laugh only to not offend them. She sometimes cursed her brown hair which had just enough curl to look like Dorothy’s when braided. She’d been asked where she kept her ruby slippers. She’d been asked how many witches her house had fallen on. Do you have flying monkeys? Has the scarecrow visited before? The more naïve asked if she had electricity. Do you live on a farm? Do you ever worry about Indians attacking?
As she looked out the plane window at the checkerboard of fields below, she smiled. It was good to be going home. The wide open skies and fields were as much a part of her as her flesh and blood.
“Ugh, a layover in Kansas,” the person next to her said. “How boring! Couldn’t they have picked a more interesting state for us to spend three hours?”
“I don’t think so.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Where are you headed?”
“Kansas. This is my home.”
He had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry. I guess, well, you’ve probably heard all the jokes, haven’t you?”
“And then some,” she admitted. “I’ve gotten used to them.”
“Don’t know what you see in the state, personally. It’s so flat and there’s nothing to do.”
“That all depends on your perspective. I grew up in Kansas and parts of it are pretty flat, but there’s also some beautiful hill country. Not quite mountains, but they’ll give you a workout nonetheless. We have wonderful museums, art galleries, restaurants; the same kind of things you’d look for in other states. Really, I don’t think Kansas is missing anything that people really need.”
“Spoken like a true Kansan.”
She laughed. “I can’t help it. It’s in my blood.”
He smiled. “Well, I’m glad you’re happy here.”
“No reason not to be. Maybe you should take a look around town during your layover, if you can.”
“What? And spoil my preconceptions?” he teased.
“You never know, you might find you like it here,” she retorted.
“Touché. I probably can’t make it into town during this trip. I’ve got work to catch up on and airports are almost like a second home to me anymore. I spend enough time in them. But maybe someday I’ll give Kansas a try.”
“It’d probably do you some good.”
The plane began to descend into the airport. She couldn’t help the excitement building in her chest. Home at last. As cliché as it was, it was true.
“There’s no place like home, is there?” the man asked, winking.
“Nope, there’s really not,” she replied with a smile. There really is no place like home.
January 28, 2015
A Plea
I've debated for quite some time over whether or not I would write this. As you know, I sometimes use my blog to write about issues that are important or pertinent to me. Usually my blog posts are about writing or my life and I try to stay on the positive end. But today, this is probably going to sound whiny. It may even sound childish. But I hope that you will try to understand where I'm coming from and really read what I'm saying. To each of you, I love you very much.
It's not easy being a married, stay-at-home mom these days. And I'm not just talking about the job itself. Sure that has it's struggles, but for those I was relatively prepared. What I wasn't prepared for was how easily social media would take over. On the one hand, it's great because I can easily communicate and share with people around the world. On the other hand, it's truly a curse. We have this belief I guess that we can say whatever we want on it because either no one is paying attention anyway or they'll never know it was me. People who are usually kind and friendly in person easily become bullies and let's be honest, it's probably been each of us at one point.
My newsfeed gets inundated with articles and posts about how I can be a better mom, how I'm not doing good enough, how I'm failing my kids and it's either okay or it's the greatest evil I've done. But it doesn't even stop there. I see articles from the single community telling me that I can't complain about things because at least I have a loving spouse who will come help me out when life gets rough. I hear from the working moms that I can't complain because at least I don't have to worry about the stress of a job and the stress of being a mother. And recently I saw an article telling me that I have to be more sensitive to the childless because my frequent posts about my children hurt them. If it had only been once that I saw it, I probably could have let it go. But it stayed there for a good three days as more and more people, many of them moms, shared it.
So, I have to be more sensitive to the single, the working and the childless. Can I be snotty for a minute and ask who is being more sensitive to me?
Now, more seriously, I don't expect anyone to cater to me. I've chosen this life and I wouldn't change that decision for anything in the world. But I'm getting tired of being told that I need to be more sensitive. Mostly, because I don't think any of you realize just how sensitive to your plight I already am.
If you're thinking, "You don't understand what it's like to struggle with infertility," you're absolutely right. I personally do not know that struggle. When my husband and I decided that it was time to start our family, I got pregnant within a month. The longest we've had to "try" for a baby was nine months. And I'm not saying that to rub in your face how easy it is for me to get pregnant. I'm telling you because it shows just why I personally don't know the heartache of infertility. But that doesn't mean I don't know that you feel pain. Some of you are my dear friends whom I have known many years. I know you yearn and ache for a child. I wish there were a way that I could take that pain from you, that I could make it as easy for you to conceive as it is for me. But I can't.
I don't know your pain. But to be brutally honest, you don't know mine either. You don't know what it's like to feel guilty when you make the announcement of pregnancy, knowing that some who see it will be momentarily, or longer, hurt by it as they wish they could make the same announcement. You don't know what it's like to have the excitement of discovering a pregnancy sobered by the heartbreaking news that a dear relative just miscarried. You don't know what it's like to be a mom when there are some near and dear to you who can't be.
It's not just the moms who need to be more sensitive. And please, don't ever compare me to Peninnah in the Bible, ever. In the story of Peninnah and Hannah, Hannah was the childless wife who was much beloved by her husband. Peninnah in her jealousy went out of her way to make Hannah feel inferior. I have never posted pictures of my children or sonograms in order for you to see how much better I am because I am a mother. I share those pictures because frankly, you're not my only friends. I am friends with my children's grandparents and great-grandparents, the closest of whom live 3 1/2 hours away. The furthest live two days away. I am friends with people who aren't my family, but may as well be, whom I haven't seen in person in years. I'm friends with people in different countries. Much as they may want to, my friends in Australia are not going to come over just to see my kiddos. I share pictures of my children so that these people can share a piece of my life even though they are far away. And I do share them for you, so that you can see what my life is like. And not in a rub-it-in-your-face kind of way.
If I were the type who constantly complained about my children and how hard it was, I guess I would agree that I should be more sensitive. But I rarely complain about my children. If I constantly posted "bump updates" or what I was craving or how pregnancy is slowly killing me, I would agree that I should be more sensitive. But I never post "bump updates" because frankly I think bump pictures are ugly (sorry to my friends who are into that!). More often than not, I'm sharing something funny my children did or apologizing to my mom yet again so my kiddos will quit doing the things I did as a kid. I share the pictures because my kiddos are adorable and I love them to pieces. I don't post even a quarter of all the things I could post. Partly, I'm too busy living my life to take that kind of effort and some of it is because I am aware of you and your struggle. But to be totally brutal again, my Facebook page and my blog are about MY life. I have hobbies and interests outside my children, which I do share. But my children are a major part of my life, as I'm sure everyone would agree they should be. Which means that they are a major part of the things I share too.
Now, I've been snotty and perhaps some of you think I've been rude. Let me share a couple personal experiences that might help you see my side. The day my husband and I learned that we were pregnant with our second child, his cousin learned that his wife had lost theirs. Instead of us sharing the celebration of pregnancy together, we were celebrating and they were grieving. Our hearts were broken for them and it did for a moment take away from the joy we felt at our own addition. We made the announcement to our immediate family with the instructions that NO extended family were to be told at that time. We knew that these cousins needed to have time to grieve the loss of their baby. We didn't want to be the insensitive jerks to rub salt into their open wound. So we waited for quite some time before announcing our pregnancy. I'm sure that as happy as they were for us, these cousins probably still felt a tinge of pain. But it probably was not as painful as if we'd called them that very day to say, "Hey, guess what? I know you just lost your baby, but we're pregnant!" And when I made the announcement on Facebook, I hoped that it wouldn't cause them a lot of pain. Imagine my joy when within a few months of my announcement, they announced that they were expecting too! They had a beautiful baby girl not long after I did.
But that isn't how all stories go. With this pregnancy, my husband and I were trying for a while. I knew that most of it was stress causing us to not conceive as quickly as we had before. He was getting settled into a new job and we were getting used to a new home. During this time, my sister and her husband were also trying for a baby. It soon became apparent that something wasn't quite right. It was discovered that my sister had a huge ovarian cyst, one that looked like it may be cancerous. This was found just as I learned that I was pregnant with Baby #3. When I called my parents to share the news with them, my sister happened to be at their house and the phone was handed to her so I could share the news with her personally. For a moment, I wanted to hang up. I didn't want to tell my sister who so desperately wanted a child, and was facing the possibility of never having one of her own, that I was pregnant. It was the most awkward conversation I'd ever had with her. And when I hung up, I cried. I cried for the pain I knew I had caused her. I cried that she was going through such a terrifying ordeal. I cried that we couldn't both be pregnant together. I didn't know her pain, but I felt pain nonetheless. Now, it turns out that the cyst was not cancerous and while she lost one ovary, there is still the possibility that she will be able to have children of her own. But I didn't know that at the time I talked to her.
My dear friends, whether you are single, married, working, stay-at-home, childless or a fellow mom, I love each of you. I am sensitive to your plights as much as you have shared with me. I don't go out of my way to cause any of you pain. When I whine (and yes, I know it's whining) when my husband is going to be late and my children are bouncing off the walls, it isn't to rub in the face of my single friends that I have a husband. When I complain that it's been a rough day at home, it's not to tell my working friends that my life is harder than theirs. I don't believe that for a second! And when I post about my children and pregnancy, it isn't to rub it in to those of you who are childless. I have no control over your circumstances. I can't give you a loving spouse if you are single. I can't make your job easier if you are working. And I can't take away your infertility if you are childless. And none of you can change the struggles that I have as a stay-at-home mom. Instead of just telling one group to be more sensitive, let's all try to be more loving and more understanding. Let's all try to see the other side. I'm not going to "edit" my life in order to make yours easier. I'm just not. And I don't expect you to "edit" your life for me. This morning I saw a quote that I really loved and I'm going to share it: "No one can choose your mountain or tell you when to climb. It's yours alone to challenge. At your own pace and time." I'm going to make one slight revision. Your mountain is yours, but God will go with you if you invite Him. You don't have to go through your pain alone any more than I do.
