April Fool's...just a bit late!

All of my books for Harlequin American Romance focus on home and family, which means they always feature babies and/or children.

Kids in romance novels? Yes, of course! They can increase conflict or, at the other end of the spectrum, lighten the tension between the hero and heroine. In my stories, I hope they do both somewhere along the line and wind up leaving the reader smiling.

In my post today, I'm sharing children of another type with you.  Sort of an April Fool's joke, as you'll see below—although these babies are foolin' around. (smile) 

They've been hangin' around for a while, too. And they're just too cute not to share. Enjoy!

~~~

 

All my best to you,

Barbara

Barbara White Daille http://www.barbarawhitedaille.com
https://twitter.com/BarbaraWDaille
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Cue the Marching Band

You’d think that I’d be used to it by now. After all, Rodeo Daughter is my third book for Harlequin American Romance. Yet, I can’t deny it. When I open the front door and see a box from Harlequin on the porch, I get goose bumps. Truly. Goosebumps. I only wish I'd known the books were on their way. I'd have hired a marching band to accompany the UPS man on his way up the sidewalk.

Opening the box, pulling that first copy of a book—my book!—from it. Well, that makes my tummy all a-flutter. What’s the first thing I do? Yes, I know. I should start contacting reviewers and sending them advance copies--that's why I get these books ahead of time, after all.

But for a few minutes, I can't resist. I fan the pages and inhale deeply. There’s nothing like the smell of a freshly printed book. Especially when you’ve poured your heart and soul into it, the way I did with Rodeo Daughter.

I guess that’s because Amanda and Mitch’s story included so many aspects of my own life. No, I’m not a lawyer. Or the divorced single parent of a four-year-old. But growing up on Florida’s east coast, I looked forward every year to the big Silver Spurs Rodeo in nearby Kissimmee. I spent the intervening months mucking stalls at a local riding stable. Each weekend, I plodded down dusty trails on horses that wouldn’t know what to do in a barrel race. But at night, I dreamed of becoming a rodeo star.

Rodeo Daughter is the closest I’ve come to achieving that dream. The heroine of this book, Amanda Markette, rode her way to a gold buckle in Las Vegas before walking away from the professional rodeo circuit to earn a degree in family law. After spending years performing in one arena after another, Amanda longed to put down roots. She swore that, if and when she ever married, home and family would be her number one priority.

His career is lead prosecutor Mitch Goodwin’s number one priority. He stands on the brink of achieving all he’s ever wanted when the DA plans to name Mitch as his successor. But the last person Mitch expects to represent his ex-wife in a custody suit for his adorably head-strong daughter is none other than Amanda Markette, the girl he fell head-over-heels for one summer at rodeo camp. And when a playground mishap forces Mitch and Amanda to spend time together they walk an ethical tightrope as old feelings come to the surface again.

I hope you enjoy reading Amanda and Mitch’s story as much as I loved writing it. Rodeo Daughter is slated for release in early June.

The Recess Bell

I enjoyed school when I was a kid and I was even a pretty good student, but I have to confess I lived for recess. For me and my friends, there was no more welcome sound than the recess bell. We’d slap our books shut, grab our jackets and troop out to the playground for fifteen minutes of fun. Winter or summer, rain or shine, recess was spent on the playground.

I remember two things about recess. Fifteen minutes seemed like a loooong time, and the games we played changed with the season.

We played marbles in the winter and jump rope in the spring. We had several rhyming songs for Double Dutch, but I’ve long forgotten the words to them. Red Rover and Duck, Duck, Goose were popular. Remember a game called Telephone or Grapevine? A group of children would stand in a row and the first would whisper something into the ear of the next child. The message was passed that way until the last person said what they’d heard out loud—and of course it would have been hilariously altered from the original.

My July release, Firefighter Daddy, was inspired by the William R. DeAvilla school, a block and a half from the Haight-Ashbury intersection in San Francisco.


The school’s paved playground still has numerous painted playground courts, and they’re even visible from Google’s satellite maps! (Click on the marker and zoom in.)


View Larger Map

One of them is a hopscotch court, and it became an important theme in the story. One of my favorite scenes in the book takes place on that playground, where the hero’s seven-year-old daughter teaches him how to play hopscotch. As I wrote that scene, I wondered...do children today still play games on the playground? I hope so.

What were your favorite childhood games? Did you or will you teach them to your kids? Grandkids?

Happy reading!

Until next time,
Lee
The Writer Side of Life
Firefighter Daddy available now!

Summertime Fun

My four grandkids, ages 2-8, and I have begun a sort of tradition this summer. I'm not sure how long it will last, but so far it's been interesting.

