Robin's Chicks

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Procrasto-packer

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It’s hard to pack a family of five for the holidays, especially if you live in the South where traveling even further south less than two hundred miles can mean a fluctuation in temperatures akin to perimenopausal hot flashes. Not that I know— yet. I’m just saying.

I was wearing fall clothes when I left my house in Greenwood, Mississippi and within three hours I had to change clothes before I blacked out in the passenger seat of my mother’s car. Which may have been preferable to the chorus of “She’s Looking At Mes” and “Are We There Yets” coming from the back seat.

I’m a procrasto-packer. I made that word up. Just now. Totally on the fly. Because I’m a writer, and I can. I procrastinate packing until the very last second. Part of this has to do with the fact that my laundry is never “caught up,” whatever that means. The later I wait to pack, the more clean clothes I have to choose from. The other reason is mostly that I hate packing. I am disorganized in the best of circumstances and living in the South doesn’t help. November means the heater runs all night long and the air conditioning comes on at noon. No matter how much I try to plan ahead and check the weather before I pack my family up this time of year, I always get it wrong. I should just embrace this fact and start packing one change of clothes, clean underwear and a toothbrush for every member of my family. But that would be too easy.

I am a firm believer that if I pack every prescription medicine my children have been given in the last two years that I can ward off sickness. If I don’t take it, we will need it and I don’t want to buy things that I already own. So I bring it all. Ridiculous? Excessive? Maybe. Am I willing to be proven wrong? Absolutely not.

Because if you are going to travel six hours in one direction with three kids sitting within arms’ reach of each other? You’re going to want to be as proactive as possible. This particular trip I was even less organized than usual due to the frazzled state of my two brain cells. One of them has been busy re-reading and editing the final manuscript for my first book. That brain cell was a little overwhelmed since I’ve read those particular words no less than 487 times in the last three years. My other brain cell was busy freaking out that the publishing industry is not at my beck and call and that (spoiler alert) I cannot control everything that happens in my life.

Which boils down to the fact that we made it to my sister’s house with a huge bag of prescription meds, 30 pairs of underwear, full winter wardrobes which no one could actually wear, bathing suits and toothbrushes. But the truth of the matter is, my family loves me so much that they couldn’t care less if I wear my pajamas to Thanksgiving dinner… as long as I’m wearing clean underwear, my teeth are brushed and I’m medicated. And I’ve totally got those bases covered.

 

Ketchup is a Vegetable Hits a Bestseller List! WHOOT!

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Y’all. I just don’t know that I can do this moment justice. Dammit. I am already crying. My book is here and even though I’ve been working towards this day for almost three years, it doesn’t still seem real.


I had my first signing last night at the best indie bookstore on the planet, TurnRow Books. My peeps filled that joint up and for an hour and a half I signed book after book after book. And every single time, I was in awe. I was amazed that they cared enough to come, to spend their hard earned dollars on my words. I can’t even wrap my mind around it.

Last night was more than I ever thought it could be AND I didn’t fall down, cry, spell my name wrong OR cuss in front of the children. (I did have to lightly sensor myself to prevent that last one.) But to get to read my words… to HEAR laughter instead of just hoping for it when my columns are read and blog posts are read… well, it was sort of addictive. I’m ready to do it again.

Me and my friend Kathryn. I mostly just wanted y’all to see how amazing my hair looked.

THEN today, one of my most favorite writers EVER in the history of the world, Laurie Notaro, gave me a little Idiot Girl Shout Out on her Facebook page. My fellow IGs went bananas and started buying up Kindle copies of the book and pushed my book all the way up to #8 on the Kindle Best-Seller List for Parenting/Humor. And Ketchup was #22 on the Humor/Essay category right there with Chelsea Handler, David Sedaris and Mindy Kaling. I still can’t believe it.

I don’t even know what to say other than thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. From the bottom of my heart– thank you. If you want to check for signings click on the Events tab, I’ll be updating regularly. To order copies, click on the picture in the sidebar or go to TurnRow to order signed copies. You can even get them personalized. I’m going up there to sign books every few days so that they can get them shipped out to you in time for Christmas!

OH! And also, I made TurnRow’s November Bestseller list. I took a picture of it in their bathroom.

BOOM! 

AND I ALMOST FORGOT! MY FRIEND PAULINE IS GIVING AWAY A SIGNED COPY! GO FORTH AND READ HER INTERVIEW AND TRY TO WIN!! 

That Booger Tastes JUST Right

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Last week my mother (Shuggie to her grandbabies) was tucking my three-year-old into the bed. As they settled in the sheets, Sadie asked, “Want me to tewl yew da stowy of da beahs or da pigs?”

“Tell me about the bears!” Shuggie said.

