When I Grow Up

A Year of Books – 2020 in Review

Half my current TBR pile. (It’s two stacks deep.)

I don’t remember a time when I didn’t love books. Practically from the time I was born, my uncle ensured I had a ready supply and my mom read to me every night, even after I learned to read on my own. After I had been tucked in at night, I continued to read, until my eyes no longer stayed open. When I started getting an allowance, I spent most of it at B Dalton or Waldenbooks. After I started college, my reading habits began to change when reading to learn left little time to read for pleasure, but I still found time to lose myself in the wonderful world of words.

When I became a mom myself, I began the same routine my mom had established years before. However, after a day wrangling kids, my reading routine generally stopped after they were tucked in for the night. At some point, I realized that I had lost control of my reading list. I allowed each child to select their bedtime story (though I sometimes claimed veto power, such as the 27th time my daughter wanted to hear Wendell) but rarely read anything of my choosing. I longed for the day I would again choose what I read.

Then I began to spend much of my after-school hours in the car. I discovered that waiting for children to finish activities (especially those didn’t last long enough to make it worth driving home and returning) could become prime reading time, even though this meant I had to adjust to a new pattern – putting a book down unfinished to come back to at a later date and time.

Today I read both to learn and for pleasure. I’ll admit that I often choose kids’ books over those written for adults. To be honest, I find they sometimes have more substance and truth than their grown-up counterparts.

As a writer, I have many writer friends and acquaintances. Some have written books and I have been lucky enough to receive advance copies to review. In addition, I have an account on Netgalley, which also provides me the opportunity to read and review books before they are released. Some of these books I have reviewed on this blog. Other books I have heard about and obtained in the same way as most people – personal recommendations and ads, through my local library and bookstores.

In 2020, my reading was an eclectic mix. In addition to the books I read to review, reading books has also been part of the research for the books I am writing. Some of these were for background and may include information that will work its way into my own books, while others are necessary market research. And of course I’ve also read some books just for the fun of it.

I wish I had kept a comprehensive list to share, but here’s a partial list of what I read last year:

Books for Kids

An Apple for Dapple by Leah Peterson

Too Sticky! Sensory Issues With Autism by Jen Malia

The Laura Ingalls Wilder Companion, A Chapter-by-Chapter Guide by Annette Whipple

Now Hear This; Harper Soars With Her Magic Ears  by Valli and Harper Gideons

Skedaddle by Jacqueline Leigh

Belinda Baloney Changes Her Mind by Becca Carnahan

Ghetto Cowboy by G. Neri

The Story of Norman Mineta, a Boy Imprisoned in a Japanese American Internment Camp During World War II by Andrea Warren

Eclipse Chaser: Science in the Moon’s Shadow by Ilima Loomis

Women Who Dared: 52 Stories of Fearless Daredevils, Adventurers, and Rebels (Biography Books for Kids, Feminist Books for Girls) by Linda Skeers

Dissenter on the Bench: Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s Life and Work by Victoria Ortiz

I Dissent: Ruth Bader Ginsburg Made Her Mark by Debbie Levy

Nevertheless, We Persisted : 48 Voices of Defiance, Strength, and Courage

Books for Adults

Growing Sustainable Together: Practical Resources for Raising Kind, Engaged, Resilient Children by Shannon Brescher Shea

Becoming Dr. Seuss: Theodor Geisel and the Making of an American Imagination by Brian Jay Jones

Becoming Queen Victoria : The Tragic Death of Princess Charlotte and the Unexpected Rise Of Britain’s Greatest Monarch  by Kate Williams

Princess: The Early Life of Queen Elizabeth II by Jane Dismore

Henry David Thoreau: A Life, by Laura Dassow Walls

Eleanor by David Michaelis

Three Sisters by Phillipa Gregory

The Last Tudor by Phillipa Gregory

The Extraordinary Life of AA Milne by Nadia Cohen

Becoming by Michelle Obama

Good Girls Revolt: How the Women of Newsweek Sued their Bosses and Changed the Workplace by Lynn Povich

Let Them Be Themselves by Lee Bennett Hopkins

The Dutch House by Ann Patchett

Right now, my TBR (to be read) pile is substantial. If I were to make a New Year’s Resolution, it would be to read my way through much of it; my list for this month alone includes four that were recently published or are soon to be released. I’ll keep you posted…

 

 


A Year Worth Remembering? Goodbye 2020!

As many of us often do, I’m ending the year reflecting. This year in particular has been a challenging one to look at in review. As has been the case much of this year, I haven’t always been able to quickly recall what I did yesterday, never mind months ago. Though I don’t do this every year, I decided to review what I have written in 2020, which appears to be not much.

I forgot that back in January, I chose my words for the year, and “Whoa Nellie!” (to quote my dear Grandpa Joe), they were powerful words! “Embracing change” was what I looked forward to for 2020. Little did I know how much in all our lives would change and how little I anticipated exactly what demands would be placed on me because of those changes. (Suffice it to say, there will be no choosing words or phrases for 2021.)

The year 2020 was one for the history books, in many ways. (There is no need to expand on this: Even decades in the future, a simple Google – or equivalent – search will provide details.) I’m sure everyone will agree that the year was one of upended plans and dashed expectations. On Friday, March 13 (otherwise known as the day the world shut down for many of us), I realized how much things would rapidly change, took stock of what resources I had at my disposal and made a conscious decision to shift to a domestic course of action, to focus on my family: on caretaking and calming nerves as best I could (while mostly hiding my own moments of panic). I didn’t know then that my temporary hiatus from my typical workday schedule would last throughout the year.

With freelance opportunities reduced by shrinking budgets (largely a result of reduced advertising due to reduced spending on just about everything – except of course for the elusive toilet paper), I decided this would be a good time to focus on bigger projects: books. More specifically, I spent much of the year working on my historical novel about the Titanic and also a new project, a comprehensive biography on a person dear to my heart whose words began haunting me, demanding that I write this book.

Though things often looked bleak, the year brought some pleasant surprises. I try to make it to a couple writers’ conferences each year and this year had two planned, in April and May. Needless to say, both were postponed and ultimately went virtual. While I was disappointed by not being able to meet people in person (particularly the one focused on children’s literature, the first of its kind I would attend), the costs were significantly reduced, making it possible for me to add another conference previously outside my budget. All were well done despite the obvious challenges, and I learned quite a bit more than I expected.

The year also brought not-so-pleasant surprises. My mom was diagnosed with cancer and began treatment early this summer. My parents live about 1000 miles away, but we all agreed that I needed to visit, so I took appropriate precautions and made two two-week trips to spend time with them. I also learned that my body hates gluten and needed to make significant dietary changes. It’s interesting to note that during a pandemic, gluten free breads, pastas and flour sell out as fast as gluten-full ones.

Perhaps my biggest surprise this year relates to my outlook. While this year saw only a dozen published bylines, I’m okay with that.  2020 forced me to slow down, to value things differently. Yes, I am disappointed that I didn’t write more words this year, that I didn’t publish more. I don’t think it’s being too hard on myself to say that I could have done better – but I did enough. I made it through the year – not unscathed, but it could have been worse.

This was a year I would never want to repeat, but it had its moments. It was a year of learning, on many levels. It was a year of growing, personally and professionally. It was a year of evaluating, where and who I am and where and who I want to be. While we all experienced the year differently, it impacted us all. Many people have said that the forced slowdown of the year was a good thing, that it provided perspective.

Ringing in 2021 will be different – smaller, quieter, more tentative. Here’s hoping the lessons learned in the past year will carry through and make the new one better. I know I said I wasn’t choosing words this year, but I am looking forward to a year full of hope, peace and joy.

Happy New Year to all!

~Kimberly


The new picture book Belinda Baloney Changes Her Mind by Becca Carnahan delightfully explores the dilemma so many children face when asked “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

The story starts with three-year-old Belinda who can’t decide what she wants to be.  She looks to the outside world of possibilities and explores each one. Just when it seems she made a decision, “Belinda Baloney changed her mind.” As she gets older, the career options increase. Overwhelmed, Belinda looks to her big brother for help finding the answer. While he doesn’t answer the way she expects, his advice puts her mind at ease.

Belinda’s range of career choices blasts away gender stereotypes – she explores a variety of jobs, from a scientist to a dog walker, an artist to a mechanic, an athlete to a duck trainer. Her brother’s sage advice points out that she doesn’t have to choose just one; she has a lifetime ahead of her — she can change her mind, even multiple times.

