Meanwhile, please enjoy this rainbow. 😊
April 09, 2020
UNDER RENOVATION
This Blog is currently under renovation with new and exciting content to come! Join us soon for new contests, writing challenges for all ages, book reviews, interviews and a series of stories for children.
Meanwhile, please enjoy this rainbow. 😊
Meanwhile, please enjoy this rainbow. 😊
October 31, 2019
Halloweensie Contest 2019
Here we are again! Time has completely flown by since last year's Halloweensie and I'm barely making the deadline. The rules are that the entry must be no more than 100 words and include trick, cobweb and potion.
You can find out all the deets at https://susannahill.com/category/halloweensie-contest/
So, without further ado........ drumroll please........., here is my 2019 entry!
Happy Halloween(sie)!
The Magic of Glynnis McDoo
A Halloween Story of 93 words
Gather round, little goblins, and I'll tell you
about the midnight ride of Glynnis McDoo.
You'll guess, of course
that she rode on a horse,
a theory that I will undo.
That inky night when the moon was high,
bats circled above in the velvety sky.
She rubbed on some lotion,
It turned out to be potion
dropped by a witch swooping by.
Cobwebs covered the lights on the street,
Glynnis wondered, trick or a treat?
She hopped on a broom,
flew right out of the room,
and her Halloween night was complete!
July 13, 2019
So, FINALLY after what turns out to be several years - I am redoing the blog! Contain your applause and cheers..... ;)
The first of September will bring a new and exciting phase for Toad Cottage. I'll be offering stories, interesting snippets about life in these tenuous times, instruction on writing/querying/publishing, parenting and specifically parenting children of color, and other fascinating content. Hope you'll come back then. I'm planning quite a soiree for the kickoff!
November 15, 2018
You Are Enough
Well, hello readers and long time no see! Here at Toad Cottage, the view was obstructed for a bit but the windows have been cleaned and the view is once again spectacular.
Today I’m participating in the writing contest: You Are Enough, hosted by Positive Writer. You can get the 411 here - Contest
YOU ARE ENOUGH
Decide who you want to be and be that. I adapted that motto from my favorite quote from one of my favorite movies “Dead Again”. Of course, that’s my motto now and I try to hold on to it even in the face of discouragement and self doubt. Have you ever felt like you’re an impostor? Like you’re not quite good enough? Like you can’t possibly be good enough at what you love to do? Okay, don’t look away and pretend that you don’t ever think those things. I know I do and I'm guessing that every other creative person does too.
Elizabeth George, best selling author, wrote in her journal after publishing TWELVE BEST SELLERS: “I’m reading John Le Carre’s The Constant Gardener right now. Frankly, it’s making me feel more inadequate than I’ve felt in a long time.” So you see, even the really good ones suffer from self doubt.
Those of us who write know that we are driven by that inner electric spark of creativity. We love being able to access that universal fountain of expression, and to translate it onto paper is like breathing. But we are all products of our history and every experience - good OR bad - helps to form our art. Every time a parent tells us that we are far too dramatic, each time a teacher told us that we weren't living up to our potential, every time a story or joke we told our friends fell flat... every single moment that something negative happened builds a part of us just as the wonderful sparkling moments do. It's a journey, and we have to embrace those times equally. Sounds easy, right? HAH! Nope, in fact it's really really really challenging to overcome what others try to tell you that you are or should be.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?" - Marianne Williamson
It's true that writing and publishing are two of the most challenging paths, and both are fraught with all kinds of negatives, hurdles, disappointments and downright torture! If we choose these paths, we must speak kindly to ourselves; as kindly as we would to someone else needing our support. If we don't nurture ourselves, our confidence wavers and 90% of creative success is self confidence!
"Argue for your limitations and, sure enough, they're yours." - Richard Bach
As you can probably see, I firmly believe that the antidote for wavering confidence is reading quotes from those who have gone before us. It's through their words that our spirit is strengthened. So, when that little person inside you that remembers all the times you didn't feel good enough pipes up and asks you why you should be able to finish that manuscript, or publish that book, or earn a great living through your writing - ask it instead 'Why shouldn't you?' And then.....
