Hello, My Name is Jodi and I am a Type A

beforeandafterdiy.com

Once upon a time there was a different me. I was serious. Now don’t shake your head like that. It’s making me dizzy.

It’s true. It was a long, long time ago when the earth was still flat (as was my tummy) and I didn’t give a hoot about the whole breast v.s. bottle feeding debate. (Secretly, I still don’t. Do what works, mothers. They’re your babies and your boobs, after all.)

I wasn’t always this carefree, stay-at-home writer mom, and 1/8^th time school secretary. It’s true. “Other Me” went to work early every morning and often worked late into the evening. I was driven to succeed in the harsh world of business. Other Me was a financial planner. Please, I implore you, stop shaking your head. It’s stirring up my vertigo. I realize this is hard to believe, but I even wore a fitted, scratchy wool suit. The girls were locked and loaded. Isn’t that what they say on TLC’s What Not to Wear? Except my “girls” have always been fine just hanging out, they’ve never been in the need of a blazer lock down. They’re too polite to get carried away and make a run for fun and those lacy tank tops.

Wait a minute. What was I blogging about? Right.

I’m a recovering Type A Personality. I like to think that I’m in remission and settling into a long, blissful future of Type B tranquillity. Life’s worries will slide off me like butter on a cob of corn or hot fudge off ice cream. Yum.

But here’s the point, and surely there must be one, I’m like a zebra, posing the age old question – black horse with white stripes or white horse with black stripes?

nowsourcing.com

Am I Type A personality in recovery, or have I always been an undercover Type B? Although Other Me earned an overflowing truck load of cash, she was stressed, somewhat frantic and lived for the weekends. “Today’s Me,” earns a half-full little red wagon of cash, is nearly stress free, still a bit frantic, and lives in the moment.

So, Other Me, you’ve been put on notice. You will stay securely in the past as long as we can still pay our bills, save a bit for the future, and enjoy the present with our kids. But the minute I need you, I’ll dust off your resume, dress you up in a navy blue pant suit, and have you in a tidy office on Broadway, before you can shake your head. Slowly. Vertigo. Remember?

My Heart Belongs in Manitoba

I live in a Canadian province that is undervalued by the rest of Canada. It’s virtually unknown in the US, never mind the world at large.

We Manitobans are actually okay with that. In fact, one might say we encourage our anonymity. Why would we choose to be so cloistered?

Because, we’re a little bit selfish.

We have access to lakes, beaches and forests that rival those found in all the better known tourist locals. Camping and cottaging is a provincial pastime that we have finessed, leaving the capital city, Winnipeg, nearly people-free every weekend in the summer. We just love our wilderness and there is so much of it to enjoy. So, selfishly, we want to keep our provincial and national parks to ourselves, free of tourists and the gong show that would arrive once we’ve been “discovered.”

arando.wordpress.com

Think of Cancun circa 1980, just with more mosquitoes and freezing winters.

We have the Interlake; home of Lake Winnipeg and Lake Manitoba, both within an hour's drive from the city - each lake the size of Lake Superior. Grand Beach, nestled on the south shores of Lake Winnipeg, has such soft white sand and expansive dunes, it ranks as a world-wide top 10 beach.

(According to Playboy Magazine and when are bunnies ever wrong?)  

media.travelmanitoba.com

  



enroute.aircanada.com

 To the far west we have Riding Mountain and Duck Mountain National Parks, where the pine trees grow thick and the water runs clear. 

gov.mb.ca

 Driving towards the eastern edge of Manitoba  we pass through The Whiteshell Provincial Park and Brereton Lake, where I spent every summer of my childhood. On the outer western edge of the Canadian Shield, our cottage was perched high on the bedrock, overlooking the lake. My grandfather built the cabin in the early 30’s and if I close my eyes and think of our Brereton Lake log cottage; childhood memories flood back, cascading over each other like waves hitting the rocky shore. 

teamstersrail.ca

There’s also Churchill in the far north, where polar bears walk the streets and guided tours are in hot demand. And Dauphin, Flin Flon, The Pas, and Nopiming Provincial Park – each with their own beauty, enjoyed by the locals.

And where do we Carmichaels spend our summers?

Our wee cottage, "Stone’s Throw," is on the other side of Lake Winnipeg, almost directly across from Grand Beach, in Ponemah. We can rarely see across the vast water as it’s so wide. Lake Winnipeg resembles more of an inland ocean when standing, toes wiggling, on one of the sandy beaches that dot its shores. The lake is wide, shallow, and warm. In the low water years, sand bars arise over night when the wind shifts direction, allowing the kids to walk for miles without getting deeper than their waists. In the high water years, we jump off the pier into the deep waves.

It’s a different beauty than my rugged and wild Brereton, but it is a prairie beauty that I have grown to love. The girls call it their second home, building treasured memories of their own and really, how awesome is that?

Our door’s always open and you’re welcome to visit. You can even buy a beach house and call it your own. Just don’t tell anyone where you’ve been.

It can be our little secret.

Family Traditions - the Old and the New

successinsuccession.wordpress.com

Family Traditions – built on years of repetition and sentiment. Every family has them. Some of the most memorable ones are wrapped around the big holidays – Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, Hannukah, and for Tim Burton fans - Halloween.

Does your family open Christmas presents on Christmas Eve or do you wait until morning? Who hands out the pressies? Is it, “Santa’s Elf” or “Mrs. Claus,” or an exhausted mom who didn’t sleep because she was more excited for Christmas morning than her children? (Just curious.) Does this person, not referring to any specific mom, wear a fluffy red hat with puffy white trim while passing around the gifts?

Much to my husband’s horror, I brought a few traditions with me in my tickle trunk of eccentricity, to our marriage. We Griffiths' delight in Christmas crackers, wearing our paper hats through dinner and into dessert. Every year Drew “accidentally” tears his, blaming his ginormous melon-sized cranium. Harrumph, we’re onto you, my sweets, we’re onto you.

My mom started one of my favourite traditions, for my brother and me, and Drew and I now do the same for our girls. We send them on a treasure hunt for gifts on their birthday morning, providing clues that lead them from one present to the next.

A few days ago, we sent my youngest, Sarah, on her hunt.  We’re always at the lake for her birthday,  so hiding her presents in our 600 sq. foot cottage, is quite a challenge.

And every year, our extended family drives the hour from Winnipeg, joining us for the sun, the lake and the mosquitoes. We like to share everything, here in Ponemah. It's tradition.

This year we were treated to a visit from my two American cousins, Liz and Lorraine. I haven’t seen either since the 1980’s. 30 years is a long time between visits and much has changed, but there was an instant family connection that makes me giddy just thinking about.

Over burgers, bright blue icing laden cupcakes, and wine we reminisced, agreeing that we can’t wait another 30 years to see each other again.

We vowed to keep in touch, updating each other with the goings on in our lives - building the newest Family Tradition - Staying Connected.

What are your oldest and dearest traditions?  Which ones would you prefer to dump?

Are there new traditions you’d like to test out?

Please post your comments below – I’d love to hear from you.

trevorallen.ca
(And no, this is not my family. We can't jump that high.)

Writing in the Shower - Good Time Management or Loony Toons?

flexwriterblogsonline.net

There is something I’ve just been itching to blog about, but wasn’t  sure how to begin.

It’s about this compulsion - this "need" to write. A writing addiction, so to speak. I have just learnt that there exists a little something called - Hypergraphia. It's an overwhelming urge to write.

I kid you not. This is an actual "thing." Before you get in a huff, muttering, “There you go again Jodi, just making stuff up and claiming it as truth,” I Googled it.

What can I say, I aced Google Research 101.

And according to the, always 100% correct Wikipedia, Hypergraphia, "… is also associated with bipolar disorder. Manic and depressive episodes have been reported to intensify hypergraphia symptoms. Additionally schizophrenics and people with frontotemporal dementia can also experience a compulsive drive to write."

So, that's great news, said no writer ever.

I began to dwell on this whole manic, depressive, schizophrenic “issue.” And yes, I finished top of my class in Dwelling, Stressing , and Awfulizing. Don’t mean to brag, but those are the facts, folks.  Just the facts.

sodahead.com

Another fact: I “hear” voices.

My characters often wake me up, interrupt my shower, and yell at each other whenever they feel the spirit moves them. That’s when I run frantically, grab any scrap of paper, and WRITE it all down. Hypergraphia?  Schizophrenia? Or just plain, old being a writer?

My very helpful pal, Heather Witherden, full-time mom, part-time comic  (again not joking, she’s hilarious), sent me a note on facebook sharing with me a story of a Hypergraphic woman who took wax pens into the shower so she could write while sudsing.

Part of me was shocked. "What a nut," I thought quietly so no one would hear.

But another part, the mom/writer/multi-tasker thought loudly and with verve, “What a frickin’ genius idea!”

Yes, this blog is mostly G-rated, people. Feel free to replace my family friendly expletives with racier PG14 curses. What’s that you say? No one says “racy” anymore? Well, I just did. So that’s…1!

At the end of the day, I’m comfortable with all my urges; to write, to eat copious amounts of chocolate, and to dance whenever I hear a great song.  Perhaps I could rid myself of the urge to clean incessantly, though. Woops. My mistake, I’ve seldom had an urge to clean, let alone incessantly.

Now, I must run. The voices are shouting again. Someone’s fallen into a well and needs to be “written” to safety. And no, there’s no Lassie dog ready to pull her out.

Write On, Hypergrahic Friends! Write On!
(You know you want need to!)

flickr.com

Too Grateful?

diggingwithdarren.com

Is it possible to be too grateful? To give too much thanks for all the good in your life? Can appreciation go wrong? Maybe.

Maybe the risk is not being sincere enough with your “thank yous.” I think the problem lies with your chompers. Your pearly whites. Yes, that’s right your teeth. Not following me?

Let me explain. When you smile, in appreciation, your grin should always reach your eyes, crinkling the corners.

No eye crinkle = no sincerity. All surface and no depth. Big hat, no cattle. You get my drift, right?

I know I’ve blogged my gratefulness before, thanking my family, my friends, my teachers – heck I even thanked my neighbourhood! I got gratitude oozing from me, I tell ya’!

The closer I get to the launch date of my book, the more people I meet who want to help see it succeed. So I now have another round of thank you’s.

Ahem, are you ready? Top up your coffee. Add a shot of bailey’s while you’re at it. (No worries, I won’t tell.)

Thank you to Drew, my husband extraordinaire, who wouldn’t allow me to quit writing when I dramatically announced, “All hope is lost. I’m burning all 243 of my writing notebooks and getting a real job - one that pays cash.”

To my friend, mentor, writer, all round amazing human being Anita Daher for convincing me Spaghetti was ready to submit to publishers. I thank you. And then listening to me moan, groan and fret over possible rejections as we jogged around the track at The Rehfit Centre. (Okay, so she fast walked and I jogged to keep up. Unimportant details.)

Many friends have given me support and encouragement but I have to tip my hat (it's large, brown, and floppy) to two incredible women. I've known them since our children were babies. There's something special about the mom friends you make when your kids are that young - a bond of friendship forms that is hard to duplicate.

Karen Kernaghan, introduced me to speech pathologist, Ramona Thompson. Ramona teaches social skills to kids with Asperger’s and was excited to hear about my book, Spaghetti is NOT a Finger Food and Other Life Lessons.

Trish Wainikka, put me in touch with her dear friend, Melissa Harju, who is a board member of Asperger Manitoba. We had an instant connection and shared our hopes and dreams for AS children.

A ginormous thank you goes to my publisher Rana DiOrio of Little Pickle Press. She took a leap of faith with me – an unpublished author from the heart of the Canadian prairies – and in doing so has opened my eyes and mind to the world of eBooks, social media, and the global possibilities for Connor’s story.

My final thank you is for Little Pickle Press’ blog book tour guru, Dani Greer of the Blood Red Pencil Blog. She has given me sage advice on blogging, the future of eBooks and how to better market myself. Our first half hour phone call extended to an hour and a half as we discussed books, the universe and everything, leading me to joyfully conclude I have found another kindred spirit.

There are so many more people I could thank, but I’ve learnt that often less blog = better blog (thank you Dani.) I’ll save my appreciation for those kind souls for another time.

Oh, wait! I almost forgot. Just one last shout out.

Thank you to the scientists who discovered the healthy benefits of chocolate.
I owe you one!

Another First

ebay.com.au

First tooth. First Birthday. First word. So many firsts in the first year of your child's life. Each one marked down and noted. Often celebrated.

Skip forward a few years, to the first day of school. First best friend. First lost tooth. First visit from the tooth fairy.

Yesterday was a new first in our family. First day of camp and I’m not referring to day camp. We’re pros of the Little League of camps; dance camp, nature camp, and arts and craft camp. Today was the first day of the Big Leagues. Sleep away camp.

en.wikipedia.org

Emma packed three days ago, double checked her list, and crammed ample supplies of magazines, sunscreen and even a disposable camera into her bulging bag. She was prepared. We were ready for the early morning 2 hour car ride to Kenora, Ontario where the 18 foot tin boats would shuttle the kids to Camp Stephens.