Please understand, I don't want you to feel pain when I post things. But I'm not going to hide things on the off-chance that I offend or hurt you. My life is my own. This is my mountain and I'm climbing it as best I can. But I don't want to go alone, so I share the journey. If you're comfortable, share your journey with me. But don't expect me to change my mountain to mesh with yours. I can't and I won't.
It's not easy being a married, stay-at-home mom these days. And I'm not just talking about the job itself. Sure that has it's struggles, but for those I was relatively prepared. What I wasn't prepared for was how easily social media would take over. On the one hand, it's great because I can easily communicate and share with people around the world. On the other hand, it's truly a curse. We have this belief I guess that we can say whatever we want on it because either no one is paying attention anyway or they'll never know it was me. People who are usually kind and friendly in person easily become bullies and let's be honest, it's probably been each of us at one point.
My newsfeed gets inundated with articles and posts about how I can be a better mom, how I'm not doing good enough, how I'm failing my kids and it's either okay or it's the greatest evil I've done. But it doesn't even stop there. I see articles from the single community telling me that I can't complain about things because at least I have a loving spouse who will come help me out when life gets rough. I hear from the working moms that I can't complain because at least I don't have to worry about the stress of a job and the stress of being a mother. And recently I saw an article telling me that I have to be more sensitive to the childless because my frequent posts about my children hurt them. If it had only been once that I saw it, I probably could have let it go. But it stayed there for a good three days as more and more people, many of them moms, shared it.
So, I have to be more sensitive to the single, the working and the childless. Can I be snotty for a minute and ask who is being more sensitive to me?
Now, more seriously, I don't expect anyone to cater to me. I've chosen this life and I wouldn't change that decision for anything in the world. But I'm getting tired of being told that I need to be more sensitive. Mostly, because I don't think any of you realize just how sensitive to your plight I already am.
If you're thinking, "You don't understand what it's like to struggle with infertility," you're absolutely right. I personally do not know that struggle. When my husband and I decided that it was time to start our family, I got pregnant within a month. The longest we've had to "try" for a baby was nine months. And I'm not saying that to rub in your face how easy it is for me to get pregnant. I'm telling you because it shows just why I personally don't know the heartache of infertility. But that doesn't mean I don't know that you feel pain. Some of you are my dear friends whom I have known many years. I know you yearn and ache for a child. I wish there were a way that I could take that pain from you, that I could make it as easy for you to conceive as it is for me. But I can't.
I don't know your pain. But to be brutally honest, you don't know mine either. You don't know what it's like to feel guilty when you make the announcement of pregnancy, knowing that some who see it will be momentarily, or longer, hurt by it as they wish they could make the same announcement. You don't know what it's like to have the excitement of discovering a pregnancy sobered by the heartbreaking news that a dear relative just miscarried. You don't know what it's like to be a mom when there are some near and dear to you who can't be.
It's not just the moms who need to be more sensitive. And please, don't ever compare me to Peninnah in the Bible, ever. In the story of Peninnah and Hannah, Hannah was the childless wife who was much beloved by her husband. Peninnah in her jealousy went out of her way to make Hannah feel inferior. I have never posted pictures of my children or sonograms in order for you to see how much better I am because I am a mother. I share those pictures because frankly, you're not my only friends. I am friends with my children's grandparents and great-grandparents, the closest of whom live 3 1/2 hours away. The furthest live two days away. I am friends with people who aren't my family, but may as well be, whom I haven't seen in person in years. I'm friends with people in different countries. Much as they may want to, my friends in Australia are not going to come over just to see my kiddos. I share pictures of my children so that these people can share a piece of my life even though they are far away. And I do share them for you, so that you can see what my life is like. And not in a rub-it-in-your-face kind of way.
If I were the type who constantly complained about my children and how hard it was, I guess I would agree that I should be more sensitive. But I rarely complain about my children. If I constantly posted "bump updates" or what I was craving or how pregnancy is slowly killing me, I would agree that I should be more sensitive. But I never post "bump updates" because frankly I think bump pictures are ugly (sorry to my friends who are into that!). More often than not, I'm sharing something funny my children did or apologizing to my mom yet again so my kiddos will quit doing the things I did as a kid. I share the pictures because my kiddos are adorable and I love them to pieces. I don't post even a quarter of all the things I could post. Partly, I'm too busy living my life to take that kind of effort and some of it is because I am aware of you and your struggle. But to be totally brutal again, my Facebook page and my blog are about MY life. I have hobbies and interests outside my children, which I do share. But my children are a major part of my life, as I'm sure everyone would agree they should be. Which means that they are a major part of the things I share too.
Now, I've been snotty and perhaps some of you think I've been rude. Let me share a couple personal experiences that might help you see my side. The day my husband and I learned that we were pregnant with our second child, his cousin learned that his wife had lost theirs. Instead of us sharing the celebration of pregnancy together, we were celebrating and they were grieving. Our hearts were broken for them and it did for a moment take away from the joy we felt at our own addition. We made the announcement to our immediate family with the instructions that NO extended family were to be told at that time. We knew that these cousins needed to have time to grieve the loss of their baby. We didn't want to be the insensitive jerks to rub salt into their open wound. So we waited for quite some time before announcing our pregnancy. I'm sure that as happy as they were for us, these cousins probably still felt a tinge of pain. But it probably was not as painful as if we'd called them that very day to say, "Hey, guess what? I know you just lost your baby, but we're pregnant!" And when I made the announcement on Facebook, I hoped that it wouldn't cause them a lot of pain. Imagine my joy when within a few months of my announcement, they announced that they were expecting too! They had a beautiful baby girl not long after I did.
But that isn't how all stories go. With this pregnancy, my husband and I were trying for a while. I knew that most of it was stress causing us to not conceive as quickly as we had before. He was getting settled into a new job and we were getting used to a new home. During this time, my sister and her husband were also trying for a baby. It soon became apparent that something wasn't quite right. It was discovered that my sister had a huge ovarian cyst, one that looked like it may be cancerous. This was found just as I learned that I was pregnant with Baby #3. When I called my parents to share the news with them, my sister happened to be at their house and the phone was handed to her so I could share the news with her personally. For a moment, I wanted to hang up. I didn't want to tell my sister who so desperately wanted a child, and was facing the possibility of never having one of her own, that I was pregnant. It was the most awkward conversation I'd ever had with her. And when I hung up, I cried. I cried for the pain I knew I had caused her. I cried that she was going through such a terrifying ordeal. I cried that we couldn't both be pregnant together. I didn't know her pain, but I felt pain nonetheless. Now, it turns out that the cyst was not cancerous and while she lost one ovary, there is still the possibility that she will be able to have children of her own. But I didn't know that at the time I talked to her.
My dear friends, whether you are single, married, working, stay-at-home, childless or a fellow mom, I love each of you. I am sensitive to your plights as much as you have shared with me. I don't go out of my way to cause any of you pain. When I whine (and yes, I know it's whining) when my husband is going to be late and my children are bouncing off the walls, it isn't to rub in the face of my single friends that I have a husband. When I complain that it's been a rough day at home, it's not to tell my working friends that my life is harder than theirs. I don't believe that for a second! And when I post about my children and pregnancy, it isn't to rub it in to those of you who are childless. I have no control over your circumstances. I can't give you a loving spouse if you are single. I can't make your job easier if you are working. And I can't take away your infertility if you are childless. And none of you can change the struggles that I have as a stay-at-home mom. Instead of just telling one group to be more sensitive, let's all try to be more loving and more understanding. Let's all try to see the other side. I'm not going to "edit" my life in order to make yours easier. I'm just not. And I don't expect you to "edit" your life for me. This morning I saw a quote that I really loved and I'm going to share it: "No one can choose your mountain or tell you when to climb. It's yours alone to challenge. At your own pace and time." I'm going to make one slight revision. Your mountain is yours, but God will go with you if you invite Him. You don't have to go through your pain alone any more than I do.
Please understand, I don't want you to feel pain when I post things. But I'm not going to hide things on the off-chance that I offend or hurt you. My life is my own. This is my mountain and I'm climbing it as best I can. But I don't want to go alone, so I share the journey. If you're comfortable, share your journey with me. But don't expect me to change my mountain to mesh with yours. I can't and I won't.
January 22, 2015
Oops Moments
We've all had them. That moment when you realize that something your mom told you really was good advice. Or the time you discover that maybe your brilliant idea wasn't so brilliant after all. Most of these times seem to occur in college, but not all. The prompt for our 4th challenge is Hair-dye Adventures and I've had a few, though it's been many years. My oops moment is captured, through a fictitious account, in fun detail. Sometimes when Mom says it's best to let the professionals handle it, she really knows what she's talking about.
Hair-dye Adventures
It had started off innocently enough. Don’t most ventures? Tabby and her roommates were wandering the aisles of the local supermarket. Finals were finished and they’d all be heading home the next day. They wanted to celebrate and have some fun on their last night together before winter break. There was a bottle of Dr. Pepper in the cart with a large bag of tortilla chips and salsa and queso dip. Oreos had been snuck in by the roomie claiming to be on a diet and various other snack foods rolled along the bottom.
