Nicole Locke - Get Me Out of this Car!

I’m a stay-at-home mom. Doesn’t that sound divine? To be fair, I know I have it easy. My husband makes the majority of the income, so I’m able to do the other stuff.

The other stuff is enormous. Huge. It’s so big, my husband has to help, too (the garage does not clean itself). I work as well. I do this writing thing, and it has deadlines, and some days it’s incredibly hard.

Add in this moving thing I did in December, and well…. My ship is sinking. In fact, I’m typing this at 10pm because it can’t wait until tomorrow, or the next because I have deadlines looming, and my 7yo daughter has this concert, oh wait, two concerts, and my 14yo son is in need of clothes because I’ve shrunk everything (or is he getting bigger--again!).

In truth, maybe if I had this home schedule all along it’d be easier because I wouldn’t know any different. But I’m in culture shock. London school life was so different.

There, I walked my daughter the half a mile to school every day. That got in my exercise and times-tables quiz time. All moms brought their kids to the gate, we visited, and then got on with our days.

 

My son had been getting himself to school and to his after-school activities by age 12. Other than making sure he did his homework, I didn’t have to worry about him at all.

In America, my son starts school at 8:45am. The bus can’t get him there on time unless he leaves much earlier. Since we are new, I’m not putting that burden on him. So I schlep him out of the house at 8:20. Unfortunately, my daughter has to come with us. Really unfortunately, her school doesn’t start until 9:30. So she’s stuck in the car an extra 45 minutes (we do her homework and run errands).

I’m not even going to mention that my son gets out of school at 3:15pm, and my daughter at 4:10. Or that some days he can’t get himself home. Like Tuesdays, when I have to pick him up, and drive him to the library for volunteer time. Then drive to pick daughter from school, only to return to the library (while she eats in car) to pick up son. Continue driving to another school so my daughter can have orchestra practice and where my son can take a bus home. She and I don’t return home until 7:30pm when we eat dinner (maybe…if I prepared it earlier).

I can’t start work until 10am and on good days I write until 2pm. And I don’t want to think about my house, that I’m living in a suitcase still or the fact our container full of clothes hasn’t arrived yet (though the moving company has had it since December 6^th). It’ll be Spring and I’ll still be wearing my winter wools….

Am I crazy. Is this driving all around schedule normal for parents in America? How have you been doing it all this time? And why is the image of stay-at-home moms all about eating bonbons? It’s not that way in the UK. Here, I feel I have to justify my day with people I meet. Do you?

Whew. I’m glad I can share this. I truly do want to know how you do it, and if I’m missing a trick. Please tell me there’s a magical time bending necklace I didn’t know about….

Nicole :-)

 

Nicole Locke is the author of Harlequin Lovers and Legends series. For more information about her and her writing, check out her website and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and Pinterest.

 

The Wrong Heirs and Mommy Swaps

When I sat down to write the duet that eventually became The Wrong Heirs, I wanted to pay a small homage to mothers everywhere, especially the ones who helped me raise my own children.

Parenting is hard and the earliest years of parenting, when you're not good at it yet, are the hardest. (They were for me, anyway.)

I was lucky enough to have two neighbours who became fast friends. Their children were about the same age as my own and they had similar values and styles of parenting. Without them, I would have been a far more stressed (and far less skilled) mom.

I should mention that I hold their husbands in high regard, but female friendship, especially when it's forged in child rearing, really stands the test of time. As did the children's friendships.

This photo is my daughter with one of those childhood friends. I love that years after they were drawing on the sidewalks themselves, they're still walking side by side, sharing secrets.

I could wax for a whole blog post about the beauty of these children and their eternal friendship, but today I'm extolling the one that mothers share, especially when they hold another's newborn and feel not just warmth and love, but the tribal 'this one is my own' feeling.

I had that for these other women's children and have always trusted them with my own, knowing that they would not only care for my children for an afternoon, but guide them and even provide them that little bit of mentorship and fresh perspective that would enrich my children's experience beyond what I could provide.

This very special feeling between mothers was something I wanted to capture when I wrote my baby swap books. Sorcha and Octavia have shared an experience of being handed the wrong baby. They held that stranger's baby and felt the well of protectiveness. It leaves them with an indelible need to be part of that child's life forever, to be a standby guardian of sorts.

Here's a snippet from The Marriage He Must Keep showing their connection:

Octavia had apologized to Sorcha when they had a moment alone, saying, “I’m so sorry this awful situation happened, Sorcha. I feel terrible—”  

“Oh, I don’t hold you responsible!” Sorcha reassured her, but admitted on a quivering whisper, “But Cesar didn’t know about Enrique. At all.” The stress of dealing with his discovery was visible in her pinched nostrils and white cheeks.  

Octavia didn’t judge. She was far too preoccupied with her own problems and the sordid reason her husband had married her. Part of her wanted to spill it all to her new friend, but it was so personal, so lowering.  

Before she left, Sorcha made a point of exchanging contact details so they could stay in touch. “I’ll be going to Spain,” Sorcha had said, a conflicted expression torturing her beautiful face. “I don’t expect it’ll be a warm welcome from his family. I’d appreciate having a friend, even if you’re in London.”  

“I’ve been in London for medical care. I live in Naples,” Octavia had said, not bringing up her reservations about going back there. Alessandro hadn’t said another word about their plans, but she hadn’t stopped thinking about how ruthless and arrogant he’d been the other night. It hurt. She felt as if she was back in her childhood, expected to do as she was told. And why not? She virtually always had.  

“I’d like a friend, too,” Octavia said with a touch more vehemence than she meant to reveal. “I’m very attached to Enrique,” she added, reaching out to stroke Sorcha’s son’s tiny closed fist. “I’ll need regular updates. I’m going to miss him. He was almost mine.” It was true. She felt a strange connection to the boy.  

“I feel the same,” Sorcha said, eyes shining with emotion. “I’ll feel so cheated, not seeing Lorenzo every day.” They hugged it out and Sorcha was gone when Alessandro settled Octavia in the back of his town car.

Do you have a fast-friend who became your child's Other Mother? Is there a family friend who isn't related, but you call Auntie? What do you think about these bonds?

The Marriage He Must Keep is on shelves now! Or grab it from one of these online retailers:
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The Consequence He Must Claim is a Feb 1st title, available now at Mills & Boon and shipping from Amazon Feb 19th. Preorder here:

Amazon: US | CA | UK | Aus | Nook | Kobo | iBooks | GooglePlay | BAM | Mills & Boon | Harlequin

Dani Collins is the USA Today Bestselling author of two dozen sexy, witty, vibrant titles for Harlequin Mills & Boon, Tule's Montana Born, and herself.

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PUT UP YOUR DUKES by Jenny Gardiner

I think I owe an apology to my fellow pugilists in boxing class at the gym. My Type A mentality appears to have seeped into the otherwise collegial group and launched a lamentable trend (though I could argue where better for Type A behavior to infiltrate than in an aggressive pursuit like boxing?). It wasn't on purpose. Or I should say it wasn't overtly intentional. Mostly it arose from a purely maternal instinct, if one can have maternal instincts when it comes to hitting something with your fists, even if it is with hot pink gloves. You see, before I got all territorial in boxing, no one ever claimed a bag. People would show up and mill about the room, chatting while wrapping their hands. After warm-up, they'd migrate to a bag, depending on who was in the class. But then I came along. And persuaded my daughter to start boxing too. But she was often late to class, coming right from work, and I wanted to share a bag with her, so I had the brilliant idea to just drop our gloves when I got to class in front of one of the bags, which would indicate that two people would be on that bag. I suppose the fact that the gloves were pink automatically sent the men running to a separate bag. I'm fairly certain the idea of anything but traditional black boxing gloves is anathema to any man worth his salt. Dirty secret: this certainly worked to our advantage, because it's actually harder to punch on a bag with a guy who is pounding the thing with far more power. So pink gloves meant the guys would seek out another bag to reserve. Honestly, I didn't claim the bag in order to be territorial. I just wanted to ensure that she and I could box together. How would I know that people would pick up on the trend and start dropping their gloves first thing on their own bag of choice? For that matter, who knew there even were bags of choice? But now, when the doors open for class, people beeline to the spots where the bags aren't even out yet, at the ready, staking their home for the next 60 minutes, marking their territory, like a good fighter should. So maybe I've done them all a favor. Perhaps I was somehow answering that call of the wild that is deep down in us all, that need to have that fire hydrant with which you can do whatever you damn well please. Damn that reptilian part of my brain! And I'll try not to flinch at the irony of my staking out a bag so that my daughter and I could punch together. Talk about genteel familial bonding! It would probably be wiser to bond over shopping, though that too can become an aggressive pursuit, if a sale is especially good (think Thanksgiving night at WalMart). Now one might argue that this spot-saving thing is rooted in a childhood in which I had to stake my claim or not get it. Growing up with three brothers, well, I'd have been much better off with a nice set of (pink) boxing gloves, frankly. Then I could have put those boys in their place from the get-go, ensuring never having to fend for myself. It's a shame that rears its ugly head in the most unexpected of places. Though it's a little fitting to create a potential battleground in a boxing class full of pugilist wannabes. I can only hope it doesn't come down to fisticuffs to determine primacy on the bag at some point. At least we're armed with the right equipment. For that matter, at least I didn't do this in yoga. Though, come to think of it, attendees can get pretty jabby with the elbows when the yoga doors open, all clamoring to get their mat in just that perfect spot. Maybe I need to bring my hot pink gloves next time I'm in yoga, just in case… I'm just hoping my spot on the bag isn't eclipsed by some young turk who's taken advantage of my absence from the class while I'm away this month. After all, while I've developed a pretty mean right hook in that class, I'd rather not have to actually use it.


  Sleeping with Ward Cleaver

Slim to None

Anywhere But Here

Winging It: A Memoir of Caring for a Vengeful Parrot Who's Determined to Kill Me

Accidentally on Purpose (written as Erin Delany)

Compromising Positions (written as Erin Delany)

I'm Not the Biggest Bitch in this Relationship (I'm a contributor)

And these shorts:
Idol Worship: A Lost Week with the Weirdos and Wannabes at American Idol Auditions

The Gall of It All: And None of the Three F's Rhymes with Duck

Naked Man On Main Street

find me on Facebook: fan page
 find me on twitter here
 find me on my website

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes by Jenny Gardiner

I've been thinking a lot about transitions lately, mostly because my own life has been riddled with transitions, the biggest being my recently becoming an empty-nester. Now, I long dreaded this particular transition; I had no idea how I could morph from living a life that has been all about my kids to releasing control for the most part and letting them take over the reins and having no one for whom to be accountable on a daily basis. But it's a part of life and we all have to go through it, like it or not. I've tried to tell myself this will result in plenty of freedom in my life, though I guess with that comes the potential to simply become unmoored, adrift while you try to figure out how to redefine your life.

Perhaps it was a little more dramatic how this unfolded, because not only did we send our youngest off to college a few weeks ago, but a week before that we sent our middle one off to study abroad in Europe, and then just last week bade farewell to my oldest (who graduated from college in May), who left for a year-long adventure in which he'll be off-the-grid, incommunicado, in remote stretches of the world. So not only are my kids gone, but two of them are essentially unreachable, and sadly I can't just pick up the phone and call, or text or email just to touch base with them. I've sort of gone from immersion in my kids' lives to extrication, in one fell swoop.

As an avowed extrovert, I have been wholly unprepared for this screeching halt to my world of a perpetual buzz of activity. As a mom first, writer second, I learned long ago to pick up and go with my laptop and write when I could, be it soccer practice or pick-up line at school or roadtrips to soccer matches in different cities. At home I worked at my desk in the middle of all the activity, with homework and friends of the kids dropping by and the television blaring. I became used to operating in "putting out fires" mode, jumping from one urgent, pressing situation with the kids to another, squeezing my writing in when I could. On top of that, I never quite realized how much of my social life centered around being at school-related functions, where you're around parents of kids your kids' ages. When all of a sudden you don't have that outlet, you realize you have no one with whom to hang. My close friends either have school-aged kids so are still very involved with their kids at home, or have already departed for the post-empty nest world and aren't even around. Or else they're now stuck in jobs and are completely unavailable. I'm thinking I might soon have to chat up the mailman just to have companionship by day. I was thrilled to have had all the kids (and their respective girlfriends/boyfriends) around much of the summer, so this meant we had much going on, with little free time for writing. Truth be told my life hasn't allowed for much writing at all since last winter, what with my youngest child's travel sports schedule and trekking all over the east coast while deciding colleges for her, and in between that road-tripping to my other kids' schools for various awards and events.

So all of a sudden this week I was faced with the deafening silence of being virtually alone. Now, I'm not completely alone because I have this menagerie of demanding pets (two dogs, a parrot, a bunny and a cat). So it's not silent like a normal person's house, but rather silent with a lot of barking, squawking, and still a huge mess even though no one is leaving a trail of dirty dishes and laundry about the place. Instead it's mounds of feather, fur and animal poo, thanks. To top it off my husband went out of town. And I was left to be alone with myself. And I hated it. It's sad because I vividly recall times when my children were young when I probably would have paid to be alone at a Greyhound bus station for a few hours, I craved solitude so much. But now that I've found solitude, I don't particularly like it, and I am anxious to be around people. Which doesn't happen as easily when your office is the desk in your kitchen and the only ones around with whom to converse have fur or feathers. I fear I'll turn into a cat lady.The unfortunate hallmark of my weekend alone were bouts with unbidden eruptions of tears and a half-hearted pity party thrown in for good measure. I guess it's a good thing I didn't resort to watching home videos of my children as babies. I blubbered enough without that, thanks.
As if this week during which loneliness seemed to be defining my life wasn't bad enough, with my husband away I decided to have the dogs sleep with me in the bedroom. Nothing worse than being home alone with a dog barking in the middle of the night downstairs to unnerve you. So I figured I'd keep them nearby to avoid that. So instead, at 3 a.m. Saturday night, I was awoken abruptly by the unmistakable sound of a dog throwing up. I hastened the dog into the bathroom to keep the mess at bay, but she followed me back to the room only for me to realize she was about to have a seizure. Knowing what that would entail, I scooped up my nearly 80-pound dog and lugged her, completely deadweight but for the onset of her seizure starting to overtake her, and laid her on the bathroom floor, trying to settle her in as best I could. Carrying her resulted in my being accidentally scraped up by her claws, and yeah, covered in dog wee wee, which I'd been trying to avoid by sticking her in the bathroom in the first place. Just as her seizure finally ended, I heard my other dog start to throw up. Seriously. So while I have tried to tell myself "Hey, the upside of the empty nest is no kids to wake me in the middle of the night!", the reality is I have animals who somehow can't help but do so. I was up cleaning the dogs and their mess till after 5 a.m. and couldn't fall asleep till 7 a.m. Yep, my first week as an empty-nester left me too tired to even do the one thing I now have all sorts of time to do: write.

I'm hoping week two of my transition will result in a much more productive week. The stress of the past month of preparing my kids for their various departures left me in a state of inertia, just sort of treading water as I clear my head and try to get a grip on my new life.

I know at some point I will relish this newfound "freedom" (bound though I am with these crazy pets, one of whom is a talking parrot who has repeated "Goodnight, I love you" ten times in the past fifteen minutes). I'll be happy to be able to settle down and focus on my writing again, once I actually learn how to focus with no distractions (wish me luck). In the meantime, I guess I just have to ride this wave, see where it takes me, expect to feel sad and at odds with myself and allow myself to be unmoored, adrift in a new world I don't quite know how to navigate. This happens when life is in transition.



  Sleeping with Ward Cleaver

Slim to None

Anywhere But Here

Where the Heart Is

Winging It: A Memoir of Caring for a Vengeful Parrot Who's Determined to Kill Me

Accidentally on Purpose (written as Erin Delany)

Compromising Positions (written as Erin Delany)

I'm Not the Biggest Bitch in this Relationship (I'm a contributor)

And these shorts:
Idol Worship: A Lost Week with the Weirdos and Wannabes at American Idol Auditions

The Gall of It All: And None of the Three F's Rhymes with Duck

Naked Man On Main Street

find me on Facebook: fan page
 find me on twitter here
 find me on my website