It’s Mother’s Day. I’m going to write about my favorite works-in-progress.

I’m fortunate. I’m a mother to four wonderful people. Don’t get me wrong; they’re not perfect. Somehow they feel obligated now to tell me stuff they did growing up I never knew then and wish I still didn’t. But I thought I’d share with you some of the things that stick out in my mind about raising the little devils.

When my son was two, he got up and escaped outside through a tear in the screened porch. I woke up, panicked when I couldn’t find him. I looked outside and my heart stopped. There he stood in the garden in his droopy diaper, covered in blood. No, wait. It was the juice of the cherry tomatoes he was eating for his breakfast. He also rode his Big Wheel into a swimming pool before he could swim. Is it any wonder I have to color my hair?

When my oldest daughter was almost three, she was quite bossy and cranky. I bought her an Oscar the Grouch costume for Halloween. She didn’t realize I was secretly making fun of her. Sorry, honey.

When my middle girl was about three, the exterior of our house was getting painted. She stood at the window and recognized one of the painters. “Harry, you little bastard,” she said. We think she meant rascal.

The baby of the family suffered terribly at the hands of her siblings. They cut her hair (Vidal Sassoon might say asymmetrical but I’d say crooked) and drew a mustache on her face with permanent marker while she took her nap. Daughter #2 carved Daughter #3’s initial into a piano stool before Daughter #3 could even write. My son recruited her for “The Cool Crew” and made her torment her sisters, whom he named “The Crusty Dorks.” But she turned out okay (see January 29th’s blog post).

Permanent markers were ever a problem. My son once wrote “Girls are stopid. So is Daughter #1” on a wall. I can’t recall whether I was more upset about the graffiti or the misspelling.

My son and his family live in Florida, but the girls are still handy. A few years ago they all came home, hid in the tiny downstairs bathroom shower stall and jumped out to surprise me for Mother’s Day. The surprise was that they could all fit in it (two of them are 5’9” and the other is 5’7”) and that I didn’t drop dead from the shock (all 5’4 ½” of me).

So, Happy Mother’s Day to me and the rest of you. May you treasure your children and your mothers and your memories as I treasure mine.

‘Fess up. How naughty were you when you were a kid?

Children in romance novels: charming or upchuckable?

“The joys of motherhood are never fully experienced until the children are in bed.”~~Author Unknown.~~

Daughter #2, Valedictorian Daughter #3, Son #1 and Only, Daughter # 1, June 2001

It’s beginning to feel a lot like…prom season. I bought three prom magazines for the library, and just about every girl has thumbed through them at least once trying to plan the perfect night. I remember when my three girls were so afflicted, only they were very thoughtful. As daughters of a true bargain hunter, they took pride in finding the cheapest prom dresses and accessories on the east coast. They knew that the outfit, just like a wedding dress, would probably only be worn once. The youngest found a gorgeous brand new Hawaiian-print cheongsam for ten bucks in a resale shop! Anticipation was usually more fun than the actual prom itself anyway. I’ve found sometimes the more excited you get about something, the less fun you have.

New Year’s Eve used to be the worst night ever before I met my husband. Inevitably I’d get all gorgeous only to have a fight with my date. But the prep time with the teasing, hairspray, high heels and false eyelashes was always fun.

Several years ago, we took a trip to England. I’d done my research beforehand, and I was determined to see an estate called Athelhampton in Dorset. I mean, I was salivating. The day we arrived at the gates, the property was closed to the public because they were hosting a charity event. I was crushed. I mumbled to myself my expectations were probably too high anyway—just like prom and New Year’s Eve, I was bound to be disappointed.

But the next day, my husband and oldest daughter insisted we try again. Oh my. For once my ideals and reality collided into perfect harmony. The house itself was a wonderful treasure trove, but the elaborate gardens were what really caught my fancy. I pictured my heroes and heroines strolling the avenues, inhaling the scent of roses, listening to the rushing river. The Great Court with its awesome yew pyramids truly was great. I’m sure there are more historic or important houses and gardens in England, but Athelhampton will always be special to me because it was even better than I imagined.

What have you looked forward to that didn’t turn out quite the way you expected? What surpassed your wildest dreams?

Any prom night horror stories? I know Santa has one in her book! My spaghetti strap broke. Oh, the horror.

How do you feel about the AAR’s “most disappointing book” category? What new releases are you craving? I’d risk my ladylike reputation to get my hands on Loretta Chase’s latest Not Quite A Lady.

April 8-14 is National Garden Week. We still have snow here, but that’s another story. Here’s a shout-out to my middle daughter, who is a professional gardener extraordinaire. The estate gardens she’s designed have been on the Islesboro Garden Tour, and she planted a wonderful perennial garden for me one Mother’s Day, a gift that kept on giving until we moved. Sigh.

For the past several months I have been taking a class called “What One Person Can Do” so I can be re-certified. It’s free, worth three credits and taught by two guidance counselors. As far as I can tell, it’s a mish-mash of Deepak Chopra, new-age claptrap and plain, old-fashioned Power of Positive Thinking.

I do believe each of us has the power to change lives for the better. I love the saying, “Touch the future, teach a child.” I practice random acts of kindness randomly and I pay it forward when I have the cash. What goes around comes around, etc. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

But we’ve had some crazy assignments so far. Here are some examples:

Look at yourself (with no makeup) in the mirror for one minute a day and write down what you see and think. Very visible pores. Pimples at my age! My face is friendly when I smile, a little sad in repose, my brown eyes not as big as they used to be. I see my father, too. The fat seems to be keeping the wrinkles at bay, but possibly that’s because I’m not wearing my glasses. I can live with this face, but I’m coloring my hair again.

Pick a chore you don’t like and do it with e.e.l.i.m. That’s energy, enthusiasm, like it matters. My chore choice? Getting the dishes back on the shelves. I don’t mind washing them, but I never seem to get them out of the dishdrainer. I told my husband that was what I was going to do for class, and he said, “I never knew you hated to do that. I’ll put them away from now on.” Bonus!

Love your toad. Select a habit that your significant other has that drives you crazy. Then make it okay for a week. There are several, but we must discuss them in class, so I did something G-rated. We’re talking crumbs in the kitchen. Crumbs everywhere on the counter and under my bare feet. My husband doesn’t seem to notice them. He’s not wearing his glasses either when he fixes that midnight snack. I’m just going to clean up and shut up. He has put the dishes away, after all.

Monitor your energy level during the day. I found I’m not much good until I have my tea, toast and drugs. Then I fool around on the computer in my jammies, reluctant to leave home. I’m up all through work, though— busy, multi-tasking, kidding around with kids. Then it’s supper and pajama time again. Fortunately my husband is just as tired as I am and doesn’t expect me to be a blonde-again bombshell. We’re giving our best to the public but not to each other. That’s something to think about.

How does this all relate to writing? I think it all comes down to accepting yourself for who you are, big pores and all, recognizing your strengths and weaknesses, letting go and doing the best you can. You really only have control over yourself. Success is a journey, not a destination. So I’m going to enjoy life in the slow lane and keep on truckin’.

What time of the day are you most productive? What do you do to motivate yourself?

What does your toad do that drives you crazy?

Have you ever taken a class you thought you were going to hate but it surprised you?