The Royal Wedding Is Over!

Yay!

It’s over!

It’s finally and mercifully over!

After weeks of hearing people go on about what Kate’s dress will look like, of what the wedding guests will be dining on, of the proper hats one wears to a royal wedding (really?!), it’s finally OVER.

If you’re living under a rock, I’m talking about the royal wedding.




Did anyone wake up at 4 AM to watch the nuptials?

If so, I swear I won’t laugh. (Well, maybe a little…)

I imagine I’ll catch some re-caps since I can almost bet all the channels will be showing them. I did like when I read how Kate omitted “obey” from her vows, just as Princess Diana did. There is no way I’d say I’d obey my husband. He’d be welcome to say he’d obey me, if he wishes....

Anyway.

No more Royal Wedding!

I imagine now the talk will be about Kate’s uterus and the heir that everyone hopes will be in it soon.

Still. At least we won’t have to hear about Buckingham Palace and disco balls in Buckingham Palace and ugly hats and “oh my Gods what is in the bag, could it be Kate’s dress?” and polishing horse carriages anymore.

So celebrate with me. Raise your glass of bubbly in the air (or in my case, water) and thank chocolate that we are done with the wedding nonsense.

Are You A Slacker Mom?

Hmmm....

It turns out I’m a Slacker Mom.

According to this snippet I found in Redbook magazine, that is. It’s all in good fun, mind you.





I do everything listed. Is that bad?

Let’s go over the things that are mentioned:

Dutch: Yup, we’ve had Dutch before. It’s rare though, as I love to eat and my stomach seems to go off every two hours.


meTunes: Definitely. There is no way I put on children’s music in my car. I get enough of the awful music from Nick, Jr. I’m not about to put it on when I run errands.


Cupfakes: I do this on the health of my children’s classmates. I wouldn’t want to accidentally poison anyone. I’m not the greatest cook. So to be safe, I always buy store brought products and hope there isn’t one of those “anal” parents in the class who spout on about health and blah blah blah, and how everyone should bring in carrots and blah blah blah. Screw carrots. Who wants to eat carrots during a special occasion?


Wardrobe Momfunction: I do get dressed when I drop Natalie off at preschool (Tommy takes the bus) but there have been days when I’ve forgotten to brush my hair. I don’t know how this happens. Probably because I’m not a morning person so the only thing my brain can remember is to do is get dressed (which I’m thankful for.) My hair is completely forgotten. Once when I did brush my hair another parent was like, “Oh, your hair looks different, did you do something with it?” I replied, “Yes. It’s brushed.”


Swathing: Er…well, sometimes after swim lessons I’m like, “No bath today! Survivor is coming on in a bit. You guys were submerged in water, that’s enough.”

So. Are you a Slacker Mom too?

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I'm guest posting over at Shell's blog today. Check it out!

Ham Steaks and Alcohol?

“I don’t want to get drunk!” Tommy shrieked.

Wait.

Let’s back up a couple of hours before Tommy’s statement was uttered.

It was Sunday. Easter. And I was in charge of making Easter dinner. On my own. I made it easy for myself and got a ham steak, instead of a regular ham. Ham steaks are safe.

Then I decided to make mashed potatoes, a sweet potato casserole (from a box, I’m not that bold), devilled eggs, corn, and rolls.

Simple enough.

Here’s the thing though: I don’t like making multiple things at once. It tends to overwhelm me. I generally make simple foods…Hamburger Helper, Sloppy Joes, spaghetti...

Proof that my kids are used to simple stuff?

When I was mashing the potatoes, Tommy blinked and went, “Where’s the box?”

I usually make mashed potatoes from a box, you see.

I was in the middle of mashing potatoes, flipping the ham steak, stirring the corn and then I heard a beeping noise.

“What is that racket?” I shouted. I was already overwhelmed and had dried potato on my nose.

“The oven,” Tommy called out.

Oh. Right. The sweet potato casserole.

I was in the middle of tending to the ham steak when I heard a splash...crap, the corn had boiled over.

I went to deal with that and then I smelt something burning.

And realized I forgot the rolls in the oven.

“Shit!” I bellowed. I yanked open the oven and reached in to grab the rolls…without an oven mitt. “SHIT!” My arm recoiled and I took a few steps back. An abandoned Easter egg got caught under my foot so I went sprawling to the ground. “I hate cooking,” I sniffled onto the floor that desperately needed to be mopped. What in the WORLD was that dark spot by my nose?

“Yay, we’re playing!” Natalie shouted, running in. She immediately dropped to the ground.

“I’m not playing,” I insisted, rising to my feet.

“Awww,” Natalie pouted.

I took the rolls out (with a mitt this time) and ran my burnt hand under the cold water. After my hand felt semi-normal again, I prepared the kid’s plates. I brought them out to the table, where my children waited. It would have been nice had they clapped when I walked out. I mean, I had slaved in the kitchen for hours. More like one hour, but still. Instead they blinked at me and when I set Tommy’s plate in front of him, he yelped, “It’s ORANGE!” and started gagging.

“Tommy, it’s sweet potatoes. You ate them all the time as a baby,” I explained.

“It’s ORANNGEEEE!” He turned pale. Tommy can be sensitive to foods.

“Fine, Tommy,” I said, sliding his offensive sweet potatoes on my plate. Then I went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of sparkling Apple Cider. “I got a special drink for us!”

I expected the kids to oooo and ahhh.

Instead Tommy went, “Is there alcohol in that?”

“No, it’s juice,” I explained through clenched teeth. I was about ready to lose my temper.

And now let’s fast forward to the beginning of the post.

To when Tommy shrieked, “I don’t want to get drunk!” Thank you, police officers who visited Tommy’s school and discussed alcohol and drugs. Or, if I’m being perfectly honest, Homer Simpson.

“You won’t get drunk Tommy BECAUSE THERE IS NO ALCOHOL in this,” I insisted.

“In school we were told to alert an adult if someone tried to offer us alcohol,” Tommy continued primly. “Alcohol is bad.”

Well, not when you need it at night after a hard day with two ungrateful children…

Obviously I couldn’t say this though.

“Alcohol is bad,” I confirmed. “You aren’t allowed to have any until you are 21 and even then, I’d prefer you not to ever get drunk.”

“Have you been drunk before?” Tommy wondered.

Oh for…

“Tommy, this is Easter. That’s not appropriate.” (As it wouldn’t have been appropriate to reply, “Yes. Lots.” ) I opened the apple cider and poured some in our special glasses. Natalie immediately took a sip.

“I like it!” she yelled. It would turn out the drink would be the only thing she liked.

Tommy took his glass and sniffed it. It was like he didn’t believe me. I sincerely hope when his teacher asked all the kids what they had for Easter dinner, that Tommy didn’t say, “Ham. And alcohol.”

“It’s not alcohol!” I snapped again. I was about ready to pour the non-alcoholic liquid over Tommy’s head.

Tommy took a tentative sip. He swished it around his mouth. Then he swallowed and went, “I don’t like it. Too spicy.”

As I said, Tommy is sensitive to foods. It’s why he doesn’t ever drink soda. Thanks to the fizzy bubbles, he insists that it’s too spicy for him. And since the apple cider was bubbly, I could see why he didn’t care for it.

After the drink drama, I started to eat. Everything was edible.

Next year, however, I hope we’re rich enough to be able to afford a cook on Easter.

Or if not, perhaps we’ll just go out to eat.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

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To think it’s gross when people share toothbrushes.


To want to try one of those new Blizzard cakes from Dairy Queen.


To not understand why couples share a Facebook account. I feel my husband and I are two different people, therefore we have our own accounts.


To cry during this week’s The Office. It’s Steve Carell’s last episode.


To hate how the volume is different on certain channels. So I'll be sitting there at a comfortable volume, switch the channel and it's either BLASTING or very, very quiet.


To wish parents would tell their teens not to sound like morons online. For instance, teens seem to like to spell unless ‘inless.’ And don’t get me started on the ‘ur’ for your thing…if my kids ever post updates like that, I’m going to tell them to knock it off. Or leave a comment with the proper way to write stuff.


To be really tempted to get an iPhone 4 for my birthday. I have an iPod Touch but sometimes the Wifi doesn’t connect and I want to play Words with Friends whenever I want, dangit.


To love going to stores and finding Easter stuff for 50% off.


To hope that the show Parenthood comes back. There might not be another season. To help ensure there is, please go here.

Easter Bunny 101

“I have a question,” Tommy said seriously the day before Easter.

“What is it?” I answered. I hoped it wasn’t another question about c-sections. Tommy is currently obsessed with pregnancy. He tends to fixate on certain subjects and then he’ll move on to another.

“Is the Easter Bunny an actual bunny or a man dressed up like a bunny?”

Crap.

How do I answer that?

Someone really needs to write How To Explain The Easter Bunny To Your Kids So You Don’t Damage Them. Or perhaps there ought to be a college class. Easter Bunny 101.

“Well,” I started. “Well, it’s not a man in a bunny suit. That would be scary and I’d have to call 911.”

“That’s why you didn’t take us to the mall Easter Bunny. Because he was scary,” Tommy cut in.

This was true. We had passed the mall Easter Bunny and I had shuddered.

“Is he real?” Tommy had asked, pointing to the giant white bunny with giant creepy eyes. And an unflattering huge bowtie.

“Uh...no....just a man in an Easter Bunny suit. He’s friends with the Easter Bunny,” I added.

So it’s no wonder Tommy thought the Easter Bunny might be a man in a suit.

“The Easter Bunny is an actual bunny...who is...magic...” I explained. Sure. That sounded plausible, right?

Tommy seemed to accept this. “What time will he drop off our baskets?”

Er....

“Um…after you’re asleep.”

“Does he eat?”

“Excuse me?”

“Does he eat anything while he’s here? Should we leave carrots?” Tommy wondered.

“He doesn’t need to eat,” I replied. I hoped Tommy didn’t want to leave carrots. We had no carrots. We had plenty of Cadbury Crème Eggs though. Mmmm….Cadbury Crème Eggs…

“What color is he?” Tommy inquired.

“He can….change colors,” I said. Why not? I already said the bunny was magic. Wouldn’t that be cool though? I’d love to be able to change my hair magically.

“What am I going to get?” Tommy prattled on.

I checked the clock. Two hours until bedtime. Ugh.

“It’s a surprise. Now. How about we watch some Spongebob? Let’s see what shenanigans Patrick gets himself into today.”

After the kids went to bed, I put together their baskets and hid eggs around the house. I munched on a chocolate Peep as I set everything out.



And yes, the Easter Bunny left me something:



The kids checked out their stuff...



Looked for eggs...





And had candy for breakfast....

I managed to make dinner edible. It didn’t exactly go smoothly though. I’ll write more about that on Wednesday.



At least the table looked nice.

So how was your Easter?

My Dear Letters

Here are some letters I wish I could send....

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Dear eBayers,

When a seller specifies that they expect payment within three days of the auctions end, they mean it. If something comes up, please communicate. Don’t just make up your own rules.

Signed,
An-irritated-seller,
Amber

--------------------


Dear Extreme Couponers,

Please don’t take all the Aspirin. It’s rude.

Signed,
A-sometimes-normal-people-get-headaches,
Amber

-------------------


Dear Tommy,

Please stop telling pregnant women, “If your baby gets stuck, don’t worry, they can use a vacuum to get it out.” You’re scaring them.

Signed,
A-sorry-just-has-a-son-who-is-infatuated-with-pregnancy,
Amber

------------------


Dear thighs,

You MUST stop growing so I don’t scare people in my swimsuit.

PS. Legs, I swear I’ll shave you. Eventually. It’s just, with Tom being gone I don’t see much of a point.....

Signed,
A-pretty-hairy-with-plenty-of-thighs,
Amber

--------------------


Dear Tom,

Look, I know you want me to be more spontaneous. Which means you wish I’d get naked more on Skype. But I’m sorry. I worry someone will walk in your room. Or someone will BE in the room and you won’t even let me know until it’s too late. Plus, suppose one of the kids comes down and sees their mother in the buff on the computer chair? What an image! I’d rather not pay for those therapy bills.

Signed,
An-I’ll-just-get-a-sexy-outfit-on-Victoria’s-Secret-and-call-him-in-that,
Amber

------------------------

Dear movie theater nachos,

I can’t wait to have you later. You’re the reason why I’m taking the kids to see Rio. I’ve missed you so much.

PS. Don’t worry movie theater popcorn, I’m getting you too. With lots of butter. And Sno Caps sprinkled in.

Signed,
A-no-wonder-my-thighs-are-big,
Amber

-----------------------

Dear Natalie,

What was the purpose of biting the couch? And by the way, the vase is NOT a toy. I don’t care if your Barbie wants to sit in it.

Signed,
A-really-would-like-to-have-nice-things-someday,
Amber

--------------------

Dear ham,

Please don’t burn on Easter. Otherwise we’ll be having Peeps for dinner.

Signed,
An-actually-wouldn’t-mind-Peeps-for-a-meal,
Amber

Avoid Wal-Mart

Are you ready for Easter on Sunday?

I am.

I finished getting stuff from the Easter Bunny and our dinner yesterday.

It seemed like half of Wyoming was in the Wal-Mart Easter aisles with me.

Natalie has an Easter outfit ready to go.

Naturally, I took a bunch of photos.



Yup, the outfit is from Gymboree. The bunny ears are from the dollar spot at Target.

The lollipop is also from Target.



“Uh? When do I get to eat the lollipop?”

I was trying to get a photo of her peeking from behind her lollipop. It didn’t really go well.





Natalie shouted, “Remember when I farted this morning?”



Then she was like, “No, but really, when can I eat the lollipop?”





“I see you!” She was able to try the lollipop after. She did not like it. And she was tired of the bunny ears. So I replaced it with a headband.



Then she ran into the side of the house, as I do to get her to smile sometimes..





“This whole running into the house thing is kinda weird…”



She made farting sounds, because that’s how we roll...









After that, I explained the Easter Bunny to her and she was like, “You mean a bunny is going to hop in my house and leave stuff? I’m confused…”



I hope everyone has a Happy Easter!

Try and avoid the Wal-Mart Easter aisles.....

Trust me.

The Birds and the Bees

“I think it’s cool that you have eggs inside you,” Tommy said matter-of-factly as I settled down at the table to eat my dinner.

I picked up my fork. “Well. Thank you, Tommy.” I’m used to bizarre statements from him. He once informed me that he didn’t like his nipples.

“I have sperms,” Tommy continued.

I flicked my eyes at Natalie. That’s all I needed was for Natalie to repeat the word and ask her preschool teachers, “My brother has sperms. Do you?” Thankfully Natalie was busy poking her Hamburger Helper. Sometimes I feel like she plays with her food more than she eats it.

“You do, but it’s not really appropriate dinner conversation,” I explained.

“The sperms fertilize the egg and the cells divide and walah, a baby!” Tommy prattled on. He was reading from his book about the Human Body that he had in his lap. A couple of months ago he was curious on how babies grew inside women so he decided to learn all about it. This means I’ve had to endure many talks about eggs, sperm, uteruses, c-sections, “did they use scissors on your vagina?”, forceps…

“How about we put the book away for now?” I tried again. Was I not speaking English?

Tommy shut the book with a sigh. “I think it’s cool that you have a uterus, too,” he offered. He patted his stomach. “I don’t have one which means I won’t carry a baby.”

I chewed on my Cheeseburger Macaroni. “Well, at least you won’t lose your figure.”

Tommy took a bite of his dinner. “Do you know sometimes doctors have to use vacuums to get the baby out? They stick it on the baby’s head and,” he made a sucking sound, “the baby is pulled out like that.”

I probably shouldn’t have let him watch One Born Every Minute.

And now my macaroni was beginning to look like the goo that is sometimes on babies when they come out of the mother.

Gross.

“You’re done having babies, right?” Tommy asked worriedly.

“Unless I marry John Krasinski,” I answered.

Tommy blinked at me.

“Yes, Tommy, I’m done having babies.”

Tommy let out a breath of relief. “Good. I don’t want you to get fat again and plus, babies are loud and they hurt my ears.”

He really has such a nice way of putting things….

I sipped my Diet Coke. Tommy knows all about how babies grow…but I wasn’t sure if he knew how the sperm and the egg met. Should I ask him? Wasn’t he too young to know about sex? Wait, what if he knows about sex? There was that time when he walked in on Tom and I doing the nasty and I said something like, “Oh, we’re telling secrets!” Then Tom shot me a disbelieving look and went, “Telling secrets? What kind of thing is that to say?” I didn’t know. It was the first thing that came from my mouth. I mean, it’s startling to see your child staring wide-eyed at you from the doorway while you’re laying there in the buff.

