Introducing, the amazing LBD …. you’re welcome

I’ve been missing from the blog lately … And, to be honest, from my life. I have a book due … Well, it was due yesterday, which was when I was writing this blog. So I there I was, frantically trying to finish the book when the alarm popped up that I was supposed to blog today. Yep. I panicked.

I have nothing to blog about. And, to be honest, deadline isn’t a great time to be blogging. Nothing makes you feel less successful as a wife and mother than when you’re working ten hour days and are completely distracted. Weeks like this, it’s all I can do not to collapse in a ball of panic and fear.

I suspect that Robyn could back me up on this, but she’s on deadline, too, so I’m guessing she doesn’t read this.

Since I’m lacking in all forms of parental wisdom, I will give you something else. Something better. I’m going to introduce you to the best web based show around, The Lizzie Bennett Diaries. It’s a vlog retelling of Pride and Prejudice. If you watch TheLBD already, you know how great it is. It’s funny and sexy and emotionally complex. And it’s currently my favorite rendition of P&P. Yeah, you heard me. I like this more than both movie versions. (And I didn’t even get struck by lightening when I wrote that.)

In short, if you’re a fan of Austen at all, then you need to be watching this. It’s the most fun you’ll have without cracking open a book.

Do you watch The LBD already? If not, do you watch any other web shows?

I’ll give away a copy of The Farm–my new YA–to one person who comments.

Emily McKay loves to cook, bake and play with her kids. When she’s not on deadline, she also gardens, composts, follows celebrity gossip, and practices yoga. When she is on deadline, she … well, she panics, and does all of those things with more nervous energy. She lives in central Texas with her husband, two kids, two cat, two dogs and four chickens.

Complicit Companions

About a month ago, my baby boy turned five. I love my son. So much. (You guys are parents. You get it.) He is handsome and charming. So sweet and cuddly. Just a real love bug.

But, he’s getting older. They all get older, eventually. <sigh>

Generally, with my kids, older has always been a little better. But last night, something not good came along with “older.” For the first time ever (that I know of), my son lied to me. I mean, an open, bald-faced, doe-eyed lie. Here’s how it went down:

(To set the scene, Sunday we were a birthday party. The party favor was bags of candy and other sweets. I had told the kids they could eat a little each evening after dinner.) So last night, I’m making dinner. The kids are playing upstairs. I see my boy walking past with the scissors. He’s heading upstairs.

Me: Hey. Where you going with those scissors?

Him: Upstairs.

Me: To do what?

Him:  Cut paper.

Me: That’s all you’re doing? (he nods.) You’re going to clean up your mess? (he nods.) Okay.

Then today, I’m upstairs collecting dirty clothes and find the scissors and a whole stash of candy wrappers. I’m no fool. Clearly, he ate a lot of candy. And clearly, big sis was involved too. I know how her brain works. Hey, I’ll send baby brother down for the scissors. He always looks innocent. 

Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t the first time they’ve gotten in trouble together. Far from it. But this is the first time (that I know of) that they’ve lied to cover for one another. That they’ve been complicit in an overt lie.

The overt lie part bugs me. The pairing up against me bugs me. And it also bugs me that there’s some tiny part of me that is happy about it. And sad too.  My inner mom is split in two on this one.

On one hand, lying is bad. (There was a much longer version of this post where I justified that comment. Then I decided that I probably didn’t need to sell you–fellow parents-on that idea. So let’s just agree. Lying=bad.) I don’t want to raise kids who sneak around. I want to be the mom who has such a great, open relationship with her kids that they would never lie. My friend Skyler is like that. Her daughter is a freshman in college and can tell her anything. That’s what I want with my kids.

But, just for a second, let’s pretend that whole lying is bad thing doesn’t exist. If I look at the lie in a different light, it’s kind of a good thing.

My sister and I are super close. I feel so lucky and blessed to have her in my life. Even when she’s driving me crazy. (She’s my sister. Sisters do that sometimes.) Whatever else happens, there are parts of me that only she will ever get. She will always be there for me. Bottom line, she has my back. No matter what. I’m lucky to have her.

And that’s where–maybe–this lie my son told me is a good thing. As much as it bugs me, it’s a sign of how close they are. Right or wrong, they were in it together. They were a pair. They were sneaky. But they were sneaky cooperatively. I’m kind of proud of them. And sad and worried too. Sad because this is a sign of days to come. I’m sure there will be many a time in the future when they team up against me. My sister and I did. Geez, we still do sometimes.

For now, they both got a stern talking to about the lying thing and I got a reminder that candy needs to be kept under lock and key. I also got a glimpse of the future that is both scary and wonderful. I hope they never lie to me again. I also hope that they are always this close.