Sadie began telling her version of The Three Bears. I’m sure there were lots of gasps and raised eyebrows as Sadie spun her tale. Then she got to the good part, “And den she ate dat baby beahs powidge and it was so good it was jest wight…”

Sadie pinched her thumb and forefinger together as if she was holding a spoon and gestured towards Shuggie’s mouth with it. Shuggie leaned forward and smacked her lips together, “Mmmm-MM! That is some GOOD porridge, Sadie!”

Sadie looked at my mother as if she lost her mind. “Dat’s not powidge Shuggie. Dat’s a boogah.”

This is the point in my mother’s story where I had to leap up and run to the bathroom to keep from peeing on myself. When I came back I said, “Did you actually EAT one of Sadie’s boogers?”

She raised her eyebrows, “No I was just pretending but I won’t even do that again!”

What warm and fuzzy memories did y’all make over Thanksgiving?

photo credit

 

10 Ways Writing a Book is Like Having a Baby

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1) Your due date is totally irrelevant. The last month before you deliver/publish is the L-O-N-G-E-S-T of your life.

2) You never know when you will get to sleep through the night or when you will be up all night tending to your baby.

3) You think life is hard when you’re pregnant. Then you have that baby and you are like, “Crap. PUT IT BACK! It was so much easier to take care of before it was out in the world!”

4) You are super proud of your baby and possibly unable to judge how rotten she is… because she’s yours. This is why you need other people. It takes a village. You need your Momma to tell you to quit holding her all the time and to remind you who you were BEFORE you had this kid. And you need your beta readers, agents and editors to tell you to QUIT WITH THE CAPSLOCK ALREADY, and to help you to learn to let go of the parts that weren’t good enough anyway.

5) Then at that moment… right before you push your baby into the world, you panic, “What was I thinking? How the hell am I  supposed to know how to do this?  I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING!” That’s when all those people:  your Momma, betas, agents and editors will rally around you and scream, text, and tweet you to tell you to, “PUUUUUUUUSHH!


Proud Big Sister.

6) It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. It’s cover is shiny and flawless and your heart will ache when you look at it  because you remember what it took to bring this life into the world. And you know without a doubt that your book will die without it’s mother tending to it. You take one more moment to gaze lovingly onto your exquisitely perfect cover before you get back to work.

They are so sweet when they’re sleeping. 

7) You crack open your ARC for one last read through and whaddaya know? Typo’s AND poop happen.  (See what I did there. I made ‘typo’ A typo. Stay with me.)


Something is stank up in here.

8 ) Once you’ve birthed that book baby, you don’t want to let it out of your sight. You want to cuddle, snuggle, and take it everywhere you go.

9) But you still want it to experience the world.

10) You’ll want to expose it to all sorts of new things while still protecting it from anything bad– like bullies and people who are power trippin’ on Goodreads’ and Amazon reviews.

 

Safety first.

11) Right before you start selling it to strangers. WAIT… that’s not the same.

Pre-order the Kindle edition of “Ketchup is a Vegetable” HERE, or order the paperback HERE! Or order a signed and personalized edition from my local indie store HERE! I sign, they ship! Yay TEAMWORK!

 

A Robin’s Chicks Turkey Day Tradition

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My Momma prolly wishes I’d quit posting this every year. But I can’t stop. It’s like watching Christmas Vacation… It’s always fun. Even if you just watched it. So here is one of my favorite Thanksgiving Memories:

My mother slid the cornbread dressing into the oven as my sister and I chopped vegetables and stirred pots. The turkey was almost done and we could hear the sounds of football and male conversation drifting in from the den as my Granddaddy, brother, husband and uncle attempted to stay out of the way. My petite and very proper, Southern Baptist grandmother was wearing her Sunday best and chatting with us as we prepared our Thanksgiving feast.

I took a moment to pause, mentally, and appreciate the beauty of what we were sharing. Three generations of women, gathered around the stove and giving thanks for all the blessings we enjoyed. I became a little teary as I realized my grandparents were getting older and one day, this crystal clear moment would fade to a hazy memory.

The channel changed in the next room and now instead of hearing Sports Center, we began overhearing Fox News reporters discussing President Bill Clinton’s recently discovered indiscretion.

“Mmm, it’s just shameful,” Momma said as she stirred the gravy.

My sister and I nodded in agreement as my grandmother said in her very Southern drawl, “I cain’t believe he had oral sehx in the Oval Office. What is this world coming to?”

I lost consciousness after that, but awoke certain that this particular Thanksgiving would never fade into the recesses of my mind. And for that, I am thankful.

Got any hilarious holiday memories of your own??

Another Reason to Love Real Books

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My first grader is a ravenous reader. Aubrey has been spotted a time or two by fellow church members, running to the end of the driveway in her bathrobe on a Sunday morning to get the paper. They thought my husband and I had trained her to bring it to us— the truth is, we’re lucky if we get to read it after she disassembles it on our kitchen table.

Aubrey progressed quickly from Dr. Seuss to chapter books and I was a little skeptical when she asked to read the first book in the Harry Potter series. I agreed, thinking she would become overwhelmed by the size of the book and give up. It took her a few weeks but she finished it and was able to explain the story to me in vivid detail.