Sarah Horan’s simple, colorful illustrations bring Belinda’s many possibilities to life. While aimed at a young audience, even older readers will be comforted by the idea that we don’t have to have our lives mapped out, that changing your mind is a viable, sometimes even desirable option.

 

 

 

Note: Though an advance digital copy of this book was provided free of charge, no compensation was made for this review and the opinions are exclusively mine. KY


The Hardest Part of Growing Up Is Dealing With Loss

Uncle Don and I in 2014

My uncle, Donald George Hopkins, was born in Scranton on August 9, 1941 and died in Mexico on September 24, 2020. In between, he lived a full and interesting life.

Don in his makeshift science lab

He was a scientist, a Sea Scout, a creator, an entrepreneur and more. He attended college for a short time and served in the Army. As a boy, he created a science lab in their small apartment, where he kept mice.  As an adult he was always creating something, often out of found (aka free or throwaway) objects. In his thirties, he concocted a plan with his brother-in-law to make and sell switch plate covers door-to-door (though they made prototypes, this never quite got off the ground). Later in life he joined forced with his second wife to create wooden art (he carved the wood, she drew the designs).

Don in his Sea Scout uniform

Over the course of his life, he lived in New Jersey, California, Illinois, Arkansas, Florida, Mexico and Guatemala. Though he kept moving away, he seemed to always come home, with home loosely defined as where his family was.

He was fun and silly but could also be serious and brooding. He loved animals and was known to bring home new pets that he had found. These included cats, dogs and even a backyard full of birds in elaborately built enclosures. When I was young he had a butterfly specimen mounted in a corked jar that he would make “talk” to me, inadvertently instilling a fear of butterflies that lasted into my adulthood.

When he smiled, it took over his face; his eyes twinkled and when he laughed it was an eruption. He never took life too seriously. He loved a good joke, even if it was on him. One running joke with him and my parents was hiding a rubber goldfish in strange places, designed to startle whoever found it. The morning he was the one to find it, when he put sugar in his very early morning coffee, he let out a yell (while flinging sugar all over the kitchen), but was able to laugh about it later.

Thinking about it, aside from tragedies, I only saw his serious side once. It was at a backyard barbecue at my grandmother’s house when I was about 14. We were sitting off to the side and he just started talking. He told me how excited he was when I was born and how he visited every day after for months. He told me how much he loved spending time with me and how crushed he was when his brother was asked to be my godfather instead of him.

This came as a shock to me, because we had never been close, in fact I didn’t know him well at all. Even though he and his family lived with mine for several months when I was a child, I’m not sure we ever had any one-on-one time.  This conversation made me regret the time years before I had answered a question truthfully. My grandmother made the regrettable decision to ask me who my favorite uncle was in his presence. Not being old enough to understand diplomacy, I answered her, but didn’t name him.

Uncle Don came in and out of our lives over the years, sometimes for a few days, others for a few months or even years. When I was a child, I took the plane ride with my grandmother to visit him and his family during summer vacations. I was close with his first wife, my Aunt Sharon, and my cousin, Donnie, but like the Ken dolls of the ’70s, Uncle Don went off to do whatever he did during the day while the moms and kids stayed home.

Lee, Donna and Donald

Overall, it seems that all of his relationships were complicated. He expressed his love differently than most, but I always knew it was there. While I wish I had more opportunities to spend time with him and get to know him better, I am thankful for the time I did have. The last time I saw him was shortly after he and his wife moved back to the States in 2014 after spending years in Central America. Our visit was brief but pleasant. When I stopped by to visit on one of my trips to Florida in 2016, he was gone. The woman who had moved into his apartment told me he had moved back to Mexico earlier that year.  Though I didn’t expect it, I hoped that circumstances would change and I would get to see him again.

I am saddened by his death, but thankful for his life. He brought a little more sparkle and light into the world. He’s sorely missed.


Skedaddle! – A Bedtime Story

Skedaddle by Jacqueline Leigh is an entertaining bedtime tale full of unexpected nighttime happenings when (so it is thought anyway) everyone is supposed to be asleep.

