Before seat belts were strapped, before a key turned in the ignition, before all four children even entered the car, there came a shout in the crazy determined voice of a 9-year-old, “I am the death machine!” And I began my carpool.
Back in the dark ages of publishing (i.e. 2004 or so), I attended a Mystery Writers of America dinner. A monthly dinner sponsored by my local chapter of MWA. Shady characters with trench coats and handlebar mustaches met in the dark corners of a tidy little restaurant tucked into the folds of the city.
Her tiny voice comes from the side of my bed. Her wispy hair outlined by a faint morning glow. I hear her speaking before my mind wakes up. On and on she goes, talking as if I’m fully awake, when in reality in the dark under the covers
I am a Celebri-Dot!! (Please note the double exclamation marks — I am so honored and excited.) Allow me to direct you to award-winning children’s author and illustrator Peter Reynolds‘ amazing idea to connect kids around the world with the authors and illustrators who write and draw the books they read.
I sat across the kitchen table, watching my daughter eat her jelly sandwich. Small, shiny globs of strawberry sweetness gluing themselves to her cheeks. Her eyes lit up because she knew the answer to my question: “Who can name the days of the week?”
My 5-year-old daughter came home the other day so excited to tell me about the picture she drew at school. “It’s you, Mommy!”
The summer sun drifted down to us through the canopy of maple trees overhead. Out of school, and into everything two girls under ten could find in their backyard. Most notably, a shiny pair of high-heeled silver sandals.