“Hey,” Sam said, as they wandered past the hair dye, “we should all dye our hair before going home. It would be fun!”
“My parents would kill me.”
“Are you an adult or aren’t you?”
“Maybe if it’s a natural color they won’t mind too much. I’ll just go a shade lighter.”
“Wimp.”
Tabby stayed out of the bantering. She knew her parents wouldn’t be upset about hair dye. Her mother had been the one to take her for her first highlights. But she’d never done her whole head before and she seemed to remember the hairdresser saying something interesting about her hair. She just couldn’t remember what it was.
As her roommates started throwing boxes of color into the cart, Sam asked, “So, Tabby, what color are you going for?”
She looked at the choices. She’d always wondered how she’d look as a redhead. Grabbing a box, she tossed it into the cart.
It wasn’t long before the four girls were giggling in their apartment, music blaring as loudly as they could (without getting in trouble), snacks scattered across the living room and the bottle of Dr. Pepper long depleted. “All right, dye time!” Cassie called.
They set up a chair in the dining room, carefully putting down old sheets and newspaper so they wouldn’t stain the floors or carpets. Tee-shirts were thrown across the room as the girls got ready for their new colors. Cassie insisted that Melody go first. “We don’t want you chickening out.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Arguments were ignored as the instructions were read and Melody’s hair underwent its transformation. Sam was next and then Cassie. Tabby was the last to sit in the chair, the wood cold against her back. “Okay, so twenty minutes in and then rinse it out in the shower,” Cassie read. “Got it?”
“Got it.”
The girls giggled some more as they applied the dye to Tabby’s hair. One by one, the girls disappeared as they went to rinse out the dye. Having only one bathroom that they shared meant that Sam, who had shorter hair anyway, got to rinse her hair out in the sink. Soon it was Tabby’s turn and she rinsed the dye out and worked with the special conditioner before toweling off. She could hear the blow-dryer going and knew the other girls were finishing their new looks. She looked in the mirror and couldn’t help but notice that her hair didn’t really look red. It looked, well, it looked like a dark fuschia. “Maybe it’s just because it’s wet,” she said hopefully.
Joining the others back in the dining room, she admired Melody’s soft blonde. “It’s not much different than what you had,” she said.
“I know. I’m hoping Mom and Dad won’t notice since it’s so close.”
“What’s the worst they could do?” “If it bugs them that much you can spend the winter with me.” Cassie rolled her eyes.
Melody rolled her eyes back.
“What do you think of mine?” Cassie asked, showing off bluish black curls.
“Certainly different,” Tabby admitted. “I don’t think I’d ever go that dark.”
Sam laughed, “Hey, at least it’s still almost natural.” Her bright blue hair shimmered in the light.
“This is true.”
“All right, enough chatter. Let’s get your hair dry so we can see your new color. It looks kind of purple right now.” Cassie said.
Tabby allowed them to help get her hair dry and was suddenly aware that the giggling had faded. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“What do you mean not exactly?”
“It’s just not quite like the box showed.”
Tabby grabbed a mirror from Melody and looked. Instead of the coppery red she had hoped for, her hair was glaringly fuschia. “Oh, no,” she breathed. “No, no, no, no!”
“Maybe you didn’t wash enough of it out,” Melody suggested.
“Did you make sure to go in as soon as twenty minutes were up?” Cassie asked.
“Have you ever dyed your hair before?” Sam asked.
“I had highlights before, remember?” Tabby snapped. “Ugh! Now I remember what the hairdresser said.”
“What?”
“She told me that my hair takes dye unusually fast. I should have showered earlier than twenty minutes.” She glared at her reflection. “Now what am I going to do?”
“Maybe you could redye it.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s too soon for her to redye it. That could give her a really nasty color.”
“Well, maybe try taking another shower and try to wash some more of it out.”
“At this point that probably wouldn’t work. I’ve conditioned and dried it.” Tabby sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll set up a hair appointment while I’m at home and see if I can’t fix this into something workable. My mother is going to laugh hysterically when she sees this.”
Cassie smiled and said, “Well, let’s take a picture, roomies.” She grabbed her phone and pulled the girls all together. With cheesy grins and thumbs up the girls posed for the picture.
The next afternoon, Tabby’s parents arrived to take her home. She was the last of the girls left to be picked up. Melody’s parents didn’t seem to have noticed the subtle change in their daughter’s hair, though they had glared unapprovingly at Sam’s azure locks. Sam’s dad had simply laughed and said, “Wouldn’t green have been more appropriate for the season?”
“I did consider it, briefly, but this seemed prettier.”
Cassie’s mom had taken a handful of her hair and said, “Darling, this is a bit dark for you. But, I hope you had a good time.”
“We had a blast!”
As Tabby waited for her own parents to arrive, she tried to tuck as much of her hair into a slouchy hat as she could. “Maybe they won’t notice yet.” But she should have known better. As her dad took her suitcases out to the car, Tabby’s mom grabbed the hat.
“We’re not even outside, silly girl.” As the fuschia waves tumbled out of the hat, she gasped. “Good heavens, Tabitha! What have you done to yourself?”
“I didn’t listen to your excellent advice.”
Tabby’s mom looked at her for a moment and then began to laugh. “Well, we all have to learn at some point.”
“I’ve got everything in the…oh,” Tabby’s dad said as he came into the room and saw Tabby’s hair for the first time and his wife still laughing. “That’s, well, different.”
Wiping tears from her eyes, Mom said, “Now do you know why I say to always have a professional take care of hair dye?”
“Yeah, I get it, Mom,” Tabby admitted sheepishly.
“Oh heavens,” Mom chuckled. “I suppose when we get home I best call Sarahbeth and get an appointment set up for you.”
“That would be great.”
“Well, ladies, let’s go home,” Dad said, taking the final bag from Tabby’s hands. “And you can tell us all about this little misadventure in the car.”
Hair-dye Adventures
It had started off innocently enough. Don’t most ventures? Tabby and her roommates were wandering the aisles of the local supermarket. Finals were finished and they’d all be heading home the next day. They wanted to celebrate and have some fun on their last night together before winter break. There was a bottle of Dr. Pepper in the cart with a large bag of tortilla chips and salsa and queso dip. Oreos had been snuck in by the roomie claiming to be on a diet and various other snack foods rolled along the bottom.
“Hey,” Sam said, as they wandered past the hair dye, “we should all dye our hair before going home. It would be fun!”
“My parents would kill me.”
“Are you an adult or aren’t you?”
“Maybe if it’s a natural color they won’t mind too much. I’ll just go a shade lighter.”
“Wimp.”
Tabby stayed out of the bantering. She knew her parents wouldn’t be upset about hair dye. Her mother had been the one to take her for her first highlights. But she’d never done her whole head before and she seemed to remember the hairdresser saying something interesting about her hair. She just couldn’t remember what it was.
As her roommates started throwing boxes of color into the cart, Sam asked, “So, Tabby, what color are you going for?”
She looked at the choices. She’d always wondered how she’d look as a redhead. Grabbing a box, she tossed it into the cart.
It wasn’t long before the four girls were giggling in their apartment, music blaring as loudly as they could (without getting in trouble), snacks scattered across the living room and the bottle of Dr. Pepper long depleted. “All right, dye time!” Cassie called.
They set up a chair in the dining room, carefully putting down old sheets and newspaper so they wouldn’t stain the floors or carpets. Tee-shirts were thrown across the room as the girls got ready for their new colors. Cassie insisted that Melody go first. “We don’t want you chickening out.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Arguments were ignored as the instructions were read and Melody’s hair underwent its transformation. Sam was next and then Cassie. Tabby was the last to sit in the chair, the wood cold against her back. “Okay, so twenty minutes in and then rinse it out in the shower,” Cassie read. “Got it?”
“Got it.”
The girls giggled some more as they applied the dye to Tabby’s hair. One by one, the girls disappeared as they went to rinse out the dye. Having only one bathroom that they shared meant that Sam, who had shorter hair anyway, got to rinse her hair out in the sink. Soon it was Tabby’s turn and she rinsed the dye out and worked with the special conditioner before toweling off. She could hear the blow-dryer going and knew the other girls were finishing their new looks. She looked in the mirror and couldn’t help but notice that her hair didn’t really look red. It looked, well, it looked like a dark fuschia. “Maybe it’s just because it’s wet,” she said hopefully.
Joining the others back in the dining room, she admired Melody’s soft blonde. “It’s not much different than what you had,” she said.
“I know. I’m hoping Mom and Dad won’t notice since it’s so close.”
“What’s the worst they could do?” “If it bugs them that much you can spend the winter with me.” Cassie rolled her eyes.
Melody rolled her eyes back.
“What do you think of mine?” Cassie asked, showing off bluish black curls.
“Certainly different,” Tabby admitted. “I don’t think I’d ever go that dark.”
Sam laughed, “Hey, at least it’s still almost natural.” Her bright blue hair shimmered in the light.
“This is true.”
“All right, enough chatter. Let’s get your hair dry so we can see your new color. It looks kind of purple right now.” Cassie said.
Tabby allowed them to help get her hair dry and was suddenly aware that the giggling had faded. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“What do you mean not exactly?”
“It’s just not quite like the box showed.”
Tabby grabbed a mirror from Melody and looked. Instead of the coppery red she had hoped for, her hair was glaringly fuschia. “Oh, no,” she breathed. “No, no, no, no!”
“Maybe you didn’t wash enough of it out,” Melody suggested.
