Exciting News – The Unofficial Guide to Surviving Life with Boys

One night last spring, I received a Facebook message from Tiffany, a writer and editor (#lifewithboys) I had occasionally bumped into in several blogger Facebook groups. Thanks to my brief stint as editor of the Good Mother Project, I’ve been fortunate enough to lurk perpetually in many writers’ circles, dreaming of one day adding my voice to the conversation.

And suddenly Tiffany was talking to me.

She offered an invitation to participate in an anthology about raising boys – and of course I said yes on the spot.

I wrote a story about Jacob, and about deployment, and about our big feelings. It’s called “An Orange Butterfly Day,” and when I told Jacob the name of the story I had written, I could see on his face he knew it was about him, and it was about love.

The book officially launches October 21, and will be available on Amazon.

My words will share space with stories from some of the wittiest, insightful, wonderful mama writers I’ve had the privilege of internet stalking.

While you wait for October, please take the time to check them out!

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Tidal Wave

unnamed (1)My dreams are plagued by a recurring nightmare about a tidal wave.

It begins with a hush and a roar and the realization that it’s too late to run.

I don’t run — not because it’s too late, but because there’s something else for me to do before the water comes.

I believe there’s still a way out, but the way out isn’t by running.

I hear a cry and look up to see a little boy, perched high on an apartment balcony or a tree limb. He is terrified and alone and I know it’s my job to save him from drowning.

I do reach him. For a few brief moments there is peace as his small hand slips into mine. He smiles at me, and we are safe.

It’s not logical, to believe that a tidal wave will stop because of hands making contact. Yet in my dream, it always does.

 

Noon

HawaiiIsMyHappyPlace

“Hawaii is my happy place,” I said to no one, ever, at any time. The morning was too bright, too hot, and too lonely.

But the light’s beginning to change. Happiness, like a cockroach, has a way of creeping up on you.