Merry Christmas!

This morning, in the middle of opening gifts, the Uber-princess spontaneously broke out in song. We joined her in singing Happy Birthday to Jesus. That was one of the best gifts of the morning. A sweet card that described what she likes about each member of our family ("Smart is the word for my big sister. She knows cursive."), given to all of us by Timid Daughter ranks right up there too. And our girls' reaction when we asked them if it was a good Christmas, before letting them open up an uncharacteristically big family gift warmed my heart too - they were perfectly happy with the handful of smaller gifts they'd been given. It made me confident that giving them a big gift was a good decision - it wouldn't define Christmas for them, it would just enhance it.

I worry about those things - what the holiday will mean to our girls. I want the gifts to be an expression and illustration of the great gift we've already received in Jesus being born as God in the flesh. It honestly makes the enjoyment of all the material things that much sweeter. Christmas in our home is not made or broken by what is received - those things are the icing on the cake.

Knowing that they "got it" was freeing because I also delight to see my children enjoy receiving gifts. I want them to feel loved, and sometimes a gift is a good way to express that (for some, it is the best way to express that - see the Five Love Languages to learn more). This year I truly revelled in lavishing a big gift on them. I loved to see them shrieking and jumping in excitement over such an unexpected gift. There is Christmas in that - the showing of deep love through an extravagant gift, a costly gift. People quote John 3:16 so often that we get numbed to this. Today I felt it anew, the abundant love expressed at Christmas: "For God so loved the world, that He gave His one and only Son..."

Now That's A New One

I had the chance to sit in on the preschool lesson in church this past Sunday. My little group of two-year-olds and I marched in and found ourselves a spot on the squishy mats in back and settled in to watch the big kids. Much as the two's are sweet and adorable (some of the time), often their older preschool counterparts can be even more of a hoot and both the two-year-olds and I relish taking in their antics. This week was no exception.

As is to be expected in December, the teacher had prepared a fun lesson about the angel's announcement to Mary and to Joseph. So to get the kids in the spirit of things she opened with this question:

"What do we celebrate at Christmas?"

A boy of about four or five years immediately shot his hand in the air.

"I know! I know!" he said.

The teacher pointed to him and asked for his response.

He said, "We celebrate when Santa died."

Ummm... Yeah. Well, they've got a few more weeks to help that little guy out. And bless his heart, he definitely was sincere.

Freedom!!!

Aaaaah! Did you hear the big sigh of relief that emanated from my house yesterday afternoon? I fulfilled the last of my outside commitments for 2008 yesterday morning. And in the process I reached the big goal I set for myself in January. I am free!

No more speaking engagements or radio interviews to prepare for. No more articles to be submitted. No more volunteer commitments to remember. No more meetings to attend. While I enjoy doing all those things, the pace of ordinary life makes a commitment-free couple of weeks feel very good. Yes, I am free!

I am free to shop for the 15 or so remaining Christmas gifts on my list. I am free to address 90 to 100 christmas cards. I am free to bake batches upon batches of Christmas cookies. I am free to wrap those dozens of gifts hidden in the corners and closets. I am free to catch up on the 75 emails that have accumulated in my inbox. I am free to write the December newsletter that should have gone out a week and a half ago. I am free to finish the last chapter of the novel I wrote in November.

I'm also free to: catch up on the books on my reading list, play board games with my kids, have lunch with a friend or two or three, celebrate writing a novel in a month, take a nap every now and then, get in the workouts that I've been saying I would since April, take my girls to see HSM3 (which they have been begging me to do for more than a month), write more than one blog post a week, and just simply enjoy the extra space on my calendar.

Can I tell you what I love the most about the last few weeks of the year? All the freedom!

November by the Numbers

57,397 words written
100's of games of Solitaire played in avoidance of writing
48 hours of butt-in-chair, must-get-this-done effort made (roughly)
12's (dozens) of cups of tea and hot chocolate consumed
10 fingers worked to the bone
9 different disasters incorporated into the plot (give or take a few)
8 copies of the draft sent by email as back-up
7 characters insinuated themselves into A Musing Mom's life
6 or more blog posts never got written
4 family members made room for writing time
3 "write-ins" attended
2 hands and arms ached from the rigors of endless typing

...all in the pursuit of ONE novel (in rough draft form).