* Each morning when you get up, tell yourself that yesterday does not define you. Every morning is the first day of your new life.
* Learn all you can about writing, researching, writing query letters, and even pitching your ideas. Go to conferences, take classes and workshops, chat with other writers. There are many online workshops and webinars that don't cost a thing and are fabulously inspiring/informative so take them. Knowledge is power.
* Make sure you look often at your successes whether it's a winning story, an award, an article you may have had published, or even just a darned good letter. Concentrate on the sunny side.
* Practice every day. Some say that a writer has to write every day, but I don't subscribe to that. If you write, you're a writer. So write, whether it's hourly, daily, weekly or biweekly. Write, write, and write some more. If there's a day when you can't get started, write your name. Then write a sentence. Then a paragraph. I tell my writing students that everyone can write. If you can talk, you can tell a story. If you can tell a story, you can write a story. So, just write.
* Stay connected to a community. I am constantly buoyed by my writing "peeps". When I'm down, they lift me up and when one of them is down, I am blessed to lift them up. Loneliness is a downward spiral, so take comfort in commiserating with your Village. Also share your work with other writers. While this part is pretty hard, it can be quite confidence building. The support and encouragement of other creative minds is very inspiring.
* Read. Read anything and everything, but read everything you can in the genre and style you want to write. Libraries are magical places.
* Write something. Start a project and finish it. It doesn't have to be great because nothing is ever perfect, but finishing something is very satisfying.
And finally, be your own cheerleader. Let no one define you but you. Now, go write. ❤❤❤
Today I’m participating in the writing contest: You Are Enough, hosted by Positive Writer. You can get the 411 here - Contest
YOU ARE ENOUGH
Decide who you want to be and be that. I adapted that motto from my favorite quote from one of my favorite movies “Dead Again”. Of course, that’s my motto now and I try to hold on to it even in the face of discouragement and self doubt. Have you ever felt like you’re an impostor? Like you’re not quite good enough? Like you can’t possibly be good enough at what you love to do? Okay, don’t look away and pretend that you don’t ever think those things. I know I do and I'm guessing that every other creative person does too.
Elizabeth George, best selling author, wrote in her journal after publishing TWELVE BEST SELLERS: “I’m reading John Le Carre’s The Constant Gardener right now. Frankly, it’s making me feel more inadequate than I’ve felt in a long time.” So you see, even the really good ones suffer from self doubt.
Those of us who write know that we are driven by that inner electric spark of creativity. We love being able to access that universal fountain of expression, and to translate it onto paper is like breathing. But we are all products of our history and every experience - good OR bad - helps to form our art. Every time a parent tells us that we are far too dramatic, each time a teacher told us that we weren't living up to our potential, every time a story or joke we told our friends fell flat... every single moment that something negative happened builds a part of us just as the wonderful sparkling moments do. It's a journey, and we have to embrace those times equally. Sounds easy, right? HAH! Nope, in fact it's really really really challenging to overcome what others try to tell you that you are or should be.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?" - Marianne Williamson
It's true that writing and publishing are two of the most challenging paths, and both are fraught with all kinds of negatives, hurdles, disappointments and downright torture! If we choose these paths, we must speak kindly to ourselves; as kindly as we would to someone else needing our support. If we don't nurture ourselves, our confidence wavers and 90% of creative success is self confidence!
"Argue for your limitations and, sure enough, they're yours." - Richard Bach
As you can probably see, I firmly believe that the antidote for wavering confidence is reading quotes from those who have gone before us. It's through their words that our spirit is strengthened. So, when that little person inside you that remembers all the times you didn't feel good enough pipes up and asks you why you should be able to finish that manuscript, or publish that book, or earn a great living through your writing - ask it instead 'Why shouldn't you?' And then.....
* Each morning when you get up, tell yourself that yesterday does not define you. Every morning is the first day of your new life.
* Learn all you can about writing, researching, writing query letters, and even pitching your ideas. Go to conferences, take classes and workshops, chat with other writers. There are many online workshops and webinars that don't cost a thing and are fabulously inspiring/informative so take them. Knowledge is power.
* Make sure you look often at your successes whether it's a winning story, an award, an article you may have had published, or even just a darned good letter. Concentrate on the sunny side.
