Summer school

I’ve learned so much from my girls this summer. They have worked so hard at swimming, at learning to ride bikes, goals are key and positive reinforcement means everything.

I’ve learned how I handle things greatly determines their outlook. When addressing a mistake, it is more important to rebuild them then to focus on the error of their ways.

Life is more important than fiction.

Time spent daydreaming with little girls is worth more than any paycheck.

And, most importantly, though marrying a knight in shining armor matters… nothing polished that vision of him like seeing him laugh and play with your children.

Hope you are having a lovely summer. I’ll be spending the rest of it revising my current manuscript, MAMMOTH SECRETS.

Until next time…

Ashley

New opportunity

Many of you might know me as wiremamma .

It’s my Twitter handle. I chat about books, publishing, social media and networking, and use it to promote my novels.

While describing this to my father over the weekend, he reminded me of my grandfather, a ham radio operator.

Granddaddy John was W7LBW. They had a 20 foot tall antenna over their house, that looked more like a mini death star under construction. He made friends all over the world. Some of my favorite memories are sitting in his office, mike at the ready, watching the voice modulation as we called out into the ether.

Though granddad has gone on to his reward, perhaps I inherited his desire to stay in touch with the world at large. I know that ne would have been enthralled with an entire world at your fingertips…and wonder, what will we see when my daughters have children of their own.

Before I Was a Mom

The Girls

Here’s one that came through e-mail on motherhood.

And before I was a mom, these things never choked me up quite so bad.

Before I was a Mom,
I never tripped over toys
or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn’t worry whether or not
my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations. .

Before I was a Mom,
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind
and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held down a screaming child
so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night
watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held a sleeping baby just because
I didn’t want to put her down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
when I couldn’t stop the hurt.!
I never knew that something so small
could affect my life so much..
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom,
I didn’t know the feeling of
having my heart outside my body..
I didn’t know how special it could feel
to feed a hungry baby.
I didn’t know that bond
between a mother and her child.
I didn’t know that something so small
could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom,
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
every 10 minutes ! to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth,
the joy,
the love,
the heartache,
the wonderment
or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn’t know I was capable of feeling so much,
before I was a Mom .

May you always be overwhelmed by the Grace of God rather than by the cares of life

Blogging today at MamaWriters.com

I’m guest blogging today at www.mamawriters.com

Come join me where we’re discussing our works in progress, sweet vs. sensual romance, and how on earth we ever get things done with all the social media at our fingertips!

See you there!

~Ashley

Love Story

Taylor Swift wrote the epitome of a love story in but a few minutes. I was wondering this morning what it is about the song that chokes me up so. Is it watching my 5 year old daughter clasp her hands under her chin, staring dreamy eyed at the prospect of a princess and prince finding each other? Is it watching their dad dance around the room, uninhibited and singing with his little girls? Is it hearing Ellie’s rich, little girl voice belting out “Romeo, Save me! I’ve been feeying so ayone!”

I think it must be all of the above. The romance novelist inside is in awe of such a succinct story – with the pitfalls, heartbreak, and ultimate unabashed joy at the h/h finding their true love. The mommy in me sees the girls as budding romantics. The wife in me only has eyes for her own Romeo, turned amazing dad.

If you haven’t seen it, you must. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wRkoGKQ8qQ

Have a wonderful Saturday!

How to Get What We Want

I’m thinking this moring of the art of getting what you want. More to the point, how do little girls learn to get their way, or accept that they won’t get their way, and change their tactics?

As I’m writing, I have my daughter curled up beside me, whining because she wants a puppy for her birthday. Her birthday – turning 5 – is becoming quite the event in her mind. She has plans, boy oh boy, and her party better not disappoint! she’s planning everything, down to the decorations, the party favors, the guest list, the color of balloons. Everything. And she’s changed her mind on all of it, at least twice.

As her mother, I can only listen, smile, and wait for her to change her mind for the thousandth time. She is a fickle little flower. A sweet, demanding little thing, with a disposition like a partly sunny day. One moment, she’s sunshine and rainbows, and the next–she’s a storm, ready to weep rain over the bitterness of her disappointment. I sit by, with sunscreen or umbrella handy, as one never knows what you’re going to get.

Her little sis is easy. Easy to please. Easy to distract and make laugh. And though she gets frustrated with her little toddler body, me, and learning the boundaries, she is my bubble. The older one, she is another story. Who knows why. Some say drama-queen. To me, it’s just her. Just typing this post, I’ve waited her out. Now she wants orange juice with the same abandon of the forgotten puppy.

This is motherhood.

Chasing Monsters

A scream pierced the darkness. 5:15 a.m.

I flew down the hall to the shaking, sitting up form of my oldest daughter. She sobbed into her hands, “The little man downstairs. He had a knife!”

Just a dream, I knew. I soothed. But the knowing of that, and the soothing of her didn’t take the terrors away. Her daddy tried to share his wisdom in the wee hours of the morning with little ears that only heard one thing. He didn’t believe her.

I shushed them both and picked her up. Carrying her back to my bed, I wrapped my hands around her, held her close. Not until this moment have I realized how much she’s grown. Long legs, slender arms, ocean blue eyes that see far more than we give her credit for.

When she was a baby (toddler) 5 a.m. was her time to relive incidents from the day before. I’d perk my ears as I stroked her back, and she talked in her sleep, wailing about unresolved daycare issues. 5 a.m. is her witching hour, the time that she shares her soul with me, and I stand on the sideline and watch her subconscious deal out the blows to the bad ones that my soft spoken little miss couldn’t perform while awake.

Now, she’s reliving a movie we watched last night: Arthur & The Incredibles. An innocent enough tale with fanciful creatures, good and bad. A secret universe, under our very noses, with a princess, a prince, and a happy ending. And of course, where there is good, so there is evil. A tiny, scary creature with a sword and a vengeance. The story is all about balance of good and evil. Yin and Yang. Light and dark. We laughed, we danced to the music, and we cheered when love conquers all.

But, in her dreamland, convinced that she truly crept downstairs in search of a secret snack only to find the little scary man with his knife.

Was it real? Real enough for a 4 year old on the edge of turning 5. Real enough to curl up with her mama under the covers and stare, wide eyed at the horizon and wait for the first fingers of dawn to unfold the blanket of dark. Real enough for me to hold on to her, stroke her back, and keep the nightmares at bay.

Popsicle summer

Saturday heralded the official arrival of summertime -There is nothing like seeing the Popsicle smiles on their sweet faces, and enjoying that cool California breeze off the coastline. My girls are getting bigger, learning to swim, and can still strip and run naked through the sprinklers in 5 seconds flat. The video camera is on the fritz, so as soon as I can get it to the geeks at Best Buy, the more video I can capture of that reckless abandon.

The garden is spectacular – the flowers have outdone themselves, even though the heat index has been screwy. And, now we are in construction of our newest Ludwig Family Project…the river. Yes. Perry is constructing a river in the side yard. Complete with trickling fountain, tadpoles to turn into froggies, and fish. I imagine we’ll even find a home for a turtle or two. Lord, I’m going to turn into my sister. There are worse things than that. My sister rocks.

Speaking of sisters – I often wonder how my mom did it with us. Granted. We had more of an age difference between us. Three and a half years instead of 19 months. I am bound and determined to see these little misses lean on one another the way that Paige and I do. To hear them speak about each other once they reach adulthood – the way Paige and I speak about each other. What does a parent have to do to engender that? All I can say is, patience. Fights are not allowed. Hurting feelings on purpose is a definite no-no. Respect. Love. Fun. Play. All of these things are mandatory. Hateful words must be apologized for as much as physical contact. But, you know what? There is something about hearing them play, invent games, giggle in secret, and plan together that makes my heart flop around in my chest.

People ask me, as an adoptive mother – if my girls are related. *CRINGE* first of all. Second, comes the smile that states – you have no idea what you’re asking me, do you? You might as well ask a person who physically bore their children – oh, is your husband the sperm donor for both your kids? But – no, I don’t do that. What I do say is my pad-answer: “God made us a family. We’re not biologically related, but Rachel and Ellie are sisters. I’m their mother…Perry’s their father, and Millie’s our dog.”

Aye-yai-yai… that’s a whole other topic for a later date!

We’re all part of the same gene pool. Jump in and take a swim. After all, it’s summer. And have a Popsicle, while you’re at it.

To be Two Again…

Oh, to be two and a half again…
To not care that you’re covered in sand. To grab on to your mommy when a wave plows you over. To know that she’ll be there to catch you and bring you up to the surface again. To build sand castles and see magic in the air when a kite takes flight on an unseen breeze. To trust. To love. To laugh. To live. I suppose that’s what Jesus meant, when he said let the children come to me. We all need to remember what it is like to be truly childlike. Ellie and Rachel are my teachers. They’re my education on how to dance like no one is watching. How to be goofy and fun and that it’s more fun to hear your favorite song a hundred times than to skip around the radio looking for something else. If I were two years old today, I’d want to dig the deepest hole I could. To look for seashells. To sit and let the waves slap at my legs. To spend all day with my mom and dad. To play. To eat too much ice cream. To fall asleep on the way home and know that I’d wake up in the comfort of my own bed.