Up until now I’ve hesitated to post much about this past year online; I thought it might seem like I was being a fragile flower.

But as the man in my life recently pointed out, this past year only proves to your publishing fam that you are more determined than ever to push through, finish what you start (can’t wait to tell you more about the new release written in the thick of this, for 2018!), and work harder than you ever have for the sake of what and whom you love.

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Today I’m sharing just a little bit.

A couple of years ago after baby number two, my epilepsy came back.

I don’t know what caused it; after over ten years of being seizure free I started having odd new symptoms.

I won’t bore you with the details (because, really, many of you are dealing with much more earth-shattering experiences right now) except to say I learned you really do need the feeling in your right foot in order to brake the car–

And you really do need to stay away from any medication that has the word “weep” in the middle of it (not kidding, this stuff turned my non-pregnant self into a hormonal bundle of nastiness).

I’d like to think I’ve come to the other side of this experience with a new sense of humor–perhaps a bit darker than before–which I can’t wait to share with you in a new series of books about us (you and me–living like the Mombies we are). 

So what about you? What’s making you feel like a mombie today? I could use some company with this whole dark sense of humor thing. 

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{In case you missed this photo that got 13,000 likes on Facebook–they’d just finished trying to scratch each other’s eyeballs out to obtain sole possession of the umbrella when I snapped this.

Dang it. They never let me get the true action shots. It’s like they’re trying to protect their public reputations already.}

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Enough

Untitled design (1).pngYou always wonder if it’s going to be enough. If you listened enough, paused enough, dropped down on your knees to look into her eyes enough. You wonder if when she went to sleep that night, she felt it:

Loved enough. Believed in enough.

“You are special.” I tell her this every day, because one day, sooner than I want to believe, someone will tell her she isn’t. And she will ask herself if it’s true. And the only answer she will have is what her heart tells her.

Today I wondered about Enough. It haunted me. There were deadlines, house showings, suitcases and plans and busyness. And there were two little eyes, peering at me–and one little mouth that has so often asked of late, Mom, “You ‘K?”

Not even two years old, and her heart is already wondering if I’m okay.

“That’s my job, Kiddo. Mommy gets to worry if you’re okay. Did you feel loved today?”

It’s a question her dad asks her every night–did you feel loved? She doesn’t know how to answer it yet, but someday she will. So for now, as we tuck her in with Bear securely by her side, we pray she knows…

She is enough. And we are trying our best to be the same..

Thanks to the Coffee Maker

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I would like to thank my oldest for waking me at 5 a.m. so I could work on my proposals for this upcoming book conference. Also the coffeemaker for the sheer moment of terror when it malfunctioned because I’d plugged in the toaster oven instead.

Let me Dictaphone that

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Emptying the storage unit and this is what we used in journalism college for interviews and also now the baby wipes are what I use for wiping toddler butt before picking up my Dictaphone for writing books to store on my floppy drive.

#journalismmajorstillrunonsentences #imnotold

By the way: really exciting news coming soon (and it doesn’t involve me being pregnant because folks, because that ain’t happening).

When You’re Going through Dark Waters

I still remember the moment I was sucked under, the current burning my eyes as my back scraped against the ocean floorwhen you walk through the waters.

Talk about exfoliation… but that was the last thing on my mind. 

Did anyone see me get in the water?

Could I scream if I needed to?

How many waves were coming after me, chasing me, pulling me down?

 

It seems like a lot of us have been pulled down lately, in this community.

We’ve lost life.

We’ve lost relationships.

We’ve lost trust.

I’ve watched my dearest go through separations, divorces, funerals.

I’ve had a few deaths of my own; quiet ones of the soul… ones that can’t be published here… ones I’ve needed to grieve alone for the sake of the privacy of others.

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Yet every day I wake up to these blue-eyed wonders (here is one) and I know that when they call me Mama (and a few other names I shouldn’t repeat here), they trust me.

 

 

 

I’ve spent years holding them in the night, offering them my chest when they were small and a bag of Cheetos the moment their immune systems could handle it.

They are my miracles and the ones I thought were only a whisper in a prayer, because my voice couldn’t even be raised in faith.

In asking for them I discovered a hand in the dark, the hand of the One who rescued and to this day rescues me from my dark waters.

I don’t know what your heart needs tonight, but I want you to know you’re not alone.

Maybe you’re praying for a miracle. Maybe you’re simply praying for air.

My heart is with you, and while I cannot walk beside you tonight, I know the One who can.

He is my love, and He is my exceeding great reward.

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