What do you do when your kids lie to you? Any advice on creating one of those great tell-you-anything kind of bonds?

Awkward Self-Examination

Part I — My crazy-cheap grandma

My grandmother–bless her heart–is the cheapest woman in the world. She’s one of those grew-up-during-the-great-depression types. You know the kind, right? The kind with a jar of string labeled “String too short to use” and a drawer full of used, washed, flattened aluminum foil. That’s my grandma. Even among her generation, she’s crazy-cheap. I know this because I’ve compared war-stories with lots of other people. This is a woman who monitors the use of toilet paper in her house (one square per use) and who uses the same water to boil vegetables day after day. She was buying in bulk long before it was cool. Her basement used to be full of boxes of cereal labeled things like “Post Toasties — July ’94.”

My grandmother is 95 and I feel so blessed that she’s lived this long. However (there’s always a however, isn’t there?), throughout my life, her crazy-cheapness has been a source of amusement and embarrassment and chagrin. While I love her, I’m not gonna lie. On more than one occasion, I wished I had a normal grandmother. Someone who would just bake me cookies instead of lecturing me about the value of the stamp. (Not even joking on that one.)

Part II — Yeah, I know I’m crazy

So here’s the awkward part. I’m a little crazy. Not in a cute writer way either, but in an annoying OCD way. My particular branch of crazy is related to the environment. I’m super aware of ecological issues. We recycle. We hang our clothes out to dry. We compost. We have an organic garden. We have chickens. We … you get the point. Yes, all of that stuff is fun and most of it is easier than you’d think. And I enjoy it.

But I’m also aware that my total devotion to all things green borders on the obsessive. Sometimes it’s on the normal side of the border. Sometimes it’s on the obsessive side. Some moms worry about germs. I worry about our carbon footprint. I know I’m a little OCD about it. I try to keep it under wraps, but I am aware that my ecology isn’t a sign of my emotional stability. I know I can tip over. I try to keep the crazy under wraps. And somehow being OCD about green stuff, allows to let other things go. It gives a focus to the crazy. It makes me feel like I’m in control. I can’t stop global climate change, but I can hang my jeans out to dry. For me, it works.

Part III — My awkward Self-examination

This weekend as I was composting chicken poop — yes, I know. Obsessive, right? — I had a light bulb moment. Yes, I’m crazy-green. But I’m also crazy green. Maybe my Grandmother is the same way. Maybe she’s not just crazy-cheap. Maybe she’s also crazy cheap. Maybe her obsession with saving every penny is her way of managing

Me with my grandparents when baby girl was little.

OCD.

In case you think I’m sounding judgmental here, I don’t mean to. Just the opposite, in fact. This realization has made me feel more … sympathetic, maybe. In the past, her cheapness has (sometimes) bugged the crap out me. Sometimes, it’s made it hard to even be with her. “Ugh. I need to mail XY&Z to Grandma, but I know she’s going to harass me later if I mail it Fedex. I just won’t mail it.” Which then leads to: “Ugh, I meant to mail her XY&Z. I don’t want to call her because she’ll harass me about that.”

Thanks to my new understanding, I can approach it differently. Now I can think, “Okay, doing it her way may be a pain in the ass, but I understand now. It’s not just cheapness. It’s something else. Something I can relate to.”

Now, will my new understanding lead to greater peace, contentment and acceptance in my relationship with my Grandmother? I don’t know. Maybe. I hope so, because I love her and enjoy her company when she’s not getting on my last ever-lovin’ nerve. How great would it be if my own form of crazy leads to a deeper relationship with my grandmother?

So how about you? Do you have a touch of OCD? Do you have family members who drive you crazy? How do you handle it?

Happy New Year!!

The close of one year and dawning of a new one is such an awesome time for reflection. We’ve taken a quick look back at the year that was and then turned our attention to the year ahead of us. Lots of fun and excitement, and several things we’re really ready to leave behind.

What about you? What’s your best of 2012? What are happy to leave behind? What are you most looking forward to in 2013?

Shana Galen

• Best of 2012:  The Hunger Games movie. It exceeded my expectations.
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  All the talk about 50 Shades of Grey
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  The Host movie. I loved the book.
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  The fiscal cliff. I need my deductions!
• Biggest wish for 2013:  That my family and friends stay healthy.