Each morning about 9:30, we've taken off for a walk to the neighborhood park, where there's a merry-go-round that's off kilter, two sets of swings, three sets of climbing bars, and a tall slide. It's a large park and includes a backstop for baseball or even soccer and a cement basketball court with two basketball goals. It also has very little shade. After all, this is Kansas, which isn't known for an abundance of trees. Not out here on the prairie.

Wednesday, after the kids had played for a while, I noticed the sky in the southwest had become cloudy and very dark. Obviously it was time to head home. We were a block from home when huge drops of rain started falling, along with some tiny hail. We walked faster, and the rain fell faster. We made it to my yard and hurried to the porch, just as the sky opened up and thunder boomed, scaring not-yet 3-year-old Jaxon. I thought that would probably be the end of the trips to the park. I was wrong.

Going to the park was the first thing out of Jaxon's mouth on Thursday, so we made a return trip, but this time it was sunny, windy and humid, with no clouds, white or dark, in the sky. We took juice and colorful Fish crackers, and Jaxon finally mastered the slide, something he's been afraid of doing.

The trip to the park seems to help us start the day off better. They get to play off some of their morning energy, while I get some needed exercise, and we do it before it gets really hot. It will be interesting to see if they are the first to lose interest or if I'll be the one to call a halt when the temps reach double digits. Either way, I hope when they're older they'll remember the trips to the park and the fun they had. Making memories isn't nearly as hard as it sounds. Have you made any memories as summer has begun?

The Joy of a (nearly) empty Nest?

Two days ago, I farewelled my middle child who was embarking on the greatest adventure of her life—moving to live and work in London. If I said I hadn’t been eagerly awaiting this day, I’d be lying. From the time each of my children turned 18, I’ve been looking forward to having an empty nest.

I couldn’t understand parents who were mourning this new state of freedom in their lives. Didn’t they love not having to pick up, clean up, nag at, plead with their adult child?

But, many of you will protest, “My child went off to college at 18.” Unfortunately, in Australia, we don’t have this happy tradition. Very few city dwelling kids leave to attend college in another city altogether. This is partly due to the geography of this continent—the same size as the contiguous United States—and partly to the demographics—we have a population of only 21 million. And 85% of that measly 21 million people live in the most densely populated 1% of the continent, clinging to the eastern coastline.

Here endeth the school lesson, but I’m sure you can see from these figures, Tertiary education for the majority of Aussie kids isn’t all that far from home. More’s the pity. L

All efforts to move my children out of home have fallen on deaf ears, exacerbated by their father who’d be only too happy for them to stay forever, along with assorted spouses they might gather along the way, and resultant children of their own!

It took me several years to realize I’d made a huge blunder in announcing that there’d be no boomerang children in our household. Once they left, that was it! The locks were being changed, all their cr*p was going with them, or to the tip if they left it behind, and I’d be happy to see them on a weekly basis.

The problem was, they knew I was serious, so they refused to move out. None of them wanted to waste “dead money” on rent and I had to agree with them.

Consequently, our home, although large, was filling daily with their possessions, the worst offender being daughter #1. Her stuff not only crammed her own bedroom but spilled out into the playroom and bathroom adjoining it. It flowed down the stairs and into my study, the family room, the unused formal dining room and the spare room which unofficially became her study in an effort to curb her need to mark her territory. I was at my wits end tripping over all this rubbish while her father seemed to revel in how “homey” our house was.

Finally, in desperation, I went condo hunting for her, found the perfect location, and ensured it was large enough to accommodate all her stuff.

I signed the contract (we have the same name) called her up and said, “Congratulations, you’re now the proud owner of your own home. When are you moving out?”

After she recovered from the shock (and realised I wasn’t kidding), she promptly put in tenants. It wasn’t until a year ago that she finally made the move into her own home (aged 27). What a joyous day that was! It took several weeks to completely move all her rubbish (er, possessions) to her new home, including 3 huge moving boxes full of shoes! Imelda Marcus had nothing on her.

And last week, I was eagerly counting the hours until #2’s plane soared into the skies, leaving me with only one more child to dispose of –er, make that—encourage to soar with the eagles (cough).

That was, until she was saying goodbye to our Lab, and it suddenly struck me, she might never see Freddie again.

This was it. Final! She’d said she was leaving forever and until that moment, I’d been happy with her decision, excited for her, delighted that her lovely Dutch boyfriend would be meeting up with her in London to help her find a flat.

Suddenly overcome with emotion, I wanted to plead with her to stay, just a little longer. Surely at 24, she was too young to be leaving home forever?

As I watched her plane disappear into the clouds, I felt as if a family member had died, I was so bereft. Back home, the house was silent, yet only hours earlier had been filled with her happy chatter, her excitement at seeing her boyfriend after so many months apart, what she’d do in London, the places she’d visit in Europe during her holidays.

