Hey everyone! Welcome to my first day of blogging here with you all. A little bit about me. I live in cold, frigid and once again snow covered Michigan, am married, have two kids 23 and 25 yrs old, a senior dog and annoying cat.
I love to write romance. And I write all across the board. My releases include The Laird’s Lady – http://www.thewildrosepress.com/, The Captain’s Wench http://www.devinedestinies.com/, Take No Prisoners – http://www.thewildrosepress.com/, A Miracle Through Time – http://www.thewildrosepress.com/, and Womb For Rent, written under my pseudonym of Amanda Brian (my kids names) http://www.hardshell.com/. So I have contemporary romance, historical time travel, and paranormal romance. I also freelance for magazines as well.
Today I’m going to share a tale of how out of control my life gets. Now mind you this is not a normal occurrence. Okay, well sometimes it is. My 25 year old daughter Amanda loves animals as some of you already know. She is sponsoring an event at the doggy day care where she works on February 7th, to help raise awareness, funds and help get dogs and cats adopted for the Michigan Animal Rescue League (MARL). She called me last week to ask if I would go with her while she cold-called on local businesses to drum up donations for the giveaways they were planning. Nice mother that I am I said yes. So off we went. (And of course I had to buy her lunch as well because she was broke).
We traipsed all over town; she got a local copy shop to donate flyers, then a second one. Then two beauty salons gave her gift cards for free haircuts. We then went to a local restaurant to post the flyer and ask for another gift card. As we were walking back to the car I slip; crack my left temple on the side of the car door frame. Instant stars and horrendous pain. Now, I’m grabbing my temple when the wind lets loose and the car door swings back and clips me behind my right ear. At this point I fall into the passenger seat, tears streaming from my eyes. (No, I’m not a baby. Okay maybe sometimes I’m a baby) It hurt like the dickens.
My gifted child is sitting in the driver’s seat laughing at me!!! She leans over, rubs my temple and says “Aww, did Mommy get a boo-boo? Is anything rattling in there? Did you knock something loose?”
I glare at her and think “This is the child I spent 17 ½ hours in hard back labor with, who was 2 weeks overdue, and now she is laughing at me??”
I look her dead in the eye and growl, “Touch me again and you’re dead.”
The smile fades from her face and she starts the car. I pull down the visor mirror to see a lovely purple bruise already forming on my left temple. My right ear is throbbing like a marching band is in full rehearsal with emphasis on the cymbals and drums, and I’m not a happy camper.
We leave the parking lot and I announce “I want to go home.” She shakes her head. “You can’t go; I need you to go with me to the bar.” Ok, suddenly the bar is sounding like a really good idea. A drink would help ease the pain in my head. Actually ten drinks would be the perfect solution. Get soused so I can’t remember why my head hurts. Sigh. Problem is I don’t drink. Pepsi is my drink of choice. I haven’t touched alcohol since my wedding in 1982 because I haven’t found anything I like the taste of. Hmm, maybe this is the perfect time to find something. But what Amanda really meant was go in the bar and help solicit another gift card for the adoption event.
We pull up at the bar, and I sit still. She is halfway out of the car and yells back, “Come on.” I mumble I don’t want to go in. She stands there glaring at me until I get out of the car. (I brought this mean laughing creature into the world, and I'll take her back out!) Slamming the car door behind me, I march up to the curb, take one step up and promptly fall down ( I swear I am not making this up) landing on my left knee, skin my left palm and the tears start all over. (I’m not usually such a crybaby either).
Again, the lovely child starts laughing. She comes over, grabs my elbow and tries to haul me upright all the while telling me to get up quick before someone sees me. (Did I mention 17 ½ hours of back labor for this evil creature??) The more she hauls on me, the more I can’t get my footing. I finally yell at her in public (not one of my finer moments) to let me go. I slowly struggle to my feet. At this point I could care less who is looking.
We go in the door of the bar and I head for the bathroom. Apparently this is not what Amanda intended for me to do. She opens her mouth to comment. I glare and say, “I’m going to the bathroom, leave me alone.” (Yes, I know this means I will not get Mother of the Year Award anytime soon).
Once inside the ladies room, I brave a look in the mirror. My jeans are wet down the front of both legs, I have rock salt and snow covering the front of me, and my mascara has now run under my eyes so I resemble someone in Alice Cooper’s band! Not to mention the lovely purple goose egg on my temple and the marching band still in full swing in my right ear. Yes, I love my life!
Back in the car, I demand to be taken home. Amanda quietly acquiesces. If she doesn’t, I’m taking my chances in the snow and walking. We pull into the driveway and I am out the car door before she has a chance to put the car in park. Leaning down I tell her, “Thanks for the lovely afternoon,” slamming the car door harder than necessary (yes, I’m a slammer when I’m mad). Wise child that she is does not follow me in the house but backs out and goes to her own apartment. Lying on the couch where I have gone to sulk, I think back on the day. And I start to laugh.
Wasn’t one of the more pleasant days of my life, not even close. But hey, it makes for a great story. And you never know, it might make great fodder for an upcoming novel. Hmm, think my daughter would notice if the heroine’s name was Amanda and all this happened to her??? Just a thought.
Take care all till next week.