Maisey Yates

• Best of 2012:  The Hobbit. It took me back to high school. I loved Lord of the Rings so much and this evoked the same feelings.
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  The election year. GET OFF MY FACEBOOK WALL.
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  I’m going to Australia, and I’ve never been! So exciting
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  Honey Boo Boo’s show still being in existence. Why is this a thing?
• Biggest wish for 2013:  For my family to be happy and well-taken care of. For my kids to move forward and keep growing and developing. For my husband to be joyful in his new role, and me to be happy and responsible in mine. And for me to SHOW them how much I love them. Every day.

Kieran Kramer

• Best of 2012:  The Summer Olympics
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  The ceaseless media coverage of the Presidential election
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  Kate and Will’s baby (babies?)
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  Not a thing. I’m Irish. We believe in self-fulfilling prophecies, so I’ve decided 2013 is going to be a great year all-around!

Ellie James

• Best of 2012:  20^th anniversary trip with my husband, ten amazing, sun-filled days, just us!
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  The whole nightmare of Saints bounty-gate and the excruciating season that ensued!
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  A tie between getting date night back on our calendar and bringing a new Young Adult series to life!
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  Seeing my former favorite baseball player playing for our arch rival L
• Biggest wish for 2013:  For softer edges. For more compassion and forgiveness. For the world to take a step back and a simultaneous deep breath. For less hate and aggression. More gentleness. More understanding. And love. Lots and lots of that.

Elise Rome

• Best of 2012: SuperGirl becoming potty-trained.
• Happy to Leave in 2012:  That ridiculously hot summer without A/C
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  WonderGirl becoming potty-trained (hey!
it’s the little things, right? =)
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  The next Downton Abbey season ending
*cries*

Robyn Dehart

• Best of 2012: The Hunger Games trilogy – I was late to the party, but the 2 weeks I spend reading these books were a highlight!
• Happy to leave in 2012: The election (living with a political science professor means election years are like superbowls that last for months)
• Most looking forward to in 2013: I have 4 books coming out! I’ve never had that many books out in one year
• Least looking forward to in 2013: Whatever new reality spectacle will be next – I wish our culture wasn’t so intent on getting their 15 min of fame
• Biggest wish for 2013:  That I would become at all the roles in my life: wife, mother, writer, housekeeper.

Emily McKay

• Best of 2012:  The release of The Farm, my first single title YA. It’s been super fun. YA fans aren’t like romance fans. Romance fans just kind of quietly read and enjoy the books without a lot of fanfare. YA fans find you on Goodreads, email you privately and follow you on Facebook. It’s such fun!
• Happy To Leave in 2012:  The presidential election! I just could stand the stress. Plus, I hate feeling like the country is divided.
• Most Looking Forward to in 2013:  The movie Warm Bodies. Years ago I had an idea similar to this, but could never make it work, so I just can’t wait!
• Least Looking Forward to in 2013:  My baby starting kindergarten. I’m just not ready for that!
• Biggest wish for 2013: To manage my time better. I’d like to be more efficient.

 

Licemare on Elm Street

Three weeks ago my home was invaded by a horror few can even imagine. Monsters that are relentless and nearly impossible to kill. And they were feeding on our flesh!

Lice.

Now I don’t want to imply this is the worst parenting challenge I’ve ever faced … but it was pretty stinkin’ bad. We’ve been through stitches and trips to the emergency room. We’ve done pneumonia and crazy high fevers. We’ve done falls from the monkey bars, toddlers wandering out to the road, and lost-in-the-store. All of those parenting challenges were scarier than lice, but when it comes to the creep factor, to pure ickiness, lice wins hands down.

Besides being creepy–they live in your hair. In your hair! <shudder>–lice are insidious monsters for this one simple reason: they revealed me for the big fat liar I am.

Yes, we all lie. It’s part of parenting. I’m an old pro. Here are some of my favorites: “No, there are no more Snickers bars.”  ”Honey, Santa doesn’t allow kittens on the sleigh.” and then, perhaps my favorite, “Yes, that’s the end of Bambi. That fire in the thicket is the big climax. And, yes, it is the shortest Disney movie.”

I’ve told all those lies. I didn’t suffer any guilt, because, I knowingly told them. I knew I was lying.

So, here’s how the lying/lice thing went down at the McKay house:

For weeks, my daughter had been scratching. I kept looking for lice and not seeing them. She was worried about them, so I let her start using a lice defense shampoo. Since I was looking and not seeing anything, I wasn’t too worried. “It’s probably because of the change in the weather, honey.”  (No, that’s not the lie. Wait for it.) See, this was early October. In Texas, that means we’d dropped from 105 to about 95. That’s our “cold” front. So I really thought she just had dry scalp.

But finally, one Sunday, I dragged her outside, in the sunlight, with a magnifying glass and I finally found the little buggers. Actually, on her, I only saw the nits (the eggs), but off we trotted to the store to buy the treatment. My poor daughter was visibly upset. So I said …. (drumroll, please, ’cause here it comes) “Honey, it’s no big deal. Everyone gets lice at least once when they’re little. There’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Flash forward four hours. Her lice treatment came with this little comb. Out of curiosity, I combed my hair into the bathroom skin. And I. Had. Lice.

Lice!

<shudder>

So picture it, okay? My daughter, in the living room at the computer, blissfully playing while she’s got her lice treatment under a shower cap, convinced that it’s “no big deal.” From the bathroom, I call out to my husband in a quavering voice, “Honey, can come here for a second?” He comes in. I’m in tears. Head buried in my hands. “I have lice!” I wail. “I’m so ashamed!”

Seriously. That’s what I said. Or rather, wailed.

I look up. My kids had followed The Geek in. My son runs over to the sink to look at the creepy crawlies. My daughter looks at me with an expression of utter betrayal. Obviously, I had lied. It was a big deal. It was a very big deal.

Okay, it’s still really not.

Lice don’t hurt you. They’re just creepy. And a pain in the butt to get rid off. I won’t bore you with the details of how to actually get rid of them. You can find that info on line if you ever need it. Suffice it to say it involved burning anything that might have come into contact with your hair in a giant bonfire in the backyard like that scene at the end of The Velveteen Rabbit. Just kidding. Sort of.

But we did have to buy all new hair care stuff. And lots of scented oils that lice don’t like.

I’m not 100% sure my daughter has forgiven me for my blatant lie. We still go back and forth about who got them first. I try to tell her it doesn’t matter. But that lice are common at schools. She’ll eye me suspiciously and ask how close I get to those other women in my yoga class. “You could have got lice from one of them,” she tells me over and over. Me, I’m convinced they didn’t move over to my head until she started using that Lice defense shampoo.

And from now, if she uses the shampoo, so will I.

I truly believe that I would do anything to protect my kids. I could be one of those crazy strong moms who could lift a car off her child. I would fight off demons. But I’m not getting lice again for her. That’s where I draw the line.

So what kind of lies do you tell your kids?

Emily McKay loves to cook, bake and play with her kids. When she’s not on deadline, she also gardens, composts, follows celebrity gossip, and practices yoga. When she is on deadline, she … well, she panics, and does all of those things with more nervous energy. She lives in central Texas with her husband, two kids, two cat, two dogs and four chickens.

The Club

Me and Shana at a booksigning in Houston

Ever been to Target and seen that poor mom with a crying toddler in her cart and two rambunctious other kids running around and screaming all around her feet? Ever been that mom? You know it’s funny, it’s not that I never noticed her before (before being before I became a mom) it’s just that I didn’t really get it. Maybe I judged her a little, or perhaps just misunderstood, but things are different now.

No matter how you come to motherhood you’re automatically, overnight, inducted into a secret club, a camaraderie of women you aren’t quite expecting. At least I wasn’t. Now when I see that mom, I smile and nod in that knowing way. I’ve been on the receiving end of those nods too. We get it. It’s like we’re saying, “I feel you, Mama, and it’s okay, you’re doing a great job.”

one of Emily’s visits when I lived in Tennessee

Motherhood has changed my relationship with my friends too, deepened them. Now we connect on levels we didn’t before. It’s a tight bond. I know we’re in this together and it makes things so much easier on those days when you’re just at your wits end. I remember in those first few days, after the girls had arrived and I was overwhelmed in so many ways and a friend emailed me and said, “whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s totally okay and normal.” I don’t think she’ll ever know what those simple words meant to me. It was like a balm to my wounded soul.

I think I foolishly came into this thinking that because I’d wanted to be a mom for so long, because I’d always been the one that people said, “oh, you’re so natural around kids, you’ll be a great mom!” I expected it, not to be easy, but I didn’t expect to feel the things I felt. Not the impatience or the frustration, but the uglier stuff – the what-the-hell-did-I-do-to-our-lives kind of stuff. And the best thing I did was talk to my friends. That same friend told me that she, on many occasions, had gone into her closet to hide and just cry. Emily told me similar stories. And I’m pretty sure I’ve apologized to her, more than once, for not being sympathetic enough about her motherhood plights before I “got it.” I’ve emailed Shana a million times over for advice and suggestions and she always comes through with tips that I never would have thought of.

Not too long ago, after I blogged on here, a fellow writer and mom emailed me. This is not someone I’m close friends with, I think I’ve only ever met her once. But I guess she could tell from my blog that I was struggling and she just reached out to offer support and resources to help with my struggle. It was unexpected and I was so touched that she will forever hold a special place in my heart. (Thanks, Kris!)

I’ve had countless moments like these. Reminders that I’m not alone. That I’m not crazy. (okay I am totally crazy, but it’s the writing that does that, not so much the parenting) These women welcomed me with open arms into the club, not every minding that I’m not a “traditional” mother, no, they didn’t even wait until the adoption was final. So I want to tell all of you out there, that no matter where you are today, no matter what struggle you’re having, please reach out to the moms you know and know that you’re never alone. We’re all in this together.

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I’m Robyn DeHart, AKA Basket-Case Mama, but not because I’m crazy (though really, what mom isn’t?) but because I have a slight obsession with baskets, well containers really. I’m a bit of an organization nut and I love to containerize stuff. And yes, I’m authorized to use words like that because I am also a writer. But back to the kids, so I’m mom to two ridiculously beautiful little girls and I can say that without bragging because I didn’t actually make them. Last year my husband, The Professor, and I adopted said little lovelies from the foster-care system here in Texas and now we’re a big happy forever family. Busybee is three and so full of joy it just oozes from her. Babybee is a walking-talking toddler who has a heck of a temper but is so cute, it almost keeps her out of trouble. Though neither of my girls are newborns, I’m fairly new to motherhood compared to the other peanut butter moms, but we’ve settled in as a family as if we’ve always been together. When I’m not trying to keep up with my two bundles of energy, you can usually find me on my laptop on Pinterest, no, that’s not right, um…you can find me writing, yes, that’s it, writing my latest historical romance. www.robyndehart.com

Old enough–finally

As I write this, I am in St. Joseph, Mo, my parents home town, visiting my grandmother. Grandma Gray, as I’ve always known her, is now 94. Though she lives in an assisted living center, she requires very little assistance. She still gets around pretty well, exercises daily, and is as sharp as tack. One of the greatest gifts in my life as been that she has lived long enough for me to know her as an adult as well as a child. I brought my two young children with me for this short trip. My daughter, who is almost seven, loved every moment of her time with Grandma Gray. My son, who is four, certainly had fun–generally–but seemed to actually bounce off the walls a time or two. All in all, it’s been a good visit and I’m so thankful I came.

My Grandpa Marc, my Grandma Gray and I when my daughter was just an infant.

That hasn’t always been the case for my visits with my grandmother. Don’t get me wrong. I love her dearly. I always have. And she is a genuinely nice and caring person–to strangers. Among family, she can sometimes be harsh and judgmental. She has smothered me with disapproval and criticism. Throughout my twenties, even though I was college-educated, gainfully employed, married and managing my own finances and household, she treated me like a child. Nothing I did was good enough. And I’m the kind of person who continually strives to be not just good enough, but perfect. I’m the kind of person who feels criticism deeply. I can’t tell you the number of times she would give me some task to do while I was visiting. She’d have me put up wall paper trim or rehang the curtains or frame some photos. Jobs that weren’t big, but that she couldn’t manage herself. Things I would gladly do for her–except that she’d stand over me, watching, criticizing and huffing with disapproval.

This attitude has never been limited to these menial tasks she gives me, I merely use them to illustrate a point. All my life she has disapproved of my weight (I’m not obese, but a good twenty pounds over weight). And don’t even get me started on my career … no wait, too late. I’m started. She didn’t like romance novels. Thought they were smut. She once told me my book made her sick to her stomach. (Honestly, I knew she wouldn’t approve of the premarital sex in them and begged her not to read my books. I even considered not telling her my pseudonym.) Once she asked how much I made per book. Idiot that I am, I told her. For years after she introduced me by saying, “This is my granddaughter, Emily. She writes smutty novels, but at least it pays well.” As if those two things weren’t enough, as a nice little cherry on top, she never trusted my opinion. My husband and I could give her identical advice and she’d ignore me completely and then jump on board the second he suggested the same damn thing.So you can see why–even though I love my grandmother and cherish her many good qualities–I haven’t been eager to visit.

But an interesting shift has happened in our relationship over the last few years and I think I have my children to thank. I think–regardless of my age–she never saw me as an equal until I had kids. Somehow, having kids, magically made me into a person worth listening to. Or maybe, now that I’m a mother, I finally have things to say that she’s interested in hearing. Either way, I’m glad for the shift in our relationship. (It helps that she’s changed her attitude about my books, but that’s a topic for another post.) I’m so thankful that she lived long enough for me to know her as an adult. For the past seven years, we’ve shared a unique camaraderie. We are both part of the great sisterhood of mothers. Okay, so maybe it’s not unique. I bet nearly half the people in the world are mothers. Maybe new is a better word. However I describe it, I’ve enjoyed it immensely Finally, she treats me like an adult. Today, she even took financial advise from me. It feel like I’m ushering in a new era.

Do you have any difficult relatives? How do you manage them? Has your relationship, like mine, changed over time?

How to make friends and influence people

My husband–The Geek–and I love to travel. In our life BC (before children), we took all sorts of exotic vacations, some of which involved castles and pubs, others of which involved sand and long lazy afternoons napping in the hotel. Needless to say, vacations are different now. (No, we haven’t done the D-word yet. That’s not what I mean.) Long flights are no longer an excuse to pack three books in my carry-on. Naps are a distant memory. Anything involving sand also involves buckets and seashells. The only castles are sand castles.

Still, we travel. It’s not as easy as it once was in our BC life. But it’s kinda more fun. There are benefits to traveling with kids and I feel lucky that we’ve

My kids on the zamboni machine at Frog Pond

had so many opportunities to do it. First off, people are really nice when you’re traveling with kids. I know, it seems counterintuitive, since everyone hates a crying baby on a plane, but it’s true. When you have kids with you, people are just nicer. They’re nicer while in route to your destination, but also as you’re traveling about the city you’re in. Kids help you make friends where ever you go. Or maybe that’s just my kids, ’cause they’ve never met a stranger.

We just got back from a trip to Boston, where The Geek had to go for business. On our first day, walking around Boston Commons, my kids oohed and aahed so much over the zamboni machine at Frog Pond, that the driver let them climb up onto the seat and have their picture taken. Then he showed them how it worked, which was cool, because I’ve always wondered myself. Riding the T around town, my son struck up a conversation with a businesswoman and her daughter. My daughter befriended a couple of college girls. And my son talked the ear off of a very disreputable looking, skate-punk kid. This was the kind of guy I probably would have edged away from if I’d been alone, but my son started with “Wow, I like your skateboard.” and by the time we got off four stops later, the skaterboy was showing off his environmently-friendly soy wheels. Those are the kinds of experiences that you can only have when you travel with children. I think it’s because kids have a natural ability to disarm people. Even people who would normally treat strangers with distant politeness seem to open up around kids. Kids are natural ambassadors.

Does this look like a guy I ever would have chatted with if I hadn't had a kid with me?

Plus, I just love sightseeing with kids. There’s nothing quite like the joy and excitement with which they experience everything. Would I have gone to the Harvard Museum of Natural History if I’d been traveling with just the Geek? Maybe. Would I have felt the same heady excitement at the sight of the Smilodon fossils? Probably not. Would I have stood in the Great Mammal Hall staring up in wonderment at the three  whale skeletons hanging from the rafters? Maybe, but not with the same glee.

You see, kids disarm people and they disarm us, their parents, most of all. Yes, sometimes traveling with them is difficult. You never quite get to relax. You’re constantly counting heads and shushing squeals. But I love getting to see the world through a child’s eye. I love the excitement and thrill they get from seeing something new. For me, that makes all of the stress of traveling with kids worth it.

What about you? Do you travel with your kids? If you do, what do you love about it?

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I’m Emily McKay, AKA The Hippie Chick Mama. Why Hippie Chick? Well, ’cause I’m one of the those organic-veggie-eating, raw-milk-drinking, yoga-practicing … okay, you get the idea. I’ve got two kiddos. The McDaughter is in the first grade and the McSon just turned four. My husband, The Geek, travels a lot and works with robots and Legos. No, seriously, it’s a real job. I love to cook and bake. When I’m not cleaning up after kids or doing laundry, I write for Harlequin Desire, YA Romcoms under the name of Ivy Adams, and paranormal YA for Berkley.

Coming into Motherhood

Because of SuperGirl’s sleep problems (which you read about on Thursday in Elise’s post), all of us PB & K Mama’s have been talking about sleep — how our kids sleep, when and why … if they sleep at all. I’ve come to one conclusion, all kids are different, all situations are different, and if you think you’ve got everything figured out, just wait a few nights. But I’m not really going to talk today about how my kids sleep (we co-slept with both of ours, but I’ll save those gems for another day.)

But all this talk about sleep got me to thinking about why we made the decision to co-sleep. It was a decision, too. It wasn’t us caving to exhaustion at  four in the morning. My husband, the Geek, and I practiced attachment parenting pretty much straight down the line, but kind of by accident. While I was pregnant we made decisions about natural childbirth (check!), breast feeding (check!), co-sleeping (check!) and baby-wearing (check!). Only later did I happen upon the term attachment parenting. Luckily there are books out there cover all those issues together and fill in the gaps as well.

I love attachment parenting partly because it suits my personality and my easy-going nature, but mostly because it makes me feel like a mother.

In case you’re not a mother, here’s a little secret I’m going to let you in on … having kids isn’t enough alone to make you feel like a mother. No matter how get them–whether you adopt or have your own–the mere presence of tiny humans in your life isn’t enough to make you feel like a mom. Just like having a cow wander through your yard won’t make you feel like a cowboy.

I think some women are natural moms. You know the type. They’re great with kids their whole lives. They played with dolls when they were little. Having children was always part of their life plan. They see a baby and instantly want to hold it. Their whole face lights up at the sight of a newborn.

That wasn’t me.  I never played with my dolls. I preferred books and stuffed animals. I wasn’t even sure I wanted kids until I was in my 30′s. To be honest, I wasn’t wholly committed to the idea until after my first mis-carriage. I’m the person who would look at newborns and think, “Wow. Were they sure this one was done when they took it out?”

I didn’t come to motherhood naturally.

You know that moment mother’s have when they look at their baby for the first time and fall in love and know that it was all worth it? Yeah, I didn’t have that either. I had thirty-hours of un-medicated labor. I was exhausted. I remember holding the baby and trying to nurse. Robyn was standing at my right shoulder gazing in wonder at the miracle of life on my chest (’cause she is the kind of woman who feels that way). She said, “I know it was hard, but now that she’s here, it was all worth it right?”

I looked down at the tiny squirming bundle and thought, “Eh. We’ll see.”

It wasn’t until I’d done all those attachment parenting things (breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and baby-wearing) for a few days (or maybe a few weeks) before I started feeling like a mom.

Now, almost seven years in to this motherhood gig, I can barely remember a time I wasn’t a mother. It feels like this is how I was supposed to be. I love kids and I’m that dopey person who lights up at the sight of a newborn. I feel like a Mother.

I attribute a lot of that to attachment parenting. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe would I feel this way no matter how we parented. Maybe the act of caring for little ones makes a parent no matter how you do it.

But I do know this: attachment parenting isn’t only about attaching the child to the parents. It’s about attaching the parent to the baby.

 

Welcome to Peanut Butter on the Keyboard!

Fellow moms and romance writers Shana Galen, Robyn DeHart, Maisey Yates, Emily McKay, Roni Loren, Kieran Kramer and Elise Rome have come together to save our sanity by talking about writing, parenthood, and pretty much anything in between. We’ll laugh, chat, get a little messy, post funny pictures, and show the world just how easy *ahem* it is to trade mommy and published author hats throughout the day.

The blogging will begin on March 2nd! But first, introductions are in order…

Shana Galen, Multitasker Mama

I’m Shana Galen, AKA Multitasker Mama (and aren’t we all?). I’m a wife, mom to a two-year-old daughter I call Baby Galen, and an historical romance writer. My husband and I have been married almost six years. I suffered a miscarriage before I had my daughter, and I think that made me pretty worried all through my pregnancy. That’s one possibility for why my daughter is so high strung. Or perhaps she’s just naturally very dramatic. We have a lot of drama in the Galen household, it seems. Even something like brushing one’s teeth can be a reason for a meltdown. But my parenting motto is, “Keep moving. Don’t pass out. Don’t throw up.” Or maybe that’s my fitness motto? www.shanagalen.com

Robyn DeHart, Basket-Case Mama

I’m Robyn DeHart, AKA Basket-Case Mama, but not because I’m crazy (though really, what mom isn’t?) but because I have a slight obsession with baskets, well containers really. I’m a bit of an organization nut and I love to containerize stuff. And yes, I’m authorized to use words like that because I am also a writer. But back to the kids, so I’m mom to two ridiculously beautiful little girls and I can say that without bragging because I didn’t actually make them. Last year my husband, The Professor, and I adopted said little lovelies from the foster-care system here in Texas and now we’re a big happy forever family. Busybee is three and so full of joy it just oozes from her. Babybee is a walking-talking toddler who has a heck of a temper but is so cute, it almost keeps her out of trouble. Though neither of my girls are newborns, I’m fairly new to motherhood compared to the other peanut butter moms, but we’ve settled in as a family as if we’ve always been together. When I’m not trying to keep up with my two bundles of energy, you can usually find me on my laptop on Pinterest, no, that’s not right, um…you can find me writing, yes, that’s it, writing my latest historical romance. www.robyndehart.com

Maisey Yates, Manic Mama

I’m Maisey Yates, AKA Manic Mama because…well, I am. I have three kids. Two boys and a girl. I call them Drama (5), Danger (4), and Diva (2). I also have a truly wonderful husband who I’ve been married to for seven years. He cooks, he cleans, he changes diapers, he’s sexy and no you can’t have him. All kids present their own unique challenges, but we’ve had some special ones with our boys. Our oldest has struggled with delayed speech and some ADHD and our second son is on the autism spectrum and, at four, is mostly non-verbal. And then there’s our daughter, who is two, and undoubtedly the toughest thing in a dress for miles. A side effect of having two older brothers! All of this is made slightly more manic (and wonderful!) by the fact that I get have the best job in the world: writing sexy, emotionally charged, occasionally funny romances for Harlequin’s Presents line. And who can blame me if I let the water boil over or I forget to take the clothes out of the washing machine? I have sheikhs, private islands and Spanish billionaires in my head!*pants*
Oh, and there we are. Not glamorous but…real. www.maiseyyates.com

Emily McKay, Hippie Chick Mama

I’m Emily McKay, AKA Hippie Chick Mama. Why Hippie Chick? Well, ’cause I’m one of the those organic-veggie-eating, raw-milk-drinking, yoga-practicing … okay, you get the idea. I’ve got two kiddos. The McDaughter is in the first grade and the McSon just turned four. The McHubby travels a lot and works with robots and Legos. No, seriously, it’s a real job. I love to cook and bake. When I’m not cleaning up after kids or doing laundry, I write for Harlequin Desire, YA Romcoms under the name of Ivy Adams, and paranormal YA for Berkley. www.emilymckay.com

Roni Loren, No Drama Mama

I’m Roni Loren, or as I’ll be called ‘round these parts, No Drama Mama. I’ve been married for ten years and have a four-year old son, who has recently been diagnosed with high-functioning autism. My days are spent writing very sexy romances (my PC way of saying erotic), avoiding all things housework, and hanging out with a kidlet who I suspect is vastly smarter than I am. I secretly dream of having a life that looks like the pages of Real Simple magazine, but would settle for Sorta Decent if could get there. My daily goal is to keep the drama on the pages of my books and out of my life–I’m successful at least twenty percent of the time. www.roniloren.com

Kieran Kramer, Merry Mama

Hi, I’m Kieran. My family loves music and anything that makes us laugh out loud. I try to teach my kids that we have to actively choose happiness–and if I accomplish nothing else as a mom but pass that one lesson along to them, then I think I’ve done my job.

My oldest guy, Dragon, was diagnosed in kindergarten with Asperger’s syndrome, and now he’s a sophomore in college; his sister Indie Girl, who’s younger by 16 months, is a college freshman; and my youngest, Nighthawk, is in eighth grade. My kids are compassionate, smart, fun, and funny people–and they turned out that way even though I wasn’t June Cleaver. I lose my keys all the time. I stare into the fridge and wonder what’s for dinner in half an hour and then remember I have to cook it. I double-book things a lot because I have three ways to make appointments (phone, purse calendar, and kitchen calendar) and haven’t yet worked out a great system for streamlining them. I don’t know how I managed to write a book, much less five now. But for me and my kids, it’s about managing your weaknesses and wringing everything you can get out of your strengths. And along the way, finding joy.

www.kierankramerbooks.com

Elise Rome, Midnight Mama

I’m Elise Rome, AKA Midnight Mama because I’m usually burning the midnight oil. If SuperGirl (2, with a speech delay) and WonderGirl (1, my very own hip attachment) aren’t getting up in the middle of the night, then I’m busy working on writing and writing-related business until early morning…usually 3-4 am or so. Both my husband and I stay home with the girls (he’s a writer, too! www.lukasholmes.com), but usually I’m focused on them throughout the day and only get started working until after 8pm when they’re both in bed. I’m a former Texan now living in Colorado who desperately misses no-snow winters, and my parenting goal is to raise my daughters to be strong, intelligent, and independent women…much like the heroines I write, as a matter of fact. I’m a recovering perfectionist, recovering procrastinator, and perpetually aspire to keep the house clean (because it never actually is). When I’m not chasing around my daughters or adoring my cooking/cleaning/diaper-changing husband of 8 years, I write historical romances about women who fascinate me and men who somehow always remind me of Rhett Butler, the first literary hero who captured my heart. www.eliserome.com

Thanks for visiting us! We look forward to chatting with you soon. For now, though, there are diapers to be changed, faces to be wiped, homework to help with, boo-boos to kiss…and, oh yeah, someone smeared peanut butter all over the keyboard. =)