Even Freddie’s joyful, waggy-tailed greeting at our return from the airport couldn’t lift my spirits. I hugged our son rather enthusiastically when he arrived home from work that evening. He looked startled. I couldn’t voice why I’d done, it, I was still too choked up.

I suppose I’ll eventually get used to my middle child not being here, but in the meantime, it’s made me realise that maybe empty nests aren’t so great after all?

How do you feel about empty nests? Do you have one? Are you looking forward to having one? How did you cope?

CC

Are You An Oreo? by Megan

I am.

I have the pleasure of taking care of my mom while having children at home. My friend calls me part of the sandwich generation, wedged between different responsibilities. Now, if I'm going to be a sandwich, I'm going to be the sweet, creamy center of a cookie!

I'm already double-stuffed, lol, so an Oreo seems like a natural choice.

Raising my children is a responsibility of love. So is caring for my mom. She was in the hospital last month while I was on deadline and had bronchitis. After some antibiotics for me and my sinus/ear infections, and three heart stents for Mom, we are mending.

I prefer when everyone is well (DH had a 101.5 fever for three days during this time; now my children are coming down with ... something), but I'll take what comes. I feel extremely lucky to have my mom still with us. I'm incredibly blessed with two children and the man I love as my partner.

That same friend's children are grown and gone, and her parents are independent and live far away also. She has a different life than I, not a richer or poorer life, but different. Someday my mom will be gone and my children out on their own, and it will all come sooner than I'm ready for. In the meantime, I will enjoy the ups and downs and feel blessed for each fevered brow, straight A report card, and moment I spend with them.

Here's wishing you a happy day, no matter what stage of life you're in. If you must be "wedged" between two generations, remember, you're the sweet, creamy center.

[Just watch out for that giant cup of milk!]

Megan Kelly
megankellybooks.com

My New Granddaughter

August and September were very trying months for my family. My newest granddaughter, Payton McKenzy, was born in the afternoon of August 10. She was four weeks premature. Late that night, it was discovered she had Transposition of the Great Vessel (TGV), a congenital heart defect. Two holes in the wall between the two chambers of her heart (Ventricular Septal Defect VSD) were keeping her alive.

Payton was airlifted via helicopter the next day from Wichita to Children’s Mercy Hospital in Kansas City. Because the staff wanted to her to grow a little, Payton’s surgery wasn’t done until September 8 and expected to go very well. But at some point during the operation, she had a reaction to something, but the surgery had to continue. The reaction produced edema, which caused acidosis, and her respiration and blood pressure dropped to dangerous levels, prompting the staff to call for the crash cart. My daughter called at 7:30 that evening, after the surgery was over, to tell me that Payton wasn’t expected to last an hour.

It was nearly 9 p.m., after finding places for my other four grandkids to stay, when we started the 3+ hour drive to Kansas City. We kept in touch on our cell phones, but there’d been little change. We made good time, in spite of driving through thunderstorms, and arrived at Children’s Mercy at 12:20 a.m. Around 4 a.m., my oldest daughter, her husband and 7-year-old daughter arrived, and the staff had started to see some slow improvement. By 10, Payton was considered out of immediate danger, and we were on our way home.

Payton came home September 28, with her heart working as it should, but she returned to CMH October 3, this time by plane, because she was having some feeding problems. Her second homecoming was October 10, and although it’s been an adjustment period for everyone, especially her, she’s doing well.

Thanks to the many friends and family for their prayers and thoughts. Even the staff at CMH calls Payton their little miracle. As a dear friend said, this is the kind of story books are made of. Maybe someday…

The Discovery Channel - The Surgery That Saves Little Lives

Happy Holidays

Hello, and happy holidays to everyone. I just returned from our company's annual Christmas lunch. (My husband owns a company that sells school furniture, and I work there part time as the accounting manager.) We had a wonderful, warm time. As I looked around the table, I really felt as if we were one "family" despite our differences in so many ways. Two employees brought children, which we've never had as guests for lunch before, and that made the get-together even nicer.

Our family will be celebrating Christmas with our 20 month old granddaughter, who is just the age to unwrap presents and squeal about everything. Next Christmas, we'll have two granddaughters. I am so glad that I have children back in my life as they are constant sources of joy . . . and of course, writing inspiration. For example, I wrote the proposal for my June 2008 HAR when my granddaughter was the same age as the baby in the book, and I finished it just about the time my daughter announced that they would be having another baby. If you read the epilogue, you'll know what I mean!

In the meantime, again, let me wish you and your family the happiest of holidays. Even if you don't officially "celebrate," a long winters nap or a steaming cup of hot chocolate could be just the thing to lift your spirits. And, of course, curling up with a good book!