“Did you make sure to go in as soon as twenty minutes were up?” Cassie asked.
“Have you ever dyed your hair before?” Sam asked.
“I had highlights before, remember?” Tabby snapped. “Ugh! Now I remember what the hairdresser said.”
“What?”
“She told me that my hair takes dye unusually fast. I should have showered earlier than twenty minutes.” She glared at her reflection. “Now what am I going to do?”
“Maybe you could redye it.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s too soon for her to redye it. That could give her a really nasty color.”
“Well, maybe try taking another shower and try to wash some more of it out.”
“At this point that probably wouldn’t work. I’ve conditioned and dried it.” Tabby sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll set up a hair appointment while I’m at home and see if I can’t fix this into something workable. My mother is going to laugh hysterically when she sees this.”
Cassie smiled and said, “Well, let’s take a picture, roomies.” She grabbed her phone and pulled the girls all together. With cheesy grins and thumbs up the girls posed for the picture.
The next afternoon, Tabby’s parents arrived to take her home. She was the last of the girls left to be picked up. Melody’s parents didn’t seem to have noticed the subtle change in their daughter’s hair, though they had glared unapprovingly at Sam’s azure locks. Sam’s dad had simply laughed and said, “Wouldn’t green have been more appropriate for the season?”
“I did consider it, briefly, but this seemed prettier.”
Cassie’s mom had taken a handful of her hair and said, “Darling, this is a bit dark for you. But, I hope you had a good time.”
“We had a blast!”
As Tabby waited for her own parents to arrive, she tried to tuck as much of her hair into a slouchy hat as she could. “Maybe they won’t notice yet.” But she should have known better. As her dad took her suitcases out to the car, Tabby’s mom grabbed the hat.
“We’re not even outside, silly girl.” As the fuschia waves tumbled out of the hat, she gasped. “Good heavens, Tabitha! What have you done to yourself?”
“I didn’t listen to your excellent advice.”
Tabby’s mom looked at her for a moment and then began to laugh. “Well, we all have to learn at some point.”
“I’ve got everything in the…oh,” Tabby’s dad said as he came into the room and saw Tabby’s hair for the first time and his wife still laughing. “That’s, well, different.”
Wiping tears from her eyes, Mom said, “Now do you know why I say to always have a professional take care of hair dye?”
“Yeah, I get it, Mom,” Tabby admitted sheepishly.
“Oh heavens,” Mom chuckled. “I suppose when we get home I best call Sarahbeth and get an appointment set up for you.”
“That would be great.”
“Well, ladies, let’s go home,” Dad said, taking the final bag from Tabby’s hands. “And you can tell us all about this little misadventure in the car.”
January 20, 2015
Story Number 3!
So I've been horridly sick the last week and am just now getting my 52 Week Writing Challenge story up for you to read. (Truth be told, I just finished writing it two seconds ago.) This is for the third prompt "blue". I hope you'll enjoy it! And I'll just warn you now, this is probably going to be a busy week blog-wise, so keep coming back!
Blue
Jenn laid the freshly washed quilt down over her bed. Gently smoothing out the wrinkles, she allowed her fingers to linger over the hand-stitched pieces. A dazzling array of blues, Granny’s last project, shimmered over the spread. Memories were attached to each blue piece. Blue. She was feeling a little blue. As her eyes skimmed the bedspread, she allowed the memories of fabric to flow through her mind. Stars and snowflakes, spots and stripes, swirls and solids. Even teddy bears and flowers had made it onto the quilt. Nothing held any of the fabrics together except the presence of blue. Blues ranging from deep indigo to fluffy baby blue, from bright cerulean to dull slate. Some of the fabrics were older and others nearly new. She remembered trips with Granny to the quilt shops around town and through the country as she looked at the pieces. A smile tugged her mouth.
“What are you ever going to do with that?” she had asked teasingly as Granny picked up a soft flannel with little blue rattles, teddy bears and bibs.
“Why, make a quilt of course! What else would I do with it?” Granny had replied.
“Unless you know something I don’t, it will be a while before you need to make a baby blanket.”
Granny had winked with a laugh before going to the counter with the flannel tucked under her arm. Jenn still couldn’t figure out how Granny had known that merely eight months later, she would be wrapping Jenn’s precious baby boy in that soft quilt at the hospital.
She touched the piece of flannel before allowing her eyes to rove again. They fell on a bright blue patch with gold, glittery stars. She smiled as she remembered her baptism day, years before, when Granny had presented her with a star-patterned quilt made with white fabric and accented with the blue starry fabric.
“For my little star-gazer,” Granny had said, handing her the quilt. “Don’t forget that you are a star, just as bright as any other. Always let your light shine.”
The bedspread had stayed with her through school and followed her on to college. It wasn’t until she had married and the need for a larger quilt had come that the beloved star quilt had been neatly folded and put away to wait for her own child to use.
But not all the memories in the blue quilt were happy ones. There was a scrap of navy-blue velvet saved from making Gramps’ shadow box. A piece of baby blue from the casket quilt made when Jenn’s youngest brother had passed unexpectedly away.
Jenn sighed as she stood once more and smoothed the wrinkle she’d put in the quilt. Her memory carried her to working with Granny in her quilting room. “What’s this project for, Granny?” she’d asked.
“This is my last project, Jenn,” had come the reply. Granny stopped stitching for a moment to look at her granddaughter. “I’m not getting younger and I think I’m about ready to go home.”
Concern furrowed Jenn’s brow. “You’re not serious, are you?”
Granny laughed. “Don’t be so melodramatic, dear. I’ll go when the good Lord calls me. I’m just saying I’m ready. I’ve had a long life with ups and downs, just like this wacky pattern. What did they call it at the quilt shop?”
With a smile Jenn replied, “I wasn’t really paying attention. You quilt far more than I do.”
Chuckling, Granny said, “I suppose that’s true. Though I’m glad you take time to quilt with me. It’s not easy to do the stitches like it used to be.”
“You could do this with machine.”
“No I could not. Then it wouldn’t be handmade.”
Jenn shook her head with a smile as she sat down to help. “It would still be handmade, just not handstitched.”
“You can convince yourself that there’s a difference, but you’re not fooling me.” Granny was quiet a moment and then smiled, “Do you remember when I made that map quilt for your brother?” Her fingers pointed to a piece with swirly blue waves.
“Just before his mission, yeah, I remember. He wouldn’t let anyone else in the house touch it! How did you get a piece of it?”
“Don’t be silly, I don’t take apart good quilts. I always buy extra fabric, especially of the blue. I knew I wanted to do this years ago.”
“I thought buying extra fabric was your way of ensuring that you died with more material than any other quilter.”
Granny chuckled again. “Well, that might be part of the reason. A girl’s got to win at something.” They laughed together before she continued, “No, I’ve always known that I wanted to do a blue quilt like this. But I wanted it to be filled with memories.”
“Is that why every quilt you make has blue in it?”
“Now, I did not do baby girl quilts in blue. I made them pink, like any respectable quilter would,” she added teasingly and Jenn knew she was referencing the purple blanket Jenn had made for her daughter. “But I will admit that I took advantage of blue at any point I could. Blue is such an interesting color, don’t you think?”
“Well, it’s always been one of my favorites, but I’m not sure I understand why you think it interesting.”
“When people say they’re blue, they mean they’re sad. Blues music is jazzy, but usually with a sad note to it. But blue’s not really a sad color. It’s a calm color. A quiet color. I suppose some blues can be a little melancholy. Then again, on a clear, sunny day the sky is radiantly blue with nothing sad about it. Blue isn’t sad as much as it’s so full of everything else that people aren’t sure what to do with it. There’s memory in blue. Hope, peace, dignity, excitement even. And yes, I suppose there is a little touch of sorrow. Perhaps because not all memories are happy ones.”
The memory faded as Jenn touched the quilt one more time. Granny was right. The blue quilt she had made wasn’t sad. It filled her with wonderful memories of Granny. “I wish you could be here with me again,” Jenn whispered as she stepped quietly from the room, the blue quilt shimmering on the bed.
Blue
Jenn laid the freshly washed quilt down over her bed. Gently smoothing out the wrinkles, she allowed her fingers to linger over the hand-stitched pieces. A dazzling array of blues, Granny’s last project, shimmered over the spread. Memories were attached to each blue piece. Blue. She was feeling a little blue. As her eyes skimmed the bedspread, she allowed the memories of fabric to flow through her mind. Stars and snowflakes, spots and stripes, swirls and solids. Even teddy bears and flowers had made it onto the quilt. Nothing held any of the fabrics together except the presence of blue. Blues ranging from deep indigo to fluffy baby blue, from bright cerulean to dull slate. Some of the fabrics were older and others nearly new. She remembered trips with Granny to the quilt shops around town and through the country as she looked at the pieces. A smile tugged her mouth.
“What are you ever going to do with that?” she had asked teasingly as Granny picked up a soft flannel with little blue rattles, teddy bears and bibs.
“Why, make a quilt of course! What else would I do with it?” Granny had replied.
“Unless you know something I don’t, it will be a while before you need to make a baby blanket.”
Granny had winked with a laugh before going to the counter with the flannel tucked under her arm. Jenn still couldn’t figure out how Granny had known that merely eight months later, she would be wrapping Jenn’s precious baby boy in that soft quilt at the hospital.
She touched the piece of flannel before allowing her eyes to rove again. They fell on a bright blue patch with gold, glittery stars. She smiled as she remembered her baptism day, years before, when Granny had presented her with a star-patterned quilt made with white fabric and accented with the blue starry fabric.
