Keeping Things Romantic

Posted on January 28, 2013 by Maisey Yates

Romance is a hard thing to squeeze in around kids. And romance is my day job, so that’s saying quite a lot if I, who spends hours a day contemplating shirtless rakes and blistering love scenes, suffer from the same romance BLERGH that every parent feels.

Granted, my job helps with that. I have excuses to focus on love, and why the relationship between you and that one special person is something to be treasured.

But even romance writers get the THERE ARE CHILDREN EVERYWHERE blues. My husband and I haven’t been on a date since The Hobbit came out. Before that it was in July. I know Robyn was blogging about this the other day. I share her pain. Time alone is a luxury. And we have out special needs boy, which compounds the problem of us being able to find someone to watch our children so we can escape for a bit.

Of course, my husband and I are also both home during the day which means we DO see each other a lot, but in passing. And if he comes into the office TOO many times during an afternoon I start to get that cranky, resentful hunch at my keyboard, which lasts through out the day and is like a big neon DON’T TOUCH ME sign, I am sure.

But we all know what the obstacles are. Dirty diapers, shrieking kids, opposing schedules, etc. But what about how to combat them? I think I’m the ‘newlywed’ of the blog group, at a shy seven years (no itch, shockingly), but we’ve been through a lot of rapid life changes and challenges and we’ve always managed to come through it clinging tighter to each other.

Plus, I write romance. Trust me.

This is my Maisey List of Things That Have Helped My Marriage Stay Romantic:

1. I read romance. Really, that does help. I discovered romance novels while pregnant with our 2nd child. In addition to them being sexy, that didn’t hurt, they also reminded me of why romance is so great. They made me truly appreciative of what I had in my husband, and that was a very helpful thing.

2. We laugh. About stupid things. Last night we were awake at 1:30 in the morning, cracking up over my incredibly immature jokes.

3. We are honest. He knows what’s up with me, I know what’s up with him. He knows me, more than anyone else on earth knows me. And I know him.

4. Without TMIing…we don’t let intimacy slip. We don’t do the scheduling per se, though I think that’s a great idea, but we have rules. And we follow them.

5. We get mad at each other. This took a while. We both used to hold it in because we didn’t want to have any waves or admit that we’d FAILED and disagreed. Now we just let it out and I think we’re much healthier for it. And it’s sort of a part of…

6. We share things. Bless my husband he shares technical details of music engineering that I do not understand, and I bless my heart, I will summarize a romance novel for him. Or read him an excerpt. I know neither of us REALLY get it. But we share it. And the other one at least tries to pay attention.

7. My husband is awesome.

8. We do things together. *awkward segue*

Oh look, we did this together! We combined his music (he wrote the music, the lyrics, did the recording, the engineering and played all the instruments) and a little of mine (I showed up and sang into a mic) and my romance novels and made something that I’m really proud of. One way we stay in harmony (ha) and your husband writing you a song really does help keep things romantic.

I hope you enjoy the song! And I would so appreciate if you would share your tips on how you keep things romantic in the comments.

Edit to include book info: Unbuttoned is the first book in my Silver Creek series, and it’s a novella with Berkley’s new InterMix imprint! It’s out June 18th and here is the cover blurb:

Carly Denton has learned to keep her buttons and emotions firmly fastened. Her parents’ constant drama, and an unrequited crush on her brother’s best friend, taught her to keep her passion beneath the surface. But she can no longer avoid the one man with the ability to bring that passion to a boil…

Lucas remembers Carly as a freckle-faced tomboy—not a frosty woman who treats him like a burr under her saddle. But when they have to work together on a charity project, Lucas is shocked to find their bickering melt into some serious mutual attraction. He’s determined to show Carly that he’s the man for her, if only she’d learn to let loose.

Lucas is the last man on earth Carly should give in to. The freedom she finds in his arms has her feeling happier than ever, but is it enough to make her realize that the greatest risk isn’t losing your heart, but losing the chance at happiness?

A fun quiz with Robyn

Posted on December 27, 2012 by robyndehart

Ever watch Inside the Actor’s Studio? It’s on A&E and I totally love it. For those of you who might be unfamiliar with it, it’s set in a film school (acting and directing) and the host has one actor on stage and they go through the actor’s work, asking questions about techniques and whatnot. And then at the end the students get to ask questions themselves. I always think it must be a scenario not unlike that RWA’s National conference where the cream of romance’s crop is often available for workshops and questions. And it’s just really fascinating to listen to actor’s talk about their craft in similar terms to how I’m used to creating characters and story. But the best part of the show is right before the host turns the actor over to the students and he ends with a famous questionnaire.

What is your favorite word? CRISP – it’s the perfect onomatopoeia

What is your least favorite word? ENVELOPE – I never know how to say it

What turns you on? MY HUSBAND’S LAUGHTER

What turns you off? ANY KIND OF HARM TO CHILDREN

What sound do you love? My DAUGHTERS’ GIGGLING

What sound do you hate? SQUEALING BRAKES

What profession other than yours would you like to attempt? WINDOW PAINTER – I’d love to do those holiday paintings on store windows

What profession would you not like to participate in? PODIATRIST – I cannot imagine wanting to work on people’s feet

What’s your favorite curse word? BUGGER

If heaven exists what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? YOUR LOVED ONES ARE WAITING OVER THERE

Answer it with me, and then this weekend I’ll draw one lucky winner to get a copy of my latest release, A LITTLE BIT WICKED.

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

in which Robyn tries to whet your appetite….

Posted on October 17, 2012 by robyndehart

Normally I don’t do (perhaps none of us do) a ton of blog focus over here at the PBMoms regarding our actual books. But I am deep in deadline mode right now and so cheating today and instead of sharing some story about my kiddos, I’m going to share an excerpt from my upcoming release, A LITTLE BIT WICKED (Entangled Scandalous, 12/12). I hope you enjoy!

*from chapter one*

He eyed his aunt who had, for all intents and purposes, just laid him out. “Who is this person, the one who can solve this problem?”

“Vivian March. The Paragon.”

The name had sounded vaguely familiar, but Marcus couldn’t place it. Vivian March. Well, she would be here soon enough and he could meet her then. His aunt had assured him that this woman, whom evidently was referred to as the Paragon, would be able to divert attention away from the scandal, effectively making it disappear before it did much damage. But in order for that to happen, she would have to agree to align herself with them, which would require a certain amount of decorum from him.

Marcus had never been particularly good at playing Society’s games. It was one of the reasons he’d left London to begin with. He much preferred the wilds of Africa and India and the like to the well-polished pretentious behavior he found here. At least in the wild, animals acted out of survival. People did not adhere to such courtesies.

But he’d agreed, for this evening, to mind his manners, and to meet with this woman to see if she could assist his sister and her debacle. So it was that he and Clarissa and their Aunt Maureen sat silently waiting for this Paragon to appear. At precisely seven, the butler opened the door and introduced her.

“Miss Vivian March,” he said.

The woman entered the room covered in a burgundy velvet cloak. She withdrew the hood and then slid out of the contraption, allowing the butler to remove it from her. She wasn’t overly tall and had generous curves that filled her pale pink satin ball gown nicely without being too revealing. Chocolate brown curls were expertly piled on her head in an intricate coiffure. Long black satin gloves covered her hands and slid all the way up to just passed her elbows. She was the picture of English modesty.

“Thank you so much for coming, Miss March,” Aunt Maureen said, coming forward to greet the woman.

Vivian March tilted her head and he finally saw her entire face and his gut knotted as a jolt of recognition struck him. Now he knew why he name sounded familiar. He knew her. Or at least he had known her, had met her. Briefly. He stepped forward to make his own greeting, her eyes met his. She didn’t even flinch, in fact she showed no sign at all she recognized him. But he knew one thing for certain about Miss Vivian March, she was no paragon.

“My Lord, it is my understanding you have recently returned from traveling abroad,” she said. Her voice was rich and sultry, full of seductive promise.

“I have,” he said. “And it would seem my family is in a bit of turmoil. I was told you might be of some assistance.”

She inclined her head, then turned to Maureen before she spoke. “Perhaps we should sit and you can tell me more about the situation.”

“Yes, of course,” Aunt Maureen said. She rang for the tea tray with cakes and they all sat in the parlor. “Please do sit, Miss March and thank you again for coming on such short notice.”

Miss March sat in a high-backed chair, but if it was possible sat even straighter than the wood back. Her gloved hands rested on her lap and a pleasant smile played at her lips.

Clarissa had yet to utter a word, instead she sat staring at her hands as they knotted the fabric of her skirt. Perhaps she was still angry with him for earlier today.

Marcus leaned against the hearth and watched the women sugar and stir their tea. How could Miss March not recognize him? He knew for certain it was she, though now ten years older. Womanhood had softened and rounded her figure to a voluptuousness he could scarcely look away from.

After she had taken a sip of her tea, she glanced first at Aunt Maureen, then at Clarissa. “Now what seems to be the problem?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Clarissa said. She set her teacup down and offered a feigned smile. “I had a conversation with a gentleman. That is all that happened. It is unclear to me why this has to be such an ordeal.”

“Yes, well what actually happens and what might have happened are not always perceived differently,” Miss March said. “So you had a conversation with a gentleman. Is he truly a gentleman or is that simply his species? Also, was this conversation had in private or in a public location?”

He half expected the woman to withdraw a notebook and begin making notes, but she simply waited for Clarissa to answer. When there was a long pause, Miss March spoke again, this time she looked directly at him. “Perhaps she would feel more comfortable if she and I spoke alone.”

He had lost count as to how many times he’d been dismissed today by the women in this house. Perhaps he wasn’t as prepared to handle this sort of situation the way Charles would have been, but damnation he’d only just returned to London. They might not want him to be the head of the family and they might not believe him to be competent, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

Marcus shoved off the hearth and walked toward Miss March. “This is a family affair. And whether or not the women in my family approve or not, I am part of this family. You were called here to help us. If my sister refuses to cooperate, then I’ll tell you what happened. The chit was seen talking to the owner of a gaming establishment.”

Miss March nodded and while she looked at him while he spoke, her body was still pointed toward where Maureen and Clarissa sat.

He turned to his sister. “Were you sitting in the carriage, or standing on the street?”

“On the street,” she said, her eyes locked on tea tray in front of her.

Miss March patted Clarissa’s knee. She was quiet for a few moments, then took another sip of her tea. “Yes, well, I can see why we have a potential problem. Do you know, perhaps, who saw you? That is, who brought this matter to your attention?” she asked Clarissa.

“Lady Jessup informed me at a card party yesterday,” Aunt Maureen said.

“Well, I can only guess it was her husband who saw you then, Clarissa. Lord Jessup is a horrific gambler and an even worse gossip. Chances are that other people know now. So it would seem that you definitely have a potentially damaging situation on your hands.” She came to her feet.

Aunt Maureen stood as well. “Will you help us?”

“I shall consider it this evening and will be in touch tomorrow morning,” Miss March said. She straightened her gloves and patted her hair.

“Is that all?” Marcus asked not quite certain what he’d been expecting but a woman who came, sipped tea, confirmed that yes indeed they were in trouble, then fled, was not precisely the big solution he’d been waiting for.

“I must consider the situation,” she said.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

“That truly won’t be necessary.” Miss March made her way to the door.

Marcus followed her regardless of her dismissive tone. He took her cloak from the butler. “I’m offended that you would pretend not to remember me,” he said. He held the cloak away from her, forcing her to turn and look in his direction.

She looked up at him; her warm brown eyes met his gaze. “I beg your pardon,” she said, her voice full of innocence.

So it was a game she intended to play. Well, a game he would give her. He draped the cloak over her shoulders, then bent to her ear. “Just remember that I know the truth. I know you are not the paragon people seem to believe you to be.” There was a sharp intake of her breath. “Until tomorrow, Miss March.”

Old enough–finally

Posted on April 27, 2012 by emilymckay

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?

Enough with the “Mommy Porn” Label – Moms Are Still Women

Posted on April 26, 2012 by Roni Loren

Photo by Carlos Giesemann (click pic for link)

I know we usually talk about our kids on here, but I have a subject near and dear to the kinds of books I write that is kind of driving me crazy. If you haven’t been living under a rock–or even if you have–you’ve probably heard of the book 50 Shades of Grey. It’s the BDSM erotic romance that has broken out into blockbuster status. It’s been on the Today Show, 20/20, and even Dr. Oz talked about it today. It’s everywhere.

BDSM erotic romance is what I write, so obviously I’ve been paying a lot of attention to this hoopla. Mainly because I’m amused that everyone is talking about how scandalous and new this is when BDSM romance has been around for a LONG time and has been a thriving subgenre of romance for at least a decade. But anyway, what’s getting REALLY old is the media’s portrayal of books “like that” being “mommy” porn.

First of all, porn is porn. Romance novels are romance novels. The two are not the same. If a “mommy” wants porn, she can go on the internet or buy pay-per-view like anyone else. If she wants a sexy story with a plot, developed characters, and love story she picks up a romance novel. But here’s the thing–why is it so scandalous that moms are reading sexy books? Once we procreate, are we relegated to being washed up women with used uteri (uteruses?) who are now supposed to focus on nothing but making the perfect lasagnas and singing choruses of Sesame Street songs with our kidlets?

Yes, we do those things (well, I still haven’t gotten the hang of lasagna). We ARE moms. That is a hugely important role in our lives. But it’s just one role. We didn’t lose our woman card in the process. We’re still sexual beings who like a little naughtiness on occasion (or often, lol.) We still like to be swept away by romance. We still want our husbands to give us that how-you-doin’ look. We still want to feel sexy and wanted and feminine. And there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that. Moms shouldn’t be shamed for wanting those things, and calling sexy books “mommy porn” is shaming, plain and simple.

I’ve had enough of it.

So if you like your sexy romances, be proud. Read them in public, pass recommendations to your friends, and never ever apologize for what you like. You’re probably having a lot more fun once the kids go to bed than those who are looking down at it and calling it “mommy porn” are.

SHAMELESS PLUG AHEAD – feel free to look away…

Here’s my book, Crash Into You, if you want to give a BDSM romance a try. (I even have one coming out next month that’s about *gasp* a married mother.) And if mine’s a little too naughty for you, all the other moms on here have some super fab smexy books too. : )

So how do you feel about the whole “mommy porn” label? Do you feel like you have to hide what you read so you don’t get judged by others?

Roni Loren wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered writing about boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability has. Though she’ll forever be a New Orleans girl at heart, she now lives in Dallas with her husband and son. If she’s not working on her latest sexy story, you can find her reading, watching reality television, or indulging in her unhealthy addiction to rockstars, er, rock concerts. Yeah, that’s it. Website: www.roniloren.com

It is well with my (writer’s) soul…

Posted on April 23, 2012 by robyndehart

Okay y’all today I’m going to get real. I’m talking baring my soul kind of honesty today. Everyone always talks about how much becoming a parent will change your life. We all know that. We’ve lived it. And those changes to our lives vary as widely as our lifestyles. But there are always surprises. I’m not sure what all your surprises were, and I don’t really have time or room to hit on all of mine, but I wanted to touch on some of the more profound surprises. First a little backstory – as you’ve probably gleaned from some of my previous blogs, the Professor and I had a long road to become parents which included lots of fertility treatments, some failed adoptions and more tears than either of us were prepared for. So there’s that aspect of my life. And then there is my writing. I have had my share of successes in this business. I’ve written for two different publishers, made some money, won some prestigious awards and been praised in Publisher’s Weekly, the Chicago Tribune and Booklist. But I have had my share (more than my share, if you ask me!) of defeats as well.

I lost my contract within weeks of becoming a mother and most would see this as a blessing, in disguise, of course. That’s what everyone always says, isn’t it? “Oh, you can’t see it now, but this is actually for the best.” Um, for whom, exactly? Yes, it was nice to not have to be on deadline while I was learning the ropes of motherhood and fielding some significant issues with our new kiddos. The stress was unbelievable. The girls weren’t free and clear, the parental rights hearing was scheduled, but we had months to wait for that to happen and then many more obstacles to clear before the adoption was all finalized. in those dark early days I was faced with my greatest fears…I had prayed for so long to become a mother, but I hadn’t realized I’d have to trade my career to achieve it. I felt punished and frankly very lost. I floundered. A lot.

My friends (mostly my writer buds) fielded insane calls and emails from me where I spouted craziness and panic and people would tell me to relax, enjoy the time off, the industry wasn’t going anywhere, I had plenty of time. But I’d been a full-time writer for the bulk of my adult life. I’d only been a mother for such a small amount of time and well bonding isn’t necessarily instant when you’re dealing with kids that you may or may not get to keep. As much as I loved them instantly and wanted, with my every breath, to be able to keep them, that certainty wasn’t there and I know (thought I tried not to) I held myself back just a little. Self preservation. I’d been hurt. A lot and well, I was terrified.

But back to the writing….the worst part was that I felt not only that I had lost my actual career, but I had lost my writer’s soul. The voices had gone quiet. Part of this I know is because (and here’s one of those surprises I mentioned) I am a dyed-in-the-wool introvert and I love to be alone. I love quiet. Well, y’all know kids are anything but quiet. They make noise ALL THE TIME. My silence, my quiet, my sanity was shattered. I had no refuge, no way to refill my well because I was surrounded by noise all the time. It was a huge adjustment and I won’t lie, I still miss it, but I know how to deal with it now and I get my time which helps.

Okay so no voices in my head (those of you who aren’t writers, it’s okay, I’m not crazy, they aren’t scary-I-need-medication voices, just harmless imaginary character voices ) In any case, at some point I started working again, just kind of going through the motions. I had completed a rough draft at some point before the girls and was ready to start revising the whole thing. Poor Emily heard more than anyone should my incessant whining of how I’d forgotten how to write, the characters weren’t working, the writing was flat, etc. I worked and I worked and it seemed every word I added or every word I cut was painful. Of course it didn’t help matters that I’d decided to work on the most challenging book of my career, a big historical romantic suspense full of a large cast of characters, multiple viewpoints, lots of dead bodies and a heroine with a disability. Okay, so sometimes I’m not that bright.

Needless to say after an enormous amount of time and energy I finally finished that damn book and I’m waiting to hear from NYC on it. It took me forever and it doubled in size during revisions. But still through all of that, the entire process was excruciating, I don’t think I had any days in there that went well, where the words flowed or the characters whispered in my ears. So still I believed that somehow along the way I’d lost the magic, lost my writers gift.

And then last week something amazing happened. I started working on a new idea, something that just sort of sprang from my mind, something not quiet as plot-heavy and the ideas just started pouring out. The best part, the characters are talking. At night while I’m trying to sleep, during the day while I’m playing with the girls or we’re watching something on PBS. And at nap time I sit down at my laptop and write. It’s not easy, writing is never easy for me, but it’s working, and I feel at peace.

Maybe everyone was right, maybe this time away from deadlines has been just what I’ve needed to heal and grow and all that good stuff (though I’m still not convinced). But as my father always says, it is what it is and well the only thing to do now is move forward, keep writing and know that eventually I’ll find the right combination again and my career will start yet again.

So how about you? What was your biggest surprise in becoming a parent? And what kind of sacrifice have you made in your life for your family?

The call

Posted on March 27, 2012 by robyndehart

In the writing world we all know that “the call” is when an editor calls you and offers to buy your book. Getting that first call is exhilarating and scary and a myriad of other emotions. For many of us it’s a long time coming. For me, personally, I waited 7 years and in those years wrote 5 manuscripts before that first book sold (Courting Claudia, which is currently on sale for kindle & nook for $0.99) In any case it’s about as exciting a phone call as you can ever receive. But I’ve received a different kind of phone call.

It was really about this time last year, actually. The Professor and I had been through classes and all the licensing rigamarole you must go through in order to be approved as foster-to-adopt parents. Our social worker (for lack of a better thing to call her) had been in touch with me several times, presenting kiddo options. We’d said no to a few due to some issues we felt we weren’t prepared to handle and some we said yes to. Basically when you say yes they submit your home study and then a handful of people read through that and make a decision based on that. But back to the story…so it was about this time last year and our social worker called me to tell me about these two little girls and did I want to submit our home study. Well, The Professor was actually in class, but I didn’t need to consult with him, it seemed a reasonable enough situation to say yes to. And then the waiting began. I knew we would be working on a fast time line because their social worker wanted them placed like two weeks later.

So we waited and then we got THE CALL. Selling a book was damn exciting, but getting this call was way cooler. We were picked to be the girls’ parents. Of course we had some issues to deal with over the ensuing months (that’s another blog) but they would be ours. And we had exactly 7 days to get ready. Now most of you get a good 9 months to plan and prep for a baby. We had to plan and prep for a baby and a toddler in just a week. I didn’t get a shower, but plenty of my friends gave me gifts and hand-me-downs to help get me set-up. Much shopping ensued and we were ready when they got here. Okay, let me rephrase that, their room was ready, there was really no readiness (emotionally speaking) for us (but again, that’s another blog).

Tell me, how did you plan for your little ones? I’ll pick two commenters to win my first book, Courting Claudia. You can pick whether you get the kindle or nook version.