“Tommy,” I began. I might as well inquire. Suppose he thought the sperm magically jumped in the woman? Clearly he was beyond the stork theory.

Tommy looked over.

“Do you know…..I mean, do you….it’s just that….” Oh God, I turned into Gary Busey. I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. “Do you know how…the egg and sperm meet?”

I win the award for Inappropriate Dinner Conversations.

Tommy stared at me as though I had just informed him that I didn’t have any underwear on.

Oh God. I embarrassed him. I had embarrassed my—

“Sex, of course.” Tommy said it easily, as though we were discussing the weather.

I almost fell out of my seat.

My nine-year-old used the s-word in front of me. My nine-year-old knew about….he knew…he…

My mouth turned dry. It felt like I had been sucking on cotton.

“You’re right,” I confirmed. “It’s….I…..”

“Mommy?” Tommy asked.

Oh no. Was it a sex question? I shouldn’t have even brought it up. I barely even remember what sex IS since Tom has been gone since August…

“Yes?” I replied meekly.

“Can we have ice cream for dessert?”

My shoulders sagged with relief. Tommy might know about sex, but he still wants ice cream.

He’s still my baby.

Who happens to know about uteruses.

Oh, he still believes in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

But he could talk your ear off about c-sections.

Neat.

I guess....

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

----------------------

To be taking the kids to see Rio on Friday. I hope it’s good. If it’s not, at least I’ll have movie theater nachos to console me.


To cringe at the word ‘bestie.’ I have a best friend. (Hi, Jennifer S!) Not a bestie.


To miss the old Wendys fries.


To wish I could watch the show Camelot but I don’t have the Starz network. D’oh.


To love rapping grannies. The one at the end of The Wedding Singer? KILLED me.


To like the new Showtime show The Borgias. Torrance Coombs needs a role. FYI, to casting directors. Richard Bryant also needs a role considering he was killed on Army Wives. Come on. I need some eye candy. No one on there appeals to me yet. Jeremy Irons does in a weird way I suppose, but I think it’s his voice…


To always giggle when cows moo. I can’t help it. They sound FUNNY. And a little possessed.


To love Pez candies.


To wonder if Scream 4 is any good.


To be in awe of the Easter bunnies who put iPods in children’s baskets. Seriously, I know someone who is doing this for their kids. I wish that Easter bunny would come here because all we get is candy.

No Shots!

“No shots!” Natalie bellowed. She crawled under the table. “NO SHOTS!”

I sighed. We were about to leave for Natalie’s four year checkup and she wasn’t making it easy. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her about the shots. But what else was I supposed to do? Lie? Act as though she were just going to a regular appointment and then BAM, needle in her thigh?

“Natalie,” I said, squatting down so I could peer at her from beneath the table. “The shots will be quick and—”

“NO SHOTSSSSSSS!” She tilted her head back, drawing out the S so that she sounded like a snake (a poisonous one, naturally.)

My first instinct was to grab her ankle and pull her out. But suppose she told the doctor that her mommy drags her around the house?

I checked the time. We had to get going. Since her appointment was at the military hospital we had to show 15 minutes earlier than the actual appointment time.

“Fine, Natalie, no shots today. We’ll do them another time. Deal?” I said. I knew it was probably wrong to do, but I didn’t have a choice. In a military hospital the immunizations are in another room so you could opt to have them done whenever.

Natalie scrutinized my face. She was checking to see if I was telling the truth. I guess she made the conclusion that I wasn’t lying so she slowly emerged from underneath the table. I stuffed her arms into her coat and carried her out to the car before she could change her mind.

“No shots, remember?” she said firmly as I buckled her into the car seat. She even pointed her little finger at me. She reminded me of Donald Trump. With better hair.

“No shots today but you’ll eventually need to have them,” I explained.

We drove to the clinic, checked in, and waited in the pediatrics area. I was digging through my purse for some gum and Natalie tugged on my arm.

“Yes?”

“The baby keeps looking at me,” she whispered.

I looked and sure enough there was a kid who looked to be about one gazing at Natalie with interest.

“Say hello,” I suggested.

“I did. It keeps LOOKING at me,” Natalie said indignantly.

Well, now she knows how I feel. Sometimes both kids stare at me, waiting to be entertained. I hate it.

Thankfully we were called back a few minutes later. Natalie was weighed and measured (she’s at 30.8 lbs and 39.5 inches) and then we waited for the doctor.

“The doctor doesn’t need to check my ears,” Natalie said, covering them with her palms.

“Yes, he will. He’s checking you all over to make sure you’re healthy,” I replied.

“I am healthy,” Natalie insisted.

“I know, but the doctor needs to see that.”

When the doctor came in, Natalie allowed him to look her over. I was worried that she’d scramble under a chair and refuse to come out. Before the doctor checked her ears he asked what he might find in there.

“My brain,” Natalie answered.

“Ahh, how funny,” the doctor said.

After the exam, the doctor went over some things that I might expect from a four-year-old. Like being afraid of the dark, stuff like that.

“And four is an easier age since they’re over the terrible twos and threes,” he continued.

I snorted.

He looked taken aback.

“Oh, it’s just, Natalie still uses her lungs.” I thought back to an hour before when Natalie was carrying on about no shots.

“Well, they can be defiant at this age,” the doctor agreed.

Sometimes I feel like I should change Natalie’s name to Defiant.

“She’s very healthy and good to go,” the doctor finished, standing up. “You can take her in for shots…”

“NO SHOTS!” Natalie shrieked, so he got to see what I meant about her lungs.

“We’re coming back for those another time,” I quickly said. Natalie had fallen to her knees, in position for a meltdown.

“Okay, sounds good,” the doctor said and then we were able to leave.

“No shots?” Natalie repeated as I put her shoes back on.

“No shots. I already told you.”

“Then I’m happy again!”

Great.

Novica Giveaway Winner!

So...

I had Natalie pick a number for the Novica Giveaway I held...




....and she picked 14!

14 is Doris over at Sprinkles of My Life! Congrats! Winner, please e-mail me so I can send you the $75 gift certificate.

If you didn't win, it's okay, I'll have future giveaways.

Thank you for entering!

My Query Letter for The Swimmer's Assistant

So I decided to post my query letter with the first chapter of my novel The Swimmer's Assistant. It's chick lit so if you don't read that genre, I understand if you're not interested.

Some people have suggested that I self-publish or e-publish. I've had a few companies tell me that they can e-publish my novel, but I'm not sure if I'd still need an agent or if that's what I ought to do. I'm up for anything, really.

I would love to find an agent and I've sent many (MANY) query letters. I've received mainly form rejections, but some have requested a few chapters. Then I usually get the form rejection again. I've been told by a couple agents that chick lit is dead, that it's hard to sell, but I refuse to give up.

Look, I've written a book that many may refer to as fluff. But if I've made a person laugh, if I'm put a smile on their face, then I feel I've done my job as a writer. What I want to write might not be the next Hemingway or Tolstoy, but I do know there is an audience out there for it.

Here is my query letter that I've sent to agents:



Dear *insert agent name here*


Meet Jane Williams.

She doesn’t understand the popularity of Twilight, can’t walk properly in high heels, struggles to speak Starbucks (venti what?), and nearly drowned in the toilet when she was a baby.

Meet Brian Parker.

He’s a star swimmer with a temper (he’s known for pulling what the media has dubbed “a Parker Pout” after a loss), has five Olympic gold medals, and has just hired Jane to be his assistant as he trains for the 2012 London Olympics.

Enter the problem.

Jane has developed feelings for Brian which is ridiculous for several reasons. 1) He has a dog who hates her. 2) He chews with his mouth open. 3) He has a perfect Twilight-obsessed girlfriend named Vanessa who (natch) plays Cinderella at Disneyland. Surely her crush can’t amount to anything. Or can it? There was that time when they nearly kissed....

My name is Amber Myers and I’ve written a fast-paced 100,000 word women’s fiction book titled The Swimmer’s Assistant. While I have never been published, I do write a blog that receives a decent following and many readers have expressed interest in reading my book.

I appreciate your time and hope you will consider representing me. I found your website through Query Tracker and several writers had good things to say about your agency so I thought I’d take a chance. I also see that you wouldn’t mind working with first time authors so I think we’d be a perfect match.

