I have three kids, a husband, a slightly stinky and poorly trained dog, and an ancient calico cat who doesn’t like people.
My house is in a perpetual state of disarray despite my constant attempts to clean it. Old women at grocery stores tell me how lucky I am, that it all goes so fast, and I nod my head and say something pithy like, “It sure does!” while trying to keep the baby from changing the language on the card reader screen or voiding my entire transaction.
I’m that woman.
People ask when I find time to write, and I point to my husband, the sweet frazzled sight of him as he hoses down a screaming child with one hand and unloads the dishwasher with the other. That, my friends, is romance. Well, it’s what the best romances turn into if you’re lucky.
As you read this, I’m probably putting someone into time-out, cleaning something, or explaining to my progeny why I put him/her into time-out or why I shouldn’t have to clean whatever it was I just cleaned. Or maybe, if your timing is just perfectly right, I’m sitting on the purple reclining loveseat in a basement full of toys, writing my next big novel while my husband takes care of the chaos for a while.
For him, and for the kids and the stinky, cranky pets, and for the opportunity to tell you a story, I am grateful. I hope you enjoy my work.