Life Savers: Life-Simplifying Gifts

Every single mother—heck, pretty much every human being—could use a gift that streamlines, de-stresses, and simplifies our life. Help your pal stay organized and on top of her myriad PTA meetings, doctor appointments, and soccer games with Kate Spade’s playfully designed desk calendar, or a floral-printed WeekDate planner, which tracks recurring commitments.

Another great gift idea: treat her to a gift certificate to a kid-friendly restaurant or a gift card to Dream Dinners, which cuts down on kitchen and grocery shopping time by assembling the ingredients for tasty, seasonal dishes perfect for families.

Speaking of food, a digital DaysAgo kitchen tool—a certified Oprah pick—is a clever gadget that any mom will love; affix the digital clock to leftovers, baby food, meats, etc. to keep track of its freshness (or not so freshness).

Finally, we all know single moms are short on personal time. And if you happen to be short on funds, there’s one gift you can give that will keep everyone happy: the gift of your babysitting services. (Bring the new Wall-E DVD and some chicken nuggets and everything will work out just fine.)

Single Parent Reads

Want to give your loved one something to read besides “Goodnight, Moon”? Pay for a subscription ($19.99) to Single Parent Magazine, a bimonthly publication that addresses the issues that single parents face.

Another page-turner: Life in Beauty by Kate Porter, a single mother who seeks to find the pure beauty in life’s experiences.

Gifts that Give Back

Why not give a gift that you can both feel great about? Charity Choice gift cards are perfect for budding philanthropists—you buy the card, and the recipient can select up to three different charities (from a list of 100) to donate the amount to.

Add some fun to the mix with the DivaGirl Game, a fabulous girls-night-out party game that donates a portion of every sale to women’s and children’s charities like Camp Laurel and Home Makers.

We also love the You Are My Inspiration pay-it-forward gift offering from the Step Up Women’s Network. Buy an “Inspiration Gift” ($50 and up) in honor of an amazing woman in your life, and you’ll both receive a gorgeous Isabella Bijoux necklace, while an underprivileged teen girl in the Step Up program receives a gift (a digital camera, money towards a college visit, etc.) in your pal’s honor.

Know a new mom? Snag her some Dr. Bloom’s Chewable Jewels, eye-catching baubles that are safe for teething babies to gnaw on.

The finishing touch: a Kids Helping Kids gift card from MAC Cosmetics, an adorable set of illustrated cards that benefit children living with HIV and AIDS.

Pampered Presents

Just want to shower a single mom with love? You can’t go wrong with a stunning and sentimental Etched Four-Photo Locket from Things Remembered, or an incredibly indulgent Italian-inspired beauty gift set (a bargain at $25) from La Dolce Diva—almond biscotti or tiramisu, anyone?

Or, splurge on a beyond-relaxing Jimmyjane Form 6 Vibrating Massager, a waterproof wand designed to work the kinks out.

If that doesn’t do the trick, snuggling up to an irresistibly soft Max Daniel Adult Throw—available in a slew of sassy animal prints—surely will.

And jewelry buffs on the hunt for something unique will fall hard for the nature-inspired, sustainable pieces from Prismera Designs. Our favorite: the cheerful, stainless steel leaf motif of the Woodruff Necklace. What mom—or woman, for that matter—wouldn’t love that?

Other Great SMW Gift Ideas

Best Kitchen Gift Guide Ever

Holiday Gifts for Staff and Boss

Holiday Gift Guide: Beauty Gift Ideas

About the author
Marla Majewski is the founder of Inspire Empire Co. and creator of the Inspire Empire ten-week motivational program.  Using the power of her personal Inspire Empire she began to reach out to thousands of women looking for tools to get out of a rut and into a positive, more productive space in their lives. Through her work as a Life Coach, motivational speaker and writer, she has used her messages to bring positive change to her clients, audiences and readers.  Marla provides advice on ways to motivate women.

Inspire Empire brings a community of women together who are all struggling with the challenge of creating and maintaining inspirational momentum while also raising a family, pursuing a career and staying healthy and happy.

It provides practical tools to help women become better at fitting personal priorities into their hectic lifestyle. It puts people – with the common mindset of wanting to make their life better – together.

Inspire Empire improves women’s lives by changing a woman’s perceptions about her goals and dreams – moving them from impossible grandiosities to achievable possibilities.

Buy The Girl I Used To Know Today!

Want to be a SMW Book Reviewer? Click here.