We allowed her to read the second book but this time she finished in less than a week. My husband and I agreed that the third book would have to wait. Harry ages a year in each book, and while the first two books were about kids close to her age, the third book was a bit of a stretch.

This summer Aubrey saved every penny she earned. Every dollar she was given for her birthday and every red cent she found on the sidewalk and bought a Nook, an e-reader made by Barnes and Noble. We have bought several books for her on her Nook and I was excited to introduce her to some of my favorite book series, especially Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series and The Boxcar Children.

There is nothing I love more than to lie on Aubrey’s bed at night and listen to her retell some of my favorite childhood stories. Her eyes shine and she giggles as she tells me every silly detail.

Several nights ago Aubrey asked if she could read on her Nook at bedtime. As I writer my love for real books— actual words on actual paper, borders on obsession and I don’t want her to be totally dependent on technology. As a mother I realize she can access the internet and a plethora of video games from her e-reader and I want her to make sure that during her reading time, she’s actually reading. But I agreed.

Thirty minutes later she came stumbling into the den with the glazed over eyes of an overtired child. My mother was visiting and she asked, “What have you been reading?”

During the last conversation I had with Aubrey, she had been raving about The Boxcar Children so I was completely shocked and stunned to hear her say, “The Devil in The White City…”

My mother stared at me as if I had just sprouted wings and breathing fire.

“WHAT?” I gasped. “Aubrey! That is NOT a kid’s book!”

A few months ago I was looking to quickly purchase a copy of Erik Larson’s narrative non-fiction book, “In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror, and an American Family in Hitler’s Berlin” for a book club I had hastily joined. I realized while shopping around that I could buy “In the Garden of Beasts” and “The Devil in The White City,” on sale with Aubrey’s e-reader. So I did. I read the first book (a very interesting account of America’s ambassador to Germany during Hitler’s rise to power) and planned to read the latter book, well, later.

“The Devil in The White City” is a narrative non-fiction which tells the true story of the 1893 World’s Fair and the serial killer who took advantage of the fair to find victims. (Yes, I said serial killer.) It had been highly recommended to me— but not as a bedtime story for my seven-year-old.

“Honey, you can not read that!” I continued.

“Why? It’s just about this old doctor… he was like sixty-nine-years old I think? And he is on a boat going to Europe.”

“Because it gets really scary and it’s not for kids, okay?”

She shrugged. “Okay. I’m going to bed.”

“Fine, but first bring me your Nook.”

Aubrey giggled with a gleam in her eye, “You’re going to delete it. Aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

I think I just found another reason to love REAL books.

Jambalaya: Ayyyy-Eeeeee

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I got this recipe out of one of Sister Wife’s cookbooks and tweaked it– you know how I do. I mean, we don’t really need four whole pounds of chicken and twelve cooked cups of rice, nor do I have a pot that would hold all of that.  The original recipe serves 12-18 people and I’d say that’s being a little modest. But Sister Wife grew up down in Nawlins and on the Mississippi Gulf Coast and sister friend straight up knows a good Cajun recipe when she sees one. This is a great recipe to throw together with leftover grilled chicken. I keep smoked sausage in my freezer and usually have everything else in my pantry.

This is what I do:

2-3 chicken breasts (I use leftover grilled chicken, cut into bite sized pieces or cook chicken breasts with a little cajun seasoning in the skillet.)

1 smoked sausage link  (I used Conecuh)

1 small onion, diced

1 small green bell pepper, diced

1 rib celery, diced

2-3 cloves garlic, minced

2 T Worcestershire

1 T Hot sauce (I prefer Crystal but any kind will do.)

1T  cajun seasoning

2 Bay leaves

½ tsp. Thyme

3 cups chicken stock

2 cups jasmine rice (You can use plain white rice or brown rice but yours won’t be as good as mine is.)

Buttah (optional)

In a LARGE PAN WITH A LID, cook chicken if you don’t have leftovers. Slice sausage into bite-sized  rounds and brown. Remove from pan and set aside.

-IN THE SAME PAN sauté diced onions, pepper and celery in bacon drippings if you have them. You can use a olive oil, but y’all know how I feel about bacon.

-When vegetables are soft add the garlic and cook for 1-2 minutes. Don’t let the garlic brown, you just want to warm it up. Add Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce, cajun seasoning, bay leaves and thyme. Mix well.

-Add chicken stock and bring to a boil. (You are going to want to SLAP somebody at this point because your house is going to be smelling like Creole Heaven.)

-Stir in 2 cups of rice and cook according to package directions. If you are making Jasmine rice, you will simmer the rice covered for 20 minutes.

-Return chicken and sausage back to pot when rice is cooked and mix well.

Now Sister Wife goes all Paula Deen on her Jambalaya and melts a half of a stick of butter in the pot. I’m not going to lie– it’s good, but I think it’s just as good without it.