* Practice every day. Some say that a writer has to write every day, but I don't subscribe to that. If you write, you're a writer. So write, whether it's hourly, daily, weekly or biweekly. Write, write, and write some more. If there's a day when you can't get started, write your name. Then write a sentence. Then a paragraph. I tell my writing students that everyone can write. If you can talk, you can tell a story. If you can tell a story, you can write a story. So, just write.
* Stay connected to a community. I am constantly buoyed by my writing "peeps". When I'm down, they lift me up and when one of them is down, I am blessed to lift them up. Loneliness is a downward spiral, so take comfort in commiserating with your Village. Also share your work with other writers. While this part is pretty hard, it can be quite confidence building. The support and encouragement of other creative minds is very inspiring.
* Read. Read anything and everything, but read everything you can in the genre and style you want to write. Libraries are magical places.
* Write something. Start a project and finish it. It doesn't have to be great because nothing is ever perfect, but finishing something is very satisfying.
And finally, be your own cheerleader. Let no one define you but you. Now, go write. ❤❤❤
September 03, 2017
You've Got To Be Carefully Taught
In the turmoil left by the recent murders of people of color in the United States, hate crimes and racially/culturally motivated violence, the lyrics for a song from the movie South Pacific really ring true.
You've Go To Be Carefully Taught
You've got to be taught
To hate and fear,
You've got to be taught
From year to year,
It's got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.
You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.
You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!
You've Go To Be Carefully Taught
You've got to be taught
To hate and fear,
You've got to be taught
From year to year,
It's got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.
You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.
You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!
October 30, 2015
Happy Halloween, everybody! The scary thing is that this blog has remained dormant for over a year now! Well, here goes........ to kick off reactivating The View From Toadcottage, here's my "Halloweensie" entry for Susanna Leonard Hill's annual Halloween story contest. This year was only 100 words containing the specific words: dark, costume and haunt.
(You can see it here where you can get links to all the other entries too. http://susannahill.blogspot.com/2015/10/the-5th-annual-halloweensie-writing.html)
The Witch
In a magical land full of cobwebs
was a pause in the thick foggy gloom.
Twas a dark spooky night,
with the moon shining bright
when a witch hopped up onto her broom.
Her cape whipped and waved in the tempest.
Her costume caused deep-seated frights.
When she took off on her steed,
her nose started to bleed.
Turns out the witch couldn't stand heights.
She traded her broom for a skateboard
and hoped that her fear could be beat.
Cause if she couldn't haunt,
what else would she want?
She cackled and yelled "Trick-or-Treat"!
The Witch
In a magical land full of cobwebs
was a pause in the thick foggy gloom.
Twas a dark spooky night,
with the moon shining bright
when a witch hopped up onto her broom.
Her cape whipped and waved in the tempest.
Her costume caused deep-seated frights.
When she took off on her steed,
her nose started to bleed.
Turns out the witch couldn't stand heights.
She traded her broom for a skateboard
and hoped that her fear could be beat.
Cause if she couldn't haunt,
what else would she want?
She cackled and yelled "Trick-or-Treat"!
November 26, 2011
In Which I Realize I'm Aging
Okay, so I know I said I was going to address the serious subjects I listed previously, but I ask your indulgence while I briefly investigate a completely different subject: Life Crisis. Now, I don't think Crisis is the correct word because I'm not currently in a crisis (defined as: 1. A time of intense difficulty, trouble, or danger. or 2. A time when a difficult or important decision must be made: "a crisis point of history".), but I am in more of a ........ quandry.
I awoke this morning feeling much the same as I did yesterday. I arose with a very tiny bounce to my step, actually excited to see the sun glinting off the frosty grass outside, as I slipped on some shoes and plodded down to feed Maxie (* our beloved cat that has gone through a huge emotional knot due to surgery last month). Of course, he decided that the lovely can of food that I fought Black Friday crowds to purchase (since he politely turned his nose up at the 4 other selections I had purchased before Thanksgiving) was not exactly what he had in mind. He touched it lightly with his nose, and delicately pretended to cover it up. Mommy's had enough of that, so it'll stay in his bowl until he decides to eat it. Last time I tried this take-no-prisoners 'tude, he starved himself for a solid week. My cat has obviously been human in a previous life, and a strong minded one at that. But, I digress.