Noises coming from the ceiling above her bed are keeping Nellie awake. She discovers there is a chipmunk in the attic, one who simply won’t pipe down. Though she tries everything she can think of to ignore the noise,  she still can’t sleep. She decides the critter must Skedaddle!

A grumpy Nellie tries making chipmunk a bed, but he thinks it’s a toy. She brings him snacks, but he invites his friends to share, leading to even more noise. When she exhausts all her ideas to make him skedaddle, and kindly asks him to “keep it down,” chipmunk and friends comply. She returns to bed, but finds she still can’t sleep. In a fun plot twist, she finds another solution.

This amusing picture book is sure to charm children and adults alike. It offers an explanation for random noises in the night and provides some entertaining thoughts on ways to deal with them. The reader gets two simple, yet subtle messages: if you want something, ask for it, directly and kindly; and sometimes getting your way is not what you really want.

The illustrations by Erika Wilson clearly show Nellie’s changing emotions and are sure to prompt some giggles at the critters’ obvious indifference to her attempts to get them to leave. Anyone who has been kept up by noises in the night (or a lack thereof) will relate to her struggle and understand her eventual solution to her dilemma.

 

Note: Though an advance digital copy of this book was provided free of charge, no compensation was made for this review and the opinions are exclusively mine. KY


Now Hear This: Every Classroom Needs This Book

Now Hear This; Harper Soars With Her Magic Ears  by Valli and Harper Gideons is a candid recounting of the young co-author’s challenges with hearing loss. In it, she talks about the assistive devices she has used and the difficulties surrounding them.  The book presents facts in a captivating, entertaining way that includes the struggles parents encounter trying to keep track of hearing devices. The narrator recounts her joy at hearing things clearly for the first time and (despite the fact that she had over the years, left them in some interesting places) her eventual acceptance for and even love of her “magic ears.”

This book will be especially helpful to children with hearing loss. It not only shows that they are not alone, but also talks about cochlear implants in a matter-of-fact, non-frightening way that is certain to be comforting both to children facing surgery and their parents. However, the book also has broader appeal. It is written in such a way that all children will enjoy learning about what makes their friends and classmates’ ears special and reminds readers that hearing is only one aspect of a person; we all want many of the same things out of life.

 

Note: No compensation was made for this review. The opinions are exclusively mine. KY


I Wish Ten-Year-Old Me Had This Laura Ingalls Wilder Companion

Book: The Laura Ingalls Wilder CompanionLike many young girls, I read and re-read the Little House series of books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Though her world was, even then, far removed from the one in which I lived, the stories of grit and family values, even in the face of adversity, were inspiring and timeless. Like many others, my family gathered weekly to watch the television series based on the nine novels

Reading The Laura Ingalls Wilder Companion, A Chapter-by-Chapter Guide by Annette Whipple, brought me back to simpler times, both that of my childhood and even further back, to a world 150 years ago. I heard about this book months ago and looked forward to its release; I was not disappointed.

This book is, as the title suggests, a companion book. It is meant to read alongside Wilder’s novels. It weaves in anecdotes and additional family history that Laura Ingalls Wilder left out of her books and also provides contextual notes for some of the terms and traditions that may seem strange to modern readers. Whipple challenges readers to read critically, reminding readers that these books are novels; though they are based on actual characters and events, they do not necessarily present everything factually. Each chapter ends with things to think about, to “dig deeper” and possible discussion points to get the whole family involved. The recent controversy surrounding the books is addressed head on. In the author’s opening “A Note for the Reader,” she says, “We need to think about these issues even when they make us uncomfortable.” Throughout her book Whipple points out culturally insensitive phrases and words that Wilder used in the novels, explaining why they should not be used today.

Personally, my favorite part of each chapter is the “Live Like Laura” section. Here, Whipple highlights her research. She shares activities, crafts and best of all, recipes to help readers experience a taste of pioneer life. With 75 activities that come straight from the novels, readers can enjoy hours of screen-free fun, either on their own or with their parents (some activities note parental supervision is required for safety). Whether readers of this book are new to the Little House books or parents sharing their childhood favorites, it’s almost certain every reader, will learn something new. (Did you know there is no wheat in buckwheat and that vinegar pie is sweet? And there are Laura Ingalls Wilder-related sites to visit in 7 states?)