Word Counts

I dreamt about word counts last night. I'm on the home stretch toward meeting the NaNoWriMo goal of 50,000 words in 30 days. So I've been clocking in a few hundred words before going to bed many nights. And yesterday I spent a few hours before that at a write-in with other NaNo folks. No wonder the dreams about word counts then, eh?

Reminds me of a statistic I learned during sessions with our pastor in preparing for marriage. It went something like this: men have an average of 500 words they will use during a given day; women have a 27,000-word quota. Therefore, what often happens is this: the husband arrives home at the end of his work day and all of his words have been spent. But the wife, particularly if she is a stay-at-home-mommy to a little one still has approximately 26,975 words left and only a few hours in which to use them. She will start firing them off rapidly as soon as her honey walks in the door and can continue on unabated for the remainder of the evening, if allowed. She has no fear of running out of words, she fears running out of time.

In this word-count driven month I'm living, I drift back to those statistics often. And I wonder - do writers have these kind of limitations? If I press to write more than 4,500 words in one day, will I run out? Or do I have a global word count limit that I am rapidly approaching and which is set to be reached right at about three quarters of the way through the final chapter of my novel? Will my written word-count limit be replenished daily the way verbal limits seem to be?

Not a lot of deep thought here tonight. Just my way of saying, I'm still here. I'm still writing. It's just that this pesky novel is eating up a good amount of my word quota and not leaving much for y'all. I've stolen these few to have something to share today.

What are your thoughts on word limits? Do you have children that seem to have widely varying needs in terms of daily word expenditure? Do you and your husband match the statistics or is one (or both) of you an anomoly? Feel free to share your thoughts. As far as I know there are no limits to word intake, especially when it comes to listening.

When I saw this sign on our vacation last month I was tempted to buy it. How true, huh?

Well, that was more than a month ago. And you might be thinking that since I'm 18 days into my noveling frenzy that it would be truer than ever. I've spent tens of hours at my computer and typed more than 73 single-spaced pages, totalling over 30,000 words. I've downed dozens of cups of hot chocolate (sorry, coffee makes me edgy late at night) and scribbled notes on stacks of index cards. I'm on track to finish at least a 50,000-word novel by November 30th.

So it would be so easy right now to play on your sympathy and tell you how my children are starved for attention, my freezer is empty and the dust bunnies are growing in greater numbers than my word count. I could act like my wrists are screaming in pain from carpal tunnel and my back is aching from hunching over my computer. I could moan about the rigors of dealing with uncooperative characters and plot holes as big as Manhattan.

But it would all be a lie (okay, so my whole left arm is inflamed and the fingers on my left hand occasionally feel numb, plus the dust bunny part is kinda true). Over the past eighteen days I've fed my children and gotten them off to school, cooked, cleaned, done laundry, been on two radio interviews and done two speaking engagements, hung out with friends and... Well, I've pretty much done everything I'd normally be doing. Then instead of spending my evenings reading a book, playing solitaire or getting beat at some game by my husband, I've retreated to my den and spent an hour and a half writing. Add in some bigger chunks of writing on the weekend and it totals up to over 30,000 words so far.

Think about it: how many goals or tasks have you seen as so monumental that you never even attempted them? How many things could you achieve if you committed yourself to baby steps every day? I'm beginning to see that probably many of life's big accomplishments were reached though a series of regular everyday baby steps.

What's your big dream? What's your next goal? And what will you do today and the day after that and the day after that until you achieve it?

Me? I'm going to keep on setting my rear on my chair in the den for the next twelve days in hopes of crossing the NaNo finish line. When I get there I plan to have a celebration - it just won't be at my house. Too many dust bunnies for that.

Teacher Gifts

Every year I make (or assemble) gifts for my children's teachers. Every year I work with one idea and use it for all three of my daughters' teachers. It's easier to focus on one single concept and I've found economies of scale in terms of cost and time by doing it this way. This year's teacher gift? A footed serving plate made by gluing a tapered candle holder to a china salad plate (or other nice plate). I have given this gift before and returned to it because it is a timeless gift and turns out very classy for little money. We searched outlet stores and thrift stores to find our plates and the candle holders came from garage sales (and polished up very nicely). A little china glue on the rim of the candle holder and we were in business. I'll just add some homemade cookies or candy before wrapping them up. And since they're done so early, we may not wait until December to give them (that way their teachers can use them for the holidays).

Works for me! How about you. For more Works for Me Wednesday ideas check out Rocks In My Dryer.