“For my little star-gazer,” Granny had said, handing her the quilt. “Don’t forget that you are a star, just as bright as any other. Always let your light shine.”
The bedspread had stayed with her through school and followed her on to college. It wasn’t until she had married and the need for a larger quilt had come that the beloved star quilt had been neatly folded and put away to wait for her own child to use.
But not all the memories in the blue quilt were happy ones. There was a scrap of navy-blue velvet saved from making Gramps’ shadow box. A piece of baby blue from the casket quilt made when Jenn’s youngest brother had passed unexpectedly away.
Jenn sighed as she stood once more and smoothed the wrinkle she’d put in the quilt. Her memory carried her to working with Granny in her quilting room. “What’s this project for, Granny?” she’d asked.
“This is my last project, Jenn,” had come the reply. Granny stopped stitching for a moment to look at her granddaughter. “I’m not getting younger and I think I’m about ready to go home.”
Concern furrowed Jenn’s brow. “You’re not serious, are you?”
Granny laughed. “Don’t be so melodramatic, dear. I’ll go when the good Lord calls me. I’m just saying I’m ready. I’ve had a long life with ups and downs, just like this wacky pattern. What did they call it at the quilt shop?”
With a smile Jenn replied, “I wasn’t really paying attention. You quilt far more than I do.”
Chuckling, Granny said, “I suppose that’s true. Though I’m glad you take time to quilt with me. It’s not easy to do the stitches like it used to be.”
“You could do this with machine.”
“No I could not. Then it wouldn’t be handmade.”
Jenn shook her head with a smile as she sat down to help. “It would still be handmade, just not handstitched.”
“You can convince yourself that there’s a difference, but you’re not fooling me.” Granny was quiet a moment and then smiled, “Do you remember when I made that map quilt for your brother?” Her fingers pointed to a piece with swirly blue waves.
“Just before his mission, yeah, I remember. He wouldn’t let anyone else in the house touch it! How did you get a piece of it?”
“Don’t be silly, I don’t take apart good quilts. I always buy extra fabric, especially of the blue. I knew I wanted to do this years ago.”
“I thought buying extra fabric was your way of ensuring that you died with more material than any other quilter.”
Granny chuckled again. “Well, that might be part of the reason. A girl’s got to win at something.” They laughed together before she continued, “No, I’ve always known that I wanted to do a blue quilt like this. But I wanted it to be filled with memories.”
“Is that why every quilt you make has blue in it?”
“Now, I did not do baby girl quilts in blue. I made them pink, like any respectable quilter would,” she added teasingly and Jenn knew she was referencing the purple blanket Jenn had made for her daughter. “But I will admit that I took advantage of blue at any point I could. Blue is such an interesting color, don’t you think?”
“Well, it’s always been one of my favorites, but I’m not sure I understand why you think it interesting.”
“When people say they’re blue, they mean they’re sad. Blues music is jazzy, but usually with a sad note to it. But blue’s not really a sad color. It’s a calm color. A quiet color. I suppose some blues can be a little melancholy. Then again, on a clear, sunny day the sky is radiantly blue with nothing sad about it. Blue isn’t sad as much as it’s so full of everything else that people aren’t sure what to do with it. There’s memory in blue. Hope, peace, dignity, excitement even. And yes, I suppose there is a little touch of sorrow. Perhaps because not all memories are happy ones.”
The memory faded as Jenn touched the quilt one more time. Granny was right. The blue quilt she had made wasn’t sad. It filled her with wonderful memories of Granny. “I wish you could be here with me again,” Jenn whispered as she stepped quietly from the room, the blue quilt shimmering on the bed.
January 12, 2015
Pregnancy and Me
I'm 32 weeks along. About the point that most expectant mothers are eagerly awaiting Baby's arrival and the time when their body sort of goes back to normal.
And not to lie, I'm counting down too.
Strange things happen when you're pregnant and not just to you but to everyone around you. Social norms get thrown out the window as people start touching your belly (sometimes without asking or even knowing you). People start asking about your weight gain, or lack thereof, and general concern for your well-being is expressed. Then there are the horror stories. "I remember when I was pregnant..." and you can fill in the blanks there. We've all heard the stories and honestly, those of us who have been pregnant before have probably told the stories too.
It's funny that we all say, "Pregnancy is different for every woman and even there, each pregnancy is different!" But somehow, it doesn't seem that we actually believe it. It's like we expect every pregnant woman to look and feel the same. If someone doesn't fit the desired mold, suddenly a flurry of concern hits. I know it's all meant well and spoken out of love and concern for me, but every now and again I just want to say, "Seriously? I'm FINE!"
Here's my scenario: I spend the first 3 months (at least) of my pregnancy worshiping the porcelain god. I drop weight like a hot potato (forgive the cliche) and honestly, I look awful. It doesn't matter how hard I try to look chipper and upbeat, it doesn't matter if I put make-up on to try to mask my pallid skin tone; I look awful. Even though my normal inclination is to not announce a pregnancy to the public until past the first trimester, plenty of people figure it out before I reach that magic number. I celebrate when the scale at the doctor's office tells me I've returned to my prepregnancy weight. This leads to everyone asking if I'm doing all right. "Are you getting enough to eat?" "Are you keeping anything down?" "Have you tried this, that or the other thing?" And I get told constantly that I look skinny. It doesn't make sense to me, because I can see the baby bump and I know exactly how much weight was lost and how much has been gained back. Here's the stats for this pregnancy: 10.5 lbs lost and (from my prepregnancy weight) 15 lbs gained. My doctor is happy and I'm ecstatic; I've never lost so little before!
Then there are the general aches of pregnancy. My hips start shifting early, so walking becomes painful and much as I try not to, I can't help but wince. My back, which has always been a trouble spot, starts to ache more than usual. And of course, as Baby vies for more room, I start getting stretched out and that's not always comfortable either. I basically ache through my entire torso and short of doping up on Tylenol, there's not a whole lot I can really do. So I tough my way through when I can and I just sit and relax when I can't.
And because I am so expressive, people can tell when I'm miserable. Ladies at church cluck their tongues and say, "Oh, sweetie, are you sure you're okay?" Well, no, I'm not, but I'm going to tell you that I am. I'll tell you that I'm hanging in there. I'll tell you that I'm doing all right. I'll smile and say, "Oh, there's not too much longer." It's not often that I will actually verbally admit to being miserable, though my face screams it.
Pregnancy isn't easy. It wasn't really meant to be. And it is different for every woman. I can't say that I've ever had any strange cravings like I've heard other women talk about. I've had general cravings. Couldn't get enough pickles while pregnant with my son and spicy food was all I wanted with my daughter. This time around, Baby loves homemade hamburgers and fries (and hubby loves them too)! But I haven't had a desire to put pickles and peanut butter together on my ice cream or anything else "weird". I also haven't dealt with the emotional upheaval that many women describe. While I am more apt to cry than I was previously, and my fuse is a little shorter, my emotions are basically the same as they were before I was pregnant.
I consider myself lucky, to be quite honest. I would much rather deal with my aches and pains than with my emotions being totally out of whack. And it's easier to deal with sympathetic looks when I wince yet again than looks of disgust when I eat something totally nasty, but that somehow tastes good to me.
Pregnancy is not easy on my body, it's rough. But it's not the worst thing in the world and seriously everyone, even though I ache and even though I haven't ballooned out like we seem to expect pregnant women to do, I am okay. Tired, achy and sometimes impatient for this bundle to get here. But really, I am okay. In fact, I'm great! I have a little life inside me who plays tag with me (totally fun, by the way!) and kicks around, elbows my ribs (not fun), and generally wiggles. My heart melts every time I hear that little heartbeat at the doctor's office. I can't wait to meet this little guy or gal, because he's already so much a part of my life.
And not to lie, I'm counting down too.
Strange things happen when you're pregnant and not just to you but to everyone around you. Social norms get thrown out the window as people start touching your belly (sometimes without asking or even knowing you). People start asking about your weight gain, or lack thereof, and general concern for your well-being is expressed. Then there are the horror stories. "I remember when I was pregnant..." and you can fill in the blanks there. We've all heard the stories and honestly, those of us who have been pregnant before have probably told the stories too.
It's funny that we all say, "Pregnancy is different for every woman and even there, each pregnancy is different!" But somehow, it doesn't seem that we actually believe it. It's like we expect every pregnant woman to look and feel the same. If someone doesn't fit the desired mold, suddenly a flurry of concern hits. I know it's all meant well and spoken out of love and concern for me, but every now and again I just want to say, "Seriously? I'm FINE!"
Here's my scenario: I spend the first 3 months (at least) of my pregnancy worshiping the porcelain god. I drop weight like a hot potato (forgive the cliche) and honestly, I look awful. It doesn't matter how hard I try to look chipper and upbeat, it doesn't matter if I put make-up on to try to mask my pallid skin tone; I look awful. Even though my normal inclination is to not announce a pregnancy to the public until past the first trimester, plenty of people figure it out before I reach that magic number. I celebrate when the scale at the doctor's office tells me I've returned to my prepregnancy weight. This leads to everyone asking if I'm doing all right. "Are you getting enough to eat?" "Are you keeping anything down?" "Have you tried this, that or the other thing?" And I get told constantly that I look skinny. It doesn't make sense to me, because I can see the baby bump and I know exactly how much weight was lost and how much has been gained back. Here's the stats for this pregnancy: 10.5 lbs lost and (from my prepregnancy weight) 15 lbs gained. My doctor is happy and I'm ecstatic; I've never lost so little before!