Thank you,
Amber

----------------------

And here is the first chapter. Sorry, it posted a little weird when I copy and pasted it.


Chapter One

When I was a year old I almost drowned in the toilet.

I wish I were kidding.

My Mom loves to tell the story to nearly everyone she meets, much to my chagrin. She’ll wait all of five seconds before diving into the tale of how she was busy doing the dishes and realized that it had gone quiet.

“Jane had been playing with her toys in the other room and after I finished scrubbing the last pan I got a panicky feeling in my stomach. Mothers just know when their children are in trouble,” Mom will say seriously. She’ll pause for a dramatic effect and then lean closer. “I ran into the living room and Jane was gone. She even left behind her blanket and you have to understand, she took that thing everywhere. I was in a blind panic, screaming out Jane’s name.” She’ll stop again and at this point the recipient of the story will either look extremely interested or extremely bored.

“So I rushed around the house like a mad woman, gripping Jane’s blanket. I remember taking three stairs at a time as I made my way upstairs. I checked our bedroom. She wasn’t there. I popped my head in her room and…” Mom will take a deep breath before finishing the sentence, “...nothing. She wasn’t there. The bathroom was the last place I looked. I was literally two seconds away from calling 9-1-1. Two seconds!” She’ll hold up two fingers in case the person has forgotten how to count. “I honestly didn’t expect to see Jane in the bathroom. In fact, I almost missed her. But then I did a double take and there she was! Half of her body was inside the toilet. I wasn’t even thinking clearly when I grabbed her. Her face was covered in water and I thought she had drowned, I truly did. Then I realized her eyes were open and that she was breathing. Her face was wet though so who knows what could have happened if I hadn’t found her?” Mom will be panting at the end, her hand over her heart.

I’m not surprised Mom is telling my taxi driver the Toilet Story. The taxi driver, a guy named Stan with salt and pepper hair, is nodding politely but it’s obvious he could care less. Mom is holding up two fingers which indicate that her story is drawing to a close. I want to signal to Stan that its okay, that the tale is nearly over, but I can’t catch his eye. He’s too busy staring down at his watch, hoping Mom will get the point.

She doesn’t.

She never gets the point.

She continues to prattle on and when she concludes her tale, a loud swish of her breath is heard and her palm is over her chest.

“Wow,” Stan says. His eyes flick around nervously, as though he’s worried Mom is going to launch into another story. He should be afraid. My Mom loves to talk. She’s been known to commiserate with homeless people, who now turn and walk in another direction when they see her approaching.

Uh oh.

Mom’s mouth is starting to open again.

Run Stan! I want to yell. Instead I yank my wallet from my purse and hurl a few bills in his direction.

Run! Get of here!

“Jane!” Mom admonishes as Stan jams the money into his pocket and throws himself behind the wheel. “I was going to pay for—”

With a squeal of tires and a trail of smoke behind him, Stan is gone.

My heart lifts and I wonder if this is how the helicopter rescue people feel after they’ve saved hikers from a snowy mountain during a blizzard.

“Jane,” Mom says again. “I was all set to pay for the taxi. You don’t have extra money to toss around. You have to be careful.” She takes me by the shoulders and gives me a sympathetic look as she runs a hand over my shoulder length dark hair. Her nose wrinkles slightly as she peers closer. “When was the last time you had your hair cut? Look at all these split ends.” She clucks her tongue.

She probably thinks I can’t afford to get my hair cut anymore. Mom has it in her head that I’m destitute since I’ve lost my job.

It’s not true though. I have money. Not a lot of it, mind you, but enough to keep me comfortable for a couple of months. It is true that I’ve lost my job. But it wasn’t my fault. I’m a responsible person, I swear. It was just, well, I was the last person hired. So naturally, I was the first to be let go.

I used to be a first grade teacher over at Bradford Elementary School in San Antonio, Texas. But thanks to the economy being in shambles, the school had to figure out ways to cut back. And that meant they had to let go of five teachers. The principal, Mrs. Thorne, was extremely apologetic when she told me the news. She sat behind her desk and kept slamming her fist down on a pile of papers.

“This is just awful. I know.” Slam. “I hate to do this. I really do.” Slam. “You are a wonderful teacher. It’s nothing you did.” Slam. “I’ll write you a letter of recommendation. I really hope you find something quickly.” Slam.

I didn’t.

Find something quickly, that is.

None of the schools around the area were hiring.

So I thought, okay, I’d have to settle for a two hour commute. But none of those schools were hiring either. In fact, when I walked into one of the schools the secretary actually snorted and mentioned that I was the eighth teacher of the day who had inquired about a position.

I made the mistake of telling Mom when I lost my job. I should have known better. The second I told her I was let go, she emitted a loud wail and asked if I was going to go bankrupt.

“No mother,” I had said with a roll of my eyes.

It sounded to me like Mom was a little put out that I wasn’t going bankrupt. She’d never admit it but she loves drama. It’s why she flips through various tabloids and will phone me up and gush all about who Jennifer Aniston is dating that particular week.

“Maybe you should talk to your sister about finding a job,” Mom had suggested.

“Mom, Darcy is a makeup artist. I know nothing about makeup,” I’d remind her.

It’s true. I still have no idea how to apply makeup properly even though I’m twenty eight. I usually just brush on foundation and put on a dab of lipstick. I’m too scared to attempt mascara again because one time when I was eighteen I almost took my eye out.

It was Darcy who did my makeup growing up. She’s two years younger than I am and from a small age she was always messing with Mom’s lipstick. So it was really no surprise when Darcy decided to become a makeup artist. She started off working in a portrait studio. Her customers would marvel at her work and exclaim that she had such talent for making them look natural, yet beautiful. When she was seventeen and almost out of high school, a celebrity came in with her daughter who wanted to get her pictures done. Darcy did the makeup and the celebrity was so impressed that she made some phone calls. Three weeks later Darcy found herself applying blush to Meg Ryan on a movie set. When the movie wrapped, word got out about how talented and professional she was and she was quickly nabbed by the lead actress in a Steven Spielburg movie. She wound up leaving Texas, the state we had grown up in, and moved to Los Angeles when she was nineteen.

Darcy is now one of the most sought after makeup artists in the industry. At least that’s what Mom told me. You never know if she’s embellishing the truth.

I’m surprised Darcy was able to find time to get married since she worked so hard. But she did. Three years after moving to Los Angeles, she found herself doing the makeup for some actors on a soap opera. She caught the interest of one of them whose name was Scott Franklin. She was only supposed to be working on the set for a few days while the regular makeup artist was out sick, but apparently Scott pulled some strings and Darcy ended up staying there for over a year. Scott asked her out and Darcy kept refusing him. She’d call me and explain that actors made her nervous.

“When you do their makeup, you hear all sorts of horror stories. Husbands sleeping with the nannies, wives running off with their personal trainers, husbands leaving their wives for a man…”

“Huh?” I cut her off, horrified.

“It happens more often than you think,” Darcy said simply.

In the end, she gave Scott a chance. They ended up falling in love and he proposed with a two carat diamond ring six months later. Mom was elated. She ran around Texas telling everyone she knew that her daughter was marrying a movie star in Los Angeles even though Scott had only acted in commercials and had a bit part in a soap opera. Darcy started planning an elaborate wedding at the Plaza Hotel and it was around this time when we found out that Dad was sick.

See, Dad had started to feel really tired but he refused to go the hospital. He assumed it was due to age. But then one morning Mom discovered him passed out in the kitchen with his coffee cup smashed in pieces around him. She called 911 and he was rushed to the hospital. It was there, after several tests, when we found out that he had lung cancer. Darcy had flown in from Los Angeles, proclaiming that she’d reschedule her wedding because she had to have Dad walk her down the aisle.

I still remember the confusion in Mom’s voice as she spoke to the doctor after hearing that her husband, the man she had been married to for over thirty years, had lung cancer. “I just don’t understand,” Mom kept saying. “He hasn’t smoked a day in his life.” Then she asked the difficult question. “How long does he have to live?”

“Maybe a month. Maybe even six. It’s hard to say. Unfortunately the cancer has spread and there is nothing we can do now but keep him comfortable,” the doctor had said gravely.

Naturally, we were all devastated.

Darcy decided to move up her wedding. Instead of the Plaza Hotel she was married in the backyard of the house we had grown up in with only a handful of people present. She held onto Dad’s arm, looking like a perfect angel in her flowing white dress and veil. Dad was visibly weak but he still had a smile across his face.