This list of the top 10 single mom films was compiled by our team of single mom experts. Rent any one of these films and take comfort in the fact that you are also a strong, independent single mom. Here’s our list in no particular order:

Stella Dallas: Barbara Stanwick (1937). A very poor divorced single mother dedicates her life to her daughter’s success and career advancement. The very last scene in the move–where she stands outside the window of the church, watching her own daughter’s wedding to a wealthy man — is a tear-jerker like none others, so make sure you’ve got a box of hankies handy.

Mildred Pierce: Joan Crawford (1945). Murder, death, money – this movie has it all. This is a story of a single mother who struggles to provide and protect her wayward daughter. Was it worth it? (A question every mother asks, but already knows the answer…)

Terms of Endearment: Shirley MacLaine (1983). The complexities of the mother-daughter relationship are beautifully revealed in this story of two women searching for love and acceptance. Deborah Winger plays the daughter. Apparently there was was no love lost between the two of them on the set. Shows just how great both are as actors!

Mask: Cher (1985). A biker mom fights to give her physically challenged son a normal education and life. Cher needs to act more. This proves it.

Baby Boom: Diane Keaton (1987). Successful advertising executive’s life is turned upside down when a distant cousin dies and leaves her custody of a toddler. Cute fluff, especially when a woman ends up in the arms of playwright/actor Sam Sheppard.

As Good As it Gets: Helen Hunt (1997). A single mom of a chronically ill child discovers that sometimes the people you can count on most are the ones you least expect. A great role for Jack Nicholson, and the underrated Greg Kennear, whom here plays against type.

Requiem For A Dream: Ellen Burstyn (2000). A widowed, single mother struggles to help her drug addicted son. As always, Burstyn embodies her roles and that makes them heartwrenchingly empathetic.

Erin Bockovich: Julia Roberts (2000). Single mother of three who working as a legal clerk, uncovers an industrial poisoning cover up by PG&E. Roberts is endearing as a tart with a heart–and great legal instincts.

Raising Helen: Kate Hudson (2004). Life dramatically changes for this young, single woman when her sister and brother-in-law die in a car crash and leave her to care for their three children. Shows a softer side of Hudson that is usually missing from her standard chick flick roles.

Chocolat: Juliette Binoche (2000). Story of a young, single mother who opens a chocolate shop in a little French village and how her chocolate changes the lives of the townspeople. The movie is a fantasy, but this fantastic actress embodies the premise endearingly.

Have a favorite “single mom” movie? Let us know. Leave a comment in the box below.

More Me Time Tips on SMW

Books and Bonbons for Single Moms: Beach Reads

Tome of the Mommy: Runaway Moms

Take it to the beach, read it on the train while you commute or in the evening when you have a few minutes alone. You won’t be able to put it down!

Synopsis

Ever since her husband left her for an older woman, Veronica’s been an emotional mess. Only her five-year-old son, Ben, stands between her and a complete breakdown. She can’t even go to the grocery without bursting into tears. It doesn’t help that she keeps getting mistaken for Haley Rush, the Hollywood starlet whose dazzling life is plastered on every magazine at the checkout line.

A birthday lunch at the Ivy brings Veronica to the attention of Haley’s manager. In no time at all, he offers her a role as a celebrity double for Haley, who is in the midst of a meltdown and needs to be kept away from the paparazzi—just not so far away that people stop talking about her. It only takes a moment for the shock to pass before Veronica says yes. Soon, she’s juggling child care, play dates and alternate weekends with her ex to be on call for her secret life driving Haley’s car, wearing her amazing clothes, and dating her hot B-list actor boyfriend, Brady Ellis. Too bad the job is only part time, and at the end of the day she has to return to Orange County and life as a minivan-driving substitute teacher and Cub Scout mom. Until, of course, things begin to get serious with Brady.

In JUST LIKE ME, ONLY BETTER, Snow once again turns an ironic eye on human folly, this time setting her sight upon fame and exploitation as she explores Hollywood and the cost of orbiting the sphere of celebrity.

Buy Just Like Me Only Better today!

If you have a favorite book you’d like to share with our readers, please leave a comment in the box below.

Wrong!

I soon discovered that single moms are not a hot commodity on the dating scene. The rules are different for us. You’re no longer evaluated on individual merits alone. Instead, you’re regarded as a “package deal.” Forget looks, personality and intelligence. They aren’t enough anymore. What matters now are how many kids you have, their ages, their personalities, your share of the marital debt and your relationship with the ex.