Then there are the general aches of pregnancy. My hips start shifting early, so walking becomes painful and much as I try not to, I can't help but wince. My back, which has always been a trouble spot, starts to ache more than usual. And of course, as Baby vies for more room, I start getting stretched out and that's not always comfortable either. I basically ache through my entire torso and short of doping up on Tylenol, there's not a whole lot I can really do. So I tough my way through when I can and I just sit and relax when I can't.
And because I am so expressive, people can tell when I'm miserable. Ladies at church cluck their tongues and say, "Oh, sweetie, are you sure you're okay?" Well, no, I'm not, but I'm going to tell you that I am. I'll tell you that I'm hanging in there. I'll tell you that I'm doing all right. I'll smile and say, "Oh, there's not too much longer." It's not often that I will actually verbally admit to being miserable, though my face screams it.
Pregnancy isn't easy. It wasn't really meant to be. And it is different for every woman. I can't say that I've ever had any strange cravings like I've heard other women talk about. I've had general cravings. Couldn't get enough pickles while pregnant with my son and spicy food was all I wanted with my daughter. This time around, Baby loves homemade hamburgers and fries (and hubby loves them too)! But I haven't had a desire to put pickles and peanut butter together on my ice cream or anything else "weird". I also haven't dealt with the emotional upheaval that many women describe. While I am more apt to cry than I was previously, and my fuse is a little shorter, my emotions are basically the same as they were before I was pregnant.
I consider myself lucky, to be quite honest. I would much rather deal with my aches and pains than with my emotions being totally out of whack. And it's easier to deal with sympathetic looks when I wince yet again than looks of disgust when I eat something totally nasty, but that somehow tastes good to me.
Pregnancy is not easy on my body, it's rough. But it's not the worst thing in the world and seriously everyone, even though I ache and even though I haven't ballooned out like we seem to expect pregnant women to do, I am okay. Tired, achy and sometimes impatient for this bundle to get here. But really, I am okay. In fact, I'm great! I have a little life inside me who plays tag with me (totally fun, by the way!) and kicks around, elbows my ribs (not fun), and generally wiggles. My heart melts every time I hear that little heartbeat at the doctor's office. I can't wait to meet this little guy or gal, because he's already so much a part of my life.
January 8, 2015
Through a Dog's Eyes
It's time for my second prompt and this one is "First Snow". I thought about going with the first snow of the season, but then I thought about my puppy's reaction to seeing snow for the first time. This is the story that she would write, if she had hands instead of paws. What will you write about?
First Snow
I was lying on the sofa, minding my own business, when suddenly my brother and sister started clambering over each other towards the window. “Mommy! Mommy, it’s snowing!” they shouted.
Snowing? I lifted my head and looked towards them. With a stretch and a yawn, I ambled to the window and looked out, my paws resting on the windowsill. What on earth was that? Fluffy, white things were falling from the sky and covering everything outside! My brother and sister giggled and kept pointing at them. I barked at the strange flakes and then Mommy got mad at me. I’m not allowed to bark in the house and I know it, but what were those things? Mommy tried to get me to go somewhere else, but I was fascinated.
Soon Brother and Sister were with Mommy putting on those weird things they called coats and shoes. Mommy stuck things on their heads and hands saying that she didn’t want them to get cold outside. Silly humans, if they would just grow fur they wouldn’t have to worry about getting cold.
Wait a minute. Did she say they were going outside? I wanna go too! I started circling around them while Mommy kept helping the children get bundled up. I whined and Mommy told me to be quiet. I circled the door and Mommy kept ignoring me as she tied fat leashes around Brother and Sister’s necks. Funny, she didn’t hold onto the end of their leashes like she always did to mine. Then she told them to stand by the door. I made the cutest face I could and whined again to get Mommy’s attention.
“I know, girl, you want out too. Sit.” She held my leash in one hand.
Sit? How could anyone sit at such an exciting time as this? I was going to go out and find out what that white stuff was.
“Georgia, sit.” Mommy’s tone was firm and I knew I better do as she asked. I sat and looked at her with big, pleading eyes. “Good girl,” she said gently as she put the leash on my collar. She didn’t drop the end of it like she did Brother and Sister. I just want it to be noted that this was not fair.
Then Mommy opened the door and I forgot about things being fair or not fair as we jumped outside onto the patio. Mommy held the leash firmly as Brother and Sister ran ahead and outside into the whiteness. A cool wind blew through my fur and the white things that Brother and Sister kept calling snow started falling on me. I tried to catch some in my mouth, but they were too fast. Mommy laughed as I ran around and around, trying to touch all of the snow I could get to. It was so weird. I’d seen rain fall before, but this was different. It was cold and wet, but not wet at the same time. I shoved my nose through a small drift that was forming. Brrr! It was definitely cold. And maybe it was a little wet too. I chomped down on some and it began melting into water in my mouth.
Brother and Sister were giggling and running as they caught the white flakes in their hands and on their coats and hair. Mommy just smiled as everyone played and even took a few pictures, when I wasn’t yanking her arm to get her to move faster.
All too soon Mommy said, “Okay, everyone, time to go inside.”
Inside? That’s a bad word, Mommy, you shouldn’t say it. Ever. Especially not when there’s snow to discover.
“Do we have to?” Brother whined.
“Yes, it’s cold out. Let’s make some cocoa inside.”
There’s that bad word again, Mommy. I tried to pull her to a corner of the yard I hadn’t sniffed yet.
She pulled back and I knew there was no helping it. Brother and Sister were going back towards the door shouting “Cocoa!” and waiting for Mommy. I walked as slowly as I could, but Mommy’s bigger than I am. Soon we were back in the house. I shook the water from my fur. I don’t remember it raining, but it felt like there was rain on me. Brother and Sister gleefully pulled the leashes, coats, and funny hand covers off and tossed them on the floor as they scrambled for the table. Mommy told me to sit and I did so that she’d take the leash off. Unlike Brother and Sister, I can’t get mine undone myself. How do they do that?
As soon as I was free, I ran to the window and began watching the snow fall to the ground. Whiteness was beginning to cover the grass, the porch and the trees outside. I ran back to the door and whined again.
“No, Georgia,” Mommy said. “You were just outside. You don’t need to play in the snow anymore.”
Play? Who said anything about playing? I plan on exploring the snow, thank you very much. I whined again.
“Georgia, no.”
Argh, humans can be so frustrating. I ran back to the window. My tail wagged back and forth as I watched the snow fall. Mommy laughed at me as I tried to catch a flake through the window. Hey, it was worth a try, right? I tried a couple more times but that solid thing I can’t see blocked my way. I wish I knew how to make that disappear. After a while I got bored just watching the snow fall, so I ambled back to my spot on the couch. I jumped up and walked around a few times before settling down and curling myself into a ball, my nose tucked in my tail. Ah, warm at last. The snow would still be there when I woke up…I hoped.
First Snow
I was lying on the sofa, minding my own business, when suddenly my brother and sister started clambering over each other towards the window. “Mommy! Mommy, it’s snowing!” they shouted.
Snowing? I lifted my head and looked towards them. With a stretch and a yawn, I ambled to the window and looked out, my paws resting on the windowsill. What on earth was that? Fluffy, white things were falling from the sky and covering everything outside! My brother and sister giggled and kept pointing at them. I barked at the strange flakes and then Mommy got mad at me. I’m not allowed to bark in the house and I know it, but what were those things? Mommy tried to get me to go somewhere else, but I was fascinated.
Soon Brother and Sister were with Mommy putting on those weird things they called coats and shoes. Mommy stuck things on their heads and hands saying that she didn’t want them to get cold outside. Silly humans, if they would just grow fur they wouldn’t have to worry about getting cold.
Wait a minute. Did she say they were going outside? I wanna go too! I started circling around them while Mommy kept helping the children get bundled up. I whined and Mommy told me to be quiet. I circled the door and Mommy kept ignoring me as she tied fat leashes around Brother and Sister’s necks. Funny, she didn’t hold onto the end of their leashes like she always did to mine. Then she told them to stand by the door. I made the cutest face I could and whined again to get Mommy’s attention.
“I know, girl, you want out too. Sit.” She held my leash in one hand.
Sit? How could anyone sit at such an exciting time as this? I was going to go out and find out what that white stuff was.
“Georgia, sit.” Mommy’s tone was firm and I knew I better do as she asked. I sat and looked at her with big, pleading eyes. “Good girl,” she said gently as she put the leash on my collar. She didn’t drop the end of it like she did Brother and Sister. I just want it to be noted that this was not fair.
Then Mommy opened the door and I forgot about things being fair or not fair as we jumped outside onto the patio. Mommy held the leash firmly as Brother and Sister ran ahead and outside into the whiteness. A cool wind blew through my fur and the white things that Brother and Sister kept calling snow started falling on me. I tried to catch some in my mouth, but they were too fast. Mommy laughed as I ran around and around, trying to touch all of the snow I could get to. It was so weird. I’d seen rain fall before, but this was different. It was cold and wet, but not wet at the same time. I shoved my nose through a small drift that was forming. Brrr! It was definitely cold. And maybe it was a little wet too. I chomped down on some and it began melting into water in my mouth.
Brother and Sister were giggling and running as they caught the white flakes in their hands and on their coats and hair. Mommy just smiled as everyone played and even took a few pictures, when I wasn’t yanking her arm to get her to move faster.
All too soon Mommy said, “Okay, everyone, time to go inside.”