Mistaking Model For Formula

In life there are models to be imitated and formulas to be followed. One guarantees a specific result, the other guarantees nothing. And this is an important distinction. Make the mistake of thinking you are following a formula when you're just imitating a model can lead you to a lot of frustration and heartache. I know. I'm there.

One of the hallmarks of the United States is our adherence to "the great American dream", the model of hard work leading to success. It is a beautiful model, with some wonderful stories to support it. Personally I love the story told in the movie Pursuit of Happyness. It is a heartwarming tear-jerker about a down on his luck salesman who risks all his life savings to pursue a career in the stock market. His wife leaves him and he and his son live on the streets while he pursues this dream. In the end he succeeds and winds up owning his own firm, becoming a millionaire. What I love most about this story is that it's true.

Here's the catch: a lot of people (myself included) derive a formula from this model. It goes something like this: hard work plus determination equals success (HW+D=S). We think that if we work hard and persist at working hard that finally what we are working toward will come to us. And we're tricked into thinking this is a guaranteed result by the people around us who do just that - who work hard and get rewarded for it. Thankfully most places of employment in this country operate on that model.

The marketplace on the other hand does not. Should someone decide to self-publish a book a year ago, with the thought of launching it at a national conference for an organization that should be happy to support it, they will find that life is not so easy. The book will not arrive in time for the conference. The organization will not even acknowledge the copies sent to its leaders. Someone might then remember the "determination" part of the equation and persist in trying to get the book out there, going way beyond her natural bents and inclinations. She may work many hours and seek a variety of venues to sell the book. When single copy sells here and a dozen friends are kind enough to buy copies there, someone celebrates these tiny successes and reminds herself that it's going to take more determination. And she continues on.

In the meantime around her are these models of success that fool her into thinking that if she just works harder and persists longer her success will come too. A friend bithely self-publishes and sells more in a couple of weeks than someone has in over a year. And someone wonders what she has done wrong, how much harder, how much longer she needs to go at it before she'll succeed. Until she finally sees her error.

It's not a formula. It's a model. Like many people in this country right now, she's seeing that it's a broken model. It simply does not work any more. Then she remembers a visit to Springfield last month. She remembers standing in front of a time line of President Lincoln's life and pointing out to her daughter the large string of failures he had before becoming President of the United States. Maybe that's the current model: expect failure - lots of it.

I just don't know whether I'd say to expect success to come along later. It just might not.

Post Script: Literary agent, Terry Whalin, addresses the tough nature of "success" in the world of books and publishing today on his blog, without suggesting one should throw in the towel. And he gives some more examples along the lines of what I said about Lincoln. I might just need a new dose of determination here. That and a revised perspective (thank you, everydayMom).

NaNoWriMo Update

Yeah, I know it's only a few days into the month, so what possibly could there be said at this juncture about my stunning work of creative brilliance? Not much really, except that it is historical fiction (or perhaps hysterical since I've engaged in a minimal amount of research about the time period in which it occurs) and I'm over 9,000 words into it. I'm feeling like it was wise to go all out in the beginning here because the more words I have done, the more I feel like I'm committed to this mammoth undertaking.

It's been fun to hear of other writer friends taking up the challenge with me. I think that is part of what makes NaNoWriMo such a great adventure: the thrill of "competition" and the company that such misery requires. That said, I can't figure out the NaNoWriMo buddy system, so instead I invite anyone who'd like to buddy up with me to add me to their NaNoWriMo buddy list. Here is a link to my user profile for you to do that (Llama Momma, the one I previously gave you I've ditched. Sorry): http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/436784 .

All you non-writers, don't worry, I have other non-writing thoughts I plan to share in the next few days. In the meantime I have some wild beasts to fend off and some hungry characters to feed.

On the Brink of...

a great adventure! At least that's what I keep telling myself. You see, I decided it was time to keep a promise I made to myself a very long time ago. I promised that one day I would write a novel. Well, I'm not sure what I was thinking when I made that promise because I'm pretty sure it's impossible to write an entire novel in a day. So I'm fudging a little and instead I'm going to write a novel in a month. A whole novel. In one month.

I'm sure it sounds a bit nutty to some of you. Or a bit amazing to others. I liken it to running a marathon, except not so hard on the knees. It's the stuff we dream of or talk about or joke about, as in "yeah, maybe someday I'll write a novel". Thing is, someday doesn't ever seem to be today. So Chris Baty and the folks at NaNoWriMo (that's National Novel Writing Month for the uninitiated) offer up the opportunity to make the thirty days of November into that "someday". And this year I'm joining them.

