Here’s a true story.  Not that all of our stories aren’t true – because they are.  But this one is really true, every word.

Ed, the person I’ve been married to for almost 25 years for some reason that I don’t know yet, has a boss he dislikes immensely. In fact, hate might not be too strong a word.  This woman sits not five feet from him and sleeps on her desk.  If I have to see one more photo of her on his cell phone, sleeping on her desk, I’m going to stab myself in the eye with a light saber.

Anyway, the other day Ed asked me what I knew about voodoo dolls.  He wasn’t expecting me to know a lot but I am known to have knowledge of things that normal people don’t – things that might label me as crazy but really just make me Amylynn’s sister.     

Voodoo dolly

I was busy so I suggested a trip to Wikipedialand. 

Several days later, I notice a voodoo doll factory set up on my dining room table.  I also take note that the 11 year old girl who lives at my house is now involved.  I say nothing because it’s best not to know a lot when the police show up . . .

Yesterday morning, on my trip to the kitchen for my six cups of coffee, I notice this incredible mess on the family room floor.  There’s straw, fabric, twine, and other stuff I couldn’t identify.  What I immediately know is that this is the work of our dog.  Even as I get closer, I have no idea what this mess started out as until I pick up a small faux suede shirt.  What the hell?  Now I’m yelling at the dog – “Dog, where did you get this?”       

Our dog mistook a voodoo doll for a voodoo donut

Slowly, it dawns on me – it’s a voodoo doll.  Well, it was a voodoo doll.

Since I don’t want the dog to get yelled at, I text Ed the following:

Me: “Ummmmmm, is Idiot Boss in horrible pain?”

Ed: “Not yet. Doll not done.”

Me: “Well, that depends on what your definition of done is. If you mean done in, due to being

Voodoo love symbol - very cute and not scary at all

chewed up by your dog, than you have the right of it.  Considering the mess, she should need to go to the hospital shortly”

Ed: “Sweet.”

That evening, Ed asks me if I found the voodoo doll’s heart.  You have got to be kidding me!?  What the hell was written in Wikipedia?  How many years in prison is that going to cost Ed?  The heart turned out to be a plastic bag with a strand of hair and a paper clip in it which was sewed into the dolls chest.  Don’t you feel better knowing that?  I certainly did.

Text from Ed first thing this morning:       

“Idiot Boss called in sick.”

 Coincidence?  I think not..

Have you ever made a voodoo doll? Who were you voodooing? Did it work? What’s your secret?

The pub in question

There’s a new scandal in England. I really love when there’s a good scandal over there because theirs are so much more interesting than our boring icky-old-Senator-texts-pictures-of-his-wang-to-underage-girl scandals.  

This new scandal has the Prime Minister and his wife, David and Samantha Cameron, accidentally leaving one of their three kids at the local pub after eating there with several friends and their kids.

First of all, I think this is going to blow over no matter how his opposition tries to make a big deal out of it. Honestly, all the parents in the world are wondering how they managed it. I’ve tried to leave my kids in restaurants before but the manager always catches me in the parking lot and makes me take my kids with me.

Mr. & Mrs. Cameron made the mistake of thinking their daughter was in “the other car” since they were traveling with several vehicles. I don’t know about you, but I’m always hoping I’m in the “other car” than my children. That never works out though. Never.

Apparently the girl went to the bathroom when they were leaving. This could so totally happen. Just imagine the scene.

Mother – Alright all you kids, we’re leaving. Does anyone have to go to the bathroom before we get in the car? Hey, are you people listening? Hello.

Kids – (skipping, screaming, punching each other, blatantly ignoring their mother) La la la la la.

Mother – Everyone get in the car! Don’t wander off. Hey, you, get in the car. (Repeat twelve times)

Daughter wanders off.

See how easy that was to imagine. I’ve had these conversations myself countless times, I’ve just never been so lucky as to leave one of the kids behind. I’m sure there was mountains of guilt when they figured out she was missing, followed by gaping pits of terror until they found her at the pub. All in all, though, I’ll bet this incident will keep that kid from wandering off next time.

There is still one little piece of the puzzle I don’t understand. My kids are so freaking loud that I can’t imagine not hearing them at all times. I would have noticed right away that there wasn’t incessant chattering and fighting coming from the back seat. I guess that’s the joy of traveling with separate vehicles. That gives me all kinds of ideas….

Honestly everyone should just calm down. There’s always the added bonus that they’ll have that story to laugh about for years over Christmas dinner and such.

“You remember that time Mum and Da left me at the pub?” **chortle chortle** (that’s how they laugh in England)

I had a friend who accidentally left their baby at the church after his christening, and my grandmother wandered off and left my mom at a store. Have you ever left your kid somewhere? Or were you the one who was left? Come on, rat your parents out. Are you scared for life or can you laugh about it now?

Normally, when it comes to romance novels, I’m pretty loyal to historicals, most often Regency or Victorian.I pretty much devour historicals. 

There are a few other romance genres I’ll read just because I’m loyal to the author. I always read Sherrill Quinn/Cynthia Garner because she’s a friend and a great paranormal writer. I always read Gini Koch because she’s a hysterical lady in person and her Sci Fi/romance books are always a hoot.

I also read Rachel Gibson’s books as soon as I can get my hot little hands on them because I love, love, love her contemporary romances.

When my agent asked me to write a contemporary romance, I knew I wanted to write something comparable to Rachel – her style and mine are very similar. I also figured that I’d better read some more of this particular genre because the secret to writing is reading.

I read another of my agent’s authors stuff over at Entangled.com and another book from that publisher that caught my eye. Both of which I liked and would recommend.

And then I took a trip to Target to see what was going on in the romance section. There are eight million historicals in that aisle – which explains why the hell I can’t get mine published. But, surprisingly, there weren’t that many romances that weren’t also slipping over into “women’s fiction” at the same time.

I bought one that appealed to me – the back cover blurb, the cover art, etc. Call Me Irresistible by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. So far I’m really enjoying it.

But while I was sitting on the couch I glanced at the cover art again. Then I looked harder. I went to the lamp and looked really hard.

Holy Cow.

Take a look at it here and see if you can see what I saw.

Give up? I’ll give you a hint. Look specifically at the bottom third – under the title. It’s dark there so peer at it. Yep, that’s it.

The hero has no feet. None. Odd, right?

I know he’s wearing a cowboy hat and that the story takes place in Texas, but I really, really think that perhaps the model is Canadian.

 So what do you think the deal is with these missing feet all over the place? What are the Canadians doing with all these feet?

Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, Mamacita.

My mom turns 65 today. That’s a significant achievement, if you ask us, so we threw her a birthday party this weekend. Ava volunteered to make the cake and look how cute it turned out. This was the fruits of our search for colored chocolate and small piping tips. Not only were the cake and cupcakes totally adorable, they tasted awesome. The frosting was light, and lavender (!), and the cake just sweet enough and super moist.

Ava got a million compliments – all completely deserved.

These are fairy lanterns. Ava found them on Pinterest. That site is totally dangerous

close up of a butterfly

and addictive. These are a super easy and really inexpensive decoration and they lasted all night.

All you need are mason jars, clear glitter, and colored glow sticks.

You put about a 1/2 inch of glitter in the bottom of the jar. Then, after cracking a glow stick to activate it, dump the liquid contents into the jar. Seal it up and shake it. The glitter sticks to the inside of the jar and glows all night.

Today is Mom’s actual birthday. So on that note…..

Happy birthday to you!

Wouldn’t those lanterns be cool at Halloween? What other cool decorations have you found? What was on your last birthday cake? My birthday is coming up in eight short weeks – just so you know. Last time was ladybugs. How should I have Ava decorate my cake this year?

In honor of Winnie getting fixed today, I give you this. I’m making her the “star” of today’s blog in exchange for her ovaries. Fair exchange I say.

This could totally be Winifred the Wonder Pup if the star of the video was all black.

Only Winnie would have chewed up the shoe and pulled the rubber buttons out of the remote first.

I love birdboxstudios.

Does anyone else feel like the need to bribe their pets in order to steralize them? Who makes your favorite cartoon? Tell us the brave tale of taking your own pet to the vet.

Every single night the wild rumpus begins about 10 o’clock.

I’ve gotten the children to bed so the bickering and sassing and back talk has ceased. It’s peaceful.

I can write on my current WIP or this blog. I can watch anything on television I want without anyone whining about it. You’d think, as such described, I’d be in bliss.

But I’m not.

We can blame Roscoe the Idiot Dog and Winifred the Wonder Pup. It is that exact hour when they decide to have a world-class romp in a cage match.

Two dogs enter, One dog exits.

The wrestlemania event involves a great deal of chasing each other around the giant circle – livingroom past the kitchen around the family room past the laundry room back by the kitchen and into the living room again, bashing into walls and furniture all along the way. Where I happen to be trying to watch and write.

To punctuate the wrestling there must also be copious amounts of howling, yapping and growling.

It doesn’t matter how many times I hiss at them, chuck the remote in their direction, whap the coffee table with a wadded up newspaper to get their attention or poke at them when they run by. They stop when they’re damn good and ready.

It’s beyond irritating.

I’m sure you’re thinking, “You’re a fool. Put the dogs outside.” You, dear reader, are very naive. They’ll just do the same thing in the back yard and then I’d have annoyed neighbors.

Honestly, unless you’ve heard it for yourself, you simply can not believe the sound of a hound dog baying. I’m certain I’ve told you before the noise is so loud and vibrates so significantly that it makes my doorbell ring which then makes the Idiot Dog turn and bay at the front door like a moron. It’s a vicious cycle.

I also bt you think all that caterwauling would wake up the slumbering children. Nope. I think a Sherman tank could roll through here and they would sleep through it. It doesn’t even wake up My Honey.

All it does is irritate the living crap out of me.

And the big cat. He’s fairly annoyed much of the time anyway. That cat and I may be soul mates.