After dealing with the cat, feeding my darling children, checking the news online, and downing a vitamin C drink for myself, I repaired to the salon (as my great grandmother might have said). With the shower running and my mouth chock full of Aquafresh, I happened to catch my own eye in the bathroom mirror. This is where my pseudo crisis comes in. I. did. not. recognize. the. hag. in. the. mirror.
In my own mind, I guess I remain about 32 when my hair was still shiny and blonde, my face did not resemble a road map of New York so much as a soft hillside, and my body was a tad more taught. What I saw, in that mirrored moment of stunning clarity, was not the youngish ball of energy I picture myself as, but a (gulp) older, tired, sagging mom. Part of this might be the sad military haircut I was blessed with at a salon last week. (Military cuts, for future reference, are never attractive and do not, repeat do not, resemble in any way the cute pixie cut picture I showed the stylist.) That said, the cut cannot be blamed for the Shar-pei like wrinkle party commencing on my visage. The past 6 years of sleepless stress has taken a toll apparently.
Lacking smelling salts, I revived myself by with a bottle of hairspray and steeled myself to take another look at the hag. Yes, I have earned all of my winkles, but I've also earned the dark circles under my eyes, the squint line across the top of my nose, the crow's feet marks at my temples, the overgrown eyebrows threatening to descend onto the lids themselves, and the sagging neck. At this point, we won't go into exactly how I've earned all of those special treats, but suffice it to say - continuing to breathe for decades does eventaully exact a price. Had I asked close friends, they may (after promises of sweets or bags of money) have been honest and told me that I had started showing my age a while ago, but it didn't even cross my mind to ask. As I said, in my mind I remained about 32.
Ok, that was the initial shock, not really the crisis part. Here goes, the crisis part is that I realized that (without going into exactly how many rings this tree really has) I am nearing the halfway point in my life. I remember when my parents reached this age, and it truly doesn't seem so long ago! A bit of back story assuming you have not gone back to reread the past 5 years of blogging:
I have dedicated my life, for the past six years, to my devinely adorable children. I've enjoyed strengthening our little clan, puring my love into my children like water into an empty glass, introducing them to American life, to school, to winters full of snowy fun (and colds), to summers at the beach, to new family, and to their legions of friends and fans. I've reveled in their joy and actually trembled with the strength of the love I have for them. I've fought for them against bullying, struggled for them to achieve at school, made a lesson out of practically everything, worried myself sick, and celebrated each day with them. At the same time, I've fought for them, struggled for them, worried for them, and foregone sleep to sit up with them waiting for the night terrors. (Get it? There are pluses AND minuses here...) I've dealt with loss, with health scares, with the very personal effects of our downward spiraling economy, and worried about where we were going to get the dollars to heat the house and put food on the table. I know, I know, wah wah wah. Everyone has gone through this, is going through it presently, or will go through it. My point is that all of this has created the hag in the mirror.
A friend has counseled me to embrace this new woman, to cherish all of the life that is now written on her face, to become the book from which others can read about strength in adversity and survival. I might aspire to this, but realistically speaking - I'm human and do have a little vanity. I steadfastly refuse a surgical remedy to her loose skinned and papery look, but I am investigating face creams, vitamins, miracles, and magical age reducers. So far, I think I'm stuck with the hag. I shall have to think of her as an experienced and wise version of me instead of a hag.
Along with this new-looking me, I've also realized that quite a few years have slipped by without having accomplished the things I have held dear. I am not yet published in book form, I have not yet built a home for Ethiopian families affected by HIV, established college scholarships for 5 girls in the US, begun a writing "club" for children held down by poverty, given 10,000 to St. Jude's (the hospital that literally saved the life of my daughter's best friend), trained to run a mini marathon, grown all of my own fruit and vegetables for an entire summer, made sure my daughters are confident self assured young ladies, traveled to Hong Kong, or let my friends and family know clearly what they have done for me and my life. (These are just a few of the items on my list. The list is quite long, and keeps growing.)
