And then there's BUB!

New, from my friend Beth (Elizabeth Rose) Stanton ❤️ I love the pairing of Beth’s soft, sweet style with a monster book! ❤️ For Bub, it’s not easy being the middle child in his little monster family—especially such a noisy and busy one: Maw and Paw can be very loud, his big sister Bernice is good at everything, and everyone has to pay attention to The Baby. No one has time for Bub. But the day comes when Bub decides to take charge, and suddenly things change in a very magical little monster way! What happens next keeps his family guessing, until Bub sees that it might not be so bad being in the middle, after all.

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Bunny Staycation!

From my fantabulous friend, Lori Richmond! 🐰 Mama's suitcase is packed for an important business trip. But it's Mama's turn to read bedtime stories! Bunny does not like Mama leaving one bit. If he can just figure out how to keep her home... or maybe he can go with her! But Papa and Bunny have a better idea. They set off on a grand adventure... in the living room. And kitchen. And bathtub. Bunny's Staycation is the perfect book for every family with travel-for-work Mamas or Papas. Kids and parents will laugh, cheer, and celebrate the wonders -- and happy challenges -- faced by families who are juggling the joys of stay-at-home fun and business trips.

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Bacon Wrapped Meatloaf!

I made this bacon-wrapped meatloaf last night, and it was a big hit in the house. — I’m not a huge meatloaf fan, but it’s meatloaf, WRAPPED IN BACON - see? 😉❤️ Easy recipe from Genius Kitchen website. (Note: I had to make 2, bc my bacon was center-cut - i.e. too short to cover the whole recipe.)

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Life, Love and Little Free Libraries

I feel such joy when I see books on shelves — at libraries, at schools and at book stores. They feel like endless stacks of hope and potential and adventure, just waiting to be picked and opened and enjoyed.

But here at home, where my boys' old books line miles of shelves in their rooms, their closets and family rec room, it pains me — this sometimes emotional and sentimental mom. It's a daily reminder that they are growing up. 

It's unlikely my almost-17-year-old will decide to pick up Magic Treehouse or Percy Jackson or 39 Clues or Because of Winn Dixie again, but I can remember — I can see — him, full of excitement and wonder, experiencing those stories for the first time. Sometimes, more often than I'd like as college looms near, the memories create a nearly unbearable tightness in my chest.

My 12-year-old has slowly worked his way through every Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Big Nate, Captain Underpants. The echos of his giggles still resonate for me. And then I see him surprisingly touched by Bud, Not Buddy and Wonder and Ungifted — my tough boy, softened by stories that touched his heart. And, again, it's unlikely that he'll decide to read those books again. He's moved on to other stories, other adventures.

And I know that this is as it should be. 

But, sometimes, as I'm hanging up their shirts or gathering up their laundry, I find myself running an index finger along the spines — remembering. And, I'm sad.

It occurs to me, this mom who personifies everything, from stuffed animals to construction trucks, that these books might feel sad, too: stowed away on shelves, forgotten. All of those stories trapped inside. Those poor books sit, tucked away — dusted, but never opened. Perhaps someday I'll have grandchildren, and I'll read to them. 

Perhaps.

And so, for the sake of this sad mom and those sad books, I've decided that our collection should be free to fly into other young hands, to fill the hearts and minds of other young souls. And, if I must brag — it's an awesome collection, made better all the time by the books I receive as gifts from authors and publishers, books I receive by the armloads at conferences and festivals.

This is my Little Free Library. I wanted it to be beautiful, just like the books inside and just like the kids who will find them.

On top, the weathervane that I had made — a book morphing into a butterfly — reads, "SOAR WITH A BOOK" on the spine. That pretty much sums it up for me.

Now, our books are, indeed, flying away — slowly, but surely — into other hands and other houses.

And this makes me very happy. 

Because I know that this, too, is as it should be.

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West Virginia, Family and Memories

Country roads took me home last week, to my father's hometown near Grantsville, West Virginia. Sadly, we said our final goodbyes to my uncle, Charles Duskey II, my father's oldest brother. (My grandmother had five boys, God bless her; my father was the youngest.)

Uncle Junior (or "Pap" as everyone called him) was wonderful and kind — a man of faith, a World War II hero and a loving family man. He died at the age of 96; peace well-earned at the end of a life well-lived.

So, with my sisters beside me, we returned to the place of our childhood visits for, perhaps, the last time. 

It's funny how the senses remember... 

Being there, where countless hours and days were spent whiling away our time in the thick of the country, triggered memories of so many of the sights, tastes and smells of our childhood visits. Suddenly, amidst the beauty of the ridges and valleys, I could see my grandmother's sweet face and the dear old house filled with her treasures. I could taste fried chicken from the cast-iron skillet, barbecue sandwiches, breakfast-sausage-as-much-as-you-want, and homemade grape juice. And, with every inhale, I could smell Avon honeysuckle perfume, Rose Milk hand lotion, country breezes on damp spring mornings, frying bacon and musty old sheds just right for treasure-hunting.

Intertwined with the sights and tastes and smells are the memories of the sounds. Magnified by the pitch-black of the night, the deep hills were filled with music. The creaking of the old house, the crickets chirping and bullfrogs croaking, the tinny clang of the screen door and the sound of the whistling wind rushing up the hill from the family cemetery fill my memories. That endless cacophony in the vastness of the country — unfamiliar and eerie to a suburban girl with an overactive imagination — inspired one of my upcoming books, It's SO Quiet. The book is a humorous take on the rural "quiet" through the ears of an antsy little mouse who SHOULD be going to sleep. And, it's a tribute to those old songs that are now only memories — songs that I will never hear quite-like-that again. 

Like all of my books, It's SO Quiet is a mix of my loves and my memories, a tribute to where I've been, who I've been and what I know. It also represents both an exciting new project and a bittersweet ending. It's turned out to be, perhaps, my final goodbye to a place and time I loved so dearly and remember so vividly. 

It's SO Quiet will be illustrated by Tony Fucile. Chronicle Books, 2018.

Valentine's Day Release

I am thrilled to announce that the long-awaited sequel to Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site will debut on Valentine's Day – February 14, 2017.

Thank you Tom Lichtenheld, our editor Melissa Manlove and everyone at Chronicle Books who has made this possible.

With love and gratitude,

Sherri

Mighty, Mighty Construction Site

Mighty, Mighty Construction Site

 

Trying times

These are trying times for those of us with sensitive souls. I hear words used as weapons to demolish each other—ugly, hateful, controversial words. Gone is caring, thoughtful discussion or impassioned arguments intertwined with mutual respect. Friends and loved ones that I adore and respect expressing values and choices that are so counter to my own beliefs, anger on all sides. Hate. The combination of the hostile political climate, the frightening world climate and, it seems, a general social climate that allows us to vent mercilessly and angrily over social media...Some days, it's more than I can bear.

Yesterday, I posted on my FB page, "Share something happy. Tell me something hopeful. (All the hate and heartache is bruising my soul.)"

And, to my delight, I have received a plethora of amazing, lovely, uplifting posts: Biblical passages, quotes and affirmations, pictures of animals, flowers and children, dancing families, artwork and even an ultrasound photo.

In addition to all of these lovely visuals were words of encouragement. Tired, weary souls lifting up each other in tough times—reminding each other that there is light beyond dark days, that we have much in which to rejoice, that we are so greatly blessed, that the world is good and beautiful, that the angry, evil and wicked do not represent the majority.

Many, MANY months ago, my friend T.J. Shay (Educator, Ambassador at FableVision and kidlit advocate), founder of "International Dot Day" and "Celebri-Dots" website (both inspired by Peter H. Reynolds' book, The Dot, asked me to create a dot. Today was the day. Inspired by so many kind voices reaching out, here is MY Dot.

I hope it brightens something, somewhere.

Stay positive, friends.

"The amazing book by Peter H. Reynolds that started it all."

"The amazing book by Peter H. Reynolds that started it all."

T.J.,the International Dot Day advocate

T.J.,the International Dot Day advocate

                            "My dot."

                            "My dot."

Gardening

Three years ago, we left the city after 25 years and moved to a beautiful home — my dream home — in the far suburbs.

And, there it began. 

I, quite literally, dug in. 

If there was empty space, I filled it. If it was ugly, I dug it out. If it was beautiful, I planted it. If it died, I tried something else. 

What I didn't know, I Googled. Or asked my mother-in-law.

I joined the garden club. Those women know everything.

And I planted. And planted. And planted.

If my family cannot find me, I'm out in the yard. I don't take my cell phone. They've learned to yell for me.

My wonderful neighbors, fortunately, did not force me to keep to the property lines. Plants and flowers were allowed to flow like moving streams between us. (I'm blessed that they indulge me.)

Like all new endeavors (occupying hours, days, weeks) this one has yielded some wisdom:

  1. Gardening is physical, exhausting, dirty –and exhilarating – work.
  2. One cannot imagine the hatred that one can muster for a garden hose.
  3. Soil smells like hope.
  4. A plant emerging from the earth after winter feels like a miracle. And a victory.
  5. Good Lord, I love worms.
  6. Few things bring me greater satisfaction than popping a grub between my (garden gloved) fingers.
  7. One can bury a lot of problems in the dirt.
  8. Beauty and color and wonder – Thank you, God.
  9. Roses are worth the trouble. And the thorns.
  10. Despite fertilizers, watering, spraying, pruning and praying...gardening, mostly, is coming to terms with this: sometimes, only time will tell.

A few months ago, I asked the neighbors on our north side if I could, possibly, meander toward their side a bit. And, in about a month, this

Turned to this:

and to this...

I envision it flower-covered, picturesque and lovely. But, alas, it's still very new and there's still much to do.

Like so many things: only time will tell.

I'll post updates.

In the meantime, for those of you waiting to hear back from that agent or editor... waiting for your book to hit the shelves, waiting for that big break:

Patience, friends.