Monday-Or only 7 of them left!

I hate Mondays. I really do! (Especially after I've stayed up way too late reading a good book). But here it is again, Monday. Luckily there are only 7 of them left before my book comes out and before my darlings head off for their summer romps, forgetting everything they've learned for the last 29 Mondays.
Of course the closer to summer, the crazier my Mondays get. The more excited I get.

I vote we skip Mondays all together. (That just makes it closer to my book release.)

So what will the next 7 Mondays Bring? Since I'm so new at this whole publishing world, I'm feeling a bit clueless. I know editing happens-lots of it, an ISBN number, a cover, a blurb on the back of the book. A few pre-reviews, setting up my book launch, signings, oh, and don't forget SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION!

And with that said, my dear readers, please follow me, check back with me to see how I'm doing/holding up. And most of all, have fun with me as I giggle like a little girl on Christmas morning!

New Beginning!

And so begins my journey as a soon to be published author! I've signed my contract, met with my editor, Linda Mullineaux and my marketing director Amy Orton, both incredible women. I get butterflies in my tummy (I really do) when I daydream about my book cover. I can hardly wait to see how amazing it is. If you've looked at the covers already done by Walnutsprings Press, you know what I mean! Incredible!

I hope you will come back frequently, leave a comment--virtual pats on the back are always welcome.

To my family:

Thanks for your support, love and encouragement.

Betsy Love
LDS Author

My Fair Godmother Giveaway

Jeanette Rallison, one of my favorite authors, is hosting a giveaway on her blogsite!

You can find her at:

http://janette-rallison.blogspot.com/

If you haven't read her work, you will love her writing. Her sense of humor keeps the reader giggling all the way through...and who doesn't need a good laugh!

Leave a comment and she'll put you in the drawing, become a follower and you get in twice. And if you're really anxious to win post a link to her website in you blogspot, like me, and you'll get 4 chances. Hey, I'm greedy...can't help!

Love you tons my fellow yellow!

The Calling I Never Want

I love Relief Society Presidents! I can’t think of one I haven’t. But I often wonder how the Lord chooses the amazing sister who will love unconditionally all the sisters and their families, and meet their numerous needs.

Here is how I imagine it happens:

(The Bishop’s office-early evening, it can be any time of year, but somehow I picture this taking place in January-you know new start of the year).

Bishop: Good Morning, Sister Potential. Do you know why I called you into my office?

Sister Potential: (brushes a lock of her long hair out of her photo-shopped eyes) I have no idea. (And she doesn’t, she is that humble).

Bishop: Before we begin, let me ask you a few questions.

Sister Potential: Absolutely (smiles with her polished teeth glinting in the florescent light).

Bishop: I understand that you know how to sew.

Sister Potential: Only a little. My husband’s suit didn’t turn out quite the way I wanted it to. The left lapel was off by an eighteenth of an inch.

Bishop: I see. What about your cooking skills?

Sister Potential: Oh, dear. Did my husband tell you I burned the last batch of cookies? (She blushes). My neighbor came to the door. Her son was blue. He was choking. What could I do, I mean calling 911 would have taken too long. After I performed the Heimlich on him and calmed her down, I smelled them crisping away. The last batch was a little brown around the edges. But it was alright, because I’d made enough to spare. Between my daughter’s school party, the cookie exchange, and the two new families who moved in, there were maybe only six dozen left. I sent two dozen home with my neighbor and a Book of Mormon. And we’re all so excited that they are getting baptized. Did you know that her parents are also taking the discussions? I suppose we never know how many apples in a seed.

Bishop: Good, then I see that covers several topics I wanted to discuss with you—medical training, community involvement, and missionary work.

Sister Potential: Oh, it’s just a little thing, really.

Bishop: Now, Sister Potential, I have a very important question to ask you. How is your scripture study and personal prayers? And I need to know if you are attending the temple regularly?

Sister Potential: (dips her head in shame). Oh, Bishop, this is where I really struggle. I tried so hard this week to get that in. Between my walk at 4:39AM and the baby’s waking at 6:00AM, I’ve only been able to get in 47 minutes daily this week. Once Jr. is through teething, I’ll go back to my regular hour. And as for my personal prayers, I never miss those. Although, now that Zack is going to early morning seminary, we have to wake all the children at 6:22 so that we’re all together for family prayers. It’s been a tough week for temple attendance. You know that Brother Potential was promoted to CEO. We’ve missed three days this week. But we’re revamping our schedule so that we can do double sessions on Friday and Saturday, and maybe sneak in one on Tuesday evening while Liza is home from college. Once she gets married to her returned missionary, I don’t know how we’ll manage. You know her fiancé is going to med school.

Bishop: I see that you are committed to the gospel. I only have one more question for you Sister Potential. And this is the most important one. Do you scrapbook?

Sister Potential: (with tears in her eyes, she grabs for the Kleenex box on the corner of the bishop’s desk). Oh, Bishop, I need to repent. I’ve bought all the supplies. The photos are in organizer boxes by year, just waiting for me to get to them. I’m so ashamed to admit to all the paper in my craft cabinet. I haven’t been able to work on any of the books this month. But I promise, I’ll get to them in February, after the wedding. You know since Liza wanted all those handmade centerpieces… (she trails off something unintelligible into the tissue.)

Bishop: (leans across the desk) You know Sister Potential, that the Lord only issues calls according to our availability, not our capability.

Sister Potential: Yes, Bishop, I know (dabs her eyes—of course no mascara or make-up has been altered.)

Bishop: The Lord has called you to be the Relief Society President.

Sister Potential: Oh, dear. I don’t know if I can fulfill such an assignment. I feel so inadequate. But if this is what the Lord wants, then I will do my best.

Here’s how my interview would go:

Bishop: I hear you come to church every Sunday.

Me: Yes, and sometimes I’m in my seat before the opening prayer.

Bishop: That’s good. Hey, I was wondering, if you’re not too busy or anything, the Lord would kind of like you to be the Relief Society President—the last six said, “No.”

Me: (passes out)

Bishop: Sister Love, Sister Love! (Opens door). Brother Executive Secretary, Would you call the next person on the list? We lost another candidate.

Pink is for...

The elephant has to go. I place Tiny in the wagon next to the cow bank. Balancing the sailboat on the top of all my other treasures, I drag my radio flyer out of the pink garage. Can you believe it—our house is pink. I don’t know what my mother was thinking when she painted it that way. Dad said it was because the color was special to her. I don’t think she knows how silly I feel living in a pink house.

I line up my toys along the driveway in the grass, their price tags showing. Mom helped me decide on the prices. I might have enough for my Playstation after today. All I need is ten more dollars.

Waiting for the first customers, I touch Tiny’s chipped ear. I remember when Dad brought him home from his trip to India. It doesn’t look much different than the ones you can buy in a toy store. But because Dad dragged him all the way back across the ocean makes him that much more special. I pick him up and hold him so I can see the details painted along his back, and flipping him over, I see where Dad carved my initials. I can’t sell this one, he’s too special. So I tuck him in a hiding place in the garage so he won’t be sold.

Back at my place on the lawn, I notice the stuffed bear. Grandma gave it to me for Christmas when I was a baby. We used to live with her then because Daddy was going to school. I press my face into the matted fur and pretend I can smell her favorite perfume. Grandma sprayed it on its fur when we moved far away so I could remember her when I missed her. The smell is long gone, but I imagine lavender and mint. No, I can’t sell this one either. I put him with the elephant.

I wait for customers. A nice lady with a little girl picks up the Mickey Mouse hat. My insides feel funny. Not my hat, I think. I bought that with my own money when we went to Disneyland three years ago. That’s the year that Grandpa died. He used to make a squeaky mouse sound and tease me about my bug-eye glasses. He said they matched the ears on my hat. I snatch it. “I don’t know how that got in there.” I race it into the garage and hide it under the teddy bear.

The bully from the street wanders onto the driveway. His bike is parked next to the light pole. “Gotany dollies?” He picks up the green car and makes varoom varoom noises and bumps it along the cement, before crashing it into the wheel of the wagon.

“That’s not for sale!” I yank it from him, surprised that I had the guts to do so.

Mom looks up from her book. “Arnold, I think you best go on home now.”

Arnold kicks at the wagon, the ray gun topples out, but I’m fast and snatch it up. I race it and the car into the garage and hide them with my other treasures.

My wagon is almost empty now. Just an old pair of goggles from when I learned how to swim at summer camp and the birdhouse I built in cub scouts. I can’t sell those either. I spent too long painting the triangular piece of wood to house a nest. I’ll hang it in the back yard and put some seed in it. No sense in wasting a masterpiece.

Last is my sailboat. Just before we moved a year ago, Mom and I sailed it one more time on the lake behind our house. I just can’t get rid of this. I look over at Mom. She pulls her hat down over her bald head. I look back at the sailboat. It’s the last time we’ll ever get to do something like that again.

Dad brings out glasses of lemonade and hands a couple of pills to Mom. “How’s the sale coming?” He asks.

“Great.” She says. “Maybe we’ll have enough to pay for that trip back to Seattle after all.”
That’s where she is from, where Grandma still lives. Mom wants to go see her old home one more time before… My eyes mist up and I drag the back of my hand over my nose. I’m supposed to be too young to understand what’s happening. But I do.

I look at my empty wagon and then into the shadowed garage where my treasures are hidden, and then I steal a glance at Mom. Her eyes are tired from the treatments. I know what I have to do.

At the end of the day, I empty my cow bank. I look into Mom’s eyes and hand her not only my Playstation money, but my treasure sales. “Now you can go to Seattle.”