“Now we just need to find you someone,” Dad said to me during the reception.

“Someday,” I answered with a sigh. “Someday.” Two weeks before I had broken up with a guy named Jonathan, who I had been seeing for about a month. It ended when I realized we had nothing in common, that all we did when we were together was have sex. Sure sex is important but I was looking for something with a little more substance.

Dad started chemotherapy. Mom and I always went with him and we’d sit and chat like we were at a restaurant and not in a hospital while poison seeped into my father’s veins. We were all set to bring him to another chemotherapy appointment when Dad abruptly went, “No thanks,” as we walked out to the station wagon.

“No thanks what?” Mom frowned.

“No more chemotherapy. No thanks. I’m going to wait it out at home,” Dad said firmly.

“Wait it out at home?” Mom repeated. “Don’t you mean that you’re giving up?” She eyed him angrily but I could see the fear across her face. I wanted to say something, to beg my father to go to the hospital and buy himself some more time, but I knew I should stay out of it.

“I’m not giving up, Sharon,” Dad said. “We both know that chemotherapy isn’t going to cure me. It’s only making me sick and tired and I refuse to be like that when I don’t have much time left. I want to enjoy you. I want to enjoy my girls.”

Mom and I sobbed right there in the yard. I remember how Dad hugged us to his chest. I could feel his ribs digging into me. He had lost so much weight and didn’t look like himself anymore. My Dad usually had a round stomach “thanks to fast food since my wife can’t cook” he had always said—but now his stomach was flat, his cheeks sunken in, his eyes darkened with worry. Not because he knew he was going to die, but because he knew what his death was going to do to us.

He passed away the following week in the bed he had shared with Mom. I had been staying with Mom to help her out and woke to her screaming. I knew he was gone. I can still remember how her wails echoed throughout the house.

When about four months had gone by, Mom announced she was leaving.

“Leaving where?” I was perplexed. I assumed she was going on some sort of vacation. She didn’t have a job, after all. She had always stayed at home with Darcy and I.

“Leaving Texas.” Mom squeezed her hands together in her lap. Her eyes were red rimmed as they had been since Dad had died.

“Leaving Texas,” I parroted, still not comprehending what she was talking about. How could she leave Texas? Most of her family still lived in Texas. I lived in Texas.

“I can’t stay here.” We were seated in the kitchen, the same kitchen where Mom had measured Darcy and I every month until we were eighteen. The pencil markings were still against the far wall.

“Are you wanting a new house?” I could understand that. It was probably painful for Mom to wander the home she shared with my Dad. I knew she couldn’t even go into their bedroom because she claimed she could still picture Dad lying there, dead.

“A new house…and a new state,” Mom nodded. She reached over and squeezed my arm. “I can’t stay here anymore, Jane. I just can’t. I’m going to Los Angeles to be near Darcy. I can afford it, thanks to your father’s life insurance and retirement money.”

I didn’t say anything at first. What could I say? My Dad had died and now my mother was leaving me.

“I need to start fresh,” Mom added. “Surely you can understand that?”

I wanted to lash out and say that no, I didn’t understand. But I couldn’t do that to a widow who had just lost the love of her life. So I plastered a smile on my face and wished her luck even though my heart felt like it was breaking apart.

“You could come too,” Mom said hopefully.

I sighed. “My life is here. My job is here. I can’t just up and go.”

But then I lost my job and couldn’t find another one. I’m not going to lie, I was beginning to panic. About two months after I was let go, my phone rang and it was Mom with some news. She let me know that a job was available. Only it was in Los Angeles.

“What is the job?” I wondered cautiously. I had seen a few episodes of Dirtiest Jobs and was a little traumatized. If Mom wanted me to clean up Porta Potties then I’d have to decline.

“Darcy met this woman at a charity event who apparently is Brian Parker’s publicist. She told Darcy that he desperately needs an assistant. You’ve heard of Brian Parker the swimmer, right?” Mom questioned.

Of course I had heard of Brian Parker the swimmer. He had been splashed (ha!) all over newspapers and magazines awhile back for deciding to abruptly take a break from swimming. Everyone had been excited to see how he’d perform at the Beijing Olympics and one month before they began, he made an announcement saying that he was walking away from swimming for an unspecified amount of time. Apparently photos of him partying kept popping up and he’d get tons of flack for it because he was supposed to be a role model for children. There were a couple instances when Brian was pictured smoking a cigarette and the media kept telling him that he needed to behave properly, that kids looked up to him, so he should stop going out to clubs…..

After Brian gave a press conference on his decision to stop swimming for a bit, it was rumored that his last assistant was the one who had been secretly releasing photos of him partying to various magazines and online sites. She also would allegedly tip off the Paparazzi on where Brian would be so that they’d be sure to get a drunken shot of him. One time the Paparazzi found Brian giving an intoxicated rant on how he was sick of having no privacy and that everyone could piss the fuck off. Unfortunately for Brian one of photographers filmed his tirade and it popped up on TMZ the very next morning. The day after that, Brian announced his break from swimming.

“I know about Brian,” I told Mom.

“Well, guess what,” Mom said. I could hear the excitement in her voice. Moving to Los Angeles definitely helped her heal. When she had first arrived she was still a bit of a mess but Darcy helped her through it. She’d drag Mom out to spas and stores, refusing to let her get depressed. Now Mom volunteers her time at various places and has even joined a bowling and Wii game group for people over fifty. “Brian has started swimming again.”

This is true. Brian had showed up at a swimming meet and won first place in all three events that he entered. He refused to tell anyone if this meant he was back in the swimming world—but then four days ago he sat down for an interview with Barbara Walters and admitted that yes, he was making the steps on coming back after being absent for close to two years. “My goal,” he had said. “Is to win five gold medals in the London Olympics.”

Brian, by the way, had competed in two prior Olympics. He had popped up at the 2000 Sydney Olympics at the tender age of sixteen. At sixteen I was too focused on whether a boy liked me or not. But Brian, he had arrived fresh faced and determined to win. And win he did. He walked away with five medals: 1 gold, 1 silver, and 3 bronze. The world was quickly enraptured by this young swimmer who seemed to have appeared from no where.

Brian came back for the Olympics held in Athens four years later and earned 3 gold medals and 2 silver. During a press conference he proclaimed that during the Beijing Olympics he was going to win all gold medals in the five events he would enter. But obviously he never went to the Beijing Olympics.

Now Brian has vowed to win the five gold medals in the 2012 London Olympics . And that’s not all he’s vowed. No, he’s also decided that he’s going to enter in races that he normally wouldn’t have raced in—Brian is considered to be a sprinter swimmer which means he competes in short races. Now he’s determined to branch out and do the longer ones. This sparked interest in the sports magazines who once named Brian one of the best sprinter swimmers in the world. No one believed he could branch out to the longer races.

But he did. During the meet that he showed up at after being away from the swimming world for so long, he won a gold medal in two of those longer races. This is what caused the media to start coming back. Now all the major sports journalists are on the edge of their seats, wondering if he can really return to the level that he walked away at.

“Yes Mom, I know how he’s come back to swimming,” I confirmed.

“Well, as I said before, he needs an assistant. Now. Brian’s publicist has agreed to meet with you in two days for an interview.” Mom squealed at the end.
“An assistant?” I frowned. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be an assistant. Didn’t assistants get yelled at all the time? Did I really want to do someone else’s chores when I could barely remember to do my own?

“You don’t have any other jobs lined up,” Mom reminded me bluntly.

This was true.

In the end I agreed to do it. I made sure to add that it was a temporary thing though. If a teaching job popped up in Texas, I’d take it. I wasn’t staying in Los Angeles forever. So I packed basically everything I owned in a suitcase (it was sad to realize that all my possessions could fit. All the furniture in my apartment belonged to my friend and roommate Helen, plus I was on a teacher’s salary so I could afford very little) and told Helen that I expected to return at some point.

“If a job becomes available, I’ll call you!” Helen, who was also a teacher, had sworn. She was a little sad that I was leaving but she had a boyfriend who helped distract her. Plus she already had a girl subletting my room so she didn’t have to worry about paying the rent on her own.

And so I left Texas and flew to Los Angeles.

I’m staying with my Mom. It was probably a mistake to agree to it but it’s too late now. Right now she’s excitedly wheeling my luggage inside her Spanish style two bedroom home and is rambling on about how we can stay up late and watch bad reality TV together.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she shouts for the tenth time. She drops the suitcase handle and gathers me in her arms.

“This is not permanent,” I say.

“I know that. I know.” Mom backs away and waves a hand dismissively through the air. “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat. I bet you’re famished.” I follow her into the kitchen and watch as she rifles through the fridge and freezer. “Hmmm…I need to go shopping. I admit I order out a lot. Because, well, you know…”

“Because you’re a crummy cook?” I finish. I don’t say this meanly, just factually. “Thanks for passing that on to me, by the way.” I’ve tried to follow many recipes and usually end up in tears because something always goes wrong. The meat burns, the sauce sticks to the pan, the vegetables become unrecognizable…

“Who needs to learn how to cook anyhow?” Mom says, pulling a can of nuts from the cupboard. She grabs a bowl and dumps the nuts into it. “Here.” Mom slides them across the counter where I’m leaning. I pick out a pecan and examine it.

“Are you nervous about the interview?” Mom takes out two diet Cokes from the fridge and pushes one over to me. “Darcy says the job is yours but the publicist just needs to make sure you’re sane I guess since the last assistant was so dishonest.”

I crack open the soda. The truth is, I am nervous. What if I say something wrong and don’t get the job? Still, I have to appear confident to Mom. If she sees I’m worried, she’ll sit me down and give me a long lengthy speech on what a great girl I am and who wouldn’t like me? “I’m not nervous,” I answer, munching on the pecan.

“You’ll be working for Brian Parker, the swimming sensation. They say he has a temper though. I wonder if he’ll still do the Parker Pout if he loses.” Mom taps her chin and cocks the head to the side.

Oh right. The Parker Pout. Whenever Brian would lose a race, he’d rip his swim cap off and toss it across the pool deck. Some reporters claimed it was bad sportsmanship, others said it was because Brian had so much passion for swimming that it physically hurt him to lose and that was how he showed his pain.
Guess what he does when he wins though? Nothing. Brian is notorious for showing no emotion whenever he wins a race. He simply climbs out of the pool as though it’s no big deal. To me it sounds like he has a bad case of PMS.

“I don’t know if he’ll still do the Parker Pout or not. He hasn’t lost a race since coming back from his swimming break so no one really knows,” I say, sipping some Coke.

“I wonder if it’s true that he turned Lindsay Lohan onto girls?” Mom mused. Brian and Lindsay dated for about six months back in 2007 and rumor has it that when Brian dumped her, Lindsay turned to girls because he messed her up so much.

“Mom, if I get the job, I’ll have to treat him like a normal person. I can’t ask him questions about who he dated,” I say.

“I know that,” Mom says, but not in a convincing tone. “But you will tell me all about what being Brian’s assistant is like, right?” She gives me a hopeful stare.

“I need to get the job first,” I sigh as I crumble a peanut into my palm.

Batgirl to Preschool

“I’ll dress myself today,” Natalie said, pushing away the dress I was attempting to put on her.

“Natalie, we don’t have time to argue if you want to get to preschool on time,” I replied.

Some mornings Natalie takes her time. For starters, she couldn’t decide what she wanted to breakfast, cereal or oatmeal. She eventually decided on cereal and then she couldn’t decide if she wanted Lucky Charms, cinnamon Cheerios, or Frosted Mini Wheats. She tapped her chin as she stared at the boxes.

“Please pick one,” I urged. I am not a morning person. I don’t think mornings are glorious at all. Mornings aren’t glorious until after 10.

“Lucky Charms,” Natalie eventually said.

I grabbed the box. “Don’t just eat the marshmallows, you hear me? When I have a bowl of Lucky Charms, I don’t just want the oat stuff.” Sometimes I feel like I’m a child stuck in an adult body. I still love cereal with marshmallows. Farts still crack me up. I get excited over the prospect of dessert.

I prepared Natalie’s cereal. I rarely make hot breakfasts. If I attempted to do so, shells would be stuck in the scrambled eggs since my eyes are only half opened in the morning. Pancakes would burn because I’d probably rest my head on the counter and fall asleep. It’s safer to stick to easy stuff.

Natalie ate painstakingly slow. She’d take one bite and chew. And chew. And chew.

So by the time it was time to get dressed, we only had 15 minutes to get ready.

“I want to dress myself,” Natalie repeated. This meant she’d probably go as a Disney princess.

“Just…okay,” I relented. I didn’t have time to argue. The teachers would understand if she showed up as Snow White. Or in an outfit that didn’t match.

“Okay!” Natalie said excitedly, running upstairs.

I expected her to show up in a dress.

Or pink sweatpants paired with an orange top.

Or an outfit like the ones Lady Gaga sports.

Instead, she appeared in front of me in this, which I could see Lady Gaga in, complete with the pink undies.




“Uh,” I said. “Wouldn’t you feel a draft in that? Our high today is in the 40s…maybe if we were in Florida..”

Natalie twirled around. “I’m Batman. My teachers will love this.”

I didn’t know what to say. I knew I had to tread delicately to prevent a tantrum.

“You look great,” I said slowly. “But that belongs to Tommy. He’d get upset if you took it to school without asking.”

Natalie mashed her lips together and scowled.

“You can wear that when you get home,” I promised.

I expected to hear a screech from Natalie. Instead she shrugged and went, “Okay. I’ll wear the dress then.”

???????

Sometimes I don’t get little girls.

Natalie the Fearless

“Now remember, Natalie. No screaming,” I said as we entered the aquatic center for her swim lessons.

“I won’t,” Natalie promised. But she promises a lot of things. Like, sure I’ll eat my carrots. And then I find them all hidden between the couch cushions. Or, sure I’ll sit and watch television at Gymboree so you can shop in peace. And then she’s racing around the store like a mad person.

“Listen to your teacher,” I added. We walked onto the pool deck. I held my breath, waiting for Natalie to scream.

She didn’t.

She calmly took in her surroundings and allowed me to lead her to some chairs.

“I like the pool,” she said. I think she was talking to herself but that was fine. If she likes something, she’s nice.

When her class was ready to start, I led her over to her teacher.

“Hello,” her teacher said. He held his arms out. “Can I lift you into the pool?”

Natalie blinked at him. I bit my lower lip nervously. What if she refused? What if she—oh. She allowed the man to take her and set her in the pool. They were in the shallow end, naturally, and were gathered on this board type thing.

Phew. She was in. I could relax some.

I settled down on a chair and watched. Natalie was the only girl in the class with 4 other boys. Luckily she doesn’t mind. She’ll play with anyone who is willing.

The teacher took each kid out one at a time. He put each of them underwater. I tensed, hoping Natalie wouldn’t have a fit.

I mean, the teacher warned them first. A few kids refused and the teacher didn’t push it. But Natalie was like, “Okay.” And under the water she went.

Then he held her while she practiced kicking.

I pulled out my cell phone. It was okay to relax. It was okay to—

“Mommy,” Natalie said, running over.

Um. What? Wasn’t she supposed to be in the pool?

“Yes?” I asked. What was she doing out?!

“I need you to dry me off,” she said primly.

Uh. Clearly she was confused.

“I dry you off AFTER swim lessons. They aren’t over yet,” I explained.

Natalie thought about it for a second. What if she argued with me in front of all these other parents? All the other kids were behaving, suppose she—oh, phew, she went back in the pool.

I’m amused that my kids will know how to swim better than me. I only know how to dog paddle. Granted, yes, my parents put me in swim lessons as a kid—but I flipped out when it came time to put my face in the water. Tommy already swims faster than me. He’ll laugh when I’m dog paddling across the pool.

“You look so silly!” he always exclaims. “Do the backstroke!”

“I can’t,” I reply.

“Why not?”

“I’ll DIE!”

Well, probably not, but one never knows.

When the teacher took Natalie out next, he had her on her back and asked her to put her head back in the water.

Natalie didn’t want to do this. She was busy lifting her neck up, watching her legs kick through the water.

“Put your head back,” the teacher urged.

“Not now,” Natalie answered.



Well, that’s minimal for her.

At the end of the lessons, they all get to go down the frog slide twice. Most of the kids were nervous about going down so Natalie pushed them out of the way and climbed on it.

Er.

“Manners, Natalie,” I called out.

The teacher asked if she wanted him to catch her before she went under.

“I want to go under,” Natalie said firmly.

And under she went. No problems. Then she climbed out of the pool, pushed in front of people again, and tried to go down the slide.

Ugh. I swear, she knows how to wait in line. Her creepy Yo Gabba Gabba friends even sing about it.

“Natalie,” her teacher said. “Wait your turn.”

Natalie reluctantly climbed off and took her spot in the back of the line. The look on her face was like, “I’m going to get rich and buy me one of these so I can go down whenever I want.”

When it was Natalie’s turn again, she didn’t wait. She climbed right on and went down, even though her teacher was helping another kid out of the pool.

I sucked in my breath. My baby, about to go into the pool, WITHOUT ANYONE TO CATCH HER!

Luckily the teacher heard the splash and helped her out.

“Next time wait for me to tell you to go,” the teacher said kindly as Natalie climbed out of the pool. “I’ll see you in two days for our next lesson.”

Um, yes, patience has never been Natalie’s virtue.

Mine either.

Natalie came over to me and said, “I’d like to go back in.” Then she started walking towards the pool.

“Natalie! Your turn is over,” I explained, gathering her in the towel.

“But I’m not done!” she argued.

“Swim lessons are over,” I tried again.

Natalie’s shoulders slumped. “Ohhh-kay,” she agreed reluctantly.

So other than Natalie nearly drowning by the frog slide, I’d say her lessons went swimmingly. (Ha.)

Natalie Is The Michael Phelps?

“I’m going to be the Michael Phelps,” Natalie said proudly as she stood in her swimsuit. Her swim lessons didn’t even start until the next day but she was ready to go.

“You can’t be the Michael Phelps. That doesn’t even make sense,” Tommy answered.

Natalie’s face turned red. I knew what was coming next. Noise. And lots of it. “I’m GOING TO BE THE MICHAEL PHELPS!” she screamed.

“You can’t,” Tommy said calmly. He thinks it’s funny to annoy his sister.

“I CAN BE THE MICHAEL PHELPS AND I WILL AND I—”

“You can be who you want,” I cut in, cringing. I hate when she gets hysterical. Living with Natalie is like living with the entire Real World cast.

“That doesn’t make sense though.” Tommy wouldn’t drop it. “Plus, she’s a girl. You can’t be Michael Phelps because you’re a girl.”

Natalie was as red as a tomato. “I WILL BE—”

“COULD EVERYONE JUST CHILL OUT?” I yelled, which didn’t set a good example for the kids, but I had reached my limit. Our house is a loud house. If Supernanny had been observing me, she’d have said into the camera, “This mum needs a new way of communicating with her children.”

This mum can only handle so much.

“You’re the meanest mother in the world,” Tommy informed me. He’s been saying that to me if I dare to get cross with him. It’s getting old. Fast. If he keeps saying it, I’ll show him mean and “lose” his Nintendo DS one day.

I rubbed my temples. My head was beginning to throb. Parenting without the help of a partner gets tough. “I am not mean, it’s just, if Natalie wants to be the Michael Phelps, allow her that. But Natalie,” I said, looking at my daughter. Her color was returning to normal. “You can be like Dana Torres. She’s a wonderful swimmer. She made the Olympic team when she was 41. After she had a baby. Personally I’d have called it a day but she didn’t.”

Natalie scowled. “I want to be the Michael Phelps.”

She knows about Michael Phelps thanks to Tommy and his swimming. When he first got into swimming he wanted to know a lot about it and learned about Michael Phelps.

“But you’re a girl,” Tommy fumed.

Natalie kicked Tommy in the knee.

“Natalie, we don’t kick,” I said while Tommy got dramatic and dropped to the ground, gripping his knee. She barely even touched him.

“Look, if you want to be a male swimmer, how about you be like Mark Spitz? He won many gold medals and plus, his name is more enjoyable to say,” I suggested. Spitz, Spitz, Spitz….

“The Mark Spitz?” Natalie repeated.

“Yes. Michael Phelps is who everyone goes for when they think of swimming. You can be original,” I said. “You can say you want to be like the Ryan Lochte, the Cullen Jones, the…um…” What were some other swimmers? “Uh, the Ian Crocker..” It helped that my novel I completed had to deal with swimmers. I feel there needs to be more books about swimmers. I find the sport seems to get overshadowed by baseball, basketball, football…and that’s frustrating.

Natalie tapped her chin. This was an incredibly important matter to her. “I think I’ll just be Natalie.”

“Great choice. Now tomorrow, you aren’t going to scream, are you?”

I pictured Natalie howling the second we walked onto the pool deck. I never know what to expect with her.

“I’ll be good,” Natalie promised.

I crossed my fingers. Please let her be good…

(To be continued..)

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

----------------------

To not understand why people cater to celebs who request stupid things like only green M&Ms, Pellegrino water, or 6 specific kinds of candy bars.


To like Bethenny Ever After even though I was annoyed when Bethenny got her body back seconds after having a baby. She says it’s because she didn’t eat like a garage disposal while pregnant. I did. Hell, I eat like a garbage disposal NOW, which probably accounts for why I don’t have abs..


To be annoyed over the prospect of a government shutdown. It pisses me off that people like SNOOKI continue to get paid but our military members do not? So far the military will get paid on the 15th but it’s not for certain what will happen on the 1st.


To think the people on Extreme Couponing are slightly insane. I can’t spend up to 6 hours planning a shopping trip. It seems like they are fancy hoarders because there are groceries all over their houses. No thanks. I don’t need 50 bottles of mustard.


To have listed some clothes on eBay. Check the auctions out here! Help me earn money for my trip to NYC. I’m a fast shipper!


To not like guacamole. I’ve tried, since it seems to be so popular, but it’s a no go.


To wish Words with Friends would allow the word ‘ew.’ It’s a word! As in, ew, brussel sprouts or ew, Charlie Sheen’s goddesses.


To be planning on putting Natalie in gymnastics since she likes to do somersaults all over the living room.


To have sent Tom a birthday package with his gifts wrapped in girly wrapping paper. It was all I had left. So he’ll have to make do with the wrapping paper that says Birthday Girl across it.


To be putting my query letter (basically what the book is about) and the first chapter of my novel, The Swimmer’s Assistant (formerly SwimmerBoy), up during the weekend. If you like chick lit and feel like checking it out, please do so. I won’t be insulted, I could use constructive criticism.

A Little Thing Called Spring Break

“My friend Blake’s Mom puts his music in the car so he can listen to it while she drives,” Tommy informed me.

It was last week. Spring Break. Both kids were home ALL WEEK LONG. And yes, I meant to put that in caps.

We were on our way to one of my favorite places. Target. Tommy wasn’t thrilled because he’s not a fan of shopping unless he’s getting something.

“You want me to be more like Blake’s Mom then?” I asked. “You want me to only buy Organic foods, prohibit Little Debbie snacks, and only allow two hours of TV?”

Tommy’s eyes got wide. He was probably thinking, “Parents like that EXIST?”

“No way,” Natalie answered for him. “I like TV.”

“Me too. But some parents only allow it briefly. They follow the American Association of Pediatrics and take them seriously. Like, really, you weren’t supposed to watch TV until you were two,” I said.

“TWO!” Tommy shouted in disbelief.

“Two,” I confirmed. “Lucky for you, you have a mother who likes television for background noise. So you both were watching TV as soon as you got home from the hospital. Shame on me.”

“Okay, don’t be like Blake’s Mom. But. I don’t like to listen to this stuff,” Tommy fumed, clapping his hands over his ears dramatically.

I was listening to oldies. There is nothing wrong with oldies. It’s better than that kid crap where you have to endure a bunch of children singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat or Hickory Dickory Dock. If the kids want to listen to that, they do so in their rooms. Away from me. I feel it’s my car, therefore it’s MY MUSIC.

“This stuff rocks,” I replied. “It’s better than the Yo Gabba Gabba CD. No offense Natalie, but if I have to listen to a song about not biting my friends one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

“It’s not nice to bite,” Natalie said, sticking a Goldfish cracker in her mouth. “You bite food, not friends.”

Yeah. Thanks to the Yo Gabba Gabba gang, she has that rule down.

When we parked at Target, Tommy sighed deeply. “What are we doing here?” He sounded like his father. Tom doesn’t understand why girls like to shop just to shop. He feels there always has to be a purpose. I feel there just has to be an urge to shop.

And I feel an urge to shop at Target. A lot. It doesn’t mean I always buy something (okay, I mostly always buy something..)

“I don’t like it here,” Tommy mumbled.

