The Novel: Chapter one

I polled people on Facebook, on Twitter, and all around. "Should I post extracts from the book? Should I not? What if everyone hates it? What if it's not ready?"

The consensus was: "Go ahead and post. Not everyone can hate it." Hard to argue with that right? Plus the other people said that you all love me and even if you hate it you'll lie. So there's always that. Eh.

In any case. Here goes nothing. Or rather here goes the first chapter. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

Jo

    “He's here.” Sadie hissed at Jo as she struggled to hoist her overstuffed duffel bag out of the back of the hotel's airport shuttle. “He's here. Right now. In the hotel.”

    Jo ignored her for a moment as she looked around to see where the driver had gone. Sweat poured down her back, pooling in the dip just above her cotton capris. What  had she packed that could possibly weigh so much? She tugged some more before realizing that the strap had snagged itself on a hook in the back of the seat. Jo leaned into the van to free the bag and finally called back to Sadie.

    “Who's here? What are you talking about? And why are you whispering?”
     “Shhhhhhhhhh!” Sadie said, “He'll hear you!”

    “Who? Who is here and going to hear me talk about him.” Jo asked more quietly as she finally managed to yank the dark green canvas bag out. It hit the ground with a loud THWACK, causing a few hotel patrons to gaze their way.

    “Shhhhhhhhhh!” Sadie hissed again.

    “OK! What is the big deal?” Jo asked, finally turning to pay attention to her plump best friend. Her curly red hair was completely disheveled, exactly the same as always, though maybe a bit more frizzy than usual, probably because of the ridiculous heat and the humidity that hung in the air. Jo pushed back her own sticky hair and wiped some of the sweat from her forehead. A dip in the hotel pool would feel heavenly. Maybe Sadie's hair looked like that because she'd already been swimming. Jo would have asked her, but her friend's usually relaxed and happy face was creased with concern making the freckles on her forehead mass together in an alarming way.

    “What's going on?” She asked again, looking deep into Sadie's worried eyes and reaching for her shaking hand.
     “He's here.” Sadie said, as though that explained everything.

    “Who? Jordan? No, he's not, he doesn't get here until Thursday.” Jo turned her attention to the porter who had just materialized take her bag to the front desk, she had no idea who Sadie was going on about, but she really didn't want the man to lose her bag. Her bathing suit was in there and right now all she wanted to do was hit the pool.

    “No. Not Jordan. Andy. Andy is here. Right here. In the hotel.”

    Jo stumbled, reaching for Sadie's arm to steady herself. Her chest constricted, and she struggled to take a breath in. She gasped, her hand flapping uselessly at her throat, wedding ring clinking against the locket nestled in the hollow. Jo looked at Sadie, eyes rolling wildly.

    Her throat unclenched, letting in a thin stream of air and letting out a strangled whisper. “What do you mean, he's here? How is that even possible? What is he doing here?”

    “I don't know.” Sadie said. She shrugged and shook her head. “ I spotted him at breakfast this morning. At first I thought I was mistaken, but then I saw him again in front of the elevator bank. There's no mistaking that hair. And that voice. It's definitely him.”

    Jo listened to Sadie and concentrated hard on breathing. She was not going to pass out here in the hotel lobby. She just wasn't going to.

    “His voice? I thought you barely saw him? How did you manage to hear his voice?” Jo could hear herself getting shrill, but couldn't stop the hysteria from breaking through. Shrill seemed inevitable, plus it was still better than fainting and making even more of a scene.

    His voice. There was a time Jo would have done anything to hear his voice again. Now the mere thought was sending cold sweat cascading down her back. And yet, it was all she could hear - his voice in her head. And, oh, his voice behind her!

    “No Emily! Freeze! You cannot run into the parking lot like that. Come hold daddy's hand right now!” The familiar rich timbre shook Jo to the pit of her stomach, but the words caused both her eyebrows and Sadie's to shoot straight up.

    “Daddy?” They both mouthed at each other? “Daddy?”
    “Emily?” Jo thought to herself. “He named his daughter Emily?”

Are Celebrities Lonely Too? When readers get all their news from the blog

A month or so ago I ran into a friend in a parking lot. I was shocked when she rushed over to give me a hug. The last 5 emails and text messages I had sent her had gone unanswered and I was convinced I had committed some egregious act that had caused her to stop speaking to me.

Turns out I was wrong.

"Oh! I read your blog! I'm so glad you found a Kindergarten for next year!"

Her comment left me at a loss for words. What do you say to that? "Hey, wow. Thanks, how about you? What have you been doing for the last six months? How come you never call, email, or send smoke signals?"

Click through to read the rest of my latest Silicon Valley Moms Blog post. I'd love to know what you think!

The vanishing belly

Four years and change ago C was all belly. All belly and sweet cherubic rolls of fat. For the first four weeks of her life she was a skinny little thing, then overnight she chubbed out.

I was the cutest thing ever.

I'm not sure how, but until last week I hadn't really noticed that she has shed most of that baby fat, growing into a lithe beautiful little girl. I can at times spot a trace of her toddler self in the dimples on the back of her fists or in the roundness of her cheek, reddened after a nap. For the rest, she's all little girl.

It makes me sad at times to realize that I can't stop time, hold her back. She starts Kindergarten in the fall, and while that's still for little ones, I know that middle school and then high school are just a hop, skip, and a jump away from that.

I see her bright smile and trusting eyes and I want to hurt the first person who will break her heart. I want to shield her from all the harshness and unfairness of the world because I know how trusting and loving she is. I don't want her to ever see the ugly before the beautiful. I want her to always see the good in people, to believe that anything is possible, to trust that being happy is all that matters.

Yesterday she slipped on a two piece bathing suit which I had thought would be cute with all its ruffles and bows. She posed for me and I froze. It wasn't one of those cute toddler bikinis, showing tons of adorable baby belly and baby fat. It was... a bikini, that looked like a bikini, and it made me want to rush out to the store to buy her a slew of one piece suits to keep her a bit more covered up for the summer.

I'm glad I didn't ask her to take it off though.

Because as I slathered on the sunscreen I had to cover that bare belly and under my hand it was still rounded and soft and felt exactly like that infant belly that I so lovingly coated in lotion after her bath.

She's tall, she's lanky, she reasons, analyzes, and questions like an elementary schoolgirl, but she's still my baby. She's still little.

Life lessons from a 4-year-old: Family Love Dinner

"Mommy? Are we doing anything fun tonight?"

We were in the car, battling traffic, and I knew she was really asking me if we were going to McDonald's or not.

And we weren't. Which meant that I was about to have a major tantrum on my hands.

"Nope! No fun tonight. No fun at all. This is No Fun Tuesday!"

My quick ploy seemed to work. C cracked a smile. I repeated myself and called her out on her smile. It grew. A giggle escaped. I admonished the laugh and the one after that. Soon enough both girls were laughing hysterically. Crisis was averted.

As their laughter died down C grew serious again. I glanced at her in the rear view mirror, she was looking down at her hand and her mouth was moving. I turned down the radio and asked her to repeat what she said. She looked up and spoke up.

"You know mommy, it's a fun night when we all have dinner together. That's all."

I instantly felt terrible that I had assumed that fun could only be had at McDonald's and then I felt doubly bad that M was at home at that very moment preparing a dinner for us that wouldn't be ready until after the kids were in bed.

We have dinner with the kids a few times a week, when we can get our acts together and everyone's meal on the table by 6:30. Some nights we just can't manage it and I hadn't noticed how much the kids craved our family dinners.

I made a snap decision and called home to ask M if he'd be willing to change our plans.

"Guess what!" I called back to the kids after hanging up. "We're going to have family dinner! Family fun dinner!"

The girls cheered and clapped. Then C looked up at me and smiled brightly, eyes shinning.

"Babe. I'm sorry. I thought that fun meant that you wanted to go to McDonald's."

"Well, that's a different kind of fun." My wise daughter explained. "When we have dinner all together it's not just family fun dinner. It's family love dinner."

Enter the Child Hunger Ends Here giveaway... please?

A few weeks ago I posted a long rambling post about the End Child Hunger rally that I'm hosting, my impending trip to LA, and a ConAgra Foods giveaway.

LA was awesome.

I'm working on changing up my rally plans because I can't find a cooperative park to work with.

But!

But! The giveaway is still on! And you, my friend, have not entered yet.

So here's your reminder.

I'm giving away this:

As well as some other fun assorted goodies like reusable grocery bags, coupons, and a few surprises.

All you have to do is go to THIS POST and before April 26 leave a comment, any comment, to enter to win. Come tell me how you're fighting child hunger. Come tell me what you know about it, what makes you pause. Come talk about your own kids, or your neighbor's kids. I want to hear it all.

Before we go to Hawaii...

In the car, out of the blue, C said

"Before we go to Hawaii I want you to get me a Hawaiian skirt."

There are so many things wrong with that sentence. First, we're not going to Hawaii. Second, she was so sure that were going, there was no way to correct her. Though maybe we were just laughing too hard to try.

We haven't been to Hawaii since we went back in 2006 for a friend's wedding and back then we went alone, leaving C with her grandparents for the week.

We've been joking about going back ever since.

I just don't think we've ever considered going with the kids.

Every time I open my novel I dive into the Hawaiian world I have created for my characters. I've tried to take myself to the place we spent a magical week, tried to recreate it perfectly in my mind so that I could in turn create it perfectly for my readers and take them there with me.

My perfect Hawaii doesn't have sand toys, sippy cups, or even a booster seat or two.

I'm not sure how taking the kids to paradise meshes with my fantasy.

Would it be amazing to go on a vacation with them that doesn't involve extended family? Just the four of us, bonding over sand castles and Mai Tais? (Do they even make virgin Mai Tais?) Or would it be sad to destroy that one place that I love to escape to in my mind? That place where I got to be a grown-up without kids, even though I'd already had the one.

Earth Day Freebie!

Come visit The Lemonade Stand for a special Earth Day Freebie!

Here's a hint:

Hurry over! Offer ends April 26th.

Hedging her bets

It started with an innocent request to go to McDonald's for dinner. I said no, because we'd been there the day before, causing C to melt down completely.

I let her wail for a moment. Some evenings she needs to cry for a moment to let all the stressors and angst of the day out of her system. But when she started kicking my seat I decided it was time to put a stop to the drama.

"Babe? You've just lost your desert privileges." I kept my voice completely calm, letting the words sink in. "You can get them back if you change your attitude and become pleasant again. It's up to you, you can keep screaming and stay grumpy without desert, or you can stop, cheer up, and have desert again."

The kicking stopped, but a quick glance in the rear view mirror showed a still thunderous looking little four-year-old.

"So? What do you chose? Let me know when you're ready."

She mumbled something that I missed. I turned down the radio and asked her to repeat herself.

Her question rang through the quiet car loud and clear, laced with skepticism, making me snort back a laugh.

"What's for desert?"

She's definitely her daddy's daughter - always knows the important questions to ask.

One stage at a time I'm acing Couch to 5K.

Robert Ulrey's voice spoke soothingly into my ear.

"If you are doing day one you will run five minutes, walk three minutes, run five minutes, walk three minutes, then run five more minutes. If you're doing day two you will run eight minutes, walk five minutes, and run eight minutes. And if you're doing day three you will run for twenty minutes."

That was me. Week 5 Day 3. Run 20 minutes.

Me, who seven weeks ago couldn't run 60 seconds. Today I was being told to run for twenty minutes.

I hesitated at the door, I was pretty tired, maybe it would be wise to stay home, go to bed early, just relax.

But I was already dressed, shoes on, and ready to go.

Maybe I'd just go and redo Week 5 Day 2. I had managed that.

But a tiny voice in my head replied super quietly. "Just go. Try it. You'll stop if you can't finish. Every time you've thought you couldn't finish a C25K level you have finished it. You won't know if you don't try."

For a moment I felt like the little girl long ago being assigned the riding teacher's beloved and fierce show jumping horse for a morning ride through the forest. I had panicked, convinced he was more horse than I could handle, but a good friend had reminded me that the teacher would not have assigned him to me if she hadn't thought I was a good enough rider to manage her horse.

She was right. The horse and I both made it through that ride unscathed.

Granted it's odd to draw a parallel between a recorded voice in my iPod telling me I can run a certain distance and a teacher who knew my abilities well. But frankly, Robert hasn't been wrong yet. He says run, and even when I doubt that I can get through the run, I do.

One stage at a time I'm acing Couch to 5K.

I have no real recollection of the twenty minutes of that run. The minutes flew by in the same dissociated way minutes fly by when you are traveling. I can tell you that it was raining. I can tell you that I was letting my brain wander from one article idea to another. I can also tell you that I probably killed a few snails as I ran around the block three times. But I was in a zone the whole time I was running and when Robert called the ends of the day one and day two runs, told them to walk, told them to start running again, I didn't falter, didn't stop, didn't slow down. I just pushed on.

By the 18th minute I was chanting "You can do this. You can do this. You can do this." It's a good thing it was raining and I was alone in the street. I'm not sure I was chanting all that quietly. And at the end of the 20th minute, when Robert finally said "Day three people, your run is over." I almost burst into tears at the sheer relief of being done and having made it all the way through the run.

As I walked the 5 minute cool down period I fought back tears and giggled at the same time. I ran for 20 minutes. Me. Who seven weeks couldn't run for 60 seconds.

Weekends are for family, not work

I try very, very hard to turn off the computer on Friday evening and leave it off until Sunday evening. Back when I was the Managing Editor of the paper every single one of my days was sucked into the computer. I had to keep it on - just in case.

Once I quit the paper I resolved that weekends were for family. Just family. Not email. Not blog reading. Not Skyping, IMing, or even Tweeting.

For the most part I'm really good about my no-computer weekend resolve. Granted, I sneak a peek at my BlackBerry every so often, but I do try hard to stay off the actual computer.

The kids appreciate it, the husband appreciates it, and frankly, I like it too. I get to read more, play more, and just relax more.

Then, every so often, a weekend like this one rolls around where I have to keep a closer eye on the BlackBerry and then I actually have to get on the computer and work for a bit.

I had no idea it would cause such stress.

Because of a scheduling snafu I was late in lining up someone to interview for the column I still write for the paper. My article was due Friday, so I needed to find someone fast, schedule the interview fast, and get their story fast.

Fast turned out to be today.

I spent yesterday stalking my email and today prepping for the interview that I had managed to schedule during nap time.

Have you ever scheduled something "during nap time?" It's code for "the kids will wake up the instant you start whatever it was you were trying to do while they sleep."

I looked C in the eye and explained that I was going to be on the phone and she could. not. talk. to. me. at all. until I got off. She nodded solemnly and went to go hang out with her daddy.

Much to my shock they actually listened to me and no one talked to me or even came into the kitchen for the first 40 minutes of my call. Then C came to ask me something. I did some crazy waving and shooing away and she actually left the kitchen. Moments later Little L came to see me, only she didn't leave quite as willingly. I had to apologize to my interviewee for the screams that rang loud and clear into the phone as M hauled Little L out of the kitchen.

I stayed on the phone and tiptoed into the living room, throwing a bag of popcorn to M before scurrying back to the safety and quiet of the kitchen.

A few minutes later I was able to wrap up my call and hang up. I had all my answers and a good feel for the article. I could hear the kids digging into the popcorn happily and I went to thank them for being so good and patient with me.

"I'm sorry I came to talk to you mommy." C said sadly, looking up at me with her big eyes. "I just couldn't take it any more!"

I understand her well. I couldn't take it either. It was brutal being in one room working while they played in the other. I wanted to be with them, enjoying our weekend time together. We're apart all week long. The weekends should be for family and family alone. It was good to have a reminder of that.

With no passion there's no balance

For months now I have floated along on my own little cloud of happy. I've caught myself smiling like a loon at the oddest of times - 2am while dealing with a toddler diaper emergency for example - buoyed along on all the joy that permeates my life.

At long last I had found a balance of sorts and I was happy. Truly, undeniably, nothing-could-get-me-down happy.

Mornings were spent working on my novel, feeling fulfilled creatively. Afternoons were spent working at Tiny Prints, feeling fulfilled professionally. Evenings were spent with my family, feeling fulfilled on a personal level. And every other night were spend pounding the pavement in increasingly long runs, feeling fulfilled on a physical level.

True balance. Reached after years of trying to find it.

But as we all know, balance is a precarious thing. I took on a new responsibility, then another, and before I knew it my novel had fallen off the "Recent Items" list in my computer's start-up menu. And I still didn't find time to get back to it.

It's been well over two weeks since I found the time to work on it. It's been well over two weeks since I've been scrambling to once again keep all the pieces in the air.

I don't like it.

I miss feeling happy all the time. I miss being content with my life.

I need all the pieces to be in place to feel balanced. If I'm not tapping into my creative side and giving it free reign, nothing else feels right and my self esteem starts to take a hit. Everything else goes downhill fast after that. 

Now that I've experienced the sweet taste of balance I want it again.

The insanity comes to something of a close tomorrow. Starting Monday I'm going back to my mornings at Starbucks, afternoons at work routine. With my new blog-every-other-day schedule I'm opening up every other evening for some of the work that has been taking up my morning novel editing time.

I will get the balance back, and with it my happy goofy smile. Even during middle of the night wakings.

Fighting Child Hunger at the LA Foodbank

I arrived in LA around noon, and after a little snafu where Melinda from Look What Mom Found and I forgot Jessica Smith at the Burbank airport, I checked into my hotel room.

I resisted the urge to dive into the massive expanse of King sized white soft cushy bed that I don't have to share with anyone and headed down to lunch meet the other bloggers taking part in the ConAgra Foods Child Hunger Ends Here trip.

I'm in amazing company. Seriously.

Still gabbing non stop we headed to the LA Food bank where all of our chatter stopped in the face of the enormity of what the food bank does. These people work tirelessly to collect donations and wrangle amazing discounted food for the countless people in LA who are hungry every day.

Last year this food bank fed a million people.

We toured the whole warehouse - sort of like a massive Costco.

Then we headed upstairs to the packing room where we packed backpacks for the kids who are on the free lunch program at school. These backpacks go home with them on Friday night, packed with enough food to see them through the weekend, and then come back Monday to be refilled at the end of the week.

We packed 179 bags, enough to for one school, not nearly enough to feed all the kids who need it.

We joked and laughed as we packed up generic peanut butter, corn flakes, spaghetti, and a few other things, but it was hard to not imagine the child who would be digging in to these bags and wonder if he'd be thrilled to find a little bag of animal crackers or sad that there were so few treats.

It was an amazing experience and it felt good to do something hands on to help the hungry kids of LA.

Tomorrow we are heading the Desperate Housewives set for the official launch of the CHEH program. It's not going to be the same kind of hands on help, but I'm hoping that it will be no less valuable. The more people are made aware of the hunger situation in the US, the more help these kids will get.


I'm glad to be a part of it all.

It might be time for a blog refocus

When I started blogging years ago it was definitely an escape. I was lonely in the evening when M was studying for his law classes and I turned to the internet for help with my burgeoning knitting passion.

Along with knit one, purl two instructions I also discovered the world of blogs, the friendship, the camaraderie, the support, and the endless sea of words.

For a girl who can never get enough to read it was like being given the keys to an endless library that never closes. 

Always a joiner, I started my own blog which I updated sporadically, taking more time to read than to write. And then, as I started on the road to motherhood, I discovered how comforting it was to blog regularly.

It was place for me to work through the ups and downs of pregnancy and early parenthood. As an added bonus, joining the mommy-blogosphere was a great way for me to connect with a ton of people living the same thing as me. It made me feel less alone, less scared, and better able to deal with the whole thing.

A stint of NaBloPoMo - blogging every day for a whole month - and I was a blogging regular. After that first month, I couldn't stop. I blogged every single day for an entire year.

That's a lot of blogging.

But, honestly, it was well worth it.

I cut back a bit after that year, often skipping Friday nights and always taking Saturday night off. Still a lot, but a bit more manageable.

All of that blogging has served to radically improve my writing style. It has helped me find my voice. It has given me the confidence to extend that voice beyond the blog. And even more importantly, it has granted me a priceless treasure trove of memories - a written history of the last five years.

While blogging first fulfilled a need to express myself and a need for a certain community, after a while I realized it could also be a stepping stone to another way of life. Blogging became less about journaling for myself and for posterity and more about becoming a platform for my future - a doorway to a freelance writing career, a window to the life of a novelist, the pathway to a life as a social media "expert." 

I never lost focus of the fact that I was still blogging for me, but I did get caught up in the "it has to happen" and "it's so important," and "I can't not blog because the world will ennnndd" of it all.

Which, let's be honest, is absurd. If I skip a night none of you think I've died or been abducted. And if I don't tweet for a day or two none of my 5000+ followers even notices, let alone really cares.

This blog has served me well. It has helped me make new friends, grow as a writer, get an amazing job, and take part in incredible opportunities.

I'm not going to give it up. It's too big a part of my life.

But I am going to relax my standards.

Instead of spending all of my energy blogging every night, I'm going to refocus some of that energy on editing my book. Because, while it's important to me to have a blog I'm proud of and I value the blog community and all it offers, it's even more important to me to see my novel through to the end.

So if you don't see me in your blog reader every morning, don't panic, I'll be back the day after, or maybe the day after that. Odds are I'll be happier and excited about the progress I'm making on the book. And who knows, maybe my blog posts will be so much better thanks to the reduced (self imposed) pressure to write every night that you'll be content to just read them over and over again.

What? A girl can still dream, can't she?

We won't be going back the circus.

You know, I'm a smart girl. I've been to college. I even have a Masters. No, really. And yet, sometimes when I'm told something that sounds a hair implausible. I like to believe it. Because not believing it means that I have to then turn around and believe something unsavory.

Like baby elephants being raised in captivity and tortured to be made to perform tricks for an adoring crowd.

Of course I've always heard the hype about the Ringling Brothers elephants. Duh. Circus = baaad. People have always said that.

But it's the circus! It's like a rite of childhood. You have to go to the circus. It's one of those things that you do.

Except that we won't be going any more. And I'm more than a little sick to my stomach that I helped promote it.

I'm sorry.

Yesterday Jennie Garth wrote a letter to the organization that arranged for me (and other mom bloggers) to attend the Ringling Brothers circus for review purposes begging them to stop promoting them. Her letter linked to pictures taken at the Ringling Brothers elephant training camp.

Now, as I mentioned, I'm not an idiot. I've always known that elephants don't really stand on their heads just for fun. But I'd never seen pictures before. And I'm going to be honest, I almost didn't click on the link. Because I didn't really want to see what I knew I'd see.

Pictures of people smiling as they "train" baby elephants. With lots of ropes. And lots of extremely sharp pointy sticks. And other elephants. Baby elephants chained in cement rooms. Sad baby elephant eyes without a spark of light or life in them.

I don't care about the context. I don't care about how the pictures were obtained or even if they tell the full story. I just never again want to support an organization that hires people who can smile as they prod baby elephants with bullwhips.

So I won't. It's that simple.

Even if it means forgoing a rite of childhood.