I know it seems like we just celebrated the Fourth of July, but it’s already August. And in much of the country, that means school is about to start. It actually starts this week in my area of Texas. When I was young, I loved and hated the start of school. I hated waking up early after being able to sleep in and wake up naturally. In Alabama, where I grew up, we didn’t start back to school until a week or so into September.
And I loved how it was always a little chilly in the mornings. I actually loved shopping and buying a new wardrobe, too. I didn’t get a lot of new clothes, but I always got some. And wearing new clothes tended made me feel better about myself. I hated always feeling as if I was invisible, unless it was when I ran into the school bullies. Then, I prayed for invisibility.
But I’ll admit, part of me looked forward to going back and seeing the boys that I had crushes on. I always had the dream that this would be the year when one of my crushes would notice me. (Yeah, I was a romantic even back then.) Oh and I loved getting all my school supplies. There’s a certain smell to school supplies that I can still remember. I also recall organizing everything. And actually being happy about learning and getting back into a routine. School was not my favorite thing. But I remember the new school year feeling every September, and it was sort of like a part of life, almost like a season that when it comes every year, you are pulled into the familiarity of it. Those first days of school every year were just part of life.
How do you feel about
school? Or how did you feel about it?
Did you know One Foot in the Grave, the first book in my Mortician’s Daughter series, is now available as an audiobook? To celebrate, I’m giving away a copy to one reader that leaves a comment. (Sorry, but this giveaway is limited to U.S. residents only. If you are reading this on Goodreads, you must leave you comment on my blog to be entered to win.)
The winner of last week’s t-shirt giveaway is Amy Morris. Congratulations! Please email me at email@example.com with your postal address and your t-shirt size.
Recently, I purchased
some travel-sized hair spray to take with me on my trip to New York. There
was one line on the back that read: Do not use this product while
My first thought was who would do that? Then bam! I was suddenly yanked back into the past watching my mom fix her hair, holding a cigarette between her fingers, while spraying her hair. Thankfully, I never picked up the smoking habit, but as young girl, I loved watching my mom get dressed up. I remember she had a mole, or as they called it back then, a beauty mark, on her left cheek. She would use an eyebrow pencil to color it a little darker.
And in my mind, I can still see her push out her left cheek as she colored the beauty mark. I remember wishing I had one like hers. I recall getting into my mom’s makeup once and attempting to give myself a beauty mark.
I think most little
girls grow up idolizing their mom at that young age. I know I did.
I watched her, studied her. Wanted to emulate her. I wanted to walk
like her, look like her. I wanted boobs like her. I can honestly
say that growing up, my identity as a female was in many ways driven by my mom.
Now as I grew older, I
found my own style. Today, my mom still loves big bold prints, and I go more
for solids or small prints. Mom colored her hair red for years, the most
I do is add a few highlights. But still, who I am today is in part because of
my mom. In fact, the reason I never smoked was because I saw my mom
attempt to quit smoking. She would cry and tell me how badly she wanted
to quit, but how desperately she wanted another cigarette. Also, she was deathly
afraid of spiders, and I share that same phobia. So I guess you could say
I acquired some of her fears and learned a few things from her struggles.
And because my fiction is so reflective of my own life, you see this mother/daughter connection in my books. In Three Heartbeats Away, Riley realizes how much she’s been influenced by the memories of her mom. She wears her hair long because her mother did. Her favorite color stems from the color her mom often wore. Her style, her outlook, her love of art, is all connected to the women she loved and lost when she was only four. Even the car she drives is due to seeing an image of her mom with the same car.
Do you see how your mom may have influenced who you are? In what ways are you like your mom?
Today I’ll give away a T-shirt to one person who tells me how their mom influenced them. (Sorry, but this giveaway is for U.S. residents only. And if you are reading this on Goodreads, you must go to my blog to post your comment to enter.)
The winner of last week’s giveaway is Lisa Ray. Congratulations! Please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org and send me your postal address.