Inside? That’s a bad word, Mommy, you shouldn’t say it. Ever. Especially not when there’s snow to discover.
“Do we have to?” Brother whined.
“Yes, it’s cold out. Let’s make some cocoa inside.”
There’s that bad word again, Mommy. I tried to pull her to a corner of the yard I hadn’t sniffed yet.
She pulled back and I knew there was no helping it. Brother and Sister were going back towards the door shouting “Cocoa!” and waiting for Mommy. I walked as slowly as I could, but Mommy’s bigger than I am. Soon we were back in the house. I shook the water from my fur. I don’t remember it raining, but it felt like there was rain on me. Brother and Sister gleefully pulled the leashes, coats, and funny hand covers off and tossed them on the floor as they scrambled for the table. Mommy told me to sit and I did so that she’d take the leash off. Unlike Brother and Sister, I can’t get mine undone myself. How do they do that?
As soon as I was free, I ran to the window and began watching the snow fall to the ground. Whiteness was beginning to cover the grass, the porch and the trees outside. I ran back to the door and whined again.
“No, Georgia,” Mommy said. “You were just outside. You don’t need to play in the snow anymore.”
Play? Who said anything about playing? I plan on exploring the snow, thank you very much. I whined again.
“Georgia, no.”
Argh, humans can be so frustrating. I ran back to the window. My tail wagged back and forth as I watched the snow fall. Mommy laughed at me as I tried to catch a flake through the window. Hey, it was worth a try, right? I tried a couple more times but that solid thing I can’t see blocked my way. I wish I knew how to make that disappear. After a while I got bored just watching the snow fall, so I ambled back to my spot on the couch. I jumped up and walked around a few times before settling down and curling myself into a ball, my nose tucked in my tail. Ah, warm at last. The snow would still be there when I woke up…I hoped.
January 5, 2015
New Year Challenge!
Last year I started, and then dropped like a hot rock, a 52 Week Writing Challenge. This year I am recommitting and I hope that you will join me! I love having writing buddies and I especially love seeing what others write and do. So, the first week is the "Meet Me" post. You'd think it would be easy to write about yourself, but sometimes it's a challenge! So here it is, my story on becoming a writer. :) Enjoy!
Meet Me
Introductions are such a tricky thing. There’s deciding where to begin and then what to say, but I’ll give it a whirl anyway. I’m Jessica L. Elliott, which I’m sure some of you already know. I was born in California and then promptly moved away to Kansas which has settled so deeply into my blood that I pretty much refuse to leave; except for the occasional vacation. I love my Midwestern home. I love the beauty here and the peace.
But that’s a story for another day. Right now you want to know about me. Well, I’m pretty ordinary, I suppose, as far as authors go. My mother says I started writing from the moment I could pick up a pencil. Probably pretty accurate. I’ve always loved a good story, whether I was reading it or telling it! I fueled my over-active imagination with wonderful books and fun adventures with my five younger brothers and sisters.
As I got older, writing went to the backburner for a while. I still came up with ideas and wrote occasionally, but I was trying to focus on my studies. I had decided to be an elementary teacher and I knew that was going to take a lot of work. So I put my writing to the side, except when a friend introduced me to the frenzy of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). Then a ghost story that had been simmering in my brain started to take shape. In that November I wrote over 60,000 words in it. Then it went right back to the recesses of my mind so I could focus once again on my studies. A year passed with very little writing, other than the required essays and minutia demanded by my professors. The next November I didn’t even make an attempt at NaNoWriMo as I was student teaching and knew that I didn’t have time for writing and couldn’t afford the distraction.
And then a horrible thing happened. A dreadful thing. A thing that makes writers cringe and unleashes weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. My computer which held all my writing, my schoolwork and everything else died. No resurrection even possible. Well, I had to do my schoolwork and so many long hours were spent at the school computer labs. My writing, well, that had been a side thing anyway and for a couple years I pouted and generally refused to write creatively purely out of misery at losing so much that I had started.
During all of this, I was still telling stories. My youngest brother is fifteen years my junior. Visits from college were spent trying to build a relationship with him by making bedtime our time. I told him the fairy tales my mother had told me, embellishing them and making them longer so his droopy eyes would finally close. Then the unthinkable happened: he said to me, “Jessica, fairy tales are for girls. I am a boy and I don’t want to hear one.”
!!!
In desperation I flung about in my mind for some way to tell him the stories I loved in a way that would be appealing to him. “What if I tell you a story about a prince?”
“That might be okay. But only one kiss, if that many.”
With that, I started making stories for the princes who had such an important, and yet underrated, role in the fairy tales I had told. They were kidnapped by pirates, fought dragons, sailed the seas in search of their princesses. These were no ordinary Prince Charmings. They were the ultimate Prince Charmings! They were the guys that every girl longs to have pop out of the ground and sweep them away. They were the type of guy that I hoped boys would relate to and want to become.
Then my brother started asking questions and from his questions the school, Charming Academy for Boys, was born. These dashing heroes had to have learned somewhere all the tricks of questing. It made logical sense that there had to be a school. Unbeknownst to me, my mother had started listening in at the door. One night when John’s droopy eyes had finally closed to yet another “happily ever after”, my mother said, “Those stories you tell him are really good. You should start writing them down.”
It was all the encouragement I needed to pick up my dusty notebook and far-too-long pencil and begin writing again. Jobs for new teachers were scarce, at least in the areas that I wanted to go. So while substitute teaching I rekindled my love of writing. I didn’t mind that much having days with no jobs because I could throw myself into my storytelling. Summer was a frenzy of character creating and scene writing.
And then a Prince Charming so wonderful and amazing that I couldn’t possibly ignore him came back into my life. I’d met him during college, but without any hopes of dating since I knew he was soon going on a two-year church mission. Now he had come home and it was soon apparent that I’d found someone to live out “happily ever after” with. The only minus to this blossoming relationship was that once again, my writing went to the backburner. But I didn’t mind at all. I was living out my own fairy tale and it was going much easier than any I had written!
Once the excitement of getting married and settling down had started to fade (only a little because I’m still head-over-heels with him), I jumped right back into my writing. My loving sweetheart supported me fully, though he couldn’t understand why I would want to write so much. Writing isn’t his thing, which honestly is probably much better for our relationship! He was patient when I would spend long nights clacking away on the keyboard. He didn’t complain when I offered leftovers for dinner because I didn’t want to break away from writing long enough to cook anything. He made sure that I did eat and did sleep, even when all I wanted to do was live, eat and breathe my novel.
When the first manuscript was finally finished, he celebrated with me and helped me get it formatted the way I wanted it. Then we unleashed Charming Academy on the world. It was a BEAST! While it didn’t sell phenomenally, it was a huge book and many of my friends were excited to finally be able to read what I had been working on for so long. Soon I found that I had to cut down from it. It was just too big and hairy. So I began the painful process of cutting scenes, characters and miscellaneous details that really weren’t necessary. It was still a huge book, but it wasn’t break-your-brain huge anymore. Truth be told, soon it will receive another trimming. But that won’t be until after I finish writing the last book of the series so that I don’t accidently cut something important.
So that’s who I am as a writer. I now have six books out. The four Charming Academy books that are finished, Mischief, Mayhem and NOT Burning the House Down, and How Many Snowflakes Until Christmas?. It’s been a fun adventure and I’ve learned a lot about myself and about writing through this process. I’ve learned that being self-published is hard and it’s a lot of work, but it also gives me a lot of freedom. Freedom that I appreciate because it allows me to maintain the greatest control of my stories. I set my own deadlines, which for a young mother is really, really nice! I set my own writing pace and I create my own writing goals. I don’t have anyone telling me what I should write or how. I try to follow the cues I get from my readers and I would hope that you have seen the improvement from the clunky first edition of Charming Academy to what my writing has become in my later books.
Writing isn’t the only thing in my life. I have two (almost three!) adorable children who take time and energy to keep up with! They inspire me and definitely keep me on my toes. I have a puppy who is way too smart for her own good and also does a good job of keeping me busy. And of course, there’s my Prince Charming who has made my life so wonderful and blessed that it would be horribly remiss of me to forget him. I take on probably way too many art projects and I have too many hobbies ranging from various crafts to gardening. But I am who I am and I love me. Truly, I love being me! I love the person I have grown into and look forward to seeing where I am taken in the future.
Now you know a bit about me and my story of coming to be an author. What’s your story?
Meet Me
Introductions are such a tricky thing. There’s deciding where to begin and then what to say, but I’ll give it a whirl anyway. I’m Jessica L. Elliott, which I’m sure some of you already know. I was born in California and then promptly moved away to Kansas which has settled so deeply into my blood that I pretty much refuse to leave; except for the occasional vacation. I love my Midwestern home. I love the beauty here and the peace.
But that’s a story for another day. Right now you want to know about me. Well, I’m pretty ordinary, I suppose, as far as authors go. My mother says I started writing from the moment I could pick up a pencil. Probably pretty accurate. I’ve always loved a good story, whether I was reading it or telling it! I fueled my over-active imagination with wonderful books and fun adventures with my five younger brothers and sisters.
As I got older, writing went to the backburner for a while. I still came up with ideas and wrote occasionally, but I was trying to focus on my studies. I had decided to be an elementary teacher and I knew that was going to take a lot of work. So I put my writing to the side, except when a friend introduced me to the frenzy of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). Then a ghost story that had been simmering in my brain started to take shape. In that November I wrote over 60,000 words in it. Then it went right back to the recesses of my mind so I could focus once again on my studies. A year passed with very little writing, other than the required essays and minutia demanded by my professors. The next November I didn’t even make an attempt at NaNoWriMo as I was student teaching and knew that I didn’t have time for writing and couldn’t afford the distraction.
