Sarah Price's Blog, page 8

When I wrote An Empty Cup, I was pulling from a lot of my own experiences. A middle-aged woman is used to giving and the people around her became used to taking. She lost her voice—something I have not been accused of in my life, at least not often.

Next week, Ella is releasing. This is my Amish adaptation of Cinderella who, as most of you will know, is the ultimate giver living with her stepmother and stepsisters who are, of course, the ultimate takers.

Like Roseanna Yoder from An Empty Cup, Ella doesn’t have a voice and that just helps feed the cycle of abuse from her stepfamily. She gives. They take. And yet, whenever Ella might hint at the unbalance and dysfunctional nature of the family, she gets attacked. In fact, when the stepsisters see that Ella’s hard work is getting her more attention from a certain young man, they respond like many people do today: with jealousy and self-serving actions. Ultimately, the stepsisters can only cry so often about how unfair life and how horrible Ella is to them before people start to see through their charade.

I see this a lot in the world today. As a writer, I observe people. Some of what I see is pure ugly. Like Ella’s stepsisters, takers take and users use. Then they discard her when she serves no more purpose for their success. Still, she keeps trying…wondering why they shut her out, put her down, shun her from aspects of their life when all she wanted was to be their sister…or even their friend.

Fortunately, Ella finds a way to overcome the wrongs done to her. Part of it is time. Give anyone enough time and they will burn enough bridges that none of them can be repaired. But she also takes a little of the situation into her own hands. Literally.

Yay for Ella! She knows when she is being taken advantage of and somehow finds a way to fight back. Eventually, as in life, it all works out. Those who use and abuse others find that their foot just does not fit into the glass slipper.

There is a bittersweet justice in that. Sweet because Ella, like Cinderella, comes out victorious. But it’s also bitter because the stepsisters could have had a good friend and supporter in Ella, if they had only learned to think about someone else besides themselves.

I wonder how many young people are missing out on good friends and supporters because they, like the stepsisters, think too much about themselves and how the world has wronged them when they should be looking in the mirror to see what they have done to contribute to the situation?

Oh wait. The mirror. I suppose that might be a lesson learned in another fairy tale: Sadie, my autumn adaptation of Snow White. We’ll just have to wait to see how that lesson pans out.

So. After driving 20+ hours, I arrived in Florida ready to hit the hay. It’s always sad to go to bed here in Florida when Marc is back in NJ. Even when he snores, I just like knowing he’s there. When I snore, I’m sure he feels the same way about me, too.

So last week, our house in New Jersey was robbed. In 22 years, I had only been robbed once and that was by a Sears contractor (beware of workers in your house!). This was a full-blown robbery.

I suppose I should be more upset by this. They stole almost all of my jewelry, a laptop, a 5-gallon jug of coins from the past eight years, our passports, a camera, etc.

But I’m not upset.

Not really. Or, rather, not by what is gone. Those things can (sorta) be replaced.

What bothers me is that people steal. Period.

I work hard for a living. Marc works even harder. Cat, also, works extremely hard. It angers me that people just think it’s ok to violate your privacy and take things. It’s the attitude of stealing that bothers me. And it’s everywhere.

What makes people adopt a “you have more—I want more—so I’m just taking your stuff” attitude?

Isn’t that an attitude that is very prevalent today? Everyone wants MORE and they want it NOW. But fewer and fewer people are willing to work for it. When did our society decide that more equals success? The more you have, the more you have to lose. The more you have, the more you have to work to sustain/maintain it. People want more, but they don’t think of the ramifications of actually having more.

I suppose I’m becoming the opposite. I want LESS. Less stuff (which I suppose those robbers just helped me with…#sarcasm). Less clutter. Less headaches.

Perhaps that’s why I love the Amish so much. They don’t acquire things just for the sake of having them. Everything has a purpose. Sure, some of the young adults might decorate their buggies or buy Englische clothing, but they quickly learn that it doesn’t fulfill them. Not enough, anyway, to leave the community in order to have those things.

The Amish do not try to out-do each other. There is no “my farm is bigger than your farm” or “my crops are better than yours” or “I quilt better than you do.” I love to hear the Amish respond to compliments. You often read this response in my books:

Me: Oooooo, Lizzie, you have the prettiest flowerbeds!

Lizzie: (pause…looks at the flowerbeds) Well, I don’t suppose they are any better than someone else’s.

So humble. Not even a THANK YOU because that would be seen as prideful…an acknowledgment of the compliment that sets her apart from others. Instead, she brings it back to a way of complimenting everyone.

Bringing this back to the people who robbed us. They took what wasn’t theirs because, for them, it’s easier to steal from people than to live an honest life. They looked at my house and thought “They have more so let’s take it from them.” I’m sure they sold our things for a fraction of the value, probably to buy drugs because I’m fairly certain they weren’t stealing our things so that they could buy food, shelter, education, furniture, utilities, etc.

It’s an interesting lesson for me. The things they stole are remnants of my former life…one where I did have more things than I needed. While that doesn’t give them the right to take them, it does give me the right to reflect upon not just what they took but how I will replace those items. Some things are irreplaceable…a ring from my mother, a bracelet from my parents, a necklace from when Alex was born,an anniversary gift from Marc. But other things need to be reconsidered. Do I really need more stuff? Will it make me happy or simply paranoid about being robbed again in the future?

Probably not.

You see, here’s a secret that I have learned in the past few years: more is not necessarily better. The truth is that having just enough is the real answer to happiness.

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The post Getting Robbed appeared first on Sarah Price.

Hi everyone. I’m so excited because tonight…at MIDNIGHT…everyone who preordered my book, Annie’s Quilt, will get it delivered to their Kindles.

Annie’s Quilt is the first in a series that focuses on the young women in Shipshewana, Indiana. Have I mentioned how much I love Shipshewana recently?

For the majority of my life, my exposure to the Amish was strictly Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. As more readers bought my books and wrote me emails or letters asking for more stories, I began to explore different areas. I’m very fortunate to have been to Amish communities in New York, Missouri, Tennessee, Colorado, Ohio, Belize (yes, Belize!) and, of course, Pennsylvania.

But when I went to Indiana, something clicked. Perhaps it was my friend, Marlette and her family, who adopted me and took me around to see the area (and meet their Amish friends). That made it extra special for me.

However, that wasn’t 100% of the reason I fell in love with Indiana. There is something different about that area. The only world that I can use to describe it is “real.” Perhaps it’s because tourists do not flock to it the way they do to Lancaster County or Holmes County. In the communities where I stayed, there were no big fancy hotels or touristy type attractions. It was just real life without the trappings of exploitation that I grew to dislike in Lancaster County.

Of course, Shipshewana does have stores and some attractions–people do need to earn a living, right? But it wasn’t about exploiting the Amish.

Anyway, I’m excited to introduce you to this new series and also to Shipshewana. I also hope some of you might visit me October 6th when I’m doing a book signing with Patricia Davids, Jennifer Beckstrand, Laura Bradford, and Jennifer Spredemann at Hoosier Banquets (an Amish home!). More details coming soon!

Please don’t forget to preorder Annie’s Quilt as well as Becky’s Quilt which is the next book in the series, scheduled to release in late June 2018.

Hugs and blessings,

Sarah P.

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Several people have inquired about why I have stopped doing my daily videos on Facebook. Unfortunately, with some of the recent news out of Facebook, I have decided to stop my Morning Coffees.

I began my daily videos three years ago. Over time, I began to see that 2,000 people were viewing each vlog which was definitely inspiring me to continue. I love sharing my stories about living on the farm, rescuing and working with horses, exploring different Amish communities, and my thoughts on current events.

However, something changed with Facebook.

It began when I noticed “sponsored ads” popping up on my newsfeed that related to private conversations I had on Messenger. Then, Facebook changed some of their algorithms and immediately the viewership of my posts and videos declined. Rapidly. Later, I discovered that, unless I “boosted” posts, people would not see my videos or other postings. If you aren’t aware, boosting means PAY. And most recently, they changed something else so that, unless people were commenting and discussing my posts, they would suppress them.

Now, I’m fortunate enough to have worked in business so I get the whole idea of “pay to play.” However, when I have 120,000+ followers who are increasingly NOT seeing my posts unless I pay, that’s a bit on the stinky side. If people willingly follow my page, shouldn’t they see my posts? I know that I get upset when I don’t see posts from the pages that I like. It’s irritating to have to search out those pages in order to see their updates.

Anyway, with the viewership dwindling down and down, I decided to stop doing my daily vlogs on Facebook. Instead, I will begin doing weekly videos on YouTube. This will allow me to spend more time creating quality videos and, instead of having to pay for people to see them, you can just see them.

Seems like a better deal to me.

So, starting in the next few weeks, you will begin seeing weekly videos on YouTube. I will be posting the links on Facebook. Whether or not Facebook chooses to share that with you…well, I just don’t know. Probably not.

Additionally, I’ll be doing more things on my blog/website because I can guarantee your privacy there. Facebook is a great platform for social media. Unfortunately, their lack of attention to what people WANT to see as opposed to what they THINK you SHOULD see is different. I wish they would do something different…more business-like such as having business pages pay a fee which would make sense (and cut down on some of the dead pages on Facebook). Until that time when they can guarantee stronger protection for privacy and ensure that my followers don’t need me to pay in order for you to see my content, I’ll be focusing more on other social media platforms…all with announcements on Facebook…just not stored there so that you are protected.

Hugs and blessings,

Sarah Price

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Who doesn’t like a good sale? I know I sure do, especially when it has to do with books.

My publisher, Waterfall Press, has made March the month to help my readers (and future readers) through the winter blues. Almost all of my novels are $1.99 in eBook format on Amazon. Isn’t that wonderful?

The Plain Fame series: If you haven’t met Amanda Beiler yet, this is the time to purchase the whole series. Without doubt, this is a classic romance in the making. When I wrote the series, I was a bit nervous that readers wouldn’t like a different type of love story. Boy, was I wrong. When an Amish woman accidentally meets a Cuban rap/hip hop star (think Pitbull!), readers get an amazing tale of sweet passion, tempered only by their cultural divide. Click on each title to purchase a copy:

Plain Fame

Plain Change

Plain Again

Plain Return

Plain Choice

An Empty Cup: This standalone novel made it to the Top Ten on Amazon. Rosanna Yoder is an older Amish woman, struggling with internal issues. Her second husband and the community don’t realize that all of those years of giving have depleted Rosanna. When her cup no longer runneth over, depression moves in. A great read for anyone woman who has realized that an empty cup can no longer give.

An Amish Buggy Ride: A buggy ride causes the lives of the Zooks to change forever. Kate’s brother, David, blames her for an accident that caused him injury. In order to compensate for the guilt, Kate becomes a shell of herself under his verbal abuse. Her friend, Samuel, however, sees through the manipulative attempts of David and helps Kate finally stand up to him.

The Faded Photo: My first women’s fiction book! Despite her busy life, Frances Snyder learns that some things never find a convenient time to rear their ugly head. Breast cancer is one of them. Unfortunately, her family is too self-absorbed in their own schedules to notice that something is wrong with her. Frances finds some unlikely comfort in an older woman. Madeline’s mistakes with her own family teach Frances how to cope as well as how to bring her family back together again. A must read for any woman who had or has breast cancer.

I am so very thankful to Waterfall Press for this amazing sale and I encourage you to alert your friends who like to read, too.

Happy Reading!

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Earlier this week, I was catching up on my Writer’s Digest and read a really good article with ten tips when you are writing a novel and get stuck in the middle. The article was well written and had some great advice. However, I was struck by the realization that not one of the tips applied to me.

For a moment, I set down my Kindle (yes, I read it electronically) and stared at the wall. I’ve written over 40 novels and not once did I get stuck in the middle. In fact, I have never written a novel from first “page” straight through to the last “page.” I also don’t think of my manuscript in terms of pages…but words.

I’ve always claimed that any writer who thinks of their manuscript in terms of “pages” is a newbie. Seasoned writers go by word count. After all, if I want to beef up the size of my work, I can simply increase the font size of my text and VOILA! Suddenly I have a 1000 page epic novel.

Perhaps I should say “in your Kindle.” Today, people tend to gravitate toward one or the other. At the current moment, I have a strange preference for paperback books and my nightstand is full of Amish romances by Patricia Davids, Jennifer Beckstrand, and Laura Branford. I also have a few non-fiction books there…mostly about Laura Ingalls Wilder and Benjamin Franklin (don’t ask). My Bible is currently in the living room on the coffee table, otherwise that would be on the nightstand, too.

As a reader, I don’t stick with just one genre. I like a lot of different genres. I go through phases. I might like Regency romances for a few weeks and then I hit the classics. Some genres I like to read on my Kindle (Regency, chick lit) while others I prefer to hold the actual book (ALL non-fiction and inspirational). Amish fiction? I can read either way.

Which brings me to my friends Erin Brady and Gina McBride. At midnight tonight, their book The Dog Walker will release on Kindle. Obviously I have already read it and I enjoyed quite a few laughs along the way. Chick lit (otherwise known as RomCom for romantic comedy) are feel-good, light reads that just feel good. Usually there is a heroine who makes a journey of self-discovery while falling in love with some romantic and very handsome man. It is that relationship that helps change her.

So I asked the ladies if I could share an excerpt and, when they said yes, thought I’d share the first chapter. So, for YOUR reading pleasure (and hopefully your nightstand), I invite you to escape the craziness of the outside world and enter the zany one of Jane Farley.

Excerpt from The Dog Walker:

Help Wanted: Looking for house/dog sitter to care for penthouse apartment in lower Manhattan July and August. Must be responsible, a neat freak, and capable of preparing meals without setting house on fire. Discretion paramount. College graduate a plus. Must love dog (and dog must love back) like valued family member. Must be able to maneuver city streets without getting dog run over. Great pay and chance to live in heart of NYC for summer.

OMG. This is perfect! The ideal job, actually. It’s as if someone custom wrote the ad just for me. What are the odds?

I stifle a laugh because I don’t want to look like a raving lunatic. You see, I’m sitting in my neighborