Last week my daughters were playing hair salon, combing my husband’s (shaved) head, when they both shrieked and pointed at his back. I went to investigate what I assumed was a piece of lint or a freckle, but instead I saw that it was a tick. I instantly felt woozy.
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Although the crazy weather here in the Bay Area would lead one to believe otherwise, summer is just around the corner. Warm weather. Vacations. Swimming. Sunshine, suntans (or sunscreen in my case), and sangria. And the kids being home all day, every day. Cue the panic! Just kidding. Sort of.
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I recently discovered that May is Get Caught Reading Month, which means that May just might be my favorite month now. I could seriously read every day and be okay with it. But alas, there is a little thing called real life that gets in the way. So for now, I read in the calm(er), quiet(er) moments.
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One of the hardest parts of writing–and often of real life–has to be the endings. I’ve been working on The Words We Hold Deep for about a year or two. And from early on, I had an idea of how I wanted the story to end. But now I’m not so sure.
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Today is International Children’s Book Day so in honor of it, I combed through all of our children’s books in the house and picked out some great ones to share with you.
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My husband and I spent last weekend in Calistoga, a small town in the Napa valley. It was a belated birthday celebration for me and our first trip in our new travel trailer.
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Today is my birthday and instead of lamenting over being another year older, I decided to be constructive and put together a bucket list. What better way to look forward to the future (and hence, getting older) than focusing on all the stuff I still want to do?
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I hate to say it, but I’ve been slacking on my writing lately. Every day I tell myself I’m going to get back on track and (almost) every day I allow myself to get distracted again and before I know it, it’s time for bed.
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To my daughters, my little girls, my endless source of joy and frustration:
My biggest hope in life was always to be a mother… But the reality is much messier than I imagined. And louder. And HARDER.
Sixty-two years. To Mabel, it seemed like just yesterday that she had walked down the church aisle, a bouquet of tulips in her hands. Jack looked so handsome waiting at the altar in his dress blues, his smile as wide as the Golden Gate.
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Jayme Stoops 