Always My Baby

December 5th, 2000 was the year of my daughter's birth. Her bright blue eyes and shining smile warmed my heart the instant our eyes met. She was beautiful. She was my baby. The moment her tiny little fingers grasped around mine I knew I was destined to be a mother. I would always protect her--always love her.

I watched her grow over the years into the young lady she is today. She's in that wonderful stage of  prepubescent years where eye rolls and embarrassment are a frequent factor. You know exactly what I mean. It was perfectly acceptable to shop at Kohl's, but that was so last year. If it doesn't say Aeropostale, it can no longer grace her body. Christmas lists are no longer dolls and stuffed animals, but DS games, iPod Touch and Lady Gaga CD's.  

Her sense of humor is beyond compare. With some of the things that escape her mouth, she has me rolling on the floor. Good grades, travel basketball, a nice bunch of friends, what more could a mother ask for? I don't mind spoiling my kids when they are doing well. They work and play hard. 

Yesterday was my daughter's 11th birthday. We treated her to dinner at Olive Garden and took her gift to the restaurant. When her father told the waitress it was her birthday, my daughter's features turned to crimson. The waitress brought her a cake with a candle in it and asked if my daughter wanted her to sing to which she cringed and murmured a polite 'no thank you.'  

After dinner we sat around the table and handed her the gift. She opened the box which had a padded envelope inside. She opened it and reached in. When she pulled out the box and saw the iPod Touch, her eyes widened and she reached over and gave me a hug. My eyes welled with tears as I tried to blink them back. Seeing the expression of pure joy and happiness on her face was truly all the thanks I needed. She sprang from the booth and embraced her father. I gave a quick glance at my husband as his eyes reddened. That suit of armor is not so tough! 

At that moment, I became cognizant of one thing. No matter how old my daughter is, she will always be my baby.

Shh... Don't Tell Him!

As I get older (not that much older) I have learned to appreciate the innocence of youth. Frankly, I miss it. In today's crazy world where our children are forced to mature much more quickly, I yearn for the blissful unawareness of being young. No longer can our children spend the entire day outside tossing the ball with friends. When darkness falls, they better be inside. Who knows what predators are lying in wait?

My son is six and my daughter is ten. Every day, I try to protect them, keeping the world full of rainbows and wishes. On occasion, the darkness creeps in and we have no choice but to deal with it. But on the bright, sunny days when it doesn't... I am reminded that they are simply kids. I want them to embrace life and treasure it. They will not always be young, but they will always be my babies.

As many other mothers can attest, their inquiring little minds ask many questions. Some of them are repeated over and over and over and over. :-) Let's not forget the comments that escape from said lips as well. For instance, the other day my son says, "I'm so glad I'm a boy." When I asked him why, this was his response that was presented to me in a sing-song voice.

"I can pee standing up. I can pee outside. I don't have to wear a bra. I won't have boobs. I don't have to shave my legs. I won't be grumpy like my sister." 

Wow. I did not see that one coming. Last Saturday, I showed my little lad in training how to run the vacuum. After much praise, he even put it away in the closet. Sunday morning we awaken to the question, "Is it vacuum day?"

Mom nods. "Yes, it is. Would you like to run the vacuum again?" Mom is also silently wondering how long it's going to take him to realize it's not fun. 

Jumping up and down, son claps. "Yes! Can I run it again? Can I? Can I? Can I?"

What kind of mother would I be if I didn't let my son run the vacuum? ;-) I love those adorable, innocent moments. Care to share some of your own?

Blue's Christmas Miracle

How many of us try to complete all of our Christmas shopping well before the holidays? For the most part, probably the majority. Unfortunately, I am not that majority.

Having no choice, I had to venture out to the mall yesterday. I tried everything in my power to avoid it, but it was just inevitable. It had to be done.

I knew the dh and I were in trouble when we weren't even out of the car yet and everyone was fighting. There were no parking spots to be found. After driving around for several minutes, we finally found one. As we sat patiently waiting for a man to back out, some young blonde in her compact car flew into the spot, cutting us off. I can usually rein my temper, but I had to admit, my hand was on the latch to the door. It was crazy out there! Tempers were flying, people were pushing, men and women alike were rude... Gheez!

Barely escaping the mall with our sanity, I realize I forgot to buy wrapping paper. Mentally kicking myself and refusing to go back to the chaos of the mall, the dh drives me to our local K-Mart. My poor dh was through with the masses and decided to stay in the car. I grab my son and we go to buy the wrapping paper.

As we're standing in the check-out line, I notice a man standing behind us carrying a blue, fleece blanket. As he turns, a cute little puppy with big, floppy ears pokes his head out. 

"Aww... look how cute," I say, nudging my son.

The man steps closer with his precious little cargo and the dog has the most beautiful, crystal-blue eyes I have ever seen on an animal. Breathtakingly beautiful. 

"Your son can pet him if he wants to," he says, bending down within reach of my son. "His name is Blue."

As my son pets the dog, I shake my head. "His eyes are amazing. Truly beautiful and an appropriate name for such pretty eyes."

"Thank you. Blue was a rescued animal."

I smile in return. "That was so nice of you. Our dog, Zoe, was rescued as well. Someone dumped her on the doorstep of the shelter the night before we picked her up."

The man harrumphs. "Blue was dumped in a garbage can and we found him a couple of months ago. How can someone do that to an animal?" he asks with disgust.

"I have no idea."

I turn around and was silent the entire time through the check-out. Frankly, I was irritated and my thoughts raced. How terrible are people? Truly. That was horrific. Throwing a puppy in a garbage can... I was dumbfounded at the cruelty. 

Leaving the store, I am holding my son's hand and his voice breaks through my reveries. "Mommy, did that man say that someone threw the puppy in the garbage can?"

As a parent, you try to protect the innocence of your children for as long as you can, but there are some things that you just can't shield them from forever. Some people are just mean and vicious.

"Yes," I reply, shaking my head in disgust.

My son has this amazing ability at his young age to tell when Mommy is upset. He pulls on my hand so I glance down at him and he smiles at me with his blue, innocent eyes. "Don't worry, Mommy. Blue is home... and so is Zoe."

Giving him a warm smile, I sigh. "You're right... Blue is home."

May all of you find your way home safely this holiday season and be surrounded by the ones you love.

The Best Holiday Memories

Over 35 years ago...

Christmas Eve, a special time of year and one of the most cherished memories that will always hold a sentimental place in my heart.

Springing out of bed and giddy with excitement, we were going to Baba's (my grandmother's) for Christmas Eve. It could not be here soon enough. "What time are we leaving?" I would ask for the millionth time. It seemed like an eternity, but it was finally time to go.

Proudly displaying our Christmas dresses with our Mary Janes and white tights, we get all bundled up in our winter coats. Donning our hat and mittens, exhilaration filled the frosty air. My sister and I jump in the car, restless in the back seat. First, because we were going to Baba's. Second, because the car took forever to heat up. Singing every Christmas carol under the sun, we would surely make the Griswald's proud! We were on our way.

Glancing out the foggy windows, winter-white snow drifts graze the landscape making the picturesque Norman Rockwell scene come to life. The houses appeared as though they were merely a little village that belonged under a Christmas tree. You could actually feel the holiday spirit come alive. 

At last, we pull into Baba's driveway, her brick Cape Cod covered in snow. It always reminded me of a storybook gingerbread house and it was the perfect holiday backdrop. Sprinting out of the car, but careful on the driveway (Mary Janes were quite slippery with snow), we follow the stone path between the house and row of emerald green arborvitae trees. Reaching the back porch, we stomp our feet, shaking off the snow. We finally made it.

Opening the wooden door, the warmth brushes against our cold skin. Baba is standing at the kitchen sink with her green apron as we have seen her so many times before. Raising her head, she casts a warm smile and opens her arms to embrace us--her hug so comforting. *sigh* Immediately engulfed with the smell of Christmas Eve dinner, we search the counter for something we can sample. Yelling at everyone else for picking, she turns away from them, sneaking us a taste of anything we want.

Surrounded by family and sitting around her enormous dining room table, this is what it was all about. All of Baba's prepping and cooking was well worth the effort. It was simply delightful. 

Having finished dinner, the men made their sly escape into the living room (no surprise there) while the women cleared the table and washed the dishes. Had I known then what I know now! LOL. With the last dish washed and put away, we were finally ready for my favorite part. 

Bustling into the living room and everyone finding their spot, the old record player was brought down from the upstairs bedroom. The Mitch Miller Christmas sing-a-long albums were spinning and we all sang our little hearts out. Glancing around the dim-lit room, the fire crackled and popped, the Christmas tree was twinkling with baubles of Christmas past as the outside world was lost to us all. All that mattered was family and that particular moment in time.

With the last song almost sung, there was only one remaining. White Christmas. When my grandfather came home from World War II, he called my grandmother to say he'd be home for the holidays as White Christmas played in the background. Ever since then, my grandmother and grandfather would cry at the drop of a hat every time they heard the song. It has been many years since they left us, but the song still makes me tear up when I hear it.

It is with a gentle sadness that in my own youth I took those times for granted. I would have appreciated those times so much more. You always think the ones you love will be with you forever. Even though my Baba and Pap are no longer with me, those memories will always hold a special place in my heart--as will they. 

The best holiday memories are made with family and friends. Care to share a favorite holiday memory?

I Got the Call... From My Mother

In my local chapter, we had conversed a time or two about letting family members read our own material. Just the thought chilled me to the bone. I had absolutely no intention of letting any blood relative read Highland Savior. My first m/s? My baby? My love scenes? Yikes!

Even though I write historical romance and the scenes are nowhere near as juicy or hot (no pun intended) as erotica, the thought of actually having a close relative read my literary masterpiece... *shiver* was too close to home. Then again, what did I expect would happen when I'm published?

Having one m/s under my belt, I started working on Bewitching a Highland Rogue and tucked away the memory of Highland Savior. So when my mom asked me to send her Highland Savior so she could read the finished product, I did what any daughter would do in the same situation... I dodged. 

She does not read romance novels. She reads everything else. What would she think of her oldest daughter writing romance? She's never read anything I've written. OMG! What would she think of my love scenes? *cringe* As you know, you can only put off your mother for so long. It did not take her long to call my bluff. 

Stammering a bunch of malarkey, I told her my concerns and she waved me off.   

"I will skip over any sex scenes and just read the rest. Besides, they say to write what you know," she chuckles, winking.

Note: Oh, yes. The dh takes pride in admitting he was the test subject for those scenes ;) 

Men.

Biting the bullet, I attach the m/s and press 'send.' OMG! What was I thinking? What had I done? She hates romance novels. I guess it's just like any other critique and I would just have to suck it up and pray for the best. I immersed myself in writing and forgot about it--intentionally. Oh, God. I wonder if she's at the part where Ciaran... You get the idea.

My phone rings and imagine my surprise and my speechlessness (which does not occur too often) when intense seriousness greets me on the other end. 

"I just called to tell you that I finished your manuscript and I'm just going to tell you honestly what I thought."

Oh, God. Here it comes. She hated it. Why else would she be so serious? *closing eyes and mentally preparing self*

"Once I got through all of the Scottish crap, it was really good."
Note: Mom hates romance novels and Scottish crap.

Recovering, I wipe my brow. "Really? Did you have any trouble with the dialogue?"
Note: I write with a slight Scottish brogue and throw in the occasional Gaelic.

"No! It was a quick read and I was done in four hours. I didn't have any trouble with it. I am not lying to you when I say that I could not put it down. I just had to finish it and know what happened. You tell a really good story. I enjoyed it and I was really impressed. You didn't preach to me or try to teach me a lesson and just entertained me. I even read the sex scenes and thought they were fine. I didn't even have to skip over them."

I had to admit, that was certainly a welcome shock. I guess when it comes down to it, a story is a story regardless of genre. Does it entertain? Romance or not. There's your proof. 

What about you? Do you let your family read your material and what do they think?

Out of the Mouths of Babes

I couldn't wait for my kids to start talking. How wonderful it would be to have them actually tell me why they were crying or to actually tell me what was wrong. I would no longer have to guess. What a wonderful idea I had...and then they actually started to talk. What was I thinking?

I had no idea what was going to come out of their mouth next. Questions would fly out of their mouth faster than I could stop them. For instance, I'm in a restaurant and a 350+ pound man walks past our table. I think to myself, "try to distract, try to distract." Oh, no! I'm too late! My son already saw him and says, "Wow, Mom! Look at him! He is B-I-G!" Please be out of earshot. Please be out of earshot. Oh, no. The man turns and smiles politely at my son. I was too late.

I swear this has to be every parent's nightmare. I will admit; however, there are times when they do come out with some of the funniest things I ever heard. I thought I'd share some of those.

* * *

When my friend's nephew was about 4 years old, he would constantly place his hands down his pants to feel his private parts. Every time his father saw him do this, he would say, "Get your paws off of it." His son would immediately withdraw his hands. This went on for some time and it didn't matter where they were. His hands would go down the front of his pants.

One day he places his hands down the front of his pants. His father sees him and calls his name very sternly. His son replies, "Sorry, Dad. I just can't seem to keep my paws off of it."

* * *

My son was three at the time. The DH and I are in the car with the kids and my in-laws. We're going to a restaurant and it would take forever for my son to make up his mind on what he wanted to eat. We would always decide what he was going to eat before we got to the restaurant in order to alleviate a lot of frustration. We're going through the normal kid menu items. Do you want chicken nuggets? Do you want macaroni and cheese? How about grilled cheese?

He pitches an absolute fit in the car and we're sort of embarrassed. "I don't want grilled cheese!" he screams over and over. My DH and I look at each other like what the heck is wrong with him? My son is now crying and through his tears he keeps saying, "I don't want grilled cheese." We told him it's alright and he doesn't have to eat it. 

When he finally calmed down, I asked him why he didn't want grilled cheese. He wipes his tears and says, "I don't want grilled cheese. I want boy cheese." Girl cheese...

* * *

My personal favorite.

My daughter was three and a half when we brought my son home from the hospital. My DH and I knew we would have some explaining to do to her when we would change my son's diaper, but we would wait until she asks.

So one day I'm changing my son's diaper and she points to his privates. "What's that?" she asks. I calmly say, "Your brother is a boy and those are his boy parts. Just like how you are a girl and you have girl parts."

I could tell she's thinking so I ask her if she understands. She says, "I get it. My brother is little so he has little boy parts, but Daddy is big (spreading her hands apart at least two feet wide) and Daddy has big boy parts." Of course I could not help but laugh and reply, "I'm sure Daddy would be really happy to hear that."