So, rather than treat this a crisis, I guess I will choose to look at the shock as a catalyst. I'm definately a list person (read as: I have a rhinestone encrusted notebook of Life Lists. Yes, I will admit to being a tad detail-oriented.), and will begin to try to check off items on my Big List each month. The larger items, like those I mentioned above may have to wait until I publish books, win the lottery, or get elected Queen, but I will hold out hope that I can accomplish them. My sparkling book of lists must get longer with steps to achieve the larger items, but I think this can give me focus for the upcoming years. Perhaps I can involve my girls in achieving my goals and in turn instill in them the drive to accomplish whatever they dream.
And now, an admission. I used to think, before my girls arrived home from Ethiopia, that friends who were stay-at-home moms were neglecting themselves. I felt strongly that they had traded who they were for the initials M.O.M., and were choosing to lose their path willingly. I guess I still feel that way, but now I realize that the choice is one that a mother cannot help but make. I chose to leave the corporate world and regular socializing with adults, but I traded it for the miraculous magic of watching my children grow and learn. I spent my time experiencing each moment with my children instead of achieving status and a more stable bank account. Now I realize that while it may be possible to combine both lives, retain a bit of oneself and still be present for one's family, I have already chosen for the past years. It's left a mark, as Chris Farley used to say, but it's a mark that I'm not sure I would trade. What I have learned should make me stronger. Yes, I may be an older mom and may not compare favorably to the much younger, yoga clothed, made-up, lithe moms at the school, but I can ace them with life knowledge, with wisdom, strength of character, and now I have extensive knowledge of face creams. Later, I can beat them with my cane.
Okay, so I know I said I was going to address the serious subjects I listed previously, but I ask your indulgence while I briefly investigate a completely different subject: Life Crisis. Now, I don't think Crisis is the correct word because I'm not currently in a crisis (defined as: 1. A time of intense difficulty, trouble, or danger. or 2. A time when a difficult or important decision must be made: "a crisis point of history".), but I am in more of a ........ quandry.
I awoke this morning feeling much the same as I did yesterday. I arose with a very tiny bounce to my step, actually excited to see the sun glinting off the frosty grass outside, as I slipped on some shoes and plodded down to feed Maxie (* our beloved cat that has gone through a huge emotional knot due to surgery last month). Of course, he decided that the lovely can of food that I fought Black Friday crowds to purchase (since he politely turned his nose up at the 4 other selections I had purchased before Thanksgiving) was not exactly what he had in mind. He touched it lightly with his nose, and delicately pretended to cover it up. Mommy's had enough of that, so it'll stay in his bowl until he decides to eat it. Last time I tried this take-no-prisoners 'tude, he starved himself for a solid week. My cat has obviously been human in a previous life, and a strong minded one at that. But, I digress.
After dealing with the cat, feeding my darling children, checking the news online, and downing a vitamin C drink for myself, I repaired to the salon (as my great grandmother might have said). With the shower running and my mouth chock full of Aquafresh, I happened to catch my own eye in the bathroom mirror. This is where my pseudo crisis comes in. I. did. not. recognize. the. hag. in. the. mirror.
In my own mind, I guess I remain about 32 when my hair was still shiny and blonde, my face did not resemble a road map of New York so much as a soft hillside, and my body was a tad more taught. What I saw, in that mirrored moment of stunning clarity, was not the youngish ball of energy I picture myself as, but a (gulp) older, tired, sagging mom. Part of this might be the sad military haircut I was blessed with at a salon last week. (Military cuts, for future reference, are never attractive and do not, repeat do not, resemble in any way the cute pixie cut picture I showed the stylist.) That said, the cut cannot be blamed for the Shar-pei like wrinkle party commencing on my visage. The past 6 years of sleepless stress has taken a toll apparently.
Lacking smelling salts, I revived myself by with a bottle of hairspray and steeled myself to take another look at the hag. Yes, I have earned all of my winkles, but I've also earned the dark circles under my eyes, the squint line across the top of my nose, the crow's feet marks at my temples, the overgrown eyebrows threatening to descend onto the lids themselves, and the sagging neck. At this point, we won't go into exactly how I've earned all of those special treats, but suffice it to say - continuing to breathe for decades does eventaully exact a price. Had I asked close friends, they may (after promises of sweets or bags of money) have been honest and told me that I had started showing my age a while ago, but it didn't even cross my mind to ask. As I said, in my mind I remained about 32.