Can you say, “pariah?”

While I’m certainly not a dating expert, I’ve dated enough in the last five years to make this assertion: A good majority of available men don’t want to get involved with women who have young children – even if they have had all their shots. So when did these blessings in our lives become such a bad thing?

Friends in similar situations offered questionable advice. “Don’t tell a man you have children until you get to know each other better.” Excuse me? But isn’t being a mother a HUGE piece of the getting-to-know-me puzzle? What am I supposed to do, sneak my kids into a relationship like a Trojan Horse . . . surprise!

From the beginning, I’ve been up front about my “package deals” with every date. It’s an invaluable screening process. After all, I don’t want to become involved with someone who won’t embrace my children, anyway. So I cut to the chase immediately. It’s rather comical to see how long I hold a man’s interest after I’ve worked motherhood into the conversation. Three, two, one . . . he’s outta there! However, it works both ways. If I’m not interested, I’ll tell the pseudo-Don Juan I have six children (not two), rendering him paralyzed from the vocal chords down.

So what is it about single moms that spooks men? Have they bought into that myth that we’re all looking for some knight to rescue us from life’s abyss? Is it that our attention and loyalties are a bit divided, the “my-children-come-first” thing? Or maybe it’s our inability to be spontaneous. “I’m sorry. I’d like to meet you for an impromptu moonlight stroll on the beach, but I have to help my kids with homework and clip their toenails before bedtime.”

Perhaps Helen Hunt’s date said it best in “As Good As It Gets” (remember that scene?) after their kissing session was interrupted one too many times by her very ill son: “It’s just a little too much reality for one night.” And then he fled.

But after the disillusionment of entering the dating scene again, a funny thing happens. It becomes OK to be alone. More than OK. It strengthens who we are, as women, on our own two feet. Lately, I’ve turned my thinking around completely. It’s no longer, “Would this man like my kids?” But rather, “Is this man worthy of my children?”

I’m not looking for Mr. Right anymore. If he’s out there somewhere, he’s going to have to find me. I’ll be the one skipping through life with both my children, hand in hand . . . far, far away from life’s abyss.

Lynn Armitage is a single – and available — mother in Northern California, and loving every minute of it.

More from Lynn Armitage on SMW

Why Do So Many Marriages Fail?

The “Other” Woman: Should You Be Friendly with Your Ex’s Girlfriend

A Father’s Loss

Not everyone is cut out to have children.

Is that a blasphemy to say?

No. Because we all know it’s true.

Admit it: Doesn’t your belly tighten with dread when you’re in the presence of some woman who is visibly annoyed with, or publicly derisive to, her kid, embarrassing the poor thing in front of you or others?

You wonder: “If you can’t find a way to say it to your child with respect, you don’t deserve him. And he certainly doesn’t deserve you.”

You’re right.

Children deserve parents who are ready to take on the 24/7/lifetime responsibility to feed and nurture, to love and honor, to challenge and inspire them.

Most parents strive to honor this commitment.

But some don’t.

And not all of these are deadbeat dads.

Some are runaway moms.

Whereas many of us women act on the yearning to have children, and hold them dear until our dying day, for whatever reason their are others who have made the decision to leave their children, to move on in their lives without them.

One young sister and brother, based in India, is currently suing their mother to come home to them. She moved to Canada. They are being raised by their father, a professional music teacher, who “says the love and affection of a mother are important in the upbringing of a child and hence the petition aimed to bring his children’s mother back into their lives…”

True, that.

And yet, there are two sides to every story.

Not every woman is ready to become a mother. Not every woman wants to be a mother, even if she finds herself pregnant.

And not every woman who leaves her children — for a day, a week or two, or even a month or longer — regrets doing so.

But yes, there are some who are. Even if they can’t admit it to themselves.

Even if they can’t admit it to their children.

The consequences of the runaway mom’s decision is felt throughout the lifetime of the children left behind. Life-long resentment is to be expected. Wariness to get into adult relationships because of fears of abandonment is not uncommon. The decision to forgo have children themselves is, sadly, another outcome. Their own role models were awful. They, too, are afraid at failing at this momentous challenge.

Then their are those children, now grown, who use this life experience to better themselves. They become the kind of mother and fathers their own runaway parents never were to them.

They want to prove to themselves that they are not anything like their parents.

The proof comes in the the love and nurturing they provide their own children, and the joy they take in the process of parenting.

Having lived it the hard way, they know best that parenthood isn’t a right. It’s a privilege.

In this excerpt of my soon-to-be-released novel, SECRET LIVES OF HUSBANDS AND WIVES, my heroine, Lyssa Harper, happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Because she’s carpooling with her new friend, stay-at-home dad Harry Wilder, she witnesses the reaction of Harry’s soon-to-be ex, DeeDee, when her thirteen-year-old son Jake, erupts in anger at what he feels is her recent abandonment of him and his five-year-old sister, Temple.

Can there ever be redemption for the runaway mom?

I welcome your comments,

—Josie

Game face.

We all have one. It takes your smile and sharpens it into a grimace. Rocked by an emotional earthquake, the gentle planes of your face shift into stone. The happiness once beaming from your eyes is now refracted inward: focused, with laser-sharp concentration, on the dark matter at hand.

Harry’s is one I don’t recognize.

I’ll admit it: for the past few weeks his dimpled smile and courtly manners have been the icing on the cake of my day. And while courting the league board, he was sweetness and light. Now, though, devoid of any joy, it has curdled into a snarl.

What I’m seeing now sends icicles through my veins.

He is ready to do battle with DeeDee the Ice Queen.

Temple won’t be the only collateral damage. In the side view mirror I see Jake. He sits silently in the back, just staring out the window, his damp red-rimmed eyes as wide as those of the ghoul in The Scream. I can only imagine what he’s thinking: that all of this—not just the lost game, but his father’s fall from grace, even his parents’ breakup—is his fault.

If I could, I’d reach back there and hold his hand. And yet, as the mother of one of his friends, the only place I hold in his life is that of an abstract acquaintance.

What am I doing here, anyway?

Almost as if reading my mind, Harry places his fingers on my arm and pats it absentmindedly.

That tells me what I need to know: I’m here because I’m the only friend Harry has in this gated, well-landscaped corner the world.

We pull up to the front of Paradise Waldosorri Pre-School & Kindergarten just in time to see DeeDee walking out with Temple and Miss Judith, the head of school. DeeDee’s silk blouse and cashmere slacks look almost militaristic next to Miss Judith’s gauzy flowing skirt and Birkenstocks. If Miss Judith’s attire isn’t the broadest hint that she is the community’s one and only hold back from the days in which Paradise Heights was a hippy commune (hence the first portion of its name, before being elevated into the economic stratosphere), her head scarf, tied over flowing gray curls, in a dead giveaway. Whatever DeeDee is saying has Miss Judith shaking her head in dismay. This causes the beaded fringe on her scarf to jiggle. She glances sympathetically at Temple, whose eyes are starred with tears, her pillowed lips bitten into a pout.

The way the car screeches as it comes to a halt undermines Harry’s attempt at indifference. Jake slumps down when he his mother comes into view. Either he’s hoping she doesn’t see him and ask him to recap his inglorious day, or he has his own bone to pick with her.

“Stay here,” growls Harry. I don’t know if he’s talking to me or to Jake. But in the mood he’s in, neither of us plans on disobeying him.

He’s out of the car in a flash.

Because he’s keeping his voice low and level, I can’t hear every word, but I do catch the phrases “very sorry” and “won’t happen again.” Miss Judith nods sympathetically, but tired uncertainty shades her pale gray eyes: it is obvious that whatever DeeDee has been telling her has colored her view of Harry.

Temple slips her hand into her father’s, but does not let go of DeeDee’s either. In fact, she squeezes it even tighter, as if to prove, if only to herself, that they are still joined in
someway.

Doing so only amps up their feelings toward each other—and their voices. “I’ve told you, I’ve got it under control,” Harry insists.

“My god, Harry! I wouldn’t be here now, if that were the case. And if Temple feels more comfortable going home with me . . .” The way DeeDee’s voice trails makes the offer seem so inviting. I’m surprised her daughter doesn’t leap at it. When it comes to their parents, all children possess innate neediness.

Not Temple. She knows a game is afoot. Her way to change the rules to suit her needs is brilliant. “No, Mommy, no! You can just come home with us,” she states matter-of-factly.

All three adults stare down at her, as if she’s just landed from another planet.

Harry’s game face, dampened by tears he can’t wipe away quickly enough, softens into doubtful hope.

DeeDee’s on the other hand, frosts solid with determination. Her teeth are tiny daggers, more a snarl than a smile.

“Damn it, Temple!” Jake’s eruption echoes with pain. Opening his car door, his yells, “Don’t you get it? She doesn’t want to come home. NOT EVER. Aw, just get in the car! NOW!”

All eyes now turn toward us.

Temple’s emotional Geiger counter has picked up on her brother’s anguish as only a sibling’s can. Unlike the adults, who patronize her with cheery half-lies that never pay off with the only golden ticket that counts—her mom and dad together again—Jake’s bellow tells her what she needs to know, even if it isn’t what she wants to hear:

Her parents will never love each other again, ever.

In Jake’s opinion, it’s all DeeDee’s fault. Can’t his sister see this too?

This sudden realization is too much for the little girl. As if letting go of all hope, a rivulet of urine runs down Temple’s leg, seemingly at the same pace as the tears streaming down her face. Despite this, Harry scoops her up into his arms and heads for the car, Miss Judith clucking soothingly beside him, hoping to hush her student’s heart wrenching howls.

All mothers break apart when confronted with their children’s grief, and DeeDee is no exception.

Fault lines of anguish transform her flawless veneer of a face from haughty to sorrowful. She runs after her child—

But stops cold when she notices me in the car.

DeeDee realizes this battle is lost. But the war is still to be won. Her eyes narrow and her frown inverts into a smirk. “You’ve hired some shopgirl from Nordy’s? Oh, now that’s rich! Why couldn’t she have picked up Temple? Doesn’t she drive?”

At first Harry doesn’t catch on that she’s talking about me, but Miss Judith does. Relieved at the chance to set something straight, she trills nervously, “DeeDee, that’s Lyssa Harper, Olivia’s mommy—”

After what I’ve just seen, I don’t expect a cheery hello. Still, even a stiff nod of recognition would certainly go a long way to clearing the air.

But no. DeeDee isn’t apologetic. She’s shocked.

Suddenly it dawns on me that hitching a ride with the soon-to-be ex is not the best way to reintroduce yourself to a woman who never remembers who you are, no matter how many times she runs into you.

From DeeDee’s granite stare, I am assured she won’t forget me, ever again.

I can’t help but watch her in the rear view mirror. She, too, keeps me in her sites.

DeeDee has a new target.

(c) 2010 Josie Brown, all rights reserved.

Josie’ s Next Book: Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives

Simon & Schuster/Downtown Press

(ISBN: 9781439173176)

Look for it in bookstores June 1, 2010

From Amazon

From Barnes & Noble

From Books a Million

From Your Local Independent Bookstore

From Powell’s

SMW: You lost your husband as a result of illness. How did you cope with the shock of his death, and then the grief? Did you have support from family and friends?

My husband died of esophageal cancer on October 9, 2005, just 10 months after he was diagnosed. Even though our faith in the Lord had grown so strong during his illness and final moments of his life, for me, the struggle to cope had only begun.

Just weeks prior to Bret’s passing, I was prescribed medications to help with anxiety and depression. But I was prescribed contradictory medications, which contributed to a complete breakdown shortly after Bret died. Throughout the next several years, my parents helped me with my girls as I struggled to get my life back on track. During that time, I slept very little, and would spend my days playing mindless computer games.

My wake-up call came unexpectedly in August 2008. My youngest daughter, Natalie said to me, “Mama, is this all you do?” At the time, I was again in front of my computer, sipping coffee. Wow… out of the mouths of babes. I immediately prayed and asked for help and the strength I needed to improve my life. Within days, I plugged back into my church, started an exercise regimen, started eating healthy, and re-engaged with society.

In the end, it wasn’t a magic pill that created my emotional healing, it was an answered prayer and the determination to be the mom my girls deserved me to be.

I’m happy to report that I have not had a single bout of depression or other emotional problems since August of 2008. I am also seeing much success in my business, my confidence and self-esteem are at an all-time high, and my girls and I are enjoying vacationing all around the world during school holidays. What a difference a year can make.

SMW: What have you found most surprising about being a single mother?

I have found that being a single mother certainly presents its challenges, but those challenges can definitely be overcome. I think it’s funny now that the longer I’m single, the greater my desire is to succeed as a single mom and in my professional life. It will take a VERY special man to take my single status away.

SMW: Even though you became a single mother through sorrow, are there positive aspects of the single mother experience? And, if so, what are they?

I would have to say that the positive aspects of the single mother experience include developing a stronger faith, becoming a stronger person, and having children that will be able to tackle any cards that life will deal to them as they continue to grow and prosper in this journey called life.

SMW: What advice would you give other mothers who are newly single through sorrow? 

When facing depression, focus on holistic and healthy ways of survival. The magic pills that are prescribed can and will cause a host of other problems. Instead, exercise regularly, eat healthy foods, plug into church, serve others, and do whatever it takes to surround yourself with positive people. Do not seclude yourself in your four walls. Hang out at a local coffee shop. Bookstore or just spend some time out in the fresh air and sunlight. Fill your mind and senses with the beauty that surrounds you.

Deena M. Powers, long-time resident of Southlake, TX, served as Director of Worship for two large area churches and spent over 22 years in the music ministry. With a Master’s Degree in Education from the University of North Texas and a Bachelor’s Degree from Southern Methodist University, Deena also taught in the public schools for nine years, and shared her musical talents with countless private piano and French horn students. Following her husband’s death, she put her passion for ministry on hold to focus on her emotional healing and two daughters. Now, Deena is a successful Representative with World Ventures.

Other inspiring stories 

Sinlge Through Sorrow: Franka Baly’s Story

Single Through Sorrow: Christine Stanton’s Story

I’m always amazed when unhappy couples stay in a marriage. Isn’t the  goal to be with someone who makes you happy?

Not because each party feels some obligation to stay in the marriage.

When questioned as to whether they are wasting their time, energy and emotions on a relationship that will never get better, the reasons they usually give for sticking it out never has anything to do with his or her own happiness, but some sense of obligation: to their children, their parents, their perception of relationship success.

I feel sad for them. So much time is spent complaining about the fact that neither can satisfy the other.

What they don’t realize is that either one party has  lost the respect, or trust,  of the other. Unless they take the time to earn it back, no amount of passion will ever make it right again.

My own parents’ union was not a happy one. I reveled int he unabashed love both my mother and father showered on me, and I will always appreciated them for inspiring me to never doubt my own abilities or my potential. That is all a child can ask of a parent, is it not?

But children want their parents to be happy, too.

As a child, I remember wishing they’d break up, so that each could find the happiness that eluded them in marriage.

When I was sixteen my parents had one particularly raw argument, Afterward sat on the front porch with my mother during a thunderstorm. As the sky crackled overhead, I asked her: “Why don’t you two just get a divorce?”

She paused, then answered:  “Because children should have two parents.”

“But we’re happy when you’re happy. And you aren’t happy.”

She nodded in response, but obviously my words never moved her to action. She stayed in the marriage until the day he died, some three years later. Throughout it, she was angry. Nothing he did for her made her happy.

Maybe she was afraid she couldn’t be happy without him, either. The devil you know is better than the one you don’t. Isn’t that how the saying goes?

I’ve always wondered if, had they made the break, he might have lived longer.

People who are happy don’t want to give up on life.

In my book Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives, my heroine, Lyssa Harper, ruminates on her own parents’ divorce, and how it affected her views toward dating and marriage. This small excerpt gives you a small piece of her backstory, in her own words.

Enjoy, and happy new year,

Josie

I accepted Ted’s proposal even though I wasn’t really sure that he was The One.

I said as much to my mother, the day after he proposed.

“What is ‘The One,’ anyway?” The smoke from her Kool Menthol streamed out from the high corner of her curled smirk and floated toward the ceiling like a serene genie. “Hey, nothing’s perfect, right?”

It wasn’t a question, but a warning. During the twelve years of her own marriage she had assumed my father had been The One for her. I had, too. He’d been my first and only love.

As it turns out, Father wasn’t The One for either of us. He proved it when I was ten. That was the year he left us both for his secretary, the giggly Patti-with-an-i, and the penthouse apartment where he’d stashed her.

Our consolation prize was our two-acre country club estate in tony Atherton, with its over-extended mortgage. But of course we couldn’t afford the house on our own. Within a year we had downsized to a one-bedroom rent-controlled walk-up in San Francisco’s Upper Tenderloin—a “transitional” neighborhood—where we crammed in as much of our large overstuffed furniture as we could fit.

The only good thing about that roach-infested hole was that it was a five-minute bus ride to the Saks Fifth Avenue on Union Square. My mother got a job at the cosmetics counter alongside the same women who, when she was married and flush, showered her with Clinique and Estée Lauder samples as she swept by them on her way to the designer showroom. After the divorce, the Puccis, Guccis, Yves St. Laurents and Blasses she wore to the weekly cocktail parties at her country club either subbed as very expensive work attire, or found its way to consignment shops, where they sold quickly at bargain rates. Whereas she was no longer living proof that you can never be too rich, she certainly proved that you could be too thin—if all you could afford to eat is canned tuna on Saltines.

Like a good girl, I didn’t blame my father or complain to my mother. Instead I threw myself into my other love: painting big sad canvases that made people stop, look and react . . .

 

Copyright © 2010 by Josie Brown

Josie’ s Next Book: Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives

Simon & Schuster/Downtown Press

(ISBN: 9781439173176)

Look for it in bookstores June 1, 2010

From Amazon

From Barnes & Noble

From Books a Million

From Borders

From Copperfield’s

From Your Local Independent Bookstore

From Powell’s

Worse yet, there is no right way.

If you’re lucky, as you’re stumbling to get the words out, your son will pat you calmly on shoulder and say, “Look, Mom, I know what you’re trying to tell me, and it’s okay. I’ve already figured it out.”

Sort of like he’s figured out that whole birds and bees thing.

Yeah, yeah, I know: happy new year to you, too.

Well, here’s hoping he’ll spare you that look of condescension when he tells you these little facts of life.

And that he knows to keep his mouth shut about the bully who let the cat out of the bag. Because we all know that there’s no accounting for a mother’s revenge.

That said, those of us who’ve already gone through this trial can leave those of you who yet to have this displeasure with one rule of thumb: you better not wait too long, or you’ll find out that someone else has beaten you to the punch.

We did, with our son. He heard it instead from his fourth grade teacher whom I guessing, was afraid the other kids would tease him unmercifully if they found out.

For years afterward, he told us it would be the first issue he’d bring up with his therapist.

He also told us that he was never going to tell his children that “lie.”

My response: “Oh yeah? We’ll see.” He’s never relished the role of killjoy. I doubt seriously that he’ll do that to his own kids.

Instead, he’ll do what we did: try to put the whole Santa myth into perspective for them. To discuss with them the joy of giving, and how Christmas is really about the birth of baby Jesus.

Hopefully not as their ripping open their presents. They’ll never hear him over the rustle of wrapping paper and their own squeals as they plug in that generation’s version of wii.

Our daughter started doubting the existence of the Easter Bunny when I accidentally left the price tag on the chocolate rabbit in her basket.

I’ve never lived that one down.The grilling she gave me was worse than anything they do in Gitmo. By the time we were done, I was so soaked with sweat, you would have thought I’d been waterboarded.

Today she’s just beyond teendom, and she still looks forward to her Easter Basket, but the scars are still there. I know. I can tell by the way she rips off the chocolate bunny’s head and munches on it.

No dainty bites for her. Doubt can do that to a girl.

It can also do that to a marriage. In my book Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives, the heroine, Lyssa Harper has no reason to doubt her husband’s love, but he seems to doubt hers — particularly when he  hears from her so called friends that she’s been spending too much time with the neighborhood DILF.

But, hey, it’s almost Christmas, so I’ll leave you with heartwarming excerpt instead.

— Josie

Olivia is bouncing on our heads at five in the morning. “Can we go downstairs now? Please? To see if Santa has been here?”

Mickey’s voice chimes in from the hallway. “Olivia, of course he’s been here! Just look over the banister, for crying out loud! The whole floor is covered in them.”

Ted peels our daughter off his chest, tossing her onto the foot of the bed. “Yeah, sure, go! GO! . . . Hey: you can look, but don’t touch—until your mom and I get down there, too.”

“How long will that take?” Olivia tries to pull the covers off the bed, but I hang on fast to it on my end.

“It will take longer if I don’t get my first cup of coffee.” I know I sound grumpy, but that’s the breaks. It’s been a long stressful week. We put out the gifts after midnight, and I’m dead tired.

Besides, I don’t do crack of dawn too well.

“I’m on it, Mom!” I hear Mickey tromping down the steps to push the button on the coffeemaker.

Olivia flies down the steps, too. “Wait for me! WAIT! . . . Oh! It’s bee-U-ti-ful!”

The tree, she means.

Well, more honestly, the field of dreams that surrounds it.

Tanner, too old and too cool for such a show of unfettered giddiness, growls from his room for everyone to shut up. “I’m an atheist! I don’t believe in Santa, so shut up!”

“Santa is secular, you moron!” Mickey yells from the kitchen.