And then a horrible thing happened. A dreadful thing. A thing that makes writers cringe and unleashes weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. My computer which held all my writing, my schoolwork and everything else died. No resurrection even possible. Well, I had to do my schoolwork and so many long hours were spent at the school computer labs. My writing, well, that had been a side thing anyway and for a couple years I pouted and generally refused to write creatively purely out of misery at losing so much that I had started.
During all of this, I was still telling stories. My youngest brother is fifteen years my junior. Visits from college were spent trying to build a relationship with him by making bedtime our time. I told him the fairy tales my mother had told me, embellishing them and making them longer so his droopy eyes would finally close. Then the unthinkable happened: he said to me, “Jessica, fairy tales are for girls. I am a boy and I don’t want to hear one.”
!!!
In desperation I flung about in my mind for some way to tell him the stories I loved in a way that would be appealing to him. “What if I tell you a story about a prince?”
“That might be okay. But only one kiss, if that many.”
With that, I started making stories for the princes who had such an important, and yet underrated, role in the fairy tales I had told. They were kidnapped by pirates, fought dragons, sailed the seas in search of their princesses. These were no ordinary Prince Charmings. They were the ultimate Prince Charmings! They were the guys that every girl longs to have pop out of the ground and sweep them away. They were the type of guy that I hoped boys would relate to and want to become.
Then my brother started asking questions and from his questions the school, Charming Academy for Boys, was born. These dashing heroes had to have learned somewhere all the tricks of questing. It made logical sense that there had to be a school. Unbeknownst to me, my mother had started listening in at the door. One night when John’s droopy eyes had finally closed to yet another “happily ever after”, my mother said, “Those stories you tell him are really good. You should start writing them down.”
It was all the encouragement I needed to pick up my dusty notebook and far-too-long pencil and begin writing again. Jobs for new teachers were scarce, at least in the areas that I wanted to go. So while substitute teaching I rekindled my love of writing. I didn’t mind that much having days with no jobs because I could throw myself into my storytelling. Summer was a frenzy of character creating and scene writing.
And then a Prince Charming so wonderful and amazing that I couldn’t possibly ignore him came back into my life. I’d met him during college, but without any hopes of dating since I knew he was soon going on a two-year church mission. Now he had come home and it was soon apparent that I’d found someone to live out “happily ever after” with. The only minus to this blossoming relationship was that once again, my writing went to the backburner. But I didn’t mind at all. I was living out my own fairy tale and it was going much easier than any I had written!
Once the excitement of getting married and settling down had started to fade (only a little because I’m still head-over-heels with him), I jumped right back into my writing. My loving sweetheart supported me fully, though he couldn’t understand why I would want to write so much. Writing isn’t his thing, which honestly is probably much better for our relationship! He was patient when I would spend long nights clacking away on the keyboard. He didn’t complain when I offered leftovers for dinner because I didn’t want to break away from writing long enough to cook anything. He made sure that I did eat and did sleep, even when all I wanted to do was live, eat and breathe my novel.
When the first manuscript was finally finished, he celebrated with me and helped me get it formatted the way I wanted it. Then we unleashed Charming Academy on the world. It was a BEAST! While it didn’t sell phenomenally, it was a huge book and many of my friends were excited to finally be able to read what I had been working on for so long. Soon I found that I had to cut down from it. It was just too big and hairy. So I began the painful process of cutting scenes, characters and miscellaneous details that really weren’t necessary. It was still a huge book, but it wasn’t break-your-brain huge anymore. Truth be told, soon it will receive another trimming. But that won’t be until after I finish writing the last book of the series so that I don’t accidently cut something important.
So that’s who I am as a writer. I now have six books out. The four Charming Academy books that are finished, Mischief, Mayhem and NOT Burning the House Down, and How Many Snowflakes Until Christmas?. It’s been a fun adventure and I’ve learned a lot about myself and about writing through this process. I’ve learned that being self-published is hard and it’s a lot of work, but it also gives me a lot of freedom. Freedom that I appreciate because it allows me to maintain the greatest control of my stories. I set my own deadlines, which for a young mother is really, really nice! I set my own writing pace and I create my own writing goals. I don’t have anyone telling me what I should write or how. I try to follow the cues I get from my readers and I would hope that you have seen the improvement from the clunky first edition of Charming Academy to what my writing has become in my later books.
Writing isn’t the only thing in my life. I have two (almost three!) adorable children who take time and energy to keep up with! They inspire me and definitely keep me on my toes. I have a puppy who is way too smart for her own good and also does a good job of keeping me busy. And of course, there’s my Prince Charming who has made my life so wonderful and blessed that it would be horribly remiss of me to forget him. I take on probably way too many art projects and I have too many hobbies ranging from various crafts to gardening. But I am who I am and I love me. Truly, I love being me! I love the person I have grown into and look forward to seeing where I am taken in the future.
Now you know a bit about me and my story of coming to be an author. What’s your story?
December 16, 2014
Last Minute Wishes
So I guess by now, in case you hadn't already figured it out, you've learned I'm a procrastinator. I'm really, really good at it. And being pregnant somehow makes me even better at it. Not necessarily a gift I actually want to improve upon. ;)
I looked at the calendar yesterday and suddenly realized, "Yeeps! Christmas is 10 days away and I haven't done any kind of book promotion! Crud!"
The nice thing though, is I know I'm not the only procrastinator out there. It's why many online stores boast shipping guaranteed to get there by Dec. 24 as long as you order by the 22nd. And there's the lines and lines of people in department stores and malls desperately trying to fill out the underneath of their barren Christmas trees.
Usually when it comes to Christmas, procrastinating is not my thing. I don't like long lines or crowds of people and I really don't like pacing in front of my mailbox (or, now that I'm in a small town, the post office) hoping and praying that the one gift I still need will arrive on time. I prefer to get my holiday shopping done early. Then I can really take advantage of good sales and get things that I know the people and puppy on my list will love. It doesn't always work out that way and the truth is there will be some post office pacing this year. Mostly because we realized after doing most of our shopping that we'd forgotten our puppy. (Hey, we're still new to this whole pet-ownership thing!)
So, now I'm letting you know that yes, there is a special sale just for Christmas and just in time for you last-minute shoppers who suddenly yeeped at your calendar when you realized Christmas is only 9 days away now. All of my books are currently 20% off. Don't like gift-wrapping? That's available for you too, for a small fee. And yes, each of these books is signed by me and can be personalized for the person you are giving them to. Where can you find these amazing deals? At my website, we've created a special page for you to order these books. Fair warning, I've got a limited supply on hand, so you'll have to order quick before I run out! But, if you're okay with the books arriving closer to January (assuming I run out of what you want) you can still order now at the sale price and I'll ship the books to you just as soon as I replenish my inventory. Right now, I've got lots of books just begging for a home. So get that adventurous reader one of the Charming Academyfairy tales to enjoy (or get the whole set with over 25% savings). Give your mischief-maker some new ideas with Mischief, Mayhem and NOT Burning the House Down. Or give that cuddly toddler who has so many questions some answers in How Many Snowflakes Until Christmas?.
Either way, I hope you have a beautiful Christmas filled with light, family and love.
P.S. Don't forget to tell your friends about your favorite author and her sale. ;)
I looked at the calendar yesterday and suddenly realized, "Yeeps! Christmas is 10 days away and I haven't done any kind of book promotion! Crud!"
The nice thing though, is I know I'm not the only procrastinator out there. It's why many online stores boast shipping guaranteed to get there by Dec. 24 as long as you order by the 22nd. And there's the lines and lines of people in department stores and malls desperately trying to fill out the underneath of their barren Christmas trees.
Usually when it comes to Christmas, procrastinating is not my thing. I don't like long lines or crowds of people and I really don't like pacing in front of my mailbox (or, now that I'm in a small town, the post office) hoping and praying that the one gift I still need will arrive on time. I prefer to get my holiday shopping done early. Then I can really take advantage of good sales and get things that I know the people and puppy on my list will love. It doesn't always work out that way and the truth is there will be some post office pacing this year. Mostly because we realized after doing most of our shopping that we'd forgotten our puppy. (Hey, we're still new to this whole pet-ownership thing!)
So, now I'm letting you know that yes, there is a special sale just for Christmas and just in time for you last-minute shoppers who suddenly yeeped at your calendar when you realized Christmas is only 9 days away now. All of my books are currently 20% off. Don't like gift-wrapping? That's available for you too, for a small fee. And yes, each of these books is signed by me and can be personalized for the person you are giving them to. Where can you find these amazing deals? At my website, we've created a special page for you to order these books. Fair warning, I've got a limited supply on hand, so you'll have to order quick before I run out! But, if you're okay with the books arriving closer to January (assuming I run out of what you want) you can still order now at the sale price and I'll ship the books to you just as soon as I replenish my inventory. Right now, I've got lots of books just begging for a home. So get that adventurous reader one of the Charming Academyfairy tales to enjoy (or get the whole set with over 25% savings). Give your mischief-maker some new ideas with Mischief, Mayhem and NOT Burning the House Down. Or give that cuddly toddler who has so many questions some answers in How Many Snowflakes Until Christmas?.
Either way, I hope you have a beautiful Christmas filled with light, family and love.
P.S. Don't forget to tell your friends about your favorite author and her sale. ;)