If I can somehow get technology to cooperate, I hope to have a word-counter statistics graph posted here so you can keep track of my progress. The goal is 50,000 words by November 30th. If you do the math that's 1,667 words per day, or about one and a half hours of solid writing daily.

I'll be living large in the world of my characters during November. Chasing a dream. Hopefully I'll be one of those who makes it across the finish line. If not, I plan to have fun trying.

Playdate Problems

Yesterday Timid Daughter had a wonderful first playdate with her "best friend". They have long hung out on the playground at school and TD has spoken glowingly of this friend. But an attempt last year at an extracurricular playdate failed.

This school year, despite them not being in the same class, their friendship has flourished even more. So we decided to make another attempt at a playdate. TD phoned the friend and set up a playdate for this past Sunday. On Friday at school we bid the friend goodbye with excited words about the upcoming playdate being exchanged.

On Sunday we arrived home from church to a phone message wondering when the friend should come. I returned the call (merely 15 minutes after it had been left) and got an answering machine myself. I left a message about the time we'd planned originally. That time came and went. I phoned and left another message. Still the friend did not come. TD phoned also and left a message. No friend.

Suddenly memories from several years ago of a playdate gone bad for LMH raced through my mind. She had been asking for weeks to have this friend over. So I phoned and made arrangements. The day of the playdate came and the friend did not come. I phoned the house and left a message. Still no friend. Finally, in desperation to save the day for my daughter we called another friend - her best friend - to see if she could play instead. LMH's best friend could not play because the little girl that was supposed to be at our house was instead at hers. I immediately explained to the mom what had happened on our end. And she shared that they had just called the girl that afternoon and she agreed to come over (even though she'd told my daughter that very day that she'd be coming to our house). Needless to say, both that mom and I decided the little girl who had stood my daughter up for a better offer was no longer welcome in our homes for playdates.

Last Sunday my stomach was in knots over the thought that this could be happening again. After dinner the phone finally rang with a call from the girl's sister. They had gone out for the day, could she come another time? Despite the shakey circumstances, I jumped at the chance to salvage things. And salvage I did. The two girls had the best time yesterday and I hope that they continue to be friends and play together outside of school for years to come. Because I don't think I could handle it any other way.

Any Maids Looking for Work?

Combine one five-day weekend, including a trip out of town, with one laptop in need of a tiny repair that the repair folks turn into a much bigger deal. Result? AMusing Mom is all out of internet sorts.

I function very well with routine. Disrupt that routine and I'm honestly lost. I need to have my Monday through Friday "work week" with it's attendant flow of events. I need to have my laptop environment, complete with flexibility to work at the kitchen table while the Uber-Princess plays in the next room. I need my Simpleology to do list and my inbox folders for sorting email. Otherwise my ability to navigate the complex world of cyberspace and even the simple world of my little home just fizzles.

Enough about my virtual absence. Here's a quick story for you to show that my youngest child still deserves the title "Uber-Princess":

Last night, after a round of torturous room cleaning, which precluded having any dessert, she climbed into bed with a bit of grumbling.

Then she turned her round eyes up to me and said, "I wish I had a maid".

"Why?" I asked.

"If I had a maid, then I could just leave my things on the floor and she could put them away".

Who can argue with that? That's my Uber-Princess... And I think I'd like to be the Uber-Queen.

Nobody's Mom is in 4th Grade

I love that the second grade teachers at my children's school bring out the book Nobody's Mother is in Second Grade during the first few weeks of the school year. It really communicates the idea of personal responsibility quite clearly. And it's a handy tool for me to refer back to when my children want to blame me for something they should have remembered.

Like today, when I reminded my fourth grader that it was her job to remember her flute on Tuesdays for band. Even though I brought it to her last week, I explained that doing so was an act of grace. It wouldn't happen again because...nobody's mother is in fourth grade. She nodded and agreed that it was her responsibility. And I smiled to see the flute grasped firmly in one of her hands as we headed off to school.

Then I stopped to chat with another band mom on the playground. Yes, remembering to bring her flute was an issue with her daughter also. We both commented that: isn't it great that we can pull out the whole "nobody's mother..." line, instead of allowing our kids to blame us. Oh yes, we are both very hopeful that our children are being taught well about responsibility and taking care of the things that fall to them. The load on our fourth graders seems to be getting tougher, but we are so proud of them and confident they'll continue to shoulder more and more responsibility. Definitely, things are going well this school year. Yes, they are!

And this musing mom (who isn't in fourth grade) walked blithely back to her home, glad for the strides her young ones are taking. Glad, that is, until she saw the blinking light on the answering machine.

"Mom, I forgot my lunch. Can you bring it over before 11:30?", came the fourth grade voice.

Now I don't know who Nobody is, but since their mom is in second grade, maybe she could take this lunch to school with her to pass along to my daughter... just so long as she doesn't point out the pudding and fruit snacks that seem to somehow have mysteriously disappeared from it.

Sigh... What grade aren't you in?

I have my music

It took me months of saving my allowance and paper route money to get my first Sony Walkman. It was a cutting edge piece of electronics at the time. Not only did it play tapes, but it also had an FM cassette device for listening to the radio. I had that walkman for years, and in typical teenager fashion, used it a lot.

In recent years, however, the concept of personal music had all but disappeared for me. My "current" walkman sat untouched at the bottom of a drawer, the headphones long missing. Keeping an ear out for babies and toddlers made them unworkable. In fact, even my house radio often stayed silent during the day because so often my children's conversational voices were too soft to hear above the music. I found myself turning it off every time I wanted to talk to them. Then in the evenings my husband would dominate the radio dial. Even if I liked what I was hearing, it wasn't very often that it was my music playing.

But I had no idea what I was missing until this week. I now have an iPod. I don't have much music loaded on it yet, but no matter. You see, I have also discovered Pandora. Oh the joys of creating your own "stations" and listening to music that you had forgotten you liked! It was pure bliss to put in my ear buds the other night and snuggle under the covers with the sounds of Gordon Lightfoot serenading me. I like my iPod and I love being able to listen to my music on occasion. Tonight I'll join my husband in listening to Mountain Stage on the house stereo. But maybe tomorrow I'll plug back in and rock out to Outfield or chill to George Winston.


How about you? What are you listening to these days?

Ta Daaa!

Okay, so I kind of feel like I do when I get a really cute new haircut. There's that whole feeling of "will anyone notice" and "will they like it", combined with the "I don't care, because I LOVE it" attitude. And then there's the surreptitious looking in the mirror, trying to steal glances at different angles, marveling that it's really still me under that glorious 'do.

Yes, it's still me, A Musing Mom, just sporting a new look. The new design was a birthday gift from LMH & Timid Daughter, which I asked for partly for fun and partly because it fits my clutter-free/less clutter gift desires (which totally do not apply to clothes because they hardly take up space at all, right Mom?).

Don't you think George & Ashley of Tekeme Studios did an awesome job? If you need a new 'do - I mean blog or website design, check them out.

Me? I'm going back to stealing glances in the mirror at my blog page.

Shadow Play

GPS for Real Moms

I got a great gift for my birthday from A Musing Dad: a GPS. How awesome is that? No more getting turned around and having to backtrack when I'm trying to find a new place. No more trying to read the MapQuest printout while scanning street signs and wishing my perfectly able-bodied nine-year-old could sit in the front seat and help me navigate. But even better: no more wondering where exactly the nearest gas station would be. I do this even in my own stomping grounds.

I love, love, love the long list of "nearby points of interest" that are available at my fingertips: banks, libraries, police stations (very, very important from a safety standpoint), places of worship... Yet already I find that the makers of the Garmin Nuvi have neglected the item of utmost importance to every mom of preschoolers...the restroom!

Could you imagine how much better life would be if, in that moment of panic when your child realizes they've waited too long, you could respond calmly to the desperate plea of "I have to go potty. Nooooowww!"? Imagine your poise as you deftly tap your GPS screen and select under the "nearby places of interest", the words "public restroom", then select the best option and peacefully guide your child (with the help of the pleasant GPS navigator voice) to the absolute closest public restroom.

Yep, the GPS market, which is already on fire, would fairly explode were they to make that simple modification and market it as a mommy map. Add in places for nursing in privacy, or places to hide a toddler having a meltdown...

You think Garmin will be calling me soon to ask me to consult on this new project? 'Cuz I have a few more ideas. Now if only they'd create an option for locating your GPS device. Where did I put that thing, anyway?

To Mom & Dad

on the Fortieth Anniversary of your entry in to parenthood...

