Charlene Carr's Blog, page 5
June 17, 2019
Book Review: Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng
Check out Little Fires Everywhere
An intimate, intricate, and tender journey through the lives of four families. Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere is the type of novel you can set aside as you ruminate on the choices and subsequent consequences of the characters, question what choice you’d make if thrown into the same circumstance, and explore your own biases.
It’s also a novel you can speed through, utterly engrossed.
(I totally didn’t see that phrase on the book cover until AFTER I wrote this – I guess I had a similar experience to the Reviewer for The New York Times.)
Each character had his or her own flaws and strengths, and the way Celeste Ng creates such a believable cast left me truly envious (but in a good way).
From Mia’s questionable but empathetic past to Elena’s seemingly perfect life that leaves her uncertain and screaming inside, to the children’s navigation of discovering who they are and who they want to be, I was wowed at the detail and intricacies that made up a multitude of layers found in each key player.
As I discuss more in the video, Ng’s choice of an omniscient narrator was key in allowing us to so fully engage with the characters and care about each of their stories.
Most likely due to my own experiences with infertility, (you can read about them by clicking here and here) I felt a particular interest in the story of Mrs. McCullough, Bebe, and the general focuses on motherhood, maternal bonds, and what it means to be a mother that thread throughout the rest of the narrative. Was there a right choice? Could there ever be?
Finally, Celeste Ng’s exploration of the expectations and unavoidable weight of striving for perfection could (and perhaps should) leave many of us reassessing our ideas about our own lives in such a ‘lean in,’ goal oriented culture.
Although I may have never read a book with so many loose ends (I actually wanted MORE tied up, which I hardly ever do), at the same time, I fully understood Ng’s choice to leave so much unanswered. It felt right.
Author’s Website: celesteng.com
Experience, the joy, the pain, the lies, and the connections.
Click the book cover below or PREVIEW to start reading a free sample of Little Fires Everywhere right now.
The post Book Review: Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng appeared first on Charlene Carr.
June 7, 2019
How To Overcome Messiah Complex When You Have A 13 Month Old
My mood is almost entirely determined by a 13 month old.
That was my realization today, and there’s something wrong with that. Absolutely, essentially wrong. She’s a baby. I’m a full-grown woman. And yet …
When she’s happy and laughing my world is right. I feel joy, no matter how exhausted I am, no matter how frustrated I was a minute before.
[image error]When she’s screaming or throwing her food or throwing herself (a new thing), I’m stressed. Tired. Usually a bit angry.
When she refuses to sleep and screams if I try to put her down, screams if I dare to leave the room, then screams when I return to pick her up (because she’s exhausted and wants/needs to be sleeping), I feel like a failure.
Every choice I make seems to be the wrong one. And there are no right answers.
That’s hard for me. Really hard.
A psych professor once told me I have a Messiah complex. I want to make the world beautiful – save it. And when I can’t, I carry all that sadness and pain on my shoulders.
I’m not sure if that’s true of the world, but when it comes to my daughter, I want to make her world as ‘right’ as possible.
I love her. I want what’s best for her.
But what’s best?
Is it to get the sleep she needs even if she’s left crying in her room to achieve that?
Is it to say ‘oh well,’ to naps and end up with a girl who’s cranky and frustrated for the last hours of the day?
[image error]
Is it to hold her for each nap, safely comforted in my arms, for three to four hours a day, even if it means a messy house and a mom (aka me) who slowly grows larger and larger from the inactivity and lack of time to make healthy meals.
I did this for eight months by the way, and have 35 pounds of post pregnancy weight to prove it.
I also had growing resentment … multiplied by the fact that in addition to those 3-4 hours holding my girl for naps I was also spending 11-13 hours of the night in a dark room helping her sleep … <sigh> we’ll talk about that some other day.
The question is, were those choices the best? Probably not. Was I trying to do what’s best? Definitely.
But was I right?
There’s no way to know. Each and every moment, each and every choice, there’s no way to know, and so I carry the weight of all those uncertain choices across my shoulders akin to the way I imagine the Messiah carried the sins of the world across his.