As a history and photography lover, I can’t end without mentioning the illustrations. The drawings and photos (both vintage and more recent) enhance the text, providing a clearer image of the people and places Laura Ingalls Wilder brought to life almost 100 years ago. Older fans of Wilder’s books will recognize this new title as a book they wish they had when they were kids.

 

Note: Though an advance copy of this book was provided free of charge, no compensation was made for this review and the opinions are exclusively mine. KY


When Do I Have to Stop Calling You Mommy?

My early memories are filled with images of my mom. I was an only child until the age of 6, and like most moms at the time, she didn’t work outside the home, so we spent a lot of time together. A typical day started with each of us doing our own thing, until lunch, our special break of the day. We sat at the table, my little legs dangling and swinging, and had intense conversations about life, in the serious way only preschoolers and kindergartners can have. Bedtime was special. She’d lie beside me and read a bedtime story (or two or three). The rare nights she missed bedtime held their own excitement.  When she and Dad had plans to go out, I sat in her room, chatting with her while she got ready. Each time, I told her, quite honestly, that she was the most beautiful woman in the world (70s blue eye shadow and all).

At some point in elementary school, I asked my mom when I had to stop calling her Mommy. I noticed that older kids no longer used this special word and was not looking forward to that particular milestone. She told me that many children stop calling their mothers Mommy (in favor of Mom) at some point, but that as far as she was concerned, I could use either, or both, whatever I was comfortable with. This made me feel much better.  I gradually moved to calling her Mom in public, but usually stuck to Mommy when it was just us.

When my own kids started school, this conversation flashed into my mind. I realized that things were going to change, in many ways, and certainly faster than I was prepared for. Other children and their families’ values and traditions would quickly start to exert influence on my children. In some ways this was a good thing – they would be exposed to many wonderful things I couldn’t share with them, but it was also a bit scary – they would meet other mothers and there were likely to be comparisons. They would start to look at me in a different way.

My kids never asked me this dreaded question. They got older and Mommy became Mom or Mother (or even Kimberly when I was distracted and failed to respond). When my oldest three began German language classes, they switched to the German version: Mutti. My youngest, however, asserted her individuality from a young age: she chose Mama instead of Mommy from the time she could speak. Like her siblings, as she got older this sometimes became Mom. (Though when I am distracted, she has her own technique to bring me around: a scary, gravelly, horror-movie way of saying Ma-Ma that gets everyone’s attention.)

My kids are all grown, but some things haven’t changed. There are some specific times (when they are overly stressed, sick or especially when they want something) I can count on them to call Mommy, though most of the time my name changes with the mood (theirs). Though what they call me doesn’t matter all that much to me, I will admit, I’m still partial to Mommy and Mama which are quite endearing.

In overthinking the issue, I have come to realize what I couldn’t quite express when I was a child myself, the real reason I still sometimes call my own mom Mommy: it is subtle, but there is a difference between the two words. Mother or Mom tells people what you are; Mommy or Mama tells people who you are.  Mommy implies greater intimacy, a closer relationship. As with much else, I agree with my own mom on this. My kids will never have to stop calling me Mommy.


Some Birthdays Are Meant to Be Celebrated Forever

I got an email reminder yesterday from an e-card company wanting me to send birthday wishes. This reminder was completely unnecessary; the birthday in question is one that I know as well as my own. Unfortunately, sending electronic birthday wishes is now impossible, as this person is no longer with us.

As far back as I can remember, one constant Christmas gift from my uncle was a calendar. Upon my opening said gift, he would always prompt me to flip to April where on the13th, often in red felt-tipped marker, he had prominently written, “Uncle Lee’s birthday.”

Though he left us last August, Uncle Lee is on my mind often. While growing up, I had a stronger relationship with my parents’ siblings than most of my friends, but I was especially close to Uncle Lee. Though we lived at a distance from the time I was about 3, it never felt that far; we were always closely connected.

He had an enormous influence on my life. From the day I was born, he was looking out for me. He provided resources to feed my curiosity. He made sure I was never without quality books to read and encouraged me to read and write – often. He introduced me to some of the cultural advantages that only a major city can afford and welcomed me into the world of my childhood heroes – children’s book authors.  It’s just over the past year that I have realized the extent of his involvement in my early life. Reading letters he wrote to my mom when I was very young and living halfway across the country, I was surprised to note that I was mentioned in every one and that he was thinking of me in many of his world travels.

I miss his SMILE

When my family moved back into the same time zone, we spent considerable time together. A couple-hour drive was an obstacle, but easy to overcome a few times a year. I spent a week each summer at his condo, the highlight of which was a night on the town and a show, with much of the balance of the week spent relaxing, reading books and chatting about whatever my interests were at the time. He genuinely cared about what I was interested in and tried to find ways to bring those things into closer focus for me. He spoke to me like an adult, asking my opinions and more importantly, listening to the answers. He introduced me to new things and watched closely for my reaction; he took joy in my joy.

I miss his LAUGHTER

Anyone who heard him laugh knows what I mean. His was an infectious laugh, one that took over his whole body. And he laughed often. He saw the absurdity in much of life and liked to point it out. He was quick to poke fun at himself and would often laugh when talking about his accolades, which he seemed to find overwhelming.

I miss his PRESENCE

I always knew what he did for a living. We would joke that he was “my famous uncle,” but it wasn’t until I first heard him speak when I was in high school that I saw that this was true. On this occasion, he was speaking to a small group of librarians at a restaurant a short distance from our home. I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember him commanding the room and the reverential attitude among the attendees. I was stunned to learn that my uncle had “groupies.”

The next time I heard him speak was at the inaugural Lee Bennett Hopkins Poetry Award celebration. The whole family was there, dressed to the nines, in the palatial governor’s mansion in Harrisburg, PA. It was a magical night, and as his guests, we got personal introductions to the guest of honor, Ashley Bryan. The following years, I was excited to be invited again. The awards ceremonies, moved to Hershey, were wonderful, the post-parties where I got to meet and chat with so many interesting people were exhilarating, but most special was the time spent after, debriefing in his suite for hours, before finally retiring to our rooms to sleep, then breakfasting together before heading our separate ways.

When my kids were young, I talked him into making the trip to be a featured speaker at their elementary school. Again, I got to see him “in action,” this time addressing children and encouraging them to continue to read and write.

When he moved to Florida, our visits became less frequent, but we stayed in touch via email and phone conversations. When he told me he was to receive an award in Philly, I told him I’d book a train ticket. I’m thrilled that I didn’t pass up that opportunity. While I saw it as a way to spend some time with him (though I knew I would have to share him), there was a surprise in store for him that I feel honored to have witnessed. He not only received the 2009 NCTE Award for Excellence in Poetry for Children, but also was feted, with countless poets speaking about his generosity and reading poems they contributed to a volume of poetry dedicated to him, Dear One. (I was a bit miffed, however, since I had mistakenly thought that I was the Dear One.) That day I learned that he had made a much greater contribution to the world of children’s literature than I had previously realized. He was much more than a poetry anthologist and a poet, but also a driving force behind so many others’ published poetry.

I miss his DRAMA

Ever the drama geek, simple things were always a production. He didn’t just give gifts; there was always a “Presentation of the Gifts.” Even appetizers at family gatherings were delivered with a flourish. At times he seemed full of himself, but it often was a reflection of his incredulity that he was held in such esteem by so many. Though some saw him as pompous at times, I believe it was all an act.

In his later years, his health didn’t allow him to travel much, so in 2014 when he heard he was to receive the PSLA’s Outstanding PA Author Award, he called to ask me to accept it for him. When he learned of past recipients, he was shocked and humbled. It was clear he could not have put himself in such company. I was happy to oblige and, after many drafts, shared my view of the man behind the legend with several hundred people in Hershey, PA. While this trip did not include some of the superstar perks of my previous Hershey trips as I received as his guest at the Poetry Award ceremonies, it was still special; I was proud to speak in his stead.

I miss his SUPPORT

On one of our Florida visits, he asked me why he and I had not done a book together. My reply was simple, he hadn’t asked me. He said he had wanted to do a collection of “found poems” and asked me to complete it with him. I am not a poet. Of course I have written a few poems, but nothing worth publishing. Thinking this might be something I could possibly do, I agreed. He asked me to go through some classics (public domain) and put some together. I sent him a few and he said he’d get back to me later. I wonder now why we never circled back to that. I suspect I missed the mark altogether, but wonder, was he afraid I wouldn’t take the criticism well? Or did I lack the passion in the project and he knew it? Or was it related to our one disagreement – I wanted to include a piece from Doyle’s The Lost World and he was vehemently opposed to Sci-Fi. In truth, I am not upset that this was dropped (I did lack the passion) but today I wish I had followed up again, not to have my name on a book, but to explore a new path in our relationship. I think I missed an opportunity here to grow as a writer.

He was interested in my work. He read my blog and would ask about my novel in progress. While he said that historical fiction was not his area of expertise, he provided some guidance and plenty of encouragement (as well as LOTS of links to helpful information). He would ask about where I was and remind me to get my “butt in seat.” After my first rejection he reminded me that a piece in the mail is better than a piece in the desk, advice he would repeat any time I spoke of an article or essay I had written but was not yet accepted.

What I don’t miss is his LOVE.

His love is still with me. That’s the one thing I’ve been left with. It’s something I have known with certainty all my life (even when we were at odds) and am reminded of in my memories and through his written words. One benefit of loving a writer is the assurance of having their thoughts and emotions in print. Lucky for me, I have lots of those words, from letters to my mom before I was able to read, to letters to me when I could read and write, to decades of emails between us, covering things profound and mundane. I have photos (though not enough) and mementos from events and places he shared with me. I have a lifetime of memories, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing I had more.

For me, April 13 will always be a special day. I can’t help but think of him on this day. (Not that he would ever have let me forget it!) Though I haven’t made the connection before, I recently realized that April is National Poetry Month. I took a few minutes this morning to try to determine why April? I didn’t find an answer but want to think it has something to do with my Uncle Lee. They couldn’t have chosen a better month.


One of the Hardest Things About Parenting Is Letting Go

The closed door makes it easier to forget that there is one less person living under my roof.

I should be used to empty rooms by now. I made my first college drop off in 2006 and have had a revolving door of young adults coming and going ever since. Each semester I’ve had to adjust to an empty bedroom (or two) and less faces around the dinner table. But this time, there’s no homecoming date on the calendar. This time, the move is permanent.

I’ve been here before. My oldest moved out six years ago. But that move was only a couple towns away; this one is a couple states. Though if I’m honest, it really doesn’t matter; the absence is felt, no matter the distance.

I tell myself this is three hours closer than when she was at college. Getting there will be easier — a day trip is possible, so theoretically, visits should be more frequent. BUT. This move is not just a physical move, it’s a life change. She’s moving on to bigger things in her life – a new job, her own place and new opportunities. A full time job means that realistically, there will only time for visits on weekends. And though she’ll want to see us, there will be other demands on that free time.

Building up to moving day we talked about how she’ll be home again – for holidays and family events. This is not a goodbye, but a farewell. But I know better than to count on frequent visits. Life is going to take her places we have no way of predicting. There will be new friends, new activities and at some point, someone will capture her heart and most of her free time.

I know that I won’t be replaced and that I will still be her “go-to” person for many things. I know that I’ll get calls, asking for advice, wanting to vent, or simply to say I miss you and love you. I know there will be opportunities for me to visit and for her to show me around her new city or for us to explore new areas together. But things will be different. There will be less time between the hellos and goodbyes. There will be no summer vacation or winter break. There will be fewer opportunities for spontaneous outings.

On the other hand, this is an exciting time in her life. She has a new job, a new city to explore and is making new friends. This is the way things are supposed to be. My full-time mothering is done. I’ve worked myself out of my long-held day job. As I said to her as I got ready to head for home, this is a big step for us. We both have to figure out our new roles and work out our new normal.

Before leaving, I left a gift for her to find, a magnet for her fridge. (Though I quickly discovered her fridge is not magnetic on the front, so I had to squeeze it in the space on the side). It reads “No matter what age you are, you always need your mom.” I wanted to remind her that I’ll always be here for her. I thought it would make her smile. We both know she’s got this. No matter how difficult it may be at times, she comes from a long line of strong, determined women and that strength, as well as the love our family shares, will see her through.

This is a good thing. It’s what we have been working toward all these years. But this may be one of the hardest things about parenting big kids – knowing it’s time to let go.