(St. Margaret Hospital, September 1968)

I imagine you there at the nursery window, Mom in a wheelchair, Dad standing behind her. You hold hands tight and stare through the glass at the all-too-tiny baby. She sleeps, safely cocooned within the protective walls of the incubator. Her wispy fingers curl in fists and her delicate chest heaves up and down. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, adding to the fragile aura about her, this October baby come in September.

A nurse sees you at the window and goes over to the glass incubator. She carefully reaches in and lifts the little baby girl for you to see. Almost immediately her tiny mouth opens in a cry and you start in surprise again. She's here. Already. Too soon. You think over the past hours, the past days. Mom-to-be, admitted to the hospital for toxemia, dad-to-be continuing to work. And then THAT day, the day the baby arrives. The messages to Dad that his baby is coming don't get passed along. Mom goes through labor, wondering if he is there waiting, and wondering how her baby will be.

At that nursery window your minds race with prayers for this little preemie. Prayers of gratitude for her wholeness, her health... and prayers that she'll stay safe and well. Prayers that soon she will come home with you where you can hold her and kiss her. But for now...

It isn't at all how you expected. That is your baby. You should be cuddling her, cradling her in your arms. That you can't makes her seem that much more fragile and far away. You wonder about her, this tiny little thing. Will she grow and flourish like all the round, pink-cheeked babies in the maternity ward? Will she play dolls and skip rope? Will she...

After a while you leave. You'll return later, many, many times - sometimes being allowed into the nursery, reaching in the incubator and touching her bitty fingers. But not holding her. Not yet.

You see, for that first month in that nursery, in that incubator, Someone Else is holding her. Some One unseen. He holds her with gentle hands and whispers over her of His plans for her. And years down the road when those hands reach out again, she'll know them... recognize them. She'll grab them and hang on.

This once tiny one, now all grown up, too big for cuddles and lap sitting, still rests in Those Hands. She's glad for a Mom & Dad who took such good care of her in her youth. And she's glad for the hands of a Heavenly Father who held her in an incubator forty years ago and didn't let her go.

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11

Since when do elbows figure into morals?

"Push her back! C'mon, get in there!"

The mom in the lawn chair next to me leaned forward, shouting mightily to her daughter on the field. The opposing player had been running hard alongside the girl as she tried to move the ball down the field. Suddenly her arms came up and she gave a swift, almost covert shove. Our player plunged to the ground, while her opponent took off down the field with the ball.

"They need to get more aggressive out there. Our girls aren't being nearly physical enough," the mom growled.

I watched with my stomach in knots as the more experienced team our girls were playing their very first game against continued to dominate, not by fair play, but by foul.

The banter and angry shouts to stoop to their level of play continued from the other parents on our side of the field. Then the referee blew his whistle to call a player on elbowing.

"Finally!" yelled one of the dads.

This was how our first club soccer game went a week and a half ago. And I find myself in the peculiar situation of having to explain to my daughter about playing clean, but also about following the coach's instructions. In talking to the coach, he basically said it came down to morals (following official rules of soccer which don't allow for elbowing) or doing what the ref will let you get away with. I wonder if this coach will sometimes follow the other team's lead in terms of "dirty play". I've told my daughter to not do anything wrong on the field, but to also follow instructions from the coach (and NOT the parents on the sidelines).

Sigh. It was so much easier when it was just at the park district level. I'm also left to wonder, have we done the right thing?

On the Air

Remember the book, Pampering Gifts? It's a Martha Stewart meets Mary Hunt (Cheapskate Monthly) how-to book that brings a ministry slant to decorating and gift giving. You can see the cover and link to it on my sidebar there to the right. Well, this little book has been huffing and puffing it's way along in the world of book selling. Yes, its the Little Book That Could.

A little update on it's journey: the author will be a guest on Prime Time Chicago (90.1 WMBI) this Wednesday at 3pm. She'll be talking about gift giving on a modest budget - something many of us will be thinking about even more this Fall as our economy continues to slide downward. If you're in the Chicago area, tune in on Wednesday. Outside of Chicago you can listen live over the internet at the WMBI website. Pray for a good phone connection while she's being interviewed (she's having issues with this).

Other book news: Proverbs 31 Ministries will be adding Pampering Gifts to the list of books available through their She Plans web site. Tell your church events planner and women's ministry director to check out this site. LeAnn Rice is working hard to help event planners with articles and resources for every aspect of event planning.

Just a little update, for those who want to know.