Am I Doing Better than My Kid? Guest Post by Sherry Thomas

Today I welcome fellow historical romance author, and new YA author Sherry Thomas, to the blog. Sherry is one of the most interesting people I know, and she always makes me laugh.

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In general, I do not have peanut butter on my keyboard. That’s because my children are fairly elderly, years removed from their prime peanut-butter-smearing days: Senior Kidlet is a sixteen-going-on-seventeen, Junior Kidlet twelve. (Although a couple of years ago Senior Kidlet upended a cup of eggnog on my laptop and it was a miracle nothing happened.)

In our house, Senior Kidlet and Junior Kidlet take turns being the concern child. For the past couple of years, as Senior Kidlet became a full-fledged teenager, with college looming on the horizon, he has once again become the focus of our parental handwringing and teeth-gnashing.

As we lecture him endlessly on taking initiative, taking responsibility, taking care to do things properly the first time—his problem being mainly an ingrained case of slackerism—sometimes I make myself step back and take a slightly longer view of things.

The thing is, people have short memories.  For those of us who are parents, it often seems as if we have always been mature, responsible, and just plain competent at life.  Some of us are—His Hawtness, my husband, might always have been mature, responsible, and just plain competent at life.  Me, not so much.

Senior Kidlet has been known to let his homework slide for weeks.  But I faked my entire 10th grade science project: I poured cooking wine into apple juice to pretend it had fermented into cider. My chemistry teacher suspected something, but couldn’t prove the alcohol content came from manual addition—or maybe he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that a studious-looking Asian girl would pull that sort of con.  I would say my fraudulence beats my kid’s laziness in the what-would-convince-your-parents-you-are-doomed-in-life category.

Senior Kidlet recently decided he wants to study political science and become a legislative aide.  His Hawtness, an engineer by training and by vocation, could not wrap his head around that choice.  Which makes me wonder what my poor mother had thought when I declared, approximately two decades ago, that I planned to become the Secretary General of the United Nations.

Senior Kidlet lost a textbook last year.  I lost three textbooks my first semester in college.

He does things last minute.  I only start cooking when people are already digging through the kitchen looking for food.  I often finish cooking after everyone had already fed themselves with leftovers.

He can’t plan ahead.  As long as I have the least bit of food in my stomach, I can’t come up with grocery lists.

He turns in stuff late.  I just turned in a manuscript ten days late.

He is messy.  Our house is slightly better now, but used to almost always look as if it had just been visited by a tornado.

Darn, this kid really is related to me.

One of the reasons kids don’t like high school is that you have to study everything, whether you have an interest in or a talent for the subject.  Along that same line, during a kid’s teenage years is when parents nag about everything, from punctuality to personal hygiene to tidiness to how they talk and walk.  We want them to do everything well.

The thing is, we can get through life very decently without ever learning to do many things well—and without ever learning to do some things at all.  And after a child reaches a certain age, the role of the parents becomes that of a failsafe.  Whatever else the kid still has to learn, only life will teach.

I turned out okay.  It follows Senior Kidlet will also turn out okay.

Fingers crossed.

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PBOK Ask the Mom Questions:

Cloth or disposable diapers?

Cloth.  Though for Junior Kidlet, His Hawtness forbade me from using cloth diapers at night—he remembered me crying one time, when Senior Kidlet was small, while washing diapers in the middle of the night.  That darned kid pooped seven times around one feeding. Seven times!

Favorite children’s song?

The opening theme of Hana no Ko Lunlun, a Japanese anime, called Lulu, the Flower Angel in English.  (Have a listen here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyHQg1MFfZ4)

Favorite kids’ book?

Anno’s Counting Book.  A book without a single word, which transports and moves me in an almost nostalgic way.  Perhaps it reminds me of the magically beautiful Europe of Hana no Ko Lunlun.

Most annoying kids’ TV show/character?

Used to be Barney, until the start of Elmo’s World.

Midnight or Dawn? 

Middle of the day.

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Sherry Thomas is one of the most acclaimed romance authors working today. Her books regularly receive starred reviews from trade publications and are frequently found on best-of-the-year lists. She is also a two-time winner of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award.

English is Sherry’s second language—she has come a long way from the days when she made her laborious way through Rosemary Roger’s Sweet Savage Love with an English-Chinese dictionary. She enjoys digging down to the emotional core of stories. And when she is not writing, she thinks about the zen and zaniness of her profession, plays computer games with her sons, and reads as many fabulous books as she can find.

Sherry’s next book, THE BURNING SKY, volume one of her young adult fantasy trilogy, is on sale TODAY.

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Guest Mom Tracy Wolff Answers Our Questions

Fellow writer and mom extraordinaire Tracy Wolff  is our guest today. Tracy writes under several nom de plumes. Check out her book covers at the end of the post.

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First off, I want to say thanks to Peanut Butter on the Keyboard for having me J  I’ve been a fan of your site since the beginning.  I think you guys are awesome—and give great advice for another writing mom.  I’ve got three boys of my own and they definitely keep me on my toes.  And I had great fun answering your either/or questions J

Cheerios or Captain Crunch: Crunchberries all the way.  When I’m on deadline, I’m a big fan of processed sugar—and the pretty pink  and purple “berries” are my favorite.

Cloth or Disposable Diapers: In my head, I’m a cloth diaper kind of person.  I love the environment, am a great recycler, am married to an energy efficiency engineer who has spent years working to save the planet … and yet I’m a disposable diaper person.  I tried the cloth diaper thing and I just couldn’t do it.  Sorry L

Midnight or Dawn: Can I say both?  I don’t sleep much, so I’m usually up til about one and then up again around four-thirty and I honestly like both times of day a lot.

Quiet Craft or Raucous Game of Wrestling: Again, I have three boys.  Quiet crafts don’t exactly cut itat my house.  We’re a raucous game of wrestling kind of family.  And also, hide and seek laser tag in the dark J

Favorite Mommy time off activity: I’m a huge reader, so obviously curling up with a good book and a cup of tea tops my list.  Also, my oldest (who is sixteen) and I pick a TV series and try to watch an episode every night after the younger two are in bed.  I really like doing that with him.  And if you want just pure indulgence : a trip to the MAC counter makes my whole week!

Now it’s your turn:  new lipstick or new pair of shoes?

Thanks for having me, guys!

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Tracy Wolff lives with four men, teaches writing to local college students and spends as much time as she can manage immersed in worlds of her own creation. Married to the alpha hero of her dreams for twelve years, she is the mother of three young sons who spend most of their time trying to make her as crazy as possible.

Tracy has two books releasing October 28! Looks like some fun Mommy Time reading to me 🙂

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Guest Mom Alyssa Alexander: The First Step

Welcome, everyone, to the funny, touching mom world Alyssa Alexander inhabits when she’s not lost in writing a Regency tale!

The First Step

It is the Eve of Kindergarten.

Pencil case. Check.
Backpack and lunchbox purchased. Check.
Bus number. Check.
Open house attended. Check.
Locker, classroom, bathroom and desk located. Check.

To do: Make lunch for the first day, pack up the backpack, lay out tomorrow’s clothing—for the record, my Biscuit doesn’t wear nice little polo shirts or khakis. He’s chosen a Ninjago ® t-shirt and basketball shorts for the first day of school.

Mama’s worries: Will he find his classroom or aimlessly wander the halls? Will he like the teacher? His friends? Will he exhibit proper behavior? (Always a worry with small boys of exuberant natures and overly curious personalities.)

Biscuit’s worries: Do they have snack time and outside time? (A boy must have his priorities.) And, when can he go to science class?

Aside from those minor (?!) worries, it seems like we’re all set. The bus will stop at our driveway tomorrow and pick him up. He’ll go to school, meet new friends, meet a new teacher, and hopefully learn the difference between U and V, which seems to be very tricky. Still, for us, this isn’t entirely unknown territory, as Biscuit has been in daycare since he was an infant and attended preschool as well. Same thing, different location, right?

Wrong. In so many ways. This is a step away from me, somehow, even though he’s been in daycare for so long. I know, I know, it’s just another in a long line of steps he will take that make him an independent man (assuming I’ve done my job right.) We’ve had some firsts before, of course. First day at daycare, first overnight visit at Grandma’s, first step. But that doesn’t make kindergarten any easier.

This is my first and last child. My only. There’s never been a first day of school before, and there will never be another for me. Or for him. So I guess that puts me and Biscuit on even ground, doesn’t it?

Yes, there will be the first day each year, but that’s not the same as the first day of kindergarten. With a bus. And hot lunch. And lots and lots of children I don’t know instead ten kids who grew up with him in daycare, moving from the infant room to the toddler room to the preschool room. I don’t know this (very nice) teacher, I don’t know the parents of these other children. I don’t know where everything is in the classroom or what he will do there all day. And I won’t get the chance to ask the teacher every day what he ate and who he played with and whether he took a nap. Yes, over time I will meet and become friends with many of these parents and children, and I can always talk to the teacher, volunteer and attend conferences.

But in reality, I have little no control over my child’s daily life. That’s a terrifying thought for this mother. I’m not overly protective—the opposite, I would say. But this is uncharted territory. There will suddenly be a barrier between me and my child. It is school.

And it is tomorrow.

. . .

It’s the morning.

He’s gone.

Yes, everything went wonderfully. We got up on time—even early. Biscuit popped out of bed, dressed in his favored shirt. Ate a big breakfast so he would be ready for a good long day at school. The backpack was filled with paper and his super hero lunchbox. A little heart sticker was on a piece of paper folded in his pocket in case he needed some love during the day. I have a matching sticker and love note tucked in my purse.

I was able to laugh as he ran down the driveway shouting “Where is my bus? Where is my bus?” We waited, and waited, and waaaaited. Then there it was, in all its yellow-gold, airbrake, unmistakable diesel-smelling glory.

He didn’t even turn around to look at me before he climbed aboard. He just went right up those steps without a backward glance, tumbled into the first seat with all his knobby elbows and knees knocking around. Then he looked at me though the little window. He was so short he could barely peek over the edge. But he was grinning. And blowing kisses.

And then he was gone. Leaving me in dust and diesel exhaust.

I cried only a little, as I watch my baby ride off with big, scary fifth graders. I had never noticed how really, really big fifth graders are. They I pulled up my mama jeans and went to work, and tried desperately not to wonder if he could remember where the bathroom was and if he could find his lunchbox.

. . .

He’s in bed now. Exhausted. Two more love notes are folded up on his chest (I will move them to the nightstand, though, so they survive the night).

All my worry was for naught. In fact, he told me “I can’t even answer all of your questions, because I’m too excited to talk!” So not only did he make it through the day, he thrived. New friends (whose names he doesn’t know), a new teacher, a numbered table to sit at (“I’m at table number one, mom!”), and that super hero lunch box ready for the next lunch.

Still, while he’s so excited for tomorrow, I’m left wondering what happened to my baby! Because instead of the infant and toddler I thought I had, I’m raising a boy. A real boy. With scabby knees and bruised shins, and questions about the universe and mortality and how popsicles are made and how bugs fly. A boy who will get on the bus tomorrow, grin at me and blow me kisses, and once again leave me in dust and diesel exhaust.

I guess, in the end, I’m doing something right. He will be carrying that little love note in his pocket, and I’ll have my love note in my purse. Until the day he doesn’t take the note to school anymore, of course.

But I think I’ll keep mine for a little longer.

marble030313_99Alyssa Alexander is pretty certain she belongs somewhere sunny. And tropical. Where drinks are served with little paper umbrellas. But until she moves to those white sandy beaches, she survives the cold Michigan winters by penning romance novels that always include a bit of adventure. She lives with her own set of heroes, aka an ever-patient husband who doesn’t mind using a laundry basket for a closet, and a small boy who wears a knight in a shining armor costume for such tasks as scrubbing potatoes.

Look for her upcoming debut, THE SMUGGLER WORE SILK, from Berkley Sensation on January 7, 2013, and available for preorder at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. And come find her on Facebook and Twitter!

Guest Mom Amanda Brice on Food Allergies

Today’s guest mom, attorney and author Amanda Brice, is covering a topic that literally makes my heart race and my breath shorten as I write this sentence! Like Amanda, I’m the mother of a child with a serious allergy, so serious that a bite of the wrong food could be life-threatening. Living with this possibility all the time is not easy. Thanks for listening to Amanda and for trying to understand what families like ours go through. And if you deal with serious allergies in your household, just know that you’re not alone. –Kieran

“References that include everything from Snooki to Chewbacca will have you laughing out loud.” – Romantic Times

“It’s good, frothy fun. Like a hot chocolate with a marshmallow and lots of sprinkles on top. I defy you to read this book and not laugh out loud. It’s full of wit and humour.” – Bookish Trish from Between the Lines blog

Mmm…hot chocolate with marshmallows and sprinkles… But in our house, that marshmallow will be egg-white-free and the chocolate safe from cross-contamination with nuts.

Reviewers tend to agree that one of my strongest points as a writer is my humor, and I do love writing funny. But I’m not going to be funny today because the subject of today’s blog is no laughing matter, and that’s food allergies.

Perhaps it’s an unusual topic for a blog titled “Peanut Butter on the Keyboard,” but the photo at the top of the website makes clear that kids can make messes. It’s all cute until those messes put others at risk.

Recently Hollywood has taken to getting cheap laughs by making fun of food allergies, the parents who deal with them, and the kids who have them.

Nick Jr. was in the crossfire of food allergy parents this past spring when their Nick Mom programming (that begins at 10 pm EST, so presumably kids should be in bed, but that’s only 7 pm on the West Coast and I don’t know about your kids, but mine are wide awake and watching Nick Jr. at 7 pm) featured a highly inappropriate skit called “Taking the ‘Food’ Out of ‘Bake Sale’” in which a bunch of moms guffawed about how put-upon they are with all these fad diets today. The video in question had a bullying undertone, implying that families are overreacting to nothing.

This summer, the Smurfs 2 movie also jumped on the “all these crazy parents are overreacting” bandwagon by including a scene mocking an anaphylactic reaction to peanuts, a potentially fatal reaction, for cheap laughs. Shortly before a character ate a corndog that had been cooked in undeclared peanut oil (after which he reacted and was rushed to the hospital), his stereotypical helicopter parents, in true caricature style, made their demands clear – his diet must be organic, BPA-free, gluten-free, peanut-free, food-free. The implication was that parents were just making up food allergies – everything needs to be peanut-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, etc, because of overreacting parents. They were not just making sure all the kids in the party scene could eat the cake. They were making sure everyone laughs at the gluten-free-peanut-free-vegan-cake-made-with-love as if to say “how hilarious it is that kids these days need all this special food?!” Insert audience eyeroll here. Ho, ho, ho, barrel of laughs!

Even if the ingestion of peanuts was inadvertent rather than bullying, when did poisoning a child become a comic moment? It was an unnecessary scene, making fun of parents and their kids in what was supposed to be a nice family movie.

I know it might seem like it’s not that big of a deal: “It’s a joke. Relax.” But that’s the point. It’s not. Not to kids who have to deal with food allergies every day. Kids who constantly have to inspect everything they eat so their throats don’t swell up and they die can’t just relax. Nor can their parents.

Sadly, it seems that the only way to get many people to change their mind about their belief that the food allergy epidemic is blown out of proportion is for them to experience it firsthand. Time columnist Joel Stein learned the hard way that it’s real. Having previously written a piece that began “Your kid doesn’t have an allergy to nuts. Your kid has a parent who needs to feel special,” he blamed the epidemic on over-reporting. A year later, his one-year-old son suffered anaphylaxis to tree nuts: “sneezing, then breaking out in hives, then rubbing his eyes, then crying through welded-shut eyes, then screaming and finally, vomiting copiously at the entrance of the Children’s Hospital emergency room an hour after eating his first batch of blended mixed nuts.” Believe me, this is the worst type of eating crow.

The recent death of a girl at summer camp (as a result of eating Rice Krispie treats cross-contaminated by peanuts) underscores the seriousness. This is why it is completely reprehensible to make a joke out of a kid needing an EpiPen.

You wouldn’t joke about a kid having cancer. Or autism. Or using a wheelchair. So why is this acceptable? It’s not a lifestyle choice. It’s a health concern. A health crisis, I would argue. Researchers estimate that up to 15 million Americans have food allergies. According to FARE (Food Allergy Research & Education), this potentially deadly disease affects 1 in every 13 children under the age of 18. That’s roughly two in every classroom.

A 2008 study by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention showed that there was an 18% increase in food allergy between 1997 and 2007, although there is no clear answer as to why. Every three minutes, a food allergy reaction sends someone to the emergency room. Every three minutes. Reactions to food can range from a mild response (such as eczema, stomach cramps, or an itchy mouth) to anaphylaxis, a severe a potentially deadly reaction.

I know the stereotype is that food allergy parents are overprotective. And maybe we are. But that’s because we have to be vigilant. And we’re not unreasonable. I know people like to joke about our crazy demands, but I promise you that we don’t expect you to provide special food for our children at your private party. We just want to know the ingredients so we can make our own decisions. In fact, most food allergy parents I know are among the most low-maintenance party guests around. Not only do we bring our own food and help chaperone, but we help you clean up afterwards!

As for school-sponsored events, we encourage you to consider alternative treats. To quote the excellent article A Mom’s Perspective: A Guide to Registering Your Food Allergic Child for Kindergarten, is “it really so much trouble to substitute an unsafe pretzel with a safer brand that costs the same and was available at the same store? I wondered how resentful they would be if someone handed their child a homemade cookie baked with arsenic!”

Meet Ballerina Girl and Monkey Boy.

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Ballerina Girl is anaphylactic to tree nuts (those are all nuts that grow in trees, such as almonds, walnuts, cashews, or pine nuts – please note that although peanuts tend to be the big allergen you here about the most in the media, it’s not actually a nut – it’s a legume; tree nut allergy is different, but no less dangerous), gets hives from sesame seeds, an itchy sensation when she eats raw mango (although cooked is fine), and eczema from eggs.

Although we avoid all of the above, the ones we are most vigilant about obviously are the nuts. Hives, itching, stomach pain – all of that is uncomfortable and we don’t want to inflict unnecessary suffering on her. But the fact of the matter is that you don’t die from a single accidental exposure, whereas with nuts she could. It is life-threatening.

Even worse, a child doesn’t need to eat one of their allergens to have an anaphylactic reaction; contact with another child or an item that has been exposed to the allergen – such as might occur when a child shares scissor or a pencil sharpener and then rubs his eyes) can sometimes be enough to trigger onset.

Monkey Boy fortunately doesn’t have any allergies. However, he does have a milk protein intolerance and a rice intolerance. (Yes, I know. A half-Asian kid who can’t eat rice. Who knew?) Ingesting any amount of dairy in any form (not just milk, cheese, and ice cream, but casein, whey, and other forms that we have to check carefully on product packaging) or rice can cause hours and hours of severe cramping and screaming, and occasionally vomiting. For months we just thought he had colic. Well, colic is a catch-all term that refers to a baby who screams and you don’t know why. Turns out in his case it was because I was breastfeeding him and inadvertently poisoning him with my own diet. We now diligently avoid rice and dairy to keep him from pain, but thank goodness it won’t kill him.

Ballerina Girl carries an EpiPen because of her potential for anaphylaxis. We also keep pre-filled spoons of Benadryl around. We don’t need to take such precautions with Monkey Boy (and it wouldn’t make a difference anyway, since his is an intolerance rather than an allergy).

Although the word “allergy” makes people think of stuffy noses, a food allergy is actually an immune response – your body mistakes something in food as harmful and attacks it. It can affect your entire body, not just your stomach or sinuses. Symptoms may include:

  • Rash, hives, or itchy skin

  • Shortness of breath

  • Chest pain

  • Sudden drop in blood pressure, trouble swallowing, or breathing (CALL 911 IMMEDIATELY)

Anaphylaxis is a serious allergic reaction that is rapid in onset and may cause death. When anaphylaxis presents, the primary treatment is injection of epinephrine, such as with an EpiPen  or Auvi-Q.

The most famous food allergy is peanut allergy, but the Big 8 allergens that the FDA requires food manufacturers to list on labels also include tree nuts, eggs, milk, shellfish, fish, soy, and wheat. These eight foods account for an estimated 90% of all allergic reactions.

When a food irritates your stomach or your body can’t properly digest it, that’s an intolerance. Symptons include:

  • Gas, cramps, or bloating

  • Heartburn

  • Headaches

  • Irritability or nervousness

The most famous food intolerances are Celiac disease (gluten intolerance) and lactose intolerance.

So…what should we as parents do? For the record, I support food-free classrooms, but not nut-free schools. (Unless there is no separate cafeteria and the children must eat in their classrooms, in which case I support nut-free schools, such as at my daughter’s preschool.) Removing the food completely from the classroom is becoming a more widely accepted accommodation as children with severe food allergies are protected under 504 plans as qualifying under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA).

In an ideal world, I’d love to have all nuts and peanuts eradicated from the face of the planet, but I know that’s not happening, at least in this lifetime. Besides, while most anaphylaxis is the result of nut and peanut allergies, and most other allergies present in more moderate (though uncomfortable) reactions, some children are anaphylactic to milk or fish or shellfish, just as an example. So are we going to pit seriousness of children’s allergies against one another? If all allergenic foods are banned, what would the children eat? Therefore, I support learning to reduce the risk (such as keeping food out of the classroom entirely) and practicing good hygiene (teeth brushing and hand-washing with soap and water – allergens are proteins, not germs, so use of hand sanitizers is not sufficient), rather than outright bans.

However, if your child does attend a nut-free school, please abide by this policy. It was put in place to protect, not to cause hardship. There are many nut-free snacks and lunches your child can bring instead of PB&J sandwiches. Snacksafely.com recently released the 2013 Safe Snack Guide, which is a list of commonly available commercial snacks intended as a guide for schools, organizations, sports leagues, clubs, parties, play dates, and other events where snacks may be brought in the presence of people with allergies to peanuts, tree nuts and/or eggs.

Peanut butter derives much of its taste from the roasting process. There are a number of other spreads available at the store that use a similar roasting process and taste remarkably similar to peanut butter, such as sunflower seed butter or soy nut butter. Similar doesn’t mean “exactly the same,” so you might need to ease your child into it. Simply mix ¾ peanut butter with ¼ alternative spread when lunching at home, and then change the proportion to more of the alternative spread over time.

Voila! Simple, and it will do so much to help your kids’ allergic friends. Even if your school doesn’t have a nut-free zone, you may decide that you prefer the taste of one of these peanut butter alternatives. And we can all breathe easier knowing that everyone is covered.

Or if you’re in the mood for homemade, I list some of my own favorite recipes on my “Extras” section of my website. Just because a food is “safe” doesn’t mean it’s not delicious. Each of the recipes on my list is devoid of the Big 8 allergens (peanuts, tree nuts, eggs, milk, soy, shellfish, fish, wheat), so if you don’t have those allergies or have other ones, you may need to substitute.

You see, I’m not just an allergy mom, but the heroine in my YA mystery series also has food allergies. I wrote the first book, in which my heroine suffers a reaction after the villain switches her “safe” Pad Thai with the regular kind, before my daughter was even born. At the time, I just thought that it would be an interesting and topical subplot, because as scary as the thought might be, food really can be used as a weapon in this way. In fact, the book was published two months before my daughter ever suffered her first allergic reaction to nuts. Although I’d done research when writing those scenes, nothing could prepare me for the firsthand experience of watching your child’s face swell, the itching, the coughing, the wheezing, the gasping, and finally the vomiting. There is nothing scarier than not knowing what to do for her or how to help her.


Amanda Brice lives just outside of Washington, DC with her husband, a 3 ½-year-old daughter, and a 20-month-old son. An intellectual property attorney for a large federal government agency, she combines her love of writing with her legal career by speaking on basic copyright and trademark law on the writers’ conference circuit. A two-time Golden Heart finalist, she is the author of three books in the Dani Spevak Mystery Series, and has a YA time travel romance series beginning this fall with 1816 Candles. You can learn more about Amanda and her books at her website.

Guest Mom: Natalie J. Damschroder

Full Circle, from Child to Adult

Hi, everybody! Thank you so much for allowing me to be a guest with you this month!

DSC03657The balancing act we writer-moms battle with creates a never-ending discussion in all corners of the writing world. We sometimes feel as if we’re giving short shrift to everything…our families, our jobs, our writing, and our homes. But how often do we get to hear the kids’ perspective?

I started writing shortly after I got married and finished my first book a few months after my first child, aka Number One, was born. She just turned 18 and is leaving for Emerson College in about two weeks, where she’ll major in Writing, Literature, and Publishing. I thought this was a great time to get some perspective on her childhood, so I asked her a few questions about growing up in a writing household.

She had so many great things to say* that I can only include a couple of them here. Look for the rest at Everybody Needs a Little Romance on August 23.

*Note: She said all this completely on her own, without solicitation or guidance! LOL

Do you remember anything about your mom being a writer when you were little, and how that affected you?

For such a good student I have an absolutely awful memory, so most of the specifics from when I was younger have long since vanished. I always credit the fact that my mom is a writer as the reason I had such an avid interest in writing from such a young age, despite the fact that I can’t remember much from that time period. I think it was mostly that when you’re little, everything your parents do is the coolest thing ever. We had these writing periods in my first and second grade classes, and I just wrote the heck out of everything. I absolutely loved it, and I think the fact that my mother was a writer allowed me to love it. Writing was something that would be automatically approved of. I didn’t have to worry about parental acceptance and could simply let myself foster that love for writing, even though it was subconscious at the time

I do remember sitting on a couch in my first or second grade classroom with my mom, listening while she talked about being a writer to my class. Mostly I felt awkward because I sat there doing nothing while my class just stared at the two of us, but I remember being slightly nervous. I thought my mom and her job were so cool, and I wanted my classmates to think they were cool too. And they did, or at least didn’t act like stereotypical jerk kids. If they had, I probably would have felt a sense of shame, but I didn’t. That feeling of awe never really did go away, though obviously it has manifested into something different now that I’m older.

Overall, what has it been like growing up with a mom who’s a writer?

I don’t know, like growing up with any other mom? A good mom isn’t really defined by her job. Those with high-power jobs, like doctor or lawyer or CEO, they can have a more difficult job because they’re away from home so often and can’t give as much attention to their kids. Judging by the next question, I think the implication is that writers face that same challenge. But I honestly believe that if my mom had been a doctor or a lawyer, my childhood would have been pretty similar when it comes to my mother. She’s caring and attentive and has far too large of a guilt complex, and no matter her job, she would have made sure to be there for us in the same way she’d actually been.

I can’t tell if I actually answered the question. It was normal, growing up with a mom who’s a writer. Only it was extra special because my mom’s success is tangible and evident and can be physically flaunted in front of my peers’ faces. Not that I’ve ever actually done that. Yet.

Do you wish she had spent less time at her computer and more with you?

I think the better question for my family is does she wish we had spent less time on the computer and more with her. 🙂 I simply jest.

Honestly, I think the only person it really bothers is her. She expresses her guilt all the time about how she’s always working downstairs in her writer’s cave of an office, how she never makes dinner or all that other “mom” cr**. My sister and I couldn’t care less about that kind of thing. She was always there for us when we wanted to talk to her, dutifully taking as much as an hour’s break to listen to me chatter away about things that really had no true point. I know my sister and I both, me especially, kind of appreciate needing to become self-sufficient. I will not be one of those yuppies next year in college who lives off of Ramen noodles and doesn’t know how to do laundry. And for that, I thank her. Besides, she cooks often enough that we all have favorite meals that she makes, and it’s not like she’ll say no (usually) if we ask her to make something special.

So, no, I don’t think I wish she had spent less time at her computer. I think everything worked its way out in the end.

What’s the worst part of having a mom who’s a writer?

Being the daughter of someone who is exactly like me.

What’s the best part of having a mom who’s a writer?

Being the daughter of someone who is exactly like me.

I hope Number One’s thoughts can serve to ease some of your minds. We don’t have to be perfect. We don’t have to serve every need. The kids will grow up just fine.

And you’ll notice that she didn’t even mention a clean house! 🙂

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HeavyMetal-cover-mockupNatalie J. Damschroder is an award-winning author of contemporary and paranormal romance—Love with a Shot of Adrenaline. She sold her first book in 1999, and 2013 will see the publication of her 14th novel. She grew up in Massachusetts and loves the New England Patriots more than anything. (Except her family. And writing and reading. And popcorn.) When she’s not writing, revising, proofreading, or promoting her work, she does freelance editing and works part time as a chiropractic assistant. She and her husband have two daughters she’s dubbed “the anti-teenagers,” one of whom is also a novelist. (The other one prefers math. Smart kid. Practical.) You can learn more about her and her books at http://www.nataliedamschroder.com.

Natalie’s next release is Heavy Metal, book 2 in the Goddesses Rising series, available for pre-order now. Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Powell’s Books | iTunes/iBookstore | Goodreads Page

 

Guest Mom Kathy Altman: Unfinished Projects

You know how people watch Hoarders partly out of curiosity, partly from the delight they take in being horrified, and partly out of the need for assurance that someone out there has a worse problem than they do? Well, sit tight, folks, because if you’re not a finisher, I’m about to make you feel very, very good about all those barely-starteds and half-dones hanging around your house.

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Besides all kinds of crafts and home repair endeavors, I’m also in the partial stage of weeding flowerbeds and hanging pictures and filing paperwork and cleaning out my car and learning Scrivener (a tool for writers) and unpuzzling thousand-piece puzzles. Why so many unfinished projects? I have a good excuse now—since I started writing seriously ten years ago, most of my spare time has been spent hunched over the laptop—but I didn’t have that excuse when I began most of the above. Yep, some of these projects are more than a decade old. So did I drop them out of boredom? Poor time management? Something shinier caught my eye? Loss of interest? Out of sight, out of mind? (Though it’s a bit of a stretch to apply that last one to the unpainted living room walls I look at every day.)

The sad thing is, there’s no hope for any of these projects. Every now and then I resolve to dedicate a few minutes each day to getting at least one of these done—even if it takes a year—but tearing myself away from my writing? Not easy. So…I suppose I just answered my own question. There was always something I wanted to do more than I wanted to cross stitch or scrapbook or organize closets or paint walls. The good news is, I’m not going to find anything I love more than writing, so the only DIY projects in my future will be stories, and I’ve actually managed to finish a few of those. Seven books so far, though the first five attempts are different degrees of unreadable. And never mind that I fantasized about writing a book for two decades before I managed it. Yet I did finish, which helps ease that nagging sting I feel whenever I think of all I’ve left unfinished. Then again, there are some half-dones I don’t mind contemplating at all. Like that half bottle of pinot noir on the counter. And that half a cheesecake in the freezer. And then there’s that delicious romantic thriller I’m only halfway through…

Still. I am tired of looking at those walls. Think the cheesecake and wine is enough to lure Glinda to my place?

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SAJ_book_coverKathy Altman writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense and the occasional ode to chocolate. She’s published by Harlequin Superromance, and contributes to USA Today’s “Happy Ever After” blog. When she’s not writing, reading or putting in her forty hours a week as a computer programmer for the Air Force, she enjoys baking, watching the Ciarán Hinds version of Persuasion and making other people feel superior by letting them win at Scrabble.

 

 

Guest Mom Avery Flynn: Out of the Mouths of Babes

Welcome to the irrepressible, thoroughly charming paranormal romance author Avery Flynn! After you read this, you’ll wish she were your next-door neighbor. You can just tell that life around Avery and her kids would never be dull <g>. Take it away, Avery! 

My youngest kid is a few weeks away from five and may or may not be pure evil. OK, most days he is a cutie cuddle bunny, but when he decides he has been wronged, Katie bar the door because he is going to let you know it.

After a recent incident that ended with him in super-duper time out (AKA sent to his room), we had a little chat about what he needed to do from now on. That’s when he looked up at me with his red-rimmed, big brown eyes, his cheeks still dotted with tears, and gave the best definition of conflict ever.

“I don’t want to get in trouble, but I don’t want to do what I’m suppose to do.”

Yeah, that pretty much sums up conflict.

As a writer who deals in conflict every day (sure, in my imagination, but still), I’d never been able to come up with a better explanation for the heart of conflict. It really is when two wants go head to head.

Well, Flynn kid number three eventually earned release from super-duper time out and finished his dinner. You know, the meal he LOVED last week but hated this week? (Come on, I can’t be the only one with that kid.) Both of us ate dessert that night a little bit wiser.

Thanks so much for letting me come by today! I’d love to know what bits of wisdom you’ve gained from your little ones.

Don’t let the fun end now. Enter to win a Jax and the Beanstalk Zombies prize pack (including a Shaun of the Dead DVD, zombie hunting license and more) from Avery Flynn and a $25 Amazon gift card!

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9781616504717“I loved this story.” – -Darynda Jones, NY Times Bestselling Author

“4 stars. Snappy, smart, thoroughly romantic.” – RT Book Reviews

“This is Jack and the Beanstalk smexified, zombified and all grown up.” – Elisabeth Staab, Bestselling Author

The treasure hunter… Veronica Kwon is determined to be the only person in control of her destiny. After surviving a broken engagement and turning her back on her wealthy manipulative father, sheís started a treasure hunting company and is ready for the adventure of a lifetime.

The ex-fiance… Jax Taylor is a Southern charmer with enough sex appeal to melt the polar ice caps. He disappeared three months before their wedding and swore heíd never cross paths with Veronica again.

The magic beanstalk… Brought together again by their dying mentor, who has found three enchanted beans, Veronica and Jax agree to an uneasy partnership. Together theyíll climb a magic beanstalk to the cloud kingdom, but will their destiny be the riches they so desire, the passion they thought dead…or will the undead get them first?


AFlynnHeadshot2Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip. Find out more about Avery on her  website, follow her on Twitter, like her on her Facebook page or friend her on her Facebook profile. Also, if you figure out how to send Oreos through the Internet, she’ll be your best friend for life.

No One Ever Said Anything About ….Guest Mom Sophie Jordan

When I was pregnant with my first child, and again later with my second, I was the recipient of countless anecdotes and unsolicited advice. We’ve all been there. I’m sure every mother knows what I’m talking about. Everything from what to do about diaper rash to potty training … and oh, the endless recounting of child labor.

I listened. I absorbed. There was one thing no one mentioned, however. No one mentioned anything about fear. No one ever said that the fear you feel as a parent supersedes any fear you’ve ever felt before.

I’ve been scared before. Plenty of times. Got in a pretty scary car accident as a teen. While abroad in Europe, my friend and I came much too close to experiencing the movie Taken firsthand. So, yeah. No stranger to fear. But nothing prepared me for the fear that comes along with being a parent.

When my firstborn was four months old, the pediatrician detected something “off” with the sound of her heart. I’ll never forget that moment – and average well-check that twisted into a nightmare. The pediatrician lingered over her little baby chest instead of moving on with the exam. The moments crawled – seriously, time stopped – as he listened. And listened. He said nothing as he repositioned his stethoscope again and again. I knew something was wrong.

Twenty-four hours later we were meeting with a pediatric cardiologist. I’ve never known fear like that in my life. Every worst case scenario flashed through my mind. After the specialist evaluated my daughter, she determined we could wait three months for an ultrasound at the local children’s hospital. For three months, I was left to wait. And wonder. And scour the internet on everything about heart defects – because yes, my daughter did have one. We just didn’t know the severity/type/extent yet. Fast forward three months (one hundred and eighty days of fear and anxiety and family members calling me crying – yes, not helpful).

Then the day arrived. Baby sedated (a stressful process in itself), we ultimately learned that she had pulmonary valve stenosis. I remember being devastated that it wasn’t a mere murmur – because I had been trying to fight down the fear and think positively for the last three months by telling myself this. I wasn’t prepared to hear anything else. Feel free to look PVS up for a more detailed explanation, but essentially we were told: a) she would have this defect all her life and wouldn’t outgrow it, b) it could stay/remain as they observed in the ultrasound and no treatment would be necessary other than monitoring and antibiotics before every dental visit, or, c) it could worsen as she grows, requiring open heart surgery.

So. More waiting. More fear. For years. Every year we visited. Age one. Two. Three. Four. Fear.

And then when she was five, they listened to her heart and … nothing. Well, a heartbeat, of course. Nothing as in no erratic rushing noise … no murmur. And an ultrasound confirmed that it was gone. The doctor looked cheerfully at my daughter and informed her: “You fixed your heart all by yourself, sweetie.”

To this day, if you ask my daughter about her heart defect, she’ll blithely inform you that she “fixed” her heart all by herself.

When my son was born the fear continued. At two and a half years old, I became aware that he wasn’t progressing verbally like he probably should be. Hello, fear, welcome back.

I began to worry this was an indicator of possibly a bigger issue. Another visit with the pediatrician. Eventually autism was ruled out and speech therapy began. Since then, his language has developed and improved. It turns out he has an isolated speech delay, but there still isn’t a day where some fear, some little niggle isn’t triggered … a phone call from school, from a camp counselor informing me that my daughter fell off the high dive ladder – and onto CONCRETE. We survived that one with scrapes, bruises and six weeks in a boot. Just a few months ago my son slipped on a wet floor. For hours he was nauseated and rubbing his head and complaining of dizziness. Cue me dialing the on call nurse and hovering and staying up all night watching him sleep.

Confession. There’s not a night I don’t check on them before going to bed. Me or my husband. I can’t tell you how many times I actually watch their chests to confirm they’re breathing. Maybe I’m hyper-vigilante because of my early scare with my daughter. Or maybe because I realize how fleeting life is, how precious my children are. Maybe all of the above.

I don’t kid myself that the fear can be ignored. Or that it will go away. As a parent, it will always be there. Every time I see the school name pop up on the caller ID. The first time they drive off in a car. Or go away to college. It will always be there. I can only accept its existence. Take a deep breath. And love my children. Count my blessings. Treasure every day. Treasure them. Live life fully and teach them to do the same.

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Sophie Jordan grew up in the Texas hill country where she wove fantasies of dragons, warriors, and princesses. A former high school English teacher, she’s also the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of Avon historical romances. She now lives in Houston with her family. When she’s not writing, she spends her time overloading on caffeine (lattes and Diet cherry Coke preferred), talking plotlines with anyone who will listen (including her kids), and cramming her DVR with true-crime and reality-TV shows. Sophie also writes paranormal romances under the name Sharie Kohler.

Guest mom Hattie Ratliff (Robyn’s mom!)

We have a super special guest mom today. My mom! Please give a big welcome to Hattie Ratliff – Robyn DeHart’s mom. 

306469_241475839244581_1787699928_n-1Let me say that I am not an authority on raising children, but I have been at it for a long time.   I’ve made my share of mistakes but all and all I can honestly say that they all grew up to be awesome adults.

A little about myself; I married my high school sweetheart at the age of 17,  had my first child at the age of  19 , the second child at 21 and the last at age 30.  I attended every thing the three performed in, made costumes, baked thousand of cookies, took in friends of theirs with problems, even watched scary movies.

I seemed to always be on the go.  I believe I spent as much time in the car dropping one here and another there, than I did at home. But I wouldn’t have missed a minute of that time.  And they did repay me.  They all gave my husband and I grandchildren, five girls, one boy.   Just when I thought my job that I loved was finished, I was now a part of six more lives.

The oldest is my grandson, who turns 21 in August.  He is 6ft 5 now, but will always be my little man.  I have had the privilege of watching him grow and am so proud of the man he is becoming.

The three oldest girls are ages, 19, 18, and 16.  The youngest of those just became an officer for her drill/dance team.  The 19 year old just graduated as Valedictorian.  And the 18 year old graduated and is on her way to perform on Broadway in New York, and my husband and I will be there.

When they were all little starting at age 8 until they started high school I held grandma camp ever summer.  They would come stay a week and we would have a blast. We’d cook and do crafts and go shopping and to the movies. And we’d stay up late talking.

Now I have been given a third chance to be a part of two young lives. My two youngest grandchildren, ages 2 and 4 (Robyn’s kiddos). I look forward to once again opening up grandma camp and knowing even at my later years that I will have a blast.

The reason I have told my life story on this wonderful blog is to nudge you a little to enjoy the moments with your children.  What they say is true, time goes by so fast. Don’t waste your time thinking about your mistakes instead stop and watch in wonder as your child does something or says something just the way you taught them. Tuck that smile or giggle away and when they are all grown up don’t be surprised if you hear that giggle again and see that great smile. And this sit back and know you did good, mom.

Guest Mom Tracy Brogan: Are We There Yet?

Love this woman. Love, love, love! She’s funny. She’s brilliant. She’s kind. And I’m so happy for her success. Returning PBK Guest Mom Tracy Brogan is a star, and like many stars, she’s not taking her success for granted.

I do wish for Tracy–and for you, dear readers–dreams to race toward and present-day joys. Thanks, Tracy, for reminding us that both are essential to happiness. And congratulations on your new release!!! 

Are we there yet? How often have you heard that whined/moaned/screeched/caterwauled from the backseat of your minivan? It’s so ubiquitous a question, I don’t even need to explain it. Kids are impatient. Whether it’s a 15-day day road trip to Yellowstone, or a 15-minute jaunt to the grocery store, they just want to get there.

These days so do most adults. Our instant gratification culture has programmed us to want to be there. Enjoying the journey is less important than arriving at your destination. For me, that is proving to be true in my writing career as well. I’m not taking time to smell the proverbial roses. I’m not stopping to savor each tiny victory. But perhaps the biggest impediment to me enjoying the process of getting there is that I keep moving the target.

Let’s back up a little bit and start at the beginning. For most of my life I’d been one of those people who said, “I’m going to write a book someday.” I had all the requisite fantasies of becoming an international, bestselling author who frequented Oprah’s talk show, but no plan, and little real hope of that ever happening. Especially considering I’d started dozens of manuscripts and had finished exactly… none. Something always interrupted my grand scheme. A crying baby, a new house, an episode of Friends, you know.

When my youngest daughter started school, I realized it was time to put up or shut up. I had to either finish writing a book, or stop talking about it because my friends had taken to glazing over whenever I brought up the subject. So, step one – draft and polish a completed manuscript. Selling it wasn’t even on my radar at the time. I plugged away while my kids were at school and after they went to bed. The house got cluttered, bills were set aside, but in May of that year, I got’er done! I was so proud of myself!

For about 37 seconds.

Almost immediately, that goal was rendered meaningless. What good was a book, even a finished book, if no one would ever read it? Suddenly, the quest became to sell the book. And that meant getting an agent. I gave myself six months. It took three times as long. During the process, I became quite adept at dealing with rejection. Sometimes I’d deliberately slam my fingers in a drawer just to practice experiencing that sharp agony, although most days there was enough rejection and self-doubt to keep that pain fresh! (I’m kidding about the drawer slamming, of course, but it might have hurt less than some of the query responses.)

HoldOnMyHeart Best CoverI started attending conferences, and entering contests. Those seemed like minor accomplishments, too. I was networking, studying craft, learning that I had so much more to learn, And all the while I kept inching the bar higher. If I finaled in a contest I was pleased, but then I wanted to win. If I got a request for a partial, I wanted the request for the full to come soon after. I’d enjoy each moment for about a moment, and then it was behind me and I needed to leap the next hurdle.

As luck would have it, I managed to final in the holy grail of contests for unpublished writers, The RWA® Golden Heart. Not once, but twice. I was proud to sport that pink GH ribbon and I cherish every aspect of those finals. I am a Starcatcher and a Firebird. But by the second time around, I had an agent and my eye was on the prize of selling.

Once again, I’d moved my target. Rather than bask in the joy of the experience, I was looking to the next thing. In all that time, I never felt certain I was doing enough, or doing it right. I didn’t look back at the people just starting their journey and reminisce about how far I’d come. I only looked forward toward those ahead of me, and I wondered how to get to where THEY were.

It wasn’t jealousy making me ask that. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was respectful admiration for the effort they must have exerted to reach their place. It wasn’t envy. It was awe, and it still is. Surely those cool, fancy RITA girls know they have ARRIVED. Those authors with “best seller” added to their names must be confident in their abilities. They must have a system to their process. They must feel secure that they are loved by the masses and appreciated by their publishers. They must know the secret handshake.

Well, fast forward to today, just four years from when I started. I’m a RITA finalist for Best First Book, a double winner in the Golden Quill, and a finalist in the Book Sellers Best contest. My third book will be released tomorrow and I just signed my second three-book contract with my publisher. Although the NYT and USA Today won’t include my Montlake titles on their lists, both my books have sold enough copies to be considered best sellers. So I should be utterly confident in my abilities, right? I should be certain I know what I’m doing, yes?

Nope. I don’t feel it. Because there are more hurdles. There is the next book to write. Craft to hone. Marketing to master. Are we there yet? I’m starting to realize that as long as I keep moving the end-zone, I’m never going to stop to enjoy right where I am. And that’s a shame because I’m in a very good place. And this makes me wonder how many other writers create this same dilemma. Are you thinking about, and appreciating, all you have accomplished? Because you should! Or are you too busy looking at the road ahead and worrying how to get there? And then there. And then there.

I have a friend who compares this journey to sharks. If they stop swimming, they’ll sink to the bottom and die. I don’t want to sink, but I might need to pull over to the side of the ocean for a while and remember to enjoy this view.  Absolutely set goals, and absolutely continue to push forward toward new ones. But don’t forget to think about how far you’ve come.


Tracy Brogan 2013 RITAPast or present, Tracy Brogan loves romance.  She writes funny contemporary stories about ordinary people finding extraordinary love, and stirring historical romance full of political intrigue, damsels causing distress, and the occasional man in a kilt.

She is a best-selling author, a 2013 Romance Writers of America® RITA Best First Book Finalist for CRAZY LITTLE THING, and a two-time Golden Heart Finalist in both contemporary and historical romance.

Her next contemporary romance, HOLD ON MY HEART, releases June 25, 2013. If you’d like to see the trailer, here is the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUB7zan3dCc&feature=youtu.be

Tracy lives in Michigan with her husband, her children and their overly-indulged dogs. Please stop by her website at tracybrogan.com, or visit her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorTracyBrogan