This announcement just ran in Publishers Weekly: “Amy Fitzgerald at Lerner/Carolrhoda has bought Ginger Garrett’s middle-grade novel Name Tags and Other Terrible Ideas (Most of Them Mine). When sixth grader Lizbeth finds her plans to get rid of her father’s new girlfriend and make friends at her new school derailed,
I am a woman obsessed with pearls. Delicate and hypnotic, I love to watch the way each one catches the light, reflecting a soft, ethereal glow. Here are the top three reasons why everyone should be obsessed with pearls. First, they symbolize the secrets of the heart: hidden wisdom, the
Snowdrift is a Great Pyrenees mix that my wonderful vet helped us save from the dreaded disease parvo. Snowy stared down death at a young age, so she has a stoic personality. We adopted Watson the black and tan bloodhound mix, and it would be incorrect to say he has
“Christmas is really for children, isn’t it?” The casual remark made by a friend wounded me deeply. I had recently miscarried and was told I would never be able to carry a child to term. All month I had struggled to survive emotionally, bombarded hourly with toy advertisements and commercials
Several years ago, my parents sold their home in Texas to be closer to their grandchildren. The first Christmas with the family together was glorious; we ate, played, and shopped nearly every day. One afternoon, I picked up my five-year-old daughter Elise after a fun day with Grandpa and Grandma.
The most glorious mothering-moments always seem to go terribly wrong for me. My fifth grade daughter invited a friend, Grace, for a sleepover. Grace’s father is a church leader, a detail which will be important later, and one which my daughter will refer back to in therapy years from now.