“What’s not to like?” I wanted to know. “It’s a wonderful store. The possibilities of what you’ll find are endless. And unlike Wal-Mart, the people here don’t look like they’re about to keel over at any second.”

Not that I have a problem with Wal-Mart. I shop there a lot too. Wal-Mart sells my beloved Dunkaroo snacks. It’s just, the customers seem to differ quite a bit between the two establishments. Greatly. Let’s just say that there isn’t a People of Target website..

Anyway.

I started to browse Target with Tommy sighing behind me. His hands were jammed in his pockets and he had a scowl on his face. We passed other families with a Tommy in their midst too. Ahh yes. It was Spring Break.

“Cheer up, we’ll look at the toys,” I promised.

“Am I getting anything?” Tommy perked up a bit. Only a bit. The corner of his lip lifted in what might have become a smile had I said yes.

But I didn’t.

“No,” I replied. “We’re just looking.”

“But you got something.” Tommy pointed angrily to my chocolate candy bar and frame that I found for 75% off.

“I need those,” I insisted. “The chocolate bar is for my sanity since you both are home and the frame because I take lots of pictures.”

We went to the toy section. Natalie said she needed everything down the Princess aisle. Tommy stared intently at a Transformer toy as though he expected it to come alive and say, “I’m free. Take me home.”

“Okay, let’s move on,” I called out.

Tommy’s shoulders slumped. “I really think this is cool.”

“I know. Maybe another time,” I said.

Tommy stuck the toy back on the shelf with a scowl. His hands went back into his pockets.

“I’ll let you each pick out a treat,” I said kindly. “Since I got some.”

“Can I get gummy fish?” Natalie asked. It’s easy to please her. She’s four.

Tommy on the other hand…

“Can I get the toy instead?” he asked.

“No. You can pick out a treat. That’s my final offer.”

Tommy let out a loud breath.

“If you could perk up, that would be great,” I suggested curtly. My patience was wearing thin. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t have a lot of it. Tommy was pressing my buttons and I was two seconds away from pulling a Meat Loaf type fit.




Tommy offered a tiny smile. He reminded me of Anthony Hopkins in The Silence of the Lambs.

Luckily we got through Spring Break without any major meltdowns (I may have had one. The kids took my cell phone and wouldn’t tell me where it was. Not. Cool.)

But now both kids are off to school today.

Freedom.

Well, only about two hours since Natalie is just in preschool.

Still. I’ll take it.

(Don't remind me about Summer.)

Novica.com Review and Giveaway**CLOSED

**Winner was announced here**

I'm always on the search for unique gifts.

So when someone from Novica.com contacted me about doing a review and giveaway, I jumped at the chance.

After all, where else can you find a site that has handcrafted items from all over the world?

Here's what Novica is about as stated on their website:

We want to give artists and artisans around the world a global platform to express their true artistic talents and to spur their creativity. And, we want to provide you with access to unique, hard-to-find items at great values that only the Internet infrastructure can allow.

If you need a unique gift for someone, Novica is the place to check. Looking for corporate gifts? Check out the site.

Want some green gifts to help the environment? Novica has that!

I was given a gift certificate to check out the site and was in awe of all the products that were offered. From apparel, to jewelry, to home decor...the possibilities are endless.

I was impressed with how my items arrived. Look how beautiful this is:



I almost didn't want to unwrap it.



Natalie was even impressed.



Still curious on what it is?




Panpipes! A reed zampona panpipe, to be exact. This is the description from the website:

Poised to sing sweet melodies of the Andes, this beautiful zampoña panpipe is handcrafted by Benito Tito. Its name, Laca, refers to the presence of the traditional musical instrument at festive events.

My kids love it. And I love the quality. It's absolutely amazing.

But, I'm not done yet. Nope, I got something else from Novica.

Again, it was wrapped beautifully:



All gifts from Novica come with a card explaining where it was made. This item also came with a book describing exactly what it was and what it meant.




Are these not the cutest things ever?

They are Celadon ceramic figurines 'Elephant life lessons.'

From the website:

Baby elephants learn their first lessons in life: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Duangkamol crafts the charming figurines with traditional celadon ceramic techniques featuring a unique glazed, crackled texture. The elephant calves sit on a tray.

Natalie wanted to go to sleep with one.

I told her no.


Bottom line? We loved what we got from Novica. If you ever want to host a show or become a consultant for Novica selling these wonderful and unique gifts, check out Novica Live. Looking for fair trade corporate gifts? Novica has them. Want to do a good deed an help an artist? Check out the microfinance section. You will be helping an artisan preserve their ancient techniques, among other things.


Wait, don't go yet! I have a $75 gift certificate for one of my lucky readers to win. I will announce the winner on April 17th.

The first entry is mandatory. Go to Novica and tell me what you would buy.

Want extra entries? Make sure you leave a separate entry for each one.

Follow Novica on Twitter

Follow Novica on Facebook


Good luck!

CSN Stores Rock!

I love to shop.

I especially love to shop in a place where I can find over 200 stores at once. CSN Stores does just that. I can find furniture, lighting, rugs...you name it, CSN Stores probably has it.

I am also a fan of free shipping. Many items at CSN Stores ship for free.

I was lucky enough to be given a gift certificate to try their stores out. I was amazed at all the selections and opted to buy something in the kids rug section since my daughter needed a new one.

I knew I wanted a Princess themed rug and was pleased to see so many choices on the site. I mean, they even had a Princess themed SECTION. Is this not the cutest thing ever?




If you're in the market for rugs, CSN is offering a 20% off a purchase of $100 or more. Just plug in the code AprilRug20. Good until April 19th!

We ended up with this one:



(Like it? Buy it here.)

Natalie immediately was infatuated with it.




And she gave it a thumbs up:



Oh, but she wasn't done yet. No, she had to put on her Princess dress and stand on it to make it official. And she even used the tube that the carpet came with as a telescope. She was pretending to be a pirate/princess.



I'd say the rug was a big hit.


**My opinions are my own. I wasn't paid to write this but I was given a gift certificate to try out CSN Stores.**

Things I've Been Snacking On

I like food.

I like to eat.

Therefore, I decided to write an entry on the stuff I’m currently snacking on.




Yum. Easter treats. Those dipped Peeps rock and the Peepsters are delicious. Not pictured: Cadbury Crème Eggs. It’s because I already ate them by the time I took the pictures. I’ve lost count on how many I’ve consumed. (10? 20? Who knows?)




I haven’t seen Berry Berry Kix in years! Maybe I just hadn’t been looking…normally I stick to the cereals with marshmallows and sprinkles. (Hi, I’m Amber, I’m 28 and I don’t eat cereal that looks like tree bark..) (I also don’t like cereal with nuts in it. Ew.) Anyway, I wandered into the healthier section and was like, “Berry Berry Kix!” Although they aren’t as good as I remembered. The corn puffs used to be in the shape of actual berries. Now they are all balls. (Teehee.) But still. Boo.




This popcorn by Orville Redenbacher is awesome. You don’t even have to mess up a dish! It’s already in a bowl. Sweet. I like anything that saves me a dish.





Er. This isn’t a snack. It just made me laugh. Star Jones is all sorts of crazy on The Celebrity Apprentice this season. I snack while watching it. That’s how this picture fits in. Yeah. We’ll go with that.





These are a given. My beloved Dunkaroos that I thought were gone forever. A fabulous snack.




Are you a fan of the cheese flavored goldfish? Then try these! Vanilla cupcake flavored goldfishes! They taste like a sweeter version of Nilla wafers.


And PS—don’t worry, my kids (and I) do eat healthy foods. It’s just, these are more entertaining to talk about. It’s not as interesting to take a picture of grapes and be all, “Yeah. We’re eating grapes. Yum.”

Still, I’m never going to eat cereal that looks like tree bark. Or sticks.

Let's Go Swimming

Natalie starts swim lessons on Monday.

This meant that I had to get her a swim suit.

I found this one at Gymboree.



I’m a sucker for matching hats.

Will she keep it on? Maybe not.

Still, I LOVE it.

Natalie seems to love it too.







(And yes, she loves to pose like that. Thank you, America’s Next Top Model.)

She wore it most of the day. She even wore it when I had the Teen Mom reunion on. Here she’s like, “Chelsea, why did you go back to that ass? I’m only 4 and I know better…”



Well. Not really.

Then she started to jump on the couch.





And do flips.





Next up?

Gymnastics.