I'm so excited! It is my honor to introduce Cheryl Ann Smith and the premiere of her very first novel, THE SCHOOL FOR BRIDES! The novel, pubbed by Berkeley, is about a daughter of a courtesan who trains other courtesans on how to be proper, marriageable ladies.
Cheryl is the reason I am pubbed. We met at an RWA mixer - and hit it off. At the Dorchester Spotlight, she dragged me up there and made me pitch to Leah Hultenschmidt. I really, really didn't want to, but there's no saying "no" to Cheryl! Anyway, when I did a signing tour of Michigan, Cheryl was right there with the family to show up and support me. This is so awesome!
So, without further adieu, the funny and talented debut of Cheryl Ann Smith!!!
Terrible Mother of the Year Award
I like to think I’m a decent mother. I don’t buy my kids expensive designer clothes, but they don’t go to school in floodwater-short jeans either. They’re fed and loved and I did choose for them a decent father from the genetic pool; so they are a cute bunch. But, alas, there are times when I really, really, mess up.
I don’t think sending my son to class in pj’s for pj day, on the wrong week, will ruin his life. And I don’t suspect shuttling my daughter off to school when she only has a small tummy ache, only to have her barf on the school bus; will earn me a visit from social services. After all, what child hasn’t barfed on the bus?
The bake sale can manage if I forget to bake cookies, and if I haven’t washed wash jeans in awhile, there must be a pair in the hamper that isn’t that dirty. I am a busy writer and sometimes my children must suffer for my art. I like to believe that occasionally eating fat and preservative-laden TV dinners will only make them stronger grown-ups. And preservative clogged bodies mean that at least at least they (and the cockroaches) will still be standing after the Armageddon.
But there are times when I truly earn my terrible mother of the year award. Those times when I make a joke when not considering my audience, or without remembering that my oldest two children (girls) will take any opportunity that I open up to torment their little brother.
Let’s take our trip to Orland for example. The kids were very excited about making their first trip to Disney. So-far so-good right? Right. However, sadly, I’m never one to leave well enough alone. So, I joked that we couldn’t afford to take them all, so one would have to stay home with the grandparents. The girls eye-rolled and I didn’t think anything more about it. Until my son who was about five at the time, came up to me a few minutes later, tears in his beautiful green eyes, and asked me if it was he (with the assurances of his two delightful sisters) who was going to be left behind.
I assure you, that the guilt of the moment still lingers to this day. After I convinced my beloved (and traumatized) son, most vigorously, that mommy just made a very bad joke, and that we would never leave him behind, he smiled shakily through his sobs, happy to know that I did indeed love him enough to take him to Disney World.
Not my finest Mommy moment.
It’s times like these when I go from terrible mommy of the day, to terrible mommy of the month, year…century. Okay, I think the trophy has a permanent place on my mantle. But I can’t be the only mom whose kids will someday need therapy, am I?