In beginning my writing career I’ve researched, strained, wracked my brain, had a few meltdowns and finally figured out at least one small piece of wisdom. Or at least something masquerading as such. In researching blogging, I’ve determined it’s much harder for an introvert to self-promote, glorify or even dare I say, draw attention to myself. I’ve struggled over the last few months with “What would I even be qualified to blog bout?” Certainly not book writing. I’m just figuring that out as I go. Giving my readers something they care about, something I care about, and more importantly something I know about is a mission I’m weaving as I go along.

Children’s books for me, is not only a passion and a memorial of milestones but in raising two little boys it’s a way for me to share the world with them. Two stories every night before bed is the prescribed dosage. Every night since we brought them home from the hospital. I remember when my eldest was about a year old, my husband and I tried to let him watch a short segment of a Disney movie before bed. Initially he seemed entertained and content. Then one night he handed me one of his favorites, “The Little Red Hen.” He took the remote control from my grasp and said “No, read.” I knew then despite my guilt of trying to cop out, that I had done something right. His little mind craved the interaction with Mommy as we created each little voice to match the characters and the world of this story swirled in his little head.

I glow with the memories of watching him situated in a pile of board books and Golden Books chanting “readin’, readin’, readin'” as he turned each page. My heart swells with the memories that books have brought to my family and someday I hope to contribute to the those memories for another family as a children’s author.