I know, though, the minute Tanner hears Ted and me stirring, he’ll be right on our heels.

“Are you up?” I nudge Ted because he looks as if he’s falling back asleep.

“Hell yeah. You know that Christmas always gives me a woody.” He reaches for me and pulls me close. “So does the thought of more office sex, by the way.”

“I’ll remember that. Only next time let’s wait until everyone leaves for the day. I didn’t like the fact that Vanna couldn’t look me in the eye when I left.”

“I’ll make it part of her job description.” He stretches as he rises from the bed. “Alright! Showtime . . .”

Excerpted from Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives by Josie  Brown.

Copyright © 2010 by Josie Brown. Published in June 2010 by Simon & Schuster/Downtown Press. All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.

(ISBN: 9781439173176)

In bookstores now! Order the book here…

If something truly important is bothering us, faking some form of cheeriness isn’t going to keep us from gnashing our teeth when another ornament falls and shatters, or when your son yanks a candy cane off your decorated tree –

And the tree tipples over, too.

In my novel, SECRET LIVES OF HUSBANDS AND WIVES, my heroine, Lyssa Harper, knows her husband, Ted, is angry at her because she refuses to drop her friendship with Harry, one of the neighborhood’s stay-at-home dads. She thinks his request is irrational, that he has no reason to be jealous . . .

And yet, it’s certainly flattering that he is upset.

But that shouldn’t get in the way of the Harpers’ annual holiday tree-cutting expedition, should it?

As you’ll read in this excerpt, of course it does . . .

Finding the perfect tree is the Douglas fir is the equivalent of taking down the great white whale. It must have a thick petticoat of branches rising from the base, its layers coquettishly shorter albeit in proportion all the way up to its needled crown. As if projecting his own fears of a thinning pate, Ted cannot tolerate bald spots between layers. I, on the other hand, abhor crooked bases. Between three rambunctious kiddies and a clumsy dog the size of a Shetland pony, our tree can’t have the posture of a tilt-n-whirl. The one thing we both agree on is that it must stand at least 13 feet tall, so that it is not dwarfed by the double height of our entryway: the place of honor.

The search for the tree is a highly charged competition. The winner is the first to be photographed with it. The photo is then mounted on the first page of this year’s Christmas photo album, validating a full year of bragging rights.

Tanner is old enough to carry the bowed safety saw, while Mickey drags the tall PVC pole that is marked a measuring stick. Every now and then he attempts to pole vault from one row to another. Olivia is charged with holding the twine that Ted will use to tie the tree to the sleigh he’ll use to haul the tree back to the cashier, who will ply our children with Christmas cookies, candy canes, and warmed cider while I peruse the wreaths on display. Eventually I’ll settle on three: one for the front gate, and two for our doublewide front door.

“Mommy, why not this one . . .or this one?” Olivia loses all sense of discretion when she’s within sniffing distance of gingerbread men.

“No, sweetie. That one is not tall enough, and the other is much too bare on the back side.”

“Hey, Mom! MOM! OVER HERE!” For this task, Mickey has always had a great sense of focus that consistently leads him to the right tree. When he was younger, it frustrated him to lose to his brother. Ted’s way of mitigating it was to lead our youngest son to a potential winning candidate. Now that Mickey’s developed a connoisseur’s eye, Ted no longer has to do that.

The tree Mickey has spotted for us has all the necessary criteria. Ted whistles for Tanner to trot on over with the saw, but Tanner tries for an end-run. “Wait, wait . . .what about this one over here? It’s hella taller . . .”

Ted looks down at his cell phone, for the time. “Nope, we’ve got to call it a day. Warriors and Lakers tonight, remember?”

“Wait . . . aren’t we going to decorate the tree when we get home?” Mickey’s look is incredulous. We all look up and over at Ted.

He knows he’s outnumbered. He smiles weakly. “Sure! Of course! It’s our tradition, right?”

As we head back to the cashier with our find, I give him a kiss on the cheek. He stops short in order to draw me to him and give me a real kiss, the kind that should melt away any lingering doubts about love and fidelity.

His doubts, not mine.
 

Are the holidays a happy time for you, or just more added stress to a life that seems already too flustered, too out of control?

If so, have you figured out why that’s the case?

I’d like to hear from you, be it ho ho ho, or boo hoo hoo,

—Josie

Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives
Simon & Schuster/Downtown Press (ISBN: 9781439173176)

Look for it in bookstores June 1, 2010. Or preorder it:

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