putting on my perspectacles

As a blogger, I am really slack. I haven't written a post since August 6. Today is August 20. That is slack.

As a writer, I am really slack. After publishing my first memoir, in January the day before I turned 50 (nothing like waiting until the last minute), I have been "working" on a novel. So far that consists of an outline, a synopsis, and a bajillion pages of notes. It's an important story. My synopsis moves people to tears. I need to finish it. It scares me to death. Slack.

As a mentor, I am really slack. I mentor a young girl at a local elementary school. My meetings with her don't start until September, so I'm not slack with her. Yet. But I also mentor a writing colleague and friend. I love her but I haven't seen in nearly a month. That's slack.

my husband made me cry in the driveway

It started out a normal morning.

It was Monday, the first day back to work after a week of vacation. The alarm clock rang far too early. We were tired. How can you be tired after a week of relaxing on a houseboat? I don't know, but we were.

We fell back into our routine as soon as our feet hit the floor. Dogs outside, start coffee, shower, dress, breakfast, goodbye kiss, out the door.

Everything seemed normal.

Bossy Is as Bossy Does - Reposted from ThisIsBossy.com

I am honored to be a guest blogger this week on ThisIsBossy.com.

I know what you're thinking:

Wow, what better website for Cindi to blog on than one about being bossy!

But, seriously....

everyday miracles: birthin' babies

In my family, the women tend to be ahead of the curve. We plan things in advance, even for other people (which sometimes gets us into trouble). And we never ever like to be late for anything.

So it should have been no surprise that a baby girl joining this family might choose to preempt her own baby shower by arriving beforehand, like little Miss Bailey Catherine did yesterday: 

everyday miracles: the power of a mother's words

As a writer, I have always known the power of words. But it wasn't until I became a mother that I truly understood the ability of words to transform lives.

Because children listen to their mothers.

Often it doesn't seem like it. When you are a mom, you say a lot of things on any given day. Sometimes you have to say things over and over and over again before anything happens. It seems futile. You wonder if they are even hearing you.

Take, for example, asking your child to complete a chore. It usually starts as a request:

"Honey, please don't forget to put your cereal bowl in the dishwasher."

Then there's the gentle reminder:

"Um, sweetie, you left your bowl on the table again...."

Followed by the passive/aggressive reminder:

"Hello, where are you going? I'm pretty sure I asked you to put your bowl in the dishwasher."

Soon it becomes a clipped, tense mantra:

"You. Table. Bowl. Pick it up pick it up pick it up Pick It Up!"

Followed closely by yelling and The Look:

"IF YOU DON'T PICK UP THAT FRICKIN' BOWL AND PUT IT IN THE DISHWASHER RIGHT NOW YOU ARE GOING TO BE GROUNDED FOR A YEAR AND I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING!"

coming out of the closet

Well, it finally happened.

Just when it seemed I couldn't be more of a freak than I already was, I went and made myself freakier.

I came out of the closet and crossed to the other side of the fence.

The pantry closet and the farmyard fence, that is.

I am a...(duh duh DUH!)...Vegan.