Mom Tales - 30 essays that show motherhood isn't for the weak

Coming soon to virtual bookstores ... my newest book:  Mom Tales: Stories of Parenting, Potties and Post-Partum Panic.

It's a collection of 30 essays that show motherhood isn't just about the coos and smiles. In fact, in my humble opinion, being a mommy is not for the weak - of stomach, heart or resolve.

Here's an excerpt from one of my favorite essays ...

I ushered my supervisor into the little office and eased myself into a chair. I could barely keep the grin off my face. I took a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant!” I announced.

She looked at me without saying anything. The silence stretched out between us. Finally, a tiny smile forced her lips apart.

“What?” I said, somewhat startled at her lack of enthusiasm. Yes, she was my supervisor, but she also was my friend. I’d worked for her as a reporter at this newspaper for several years. We knew each other fairly well; I thought she’d at least be a little excited for me. “What?”

She recovered her composure quickly. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, waving an arm gracefully. “It’s just …” she hesitated again.

My mouth fell open. “WHAT?!” I almost shouted.

She shrugged. “Diane,” she said finally. “It’s just that you don’t seem very … ‘family-friendly.’”

I stared at her, dumbstruck. Of course, I would have been more insulted if I hadn’t been getting similar messages – from friends – ever since I announced that I was with child.

Let me explain. This was my first child, yes. And I was perhaps a little older, in my mid-thirties, to be exact, so I could be a little set in my ways, but I didn’t think I was that bad. I wasn’t an alcoholic, a workaholic or a raging drug addict. In fact, I had a good job, a nice house and a great husband.

Sure, I had a few too many cats, but we could deal with that later, I figured.

But the way my friends were talking, I was falling far short in the mom department.

In fact, when I’d assembled a few of my good friends together a few days earlier, my fantastic news had been met with desultory congratulations – and more than a few words of caution.

Now, no one knows more about the troubles and travails of babies, of course, than a group of stylish, childless career women. Especially the women in my circle.

“Babies smell,” one friend warned me. “And remember when I made that Reuben sandwich and you said the smell of sauerkraut almost made you throw up? Baby poop smells worse than sauerkraut.”

I frowned. “I doubt that very much.”

My other friend shook her head. “And you like to sleep,” she said. “Babies don’t sleep.”

I stared at her, open-mouthed. “Are you saying I’m lazy?” I asked

.

She raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows. “No,” she said. “I’m just telling you; my sister had a baby and after three months with hardly any sleep she started acting completely crazy.”

I shrugged. “Your sister was kind of crazy anyway,” I informed her crisply. “Remember when she gave us a ride home from the mall in her POS car, and she wanted everyone to think it had air conditioning so she made us keep the windows rolled up?” I frowned. “We almost all died from heat prostration.”

She had the grace to look away, but she didn’t look terribly chagrined.

But then my best friend from work put a hand on my arm. “Diane, what do you keep in your crisper?” she asked gently.

I was confused. “Chardonnay, of course,” I answered. What the hell else would you keep in a crisper?

What was wrong with these people? And what did refrigerated items have to do with being a good mom?

My friend just sighed. “Honey, crispers are actually for vegetables,” she said. “I was going to tell you when we were alone, but you might as well know now."

I sat back in my chair “Seriously?” I said. “That’s so gross.” ...

From: 'Excuse me ...Are you 'family friendly?' (From 'Mom Tales,' coming soon to Amazon and Barnes & Noble).

Oh, dear! Miss Charlotte's Pie is missing!

I'm a sucker for church cookbooks.

You know the ones; they're brimming with down-home recipes organized by congregation members and put together into books that are sold as fund-raisers for the church.

I just love them. They have the most interesting recipes and the most fun little stories inside.

Now, I need more books like we need more hot weather, but sometimes, I just can't resist. And so when I was at the library used bookstore the other day (just looking - really!) and I saw a cute little church cookbook, I had to check it out.

It was called "Collard Greens, Watermelons and Miss Charlotte's Pie," and it had been put together by the ladies of the Swansboro United Methodist Church in Swansboro, North Carolina, which, incidentally, is nowhere near where I live.

I couldn't help myself. I was intrigued. The recipes sounded yummy and besides, I really wanted to know about Miss Charlotte and her pie. So I bought it.

It was great. I loved reading all the delicious recipes in it, from Ruth's Chili to Susan's Mushroom Chicken to Southern Peanut Butter Pie. I enjoyed reading about Miss Charlotte, the  lovely and talented town matriarch.

But when I went to find the recipe for Miss Charlotte's Pie, I got a rude surprise. It's not there. Nope, it's gone. Page 52 has been neatly removed.

No pie for me.

Apparently I'm not the only one who was intrigued by the wonderful Miss Charlotte.

Returning to normal: Feeling better and getting ready to stomp those snakes

I once had an editor who always made fun of the way I walked.

He was from the south, and he spoke with a slow drawl; I'm from the Midwest, and I talk fast and walk fast - usually with a strong sense of purpose.

"Robinson," he'd say, laughing, using my maiden name. "Look at you. You're walkin' like you're off to stomp a snake."

It cracked me up. I just assumed he was crazy.

Until recently; until I got sick. I wasn't stomping any snakes. I walked slowly and deliberately, rattled by abdominal pain caused by fibroids and dulled by painkillers.

I slept a lot, too. And rumor has it I might have been a bit cranky.

Then I had surgery a few weeks ago. I didn't really want it; I was terrified. But I didn't feel like I had a choice. So I shut my eyes, crossed my fingers and said a few prayers before I went under.

That was about four weeks ago. Recovery hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be, but I was still walking on proverbial eggshells, afraid I'd pull a stitch or strain ... something.