Okay, Psych prof, your analysis holds some weight.
But I’m no Messiah, able to carry that burden with peace in my heart – at least not all of the time. On me, the weight digs in, making me snap, making me sad, making me treat my husband far less well than he deserves and, more often than I’m comfortable with, making me into a person I don’t want to be – grumpy, impatient, unfocused.
In front of my daughter.
We want the best for our children, but when there’s no way to be certain what that is we try everything we think may be best. We try too much.
We let the stress of it all wear on us, turning us into full-grown women whose emotions are as unstable and unpredictable as a 13 month old.
Or, at least I do.
I don’t want to anymore. I want to be solid. Strong. Loving even when I’m worn out and overworked and confused. I don’t want to be confused. I want to trust my gut and let the rest roll off my shoulders, leaving me light.
It’s hard.
But I’m a full-grown woman.
And isn’t the first step realizing you have a problem?
Hello, my name is Charlene. I have a Messiah complex and, too often, my mood is almost entirely determined by a 13 month old.
But not for long.
Honestly,
[image error]
Know someone else you think will enjoy this post? Use the sharing links below to let them know about it or send an email with the link to this post.
Or …
Have your own Messiah complex issues or some memory of being controlled by your own 13 month old you’d like to share? Scroll down to “Join the conversation” below and tell me all about it!
The post How To Overcome Messiah Complex When You Have A 13 Month Old appeared first on Charlene Carr.
June 5, 2019
Book Chat: Under Heaven’s Shining Stars by Jean Grainger
Check out Under Heaven’s Shining Stars
A heartfelt tale of three young men, their trials, their tribulations, and the love that holds them together. I loved the simplicity and honesty of the relationships between the three lead characters and the Irish ‘feel’.
Since recording this review, Jean Grainger has released a new novel – The Star and The Shamrock. My mom, who I mention recommended Under Heaven’s Shining Stars in the video said, it’s her best book yet. So, if some of my hesitancies about Under Heaven’s Shining Stars made you uncertain, why not give The Star and The Shamrock a try first!
Author’s Website: jeangrainger.com
The post Book Chat: Under Heaven’s Shining Stars by Jean Grainger appeared first on Charlene Carr.
May 24, 2019
Can paradise ever be paradise when you have a toddler?
We’re in Grand Cayman, the weather is amazing, just hot enough with a cooling breeze.
Flowers are in bloom, roosters crow with delight. We’re away from the crowds as we visit a lovely lady who was my mom’s roommate back in the 60s, her maid of honour, and, all these years later, is still one of her closest friends.
I’m loving it. Truly. But I’m also exhausted.
The beach is a five minute drive away, and it’s gorgeous. Paradise. But with the one exception of about ten minutes where my mom distracted Little Miss and I actually got to swim with a school of iridescent blue and black fish, I’ve had my own little barnacle baby.
[image error]My mom said it’s okay, let her yell a bit, she’s fine, but I don’t want Little Miss ruining everyone else’s peace. So I keep my little barnacle close, delighting in her delight at the sun and the waves and the sand, but certainly not relaxing or exploring, which I previously believed were the two main things beaches were made for.
Back at my mom’s friend’s house, relaxing is even more elusive. The nights are no better here than at home sleep-wise. Potentially worse, since me and babe are sharing a room again.
And today Little Miss was a trial.
She screamed whenever not in my arms or if I dared to step away from her.
But none of that matters, because when I gave in and decided to keep her close – my little barnacle baby – it was amazing.
After walking her around town for an hour and 20 minutes in 30 degree weather, even after being awake 9 hours, Little Miss still wouldn’t sleep.
So when we got home, sweaty and exhausted, I decided the best course of action was to strip down to our skivvies and lie on the bed, enjoying the fan.
Obviously, that led to nursing, and nursing led to a memory I’ll have till my dying day.
We were both lying down, a position we usually only use in the middle of the night on rare occasions when I can’t get Little Miss back to sleep and am too utterly exhausted to sit in her room. So on this day, with the sunlight streaming in, we gazed into each other’s eyes.