Ok, that was the initial shock, not really the crisis part. Here goes, the crisis part is that I realized that (without going into exactly how many rings this tree really has) I am nearing the halfway point in my life. I remember when my parents reached this age, and it truly doesn't seem so long ago! A bit of back story assuming you have not gone back to reread the past 5 years of blogging:
I have dedicated my life, for the past six years, to my devinely adorable children. I've enjoyed strengthening our little clan, puring my love into my children like water into an empty glass, introducing them to American life, to school, to winters full of snowy fun (and colds), to summers at the beach, to new family, and to their legions of friends and fans. I've reveled in their joy and actually trembled with the strength of the love I have for them. I've fought for them against bullying, struggled for them to achieve at school, made a lesson out of practically everything, worried myself sick, and celebrated each day with them. At the same time, I've fought for them, struggled for them, worried for them, and foregone sleep to sit up with them waiting for the night terrors. (Get it? There are pluses AND minuses here...) I've dealt with loss, with health scares, with the very personal effects of our downward spiraling economy, and worried about where we were going to get the dollars to heat the house and put food on the table. I know, I know, wah wah wah. Everyone has gone through this, is going through it presently, or will go through it. My point is that all of this has created the hag in the mirror.
A friend has counseled me to embrace this new woman, to cherish all of the life that is now written on her face, to become the book from which others can read about strength in adversity and survival. I might aspire to this, but realistically speaking - I'm human and do have a little vanity. I steadfastly refuse a surgical remedy to her loose skinned and papery look, but I am investigating face creams, vitamins, miracles, and magical age reducers. So far, I think I'm stuck with the hag. I shall have to think of her as an experienced and wise version of me instead of a hag.
Along with this new-looking me, I've also realized that quite a few years have slipped by without having accomplished the things I have held dear. I am not yet published in book form, I have not yet built a home for Ethiopian families affected by HIV, established college scholarships for 5 girls in the US, begun a writing "club" for children held down by poverty, given 10,000 to St. Jude's (the hospital that literally saved the life of my daughter's best friend), trained to run a mini marathon, grown all of my own fruit and vegetables for an entire summer, made sure my daughters are confident self assured young ladies, traveled to Hong Kong, or let my friends and family know clearly what they have done for me and my life. (These are just a few of the items on my list. The list is quite long, and keeps growing.)
So, rather than treat this a crisis, I guess I will choose to look at the shock as a catalyst. I'm definately a list person (read as: I have a rhinestone encrusted notebook of Life Lists. Yes, I will admit to being a tad detail-oriented.), and will begin to try to check off items on my Big List each month. The larger items, like those I mentioned above may have to wait until I publish books, win the lottery, or get elected Queen, but I will hold out hope that I can accomplish them. My sparkling book of lists must get longer with steps to achieve the larger items, but I think this can give me focus for the upcoming years. Perhaps I can involve my girls in achieving my goals and in turn instill in them the drive to accomplish whatever they dream.
And now, an admission. I used to think, before my girls arrived home from Ethiopia, that friends who were stay-at-home moms were neglecting themselves. I felt strongly that they had traded who they were for the initials M.O.M., and were choosing to lose their path willingly. I guess I still feel that way, but now I realize that the choice is one that a mother cannot help but make. I chose to leave the corporate world and regular socializing with adults, but I traded it for the miraculous magic of watching my children grow and learn. I spent my time experiencing each moment with my children instead of achieving status and a more stable bank account. Now I realize that while it may be possible to combine both lives, retain a bit of oneself and still be present for one's family, I have already chosen for the past years. It's left a mark, as Chris Farley used to say, but it's a mark that I'm not sure I would trade. What I have learned should make me stronger. Yes, I may be an older mom and may not compare favorably to the much younger, yoga clothed, made-up, lithe moms at the school, but I can ace them with life knowledge, with wisdom, strength of character, and now I have extensive knowledge of face creams. Later, I can beat them with my cane.
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