But yesterday, I noticed it. I was in the grocery store, and I was walking fast. I was myself again. I wasn't stooped over and sweating; I wasn't in pain. It was such a relief.

It was kind of like how you feel when you've had a cold for weeks and weeks and then one day, you realize - it's gone. You can breathe again.

I got tired quickly; but it felt great while it lasted.

I think I'm getting back to business - ready to stomp those snakes.

Trust me: You're just not funny on Vicodin

So I had surgery the other week, and I have to admit, recovery hasn't been what I had in mind. Although I told everyone that I fully expected to just lie around and take it easy, that isn't really what I thought would happen.

I kind of saw myself as Carol Brady, you know, the mom of the Brady bunch, in that episode where she was sick and had a little bell beside her bed and the kids had to wait on her hand and foot while she watched TV and recovered from her half-hour illness.

Then, I figured, after I ate enough bon-bons and watched enough Food Network, I'd scurry down to the computer and do a little writing. After all,, I'm THISCLOSE to finishing "Mom Tales," I really want to finish the sequel to Death on Deadline this summer and I have a really fun new idea for a murder mystery. Well, "fun" except for the murder part - you know what I mean.

Except it isn't working out that way. Because:

1. Outpatient surgery is a misnomer. I don't feel like Carol Brady. I feel more like Tom, as in Tom and Jerry, when Tom has been run over by a truck several times. To handle some significant pain, the nice doctor gave me painkillers and they're pretty strong - similar to Vicodin, she said.

2. "Mom Tales," is a humorous collection of essays on parenting. And trust me - you're just not funny on Vicodin. You might think you have a humorous idea for an essay, but .... really, it's Not. Funny. At. All. So there hasn't been much writing. There's been a lot of sleeping, though.

Luckily, time heals all, they say, and I'm tapering off on the meds. But before I get too healthy, I still need those bon-bons and the little bell.

Nervous? Hungry? Need a little distraction? Join the club - I think books are the key

I'm reading today. I'm reading for entertainment. I'm reading for distraction. I'm reading so I won't panic, and I'm reading so I won't eat.

I'm having surgery tomorrow (don't ask - being a girl isn't always pretty) and so today I can't eat. At all. Which is a shame, because as a hearty Midwesterner, I enjoy not only cooking and baking, but eating. In fact, one of my favorite channels on TV is the Food Network, which today feels a little like watching porn.

I'm hungry. I'm nervous. So I did what any logical person would do: I went to the library.

Miss Julia will help distract me. So will Sookie Stackhouse. So will Devereaux Sinclair, the protagonist in Little Shop of Homicide, the first book in a new series by Denise Swanson, and so will Sophie Mae Reynolds, the lead in a new-to-me home crafting series by Cricket McRae.

Also, the memoirs of Jen Lancaster, author of Bitter is the New Black, are making me laugh out loud, and that is helping immensely.

So here's my plan: take deep breaths, keep my nose in a book and think of the Queen. I'll be right as rain before you know it.

Trust technology - but not too much: My Goodreads cautionary tale

When I was a reporter and I conducted interviews by phone, I always took notes by hand. Sometimes, I recorded them, too, but I always had those handwritten notes.

The new reporters would shake their heads. "Just type the interview into your file," they'd say. "You're wasting time." Then our archaic computer system would crash and all their notes would be lost. So next time they'd write it down.

But I got lazy. My computer system got more reliable. Technology became more advanced, and I started relying on more complex databases.

Recently, I learned my lesson.

When I started promoting Death on Deadline, I went on to the popular Goodreads site and made lots of friends. I started a blog. I got a decent number of reviews - I even had fans - quite a coup for me. But I never thought about saving any of the information. After all, it was a high-tech database, right? What could happen??

But one day, I logged on, and it was all gone. Everything. My blog, my fan base, my reviews: gone. I was in shock. Teary, even. And I hadn't kept a list of anyone's names to see who followed me. I hadn't kept a backup.

I frantically contacted their help desk, and they were very nice. There was a glitch, they said. It happens. They were very sorry. They managed to get some of my reviews back, but all my blog followers and fans were gone.

So I started over. I have two.

Live and learn.

'Literary karaoke?' I'm not entirely sure I understand - and I'm not sure it matters

So I've had a few friends e-mailing me that Huffington Post article - you know, the one about indie publishing with the now-infamous phrase "literary karaoke."

Yeah, it puzzled me, too, for a bit. But that's apparently the term that some as-yet-named traditionally published author gave to indie publishing. I had to think about it for awhile to figure out exactly what he/she was saying. I mean, I got that it was unflattering, sure. But was the author simply saying the writing was bad? Or was it that we were just imitating real authors because we weren't backed by big houses?

I was a little confused. But it didn't matter. The point was that this author felt that indie authors were upsetting the apple cart. And we are, no doubt, But so are e-books - the Post article eloquently points this out, as well. In fact, there's lots of blame to go around if you want to point fingers about the uncertainties of publishing.

And it's a tempting game to play, believe me. Hey, I know about uncertainties, about change. I have my own thoughts on versions of karaoke. I used to be a newspaper reporter. Newspapers - remember them? I studied hard to become a journalist, but soon, everything was online, and everyone could be a "citizen journalist." Screw formal training and solid ethics. Everybody could be a reporter.

So if you want to shake your fist at the sky, I know what you're going through. .

But I think I get the point. There are plenty of crappy indie books out there, and that's frustrating. But there are plenty of really good ones, too. Just like there are plenty of really good - and awfully bad - traditonally published novels.

And here's the thing - in karaoke, only the best singers get the applause. I think in publishing, it'll be the same way. Readers want good storytelling, solid writing. The good authors will stay the course, and the others will just fade away.