After several swallows, she pulled her face away, said ‘Yumm!’ gave me a big ol’ grin, then latched back on.
That may not sound like a big deal, but you’d have to know the backstory. In brief, breastfeeding for us was not easy. It was one of the most time-consuming, painful things I’ve ever done. For the first five months or so it was normal to spend 13-16 hours a day on the task. Much of it with a lactation aid – not fun.
And so after all the months of trials and pain and research and doctors visits to keep this little girl nursing and make sure she was gaining enough weight in the process, for us to just relax into it like that, both happy and at ease?
It was the sweetest sounding yumm I’ve ever heard.
It was almost as good as the time a few months back when she unlatched, gave me an admiring look, clapped, then latched back on.
When Little Miss finished her snack, we enjoyed some tickles and giggles.
Not ready to leave the bliss of the fan, I even loaded her favourite show on my phone and watched it with her, something I’ve never really done as screen time is typically reserved for those rare occasions when I absolutely need a few minutes of baby-free time, such as transferring a pot of boiling water from the stove to the sink or when in desperate need of a shower.
I barely watched the show though, instead I watched my girl, excitement beaming from her face that I was watching with her, that she was getting the chance to share this wonder. Every time the title for a new song came on she smiled and bounced and looked at back at me, like, ‘Oh Mom, you’re going to love this one!’
My daughter didn’t sleep that day.
The whole trip sleep was pretty elusive to be honest. And for the most part, this vacation in paradise was far from relaxing. But it was wonderful.
[image error]So many moments, just me and my babe – seeing her grow, seeing her discover, seeing her thrive.
Her language, reasoning, and problem solving skills exploded, and I witnessed it all without the stress of what to make for dinner each night!
Not your typical Caribbean vacation. But would I trade it for hours to lie in the sun or explore under the waves?
Not a chance.
Know someone else you think will enjoy this post? Use the sharing links below to let them know about it or send an email with the link to this post.
Have your own experience of travelling with a toddler you’d like to share? Scroll down to “Join the conversation” below and tell me all about it!
The post Can paradise ever be paradise when you have a toddler? appeared first on Charlene Carr.
May 10, 2019
Being a mom. The exhaustion, the transformation, the joy
[image error]As I sit to write, my daughter is 1 year 1 month and 8 days old. She’ll likely be much older by the time this post makes it to the world’s eyes because … being a mom.
I’m a writer, and so all along, even when she was nothing but a possibility, I envisioned writing of her life.
Not like this, for the world to see, but documenting and capturing the memories, most likely in a journal.
And not just documenting her, but myself too, so I could reflect on the way being her mom is changing me, molding me, creating me into this new person – Mother. A person I dreamed of being, a person I worked so hard to become, harder than I ever worked at anything in my life… Until now.
This year, the first year of my daughter’s life, has consistently been the hardest year of mine. The most challenging. Also the most joy-filled. Definitely the most sleep-deprived.
Most likely as a result of less sleep than I thought possible for a human being to get and still function, the year is already blurry.
And that vision of documenting our lives? Not so much because … being a mom.
Outside of weekly Facebook posts, I’ve barely written a word.
So many moments, so precious they made my chest constrict with pure thankfulness for my daughter’s existence, I can barely recall:
The way her bum bounced back and forth as I stood her on my knee singing bushel and a peck, her smile radiating. The way her fists pushed into the side of her head, her elbows stuck out, and her back arched when, half-asleep, I lifted her from her car seat. The way her lips pursed when at last my measly milk supply had satisfied her and she fell into a deep sleep.
Well, maybe some moments aren’t quite so blurry, but those are the few I remember clearly. So many others are lost.
I don’t want to lose more.
But it’s hard.
When you’re a mother everything, it seems, is hard. Or at least harder than it used to be.
Decisions. Sleep. Healthy eating. Sleep. Exercise. Sleep. Being the person you want to be, need to be, for the person who grew inside of you (or, who grew in your heart).
Yesterday was a particularly hard day. I’d been sick for over a week and a half and yesterday was the first day I started to feel like a human again. Exhausted, but not in so much pain. Not stuffed up and achy and wanting to cry at the reality of being a mom, of being so pivotal to someone else’s existence when my own seemed such a pathetic fog.
My daughter, (for her future privacy, let’s call her Little Miss), was having a day full of tears and frustration and screaming.
[image error]Food made her angry, setting her down made her angry, picking her up made her angry.
She couldn’t sleep, though exhaustion seemed to seep from her pores like a thick viscous substance.
Every choice I made was apparently the wrong one.
Have you had days like that? Days when, no matter how hard you try, you feel like you’re failing?
This past year I’ve had more days like that than I care to count.
It weighs on you, because you want to make the right choice. The little person clinging to you, needing you, is a gift, and also a responsibility.
The choices you make will shape who this person is going to be and will potentially affect everyone she comes in contact with for the rest of her life – be it the person she marries, the cashier at the grocery store, or the children she’ll have herself.
Scary, right?
Whether Little Miss grows up to be happy or sad or insecure or angry will have a lot to do with me.
I know, I know, there’s no way to know what choice is ‘right’ half of the time and holding that kind of responsibility on my shoulders is a tad crazy. But, it’s a tad necessary too, isn’t it?
Yeah, yesterday was hard.
It was also incredible. And I think that’s why we do this thing called parenting. Because as crazy and intense and hard as it is, it’s also definitively beautiful.
It’s full of moments that remind us why we’re alive, why, despite all the war and hatred and sickness and pain, humanity continues.
[image error]
One of our picks for bedtime stories was Night Night Forest Friends. As I turned the pages, reading the story of how each animal tucked their babies into bed, my baby kissed every page.
No one told her to do this, no one showed her. She just leaned forward, offering a spontaneous act of love to cartoon animals in a board book, and my whole being filled with amazement.
It’s hard, this motherhood thing. It’s exhausting.
It’s the best thing ever.
Care to come along as I endeavour to remember it?
This is the first post in my new blog series, Honest Motherhood, Of course, I’ll withhold some details because I don’t live in a bubble and there are some things the people in my life probably won’t want me sharing.
But, as mentioned above, I haven’t been recording my daughter’s life, the things I’ve learned, or the ways I’ve grown this first year of her life the way I hoped. So, I figured doing it in blog form will keep me accountable. I’m committing to a post every two weeks for the next year. And hopefully, dear reader, something I have to say will make you smile, make you think, or be something you need to hear.
Know someone else you think will enjoy these posts on being a mom? Please use the sharing links below to let them know about it or send them an email with the link to this post.
Honestly,
The post Being a mom. The exhaustion, the transformation, the joy appeared first on Charlene Carr.
May 4, 2019
The complexity of mother’s day and a mother’s love.
In just a few days families everywhere will be celebrating one of the most important people in their lives. Mother’s Day is a complex holiday. For some it’s joyous, for others painful, and for many it’s both. So it’s always difficult to know what to write.
For years, Mother’s Day was incredibly painful for me. It reminded me of what I didn’t have, of how my body was broken, of the children that never were …
Now it’s a symbol of how I persevered and the amazing little girl who made me a mother.
But before I’d put much thought into being a mother myself, Mother’s Day was simpler.
It was a day to honour the woman who held me, raised me, let me twist her hair in my fingers as I cuddled up beside her.
My mother introduced me to the written word and an intense and life long love of books. She taught me to read and, every night before bed, she read to me.
It was our time.
It was my first memory of love.
I couldn’t have been much more than four, and every night we’d climb into Mom and Dad’s bed, me on one side, my big brother on the other, and Mom read Little House On The Prairie to us.
This was my brother’s story. Mine came later, in my own bed.
But they let me listen.
And not only did I fall in love. I felt love.
I think my brother must have stopped his nightly story time shortly after that series. So, it was just Mom and me.
When, at eleven years old, I finally decided I had outgrown bedtime stories, we still talked about the books we read and exchanged the ones we loved – a tradition that continues today.
My mom encouraged my own writing, proudly telling family and friends about her daughter’s stories (she still does!) and is the first reader for all of my books.
Motherhood plays a strong role in all of my novels, and I often wonder if the strong relationship I have with my own mother is behind that … Maybe.
What’s certain is the role books play in our relationship.
Over the years, so many books have been gifted between us. Books with underlined passages, books we’ve passed on to other loved ones. Books that feel like family.
Now, don’t get me wrong, though it took me A LONG time to warm up to ebooks, I now think they’re great. Truly.
They save money. They save trees. They save space.
But when it comes time to offer a token of love, a book you can hold in your hands is where it’s at. A book you can share. A book that can be passed on for countless more to enjoy.
So, if you’re looking for that perfect gift for your mom this year – I highly suggest a book.
A book that touched your heart, perhaps, or one you’ve been aching to read yourself.
With our addiction to screens, giving a book is more than just giving a story, it’s encouraging someone to step away from technology and take some time just for them – time to relax, to immerse themselves in another world and, hopefully, to close the final page and emerge comforted, challenged, or inspired.
Each of my books looks at the core of a woman at a point in her life where she must wrestle to find the person she was meant to be.
Sometimes the journey is heartbreaking. Usually it’s inspiring. Always, it’s full of hope.
If you’re looking for the perfect book of mine to gift this Mother’s Day, you can check them all out out here, categorized to help you pick the right book for the mom in your life.
Or, simply hit reply to send me an email and tell me what kind of stories your mother likes. I’d be happy to offer a suggestion!
If you ARE a mom hoping for a bookish gift, be sure to give your loved ones a pretty clear hint – like maybe SHARE THIS LINK on your favourite social media platform with a note about how any one of these books would be perfect for the mother in their life.
In the words of Neil Gaiman:
“Books make great gifts because they have whole worlds inside of them. And it’s much cheaper to buy somebody a book than it is to buy them the whole world!”
Read on, my friend.
Charlene
P.S.
Want a quick snippet of the role motherhood plays in each of my books? Read below!
In my Beneath the Silence, so many of Brooke’s problems and so much of her pain could have been avoided if her mother had only had the courage and strength to be honest … thankfully, life is a journey, and though her mother’s lies had consequences that couldn’t be erased, it’s never too late for truth to make a difference.
In the Behind Our Lives trilogy, Kali’s journey is intricately wrapped up with her role as a mother. Her fierce love for her son is what many readers connect to most about the book.
Jennifer’s story in Skinny Me essentially starts with the life-altering loss of her mother – and that absence in her life plays a huge role in realizing who she wants and is meant to be.
In Where There Is Life, the love and patient encouragement of Autumn’s mother is part of what gives her the strength to step out of her misery and begin to live again.
Essentially, Eloise’s story in By What We Love is all about finding a way to heal and become her own person after her mother’s choices irreparably altered Eloise’s life.
Finally, Forever In My Heart, Whispers of Hope, and Before I Knew You are so wrapped up in mother-daughter relationships, the desire for motherhood, and the consequences when those desires are not fulfilled the way we hope, that I can’t even come close to getting into it in this message.
If you want to know more, as well as some of my own personal journey toward motherhood – you can read all about it here.
The post The complexity of mother’s day and a mother’s love. appeared first on Charlene Carr.
April 20, 2019
Book Chat: A Curve in the Road by Julianne MacLean
Check out A Curve in the Road***
A beautiful look at the way even when life takes an unbelievably horrible turn, upending everything you think you knew, beauty and hope survive.
Julianne MacLean’s A Curve in the Road reminds us to open our eyes to the good in a bad situation and reminds us to see life for what it offers, even when it seems to have taken so much away.
Aspects of it really made me think of my novel Where There Is Life; the way, even when your dreams for the future implode around you, throwing you into a life and world you never imagined, life still is and if you look inside to find the strength you never knew you had, you can begin again. Stronger. Braver. Ready to create a life of your own making.
Author’s Website: juliannemaclean.com
***Just as a note – at the time of posting, the ebook is only available on Amazon (at a great price – $1.49USD). You can get the paperback at most retailers though.***
The post Book Chat: A Curve in the Road by Julianne MacLean appeared first on Charlene Carr.
April 13, 2019
Book Chat: Women Talking by Miriam Toews
Check out Women Talking
A revolutionary tale based on the aftermath of true and horrific events. Women Talking is a contemplative read that begs the reader to step out of her own life and experience and consider a life where you can’t read, you can’t write, and are discouraged from having any independent thought.
The conversations the women have about language, love, faith, and most importantly, what is right and necessary to do in the wake of the crimes committed against them is compelling and heartfelt. You will laugh and rage with these women. And when the clock runs out on their need to make a decision, you’ll fear for them, as well as hope for the possibility of a new and better life, no matter how unlikely that life seems to be.
The question of religion in a world where all information is filtered through men is relevant for any society where religious texts have been traditionally written and distributed by men, and the women’s commitment to their faith, despite understanding the potential of the texts being twisted by the men who rule thier life, is both interesting, inspiring, and frightening.
Toews decision to have the novel narrated by a man, taking minutes of the meeting, was both brilliant and poignant – the women, unable to read or write, could only have a man take these minutes, but the decision is theirs, and as the plot reveals, this choice in itself, is a testament to the strength and compassion of these women.
A tale worth reading, but don’t expect a quick paced read. Women Talking should be read with thought and time to let the story percolate in your mind and heart.
Author’s Website: Miriam Toews Facebook
The post Book Chat: Women Talking by Miriam Toews appeared first on Charlene Carr.
April 9, 2019
Book Chat: Women Talking by Miriam Toews
Check out Women Talking
A revolutionary tale based on the aftermath of true and horrific events. Women Talking is a contemplative read that begs the reader to step out of her own life and experience and consider a life where you can’t read, you can’t write, and are discouraged from having any independent thought.
The conversations the women have about language, love, faith, and most importantly, what is right and necessary to do in the wake of the crimes committed against them is compelling and heartfelt. You will laugh and rage with these women. And when the clock runs out on their need to make a decision, you’ll fear for them, as well as hope for the possibility of a new and better life, no matter how unlikely that life seems to be.
The question of religion in a world where all information is filtered through men is relevant for any society where religious texts have been traditionally written and distributed by men, and the women’s commitment to their faith, despite understanding the potential of the texts being twisted by the men who rule thier life, is both interesting, inspiring, and frightening.
Toews decision to have the novel narrated by a man, taking minutes of the meeting, was both brilliant and poignant – the women, unable to read or write, could only have a man take these minutes, but the decision is theirs, and as the plot reveals, this choice in itself, is a testament to the strength and compassion of these women.
A tale worth reading, but don’t expect a quick paced read. Women Talking should be read with thought and time to let the story percolate in your mind and heart.
Author’s Website: Miriam Toews Facebook
The post Book Chat: Women Talking by Miriam Toews appeared first on Charlene Carr.
April 6, 2019
The Night A Thief Invaded My Kitchen
[image error]
A few nights ago my eyes were bigger than my stomach, and so that last piece of chocolate bark I’d had with my tea ended up staying on the plate. Our house is pretty chilly and, in the almost two years we’ve lived here, I’ve never even seen a bug on the main or second floor.
So I didn’t think much of leaving chocolate on a plate on the kitchen counter.
A little snack to go with my morning tea.
The next morning while prepping breakfast, I noticed the chocolate was gone.
Funny, I thought, my husband doesn’t like dark chocolate. Weird he’d steal it on me.
I almost sent him a text to tease him about it, then got busy with Little Miss and forgot.
Fast forward an hour or two and I notice something behind the spice rack.
You guessed it.
That piece of chocolate bark, about four feet from where I left it, with vermin sized teeth scrapings all around the edges.
I’m not overly squeamish with most things.
But a mouse, or rat, (please, oh, please, I thought, let it not be a rat) on my kitchen counter? I have no words.
With further investigation, droppings confirmed it was a mouse, not rat. (Thank goodness.)
The entire counter got a thorough scrubbing. Everything that wasn’t necessary was removed. My husband got a call.
That night a trap was set.
The next morning all the peanut butter was licked clean.
And the mouse was not caught.
Two different traps were set.
No mouse.
Last night, when I went into the kitchen to clean up before bed, a little black and grey mouse, it’s tail flailing behind it, ran across the counter, over my cutting board, across the stove, and down behind the oven.
I gasped. I shook. I was unreasonably upset.
Not just had a mouse been on my kitchen counter. It had been on it while I was awake, less than ten feet away, with the TV on and living room lights blaring. With my husband and I talking. It cozied up on my counter, presumably there while I had grabbed something from the fridge a few minutes earlier. It stayed a while.
Last night all three traps were set.
This morning all three traps remained empty.
I found droppings on my computer desk upstairs. (What in the world does a mouse want with a computer desk?)
I found a hole chewed in my stored bag of pre-pregnancy clothes.
And, as a final nail in the coffin, when unpacking the dishes in the rack today, dishes I decided to run through a rinse cycle in the dishwasher just in case, I found a plethora of droppings in the sink under the rack. The same sink I’d cleaned earlier that day!
The cleaning of before was nothing. Tonight I hauled out the Pine Sol, something I’ve often wondered why I even keep – as I’m all about organic and vinegar and baking soda style cleaning.
I scrubbed. I boiled. I scrubbed again.
Overkill, perhaps. And you may be rolling your eyes at me.
Or you may be nodding along, if, like me, mice are your kryptonite.
Okay, actually, HERE’S the final nail in the coffin. If the past three nights are any indication, we have a brazen mouse (or more likely, MICE) and a smart mouse. It may be days before we’re vermin free. And my husband is leaving town for a week tomorrow.
So, in addition to the now daily full scale cleaning, the role of trap setting and (when necessary) emptying, will fall on me.
I like to think of myself as a strong, independent woman. I like to think of myself as not needing a man.
But when it comes to a mouse …
My husband, exasperated with what he considered my theatrics over this mouse, obsessive cleaning, and refusal to set or even touch the traps, asked what I would do while he was gone.
I paused for a moment …
“Channel Kali.”
He raised an eyebrow, then nodded.
Kali, the leading lady of my novel Behind Our Lives, is a single mom. When the novel starts she’s living in a derelict building with a slum-lord who refuses to do anything about the rats scurrying through her apartment.
So it’s all on her. She sets the traps. She checks them daily. Hoping and not hoping there’ll be a carcass to remove.
Although my husband has, in total, been away from us for almost three of my daughter’s sixteen months, I really know nothing of what it is to be a single mom.
To do it all on your own.
While writing, I had to imagine what it would be like for Kali. I had to imagine the fear and the determination, the knowledge that she would, and could, do whatever needed to be done for her son.
I haven’t even had to handle any traps or dead mice yet, but already I feel like I understand Kali better … I lay awake last night worrying that the mouse who, for no apparent reason, and against all odds, made its way up the smooth, metal legs of my desk could easily make its way into my daughter’s crib.
It makes even more sense to me now, Kali’s fear that she wasn’t protecting her son the way he deserved; her fear, in all areas of her life, of making wrong choices, because of how they could affect her precious baby.
When I wrote Kali’s story I wasn’t a mother myself. I wasn’t sure if I ever would be.
But I am now.
And I’ll set the traps. I’ll check them. I’ll do what needs to be done.
I’ll push past the fear.
I’ll channel Kali.
Though, to be fair … the rats were never on Kali’s kitchen counter.
(Well, not that she knew of anyway!)
If you want to learn more about Kali’s story, Behind Our Lives, click this link to order your copy today.
May mice never steal your chocolate.
Honestly,
Charlene
The post The Night A Thief Invaded My Kitchen appeared first on Charlene Carr.