Only one glitch.

ancestralfamilytrees.blogspot.com

We slept through our alarm and bolted out of bed long after 5 am had come and gone. We raced down the stairs, yanked on our t-shirts and shorts, to find our ride waiting for us. Thank goodness for friends who are patient and understand that this is just the way The Carmichaels roll – almost prepared.

Seriously. Our motto, Toujour Prest, translates to: Always Ready.

But please notice the arrow in our crest is actually broken. My guess is our ancestors showed up for every Scottish battle, with weapons in hand, and a quiver full of useless arrows. Those Carmichaels probably rose, earlier than 5am, to lay out their combat tools and then feeling completely organised promptly sat down on their spears and such while eating their morning porridge. See what I mean? Almost prepared. History repeats itself. Just sayin.'

But I digress, which should not be surprising to anyone.

The drive to Kenora zipped by and as we rolled up to the dock, the girls’ best buddy came running to the car door.

“I’m so excited!” she screamed.

Our girls screamed incoherently back and dragged their luggage down to the water. Safely bundled into life jackets the three girls climbed into the silver boats – all three friends wearing matching grins.

So many thoughts wound through my mind and around my heart at that moment.

This is my girl, full of trepidation at the thought of a sleepover at a friend’s house only a short year ago. She is going to camp. Sleep away camp. She worked hard to build her courage for this day.

Emma waved madly, her smile never shaking, as the boat pulled away from the landing.

My heart leaped with joy for her. My girl’s going gone to camp. 

Where Did the Time Go?

timeforinspiration.blogspot.com

The other night we watched The Sting, set in the 30’s and made in the 70’s. I was struck by something so jarring that it pulled me out of the movie.

Robert Redford. He bears a striking resemblance to Brad Pitt. Mr. Redford is one hot octogenarian.

Okay, to be honest, my husband pointed this out (the resemblance, not Mr. Redford's all-American hotness) and then returned to movie watching. For me, this was all the distraction my random brain needed to begin drifting.

A movie, made in the 1970’s –  10, 20, 30, 40 odd years ago. I feel like a second grader counting off my tens to get to 100.

Time. 

oneinchtall.com

It flows quickly over the good occasions; birthdays, beach days, and weddings. It creeps by with painful slowness during dreadful moments, like exams, root canals, and funerals.

My fortieth birthday crept up a while back and I celebrated with hot tub, friends, my Drew, and dancing around the living room of my big yellow house. That was two Septembers ago. I’m quickly approaching the third year since that Jacuzzi festival and it seems like a day, maybe two has passed since then. I feel the same. Look relatively similar, but three years have indeed passed.

My girls have changed as greatly as I have remained the same. There’s a world of difference between ages four to seven and eight to eleven, compared to 40 to 43. Maybe that’s why I seem to notice the passing of time so much more than I once did.

coroflot.com

My babies are growing. My eldest is on the cusp of adolescence and now I understand why grandmothers take new mothers by the shoulders and square them, speaking seriously and from the heart. “Treasure every moment, they grow up so fast.”

I’m not close to being a grandmother, but I already feel that grandmother wisdom. My babies have grown fast and there’s no way to stop them.

Although it’s only July and, according to the calendar nowhere near New Year’s, I am close to a new year for myself. Autumn is calling. Another birthday approaches.

My new year resolution:

Live in the present with my daughters. Treasure every moment.

idlehearts.com

Friend Déjà Vu

lawrencerspencer.com

You know when you meet someone, and immediately there’s a connection? When you catch yourself thinking, (or if you’re like me, with an inability to consistently control my inner monologue, practically shouting,) “I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Kindred Spirits.  Soul Mates. Birds of a Feather. Sistas’ from Another Mother.

Whatever you are most comfortable calling that friend déjà vu moment, it’s that split second you realize you’ve found one of your peeps. One of your tribe. It's happened to me twice in the past fours days. Twice. This must be some sort of World Kindred Spirit record. If it occurs once more before the week's out, I'm texting those lovely folks at Guinness. (Not the beer people, the other ones.)

I love – no, I adore that feeling. If I was my Border Terrier, Zoe, I’d roll around in it as if I’d found a dead jack fish. Eew. Bad analogy.  

iteachkinderkids.blogspot.com

My husband says I’m a friend collector. I’ve decided to take this as a compliment. I love meeting new people. Finding out what interests them, what they feel passionate about. 

My mom is the same way. Long ago she taught me something that has stuck with me. 

“Always focus on the things about your friends that you like or admire. Try to ignore their irritating habits. Everyone has those - even you. Can you imagine if people didn’t look beyond your own weaknesses to find the great things about you?”

Okay, so I paraphrased. It was a long time ago. I was 8 or 12 or 6. I have no clue. But Mom’s words resonated deep within me and I’ve shared them with my own girls.

imprinttrainingcenter.blogspot.com

Focus on the good in others and that is what you’ll find.

Seems simple, doesn’t it? Sort of a friendship self-fulfilling prophecy.

Imagine if we all did that, all the time - with our spouses, our children. What about coworkers? I’m even referring to the ones that take the last cup of `coffee, leave the maker on to burn a stenchy ring into the bottom, and never make a fresh cup. Even those folks.

What if we took it further? What if we looked for the good in people of other faiths? Of other political views?

Could we find the good in your enemies?

And if we did, would we become friends?

teachmelife.wordpress.com

What if Chocolate had Zero Calories?

bowjamesbow.ca

Another summer has begun at our wee cottage overlooking, Manitoba’s own inland sea, Lake Winnipeg. It’s a small piece of paradise hidden, in the heart of the Canadian prairies. Another summer, I am fortunate to spend with my family, swimming, kayaking, sandcastle building, and (whenever possible) writing.

The kids are off for a quick swim, so I have a few minutes to sit at my computer, tap away at the keyboard, letting my imagination explore new worlds and all the characters that inhabit them. My mind is flooded with my favourite question.

What if?

thebsreport.wordpress.com

And not just the cliché, wah-wah-wah questions like; What if we could fly? Or What if the moon was made of cheese? Or What if chocolate had zero calories, cured cancer and was the fifth food group, but has too weak a lobby group to compete with the all-powerful dairy, grains and protein lobbyists? Okay, so maybe the last one is my own personal what if, but I think you can see where I’m going.

Currently I’m working on Gemini, a paranormal YA about twins. It’s the first in a trilogy called Triggered. The protagonist is Kate and the story is told from her point of view. Her brother, Chris, is the assistant protagonist.

“But Jodi,” you may ask (or not depending if you talk to your computer screen as much as I do.) “Can you have an assistant lead character?”

And I would have to ask you back, “But what if you can? What if you HAD to?”

ianjosephbrook.blogspot.com

Which of course would lead me deep into a “what if” chain of questions.

What if two characters were so interconnected that you couldn’t have one full character without the other and what if something was changing, deep inside one, but not the other? And what if that something that was changing was dangerous – even deadly? And what if for the sake of one, the other had to be hidden? But what if they hid the wrong twin?

nameberry.com

What if, I ask you, what if?

This is the flow of my “what ifs” at this very moment and I’m amazed where each new “what if” is taking Kate and Chris. I feel more of an observer, along to record their journey, marvelling at their courage and fearing for their survival.

Oh, wait! I feel another “what if” coming on –

“What if I had a Hershey Kiss machine hidden behind a false wall in my attic? And what if I was the only one who knew…”

scrapetv.com

Seconds of Grammar Anyone?

paojava.blogspot.com

I’m sure our doctor friends discuss medical terms over roast beef and our teacher friends discuss classroom behaviour issues when sipping steaming soup. In our big yellow house, we talk writing. And drawing.  And movie making.


We are a creative home where all artistic endeavours are supported and nurtured, even to the detriment of the state of our house. (Please see Exhibit A - my blog, Move Over Mr. Speilberg,  to understand my aversion to glitter.)

Recently my Sarah wrote a book based on her sister’s babyhood sleep issues. She insisted I take it to my writing group, The Anitas, and read it to them. I was under strict instruction not to tell them she asked me to do so. Sarah also asked when I thought I could get it published.

She suggested, "A month, maybe two?"

Ah, if publication was only so simple, youngest grasshopper.

So the other night, while slurping our spaghetti, we discussed words that are pronounced the same, but have different meanings. For instance, “right” as in correct and “write” as in what I like to do when not sleeping. Through our supper, we progressed through dozens of words, thinking ourselves highly intelligent and incredibly humorous.

During dessert, Emma’s eyes grew wide. I was sure she would have the best word of the evening.

“Hey," she shouted, eyes a’ sparklin’, “Are these, like, homophobes?”

Ah, eldest grasshopper, you have taught the teacher. We Carmichaels are not as smart as we thought. You brought our egos down to earth and made us revisit basic grammar rules - and doesn't that sound fun?

Next dinner discussion – homophones v.s. homophobes – one is fun word play, the other never funny. Compare and contrast.

Any takers? We have a table that sits 12 - almost comfortably!

schools.nashua.edu

Zoe Ate my Blog

cooltoplists.com

It’s been too long since I last blogged. I'd like to say Zoe ate my blog notes, but note pads are the one thing she refuses to eat. Unless a Tim Hortons' double chocolate cookie once rested on one of my writing journals, which of course is impossible because of my strictly followed diet. Just sayin.'

But I do have a zillion excuses, all of them involving writing, just not for my blog.

Last weekend, I had my first art “pow wow” by teleconference, and I have to tell you how exhilarating it was to hear “my team” discussing something I created. OMG, I have a team. How crazy is that? Over the moon, past Pluto and into the great beyond, type crazy. And no, I am not exaggerating. It is that insane.

And to boot, they loved it. But the best part for me?

They really understood the main character, Connor. Even though Connor has an unusual view of the world and more than his fair share of idiosyncrasies, they still loved him.

revbriceatjourney.blogspot.com

I even received the first colour illustration of Connor from Sarah Ackerley who has been selected for the art work. The moment I saw her drawing I became verklempt. She captured the essence of Connor; his naivety, his curiosity, his extreme focus – all in one picture. It is truly a world changing feeling to "see" him through someone else's eyes. I am sure it will remain one of the most memorable moments in my writing journey.

My current work-in-progress is a paranormal young adult novel. It is the furthest I could be from writing humour and I hope its back-of-the-neck, baby-hair tingling enough. It’s taking me far longer than expected as I can’t write alone in the house after dark, and I keep needing breaks when I get too creeped out to continue.

Hmmm, perhaps I’ve hit the target. Mission accomplished.

Wait. Did you hear that? 

Hello? Is someone there?

Phew, it's just Zoe devouring a note pad.

Or was it? Da-da-da-daaaaaa.

dreadcentral.com

Why I Write Children's Books

I am frequently asked this question. You’ve got talent, people say. Why not write for adults? Why write for kids? 

The answer is utterly simple.

Because, I love exploring how kids think. What makes them do what they do and react they way they react? 

Just stop and imagine what the world would be like if everything you saw and did was new and every experience your first.

Think back to your childhood. Think back to when the training wheels came off your two wheeler. Think of the first time you rode that bike and didn't wipe out in your neighbour's rose bush. What about the first time you rode your bike to the library, or to school - by yourself?

And, I have the most inspiring discussions with my girls. This morning's conversation with my seven year filled me with joy. The following is a good example of the types of daily chats I have with my children. (Usually prior to 8 am and most often on only one cup of coffee.)

Youngest Child: “Mommy, when is Daddy going to kick me out?”

Me: “Pardon?”

Youngest: “When is he going to kick me out of the house?”

Me: “Oh, sweetie, he’s just joking. He won’t kick you out. But someday, probably after university, you’ll want to move out.”

Youngest: “Oh, no Mommy, I’m not going to university.”

Me: “Oh, what are you going to do instead?”

Youngest: “I’m going to live on the lam.”

Me: “Do you know what that means?”

Youngest: “Yup. I’m going to live in the wild and go to places that no one has found yet.”

Me: “Where did you get this idea?”

Youngest: “Bugs Bunny. He never went to college.”

Me: “You do understand you can’t grow up to be Bugs Bunny. He 's a cartoon…and a bunny.”

Youngest: “I know that mommy. I don’t want to be Bugs Bunny. I’m going to be Tweety Bird.”

Me: “Well, you’ve gotta’ have goals.”

With logic like that following me around every minute my children are in my presence, what choice did I have?

Law? Too serious. Medicine? Too icky. Writing children’s books? Just right.

One Step Closer to Publication

This may be my shortest blog, yet. Possibly these words will be the fewest written in the history of blogging. I can’t be sure, because I am too excited to do the research.

I, Jodi Colleen Carmichael, am on the very cusp of publication.

Drew told me to keep calm and maintain a professional composure. Ahem. Who did he think he married? Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth?

The reason for my uncontainable joy?

A wonderful publishing company in The United States of America is interested in publishing Spaghetti is NOT a Finger Food and Other Life Lessons. Connor’s story soon may be found in a bookstore near you! Five years after I began writing Spaghetti, I may be months from seeing it on Amazon. Incredible.

Wish me luck as we discuss their terms. Discussing terms. Ooh, doesn't that make it sound so official?

P.S. Maybe, you shouldn’t mention this blog entry to Drew. He may not consider such reckless outbursts of elation “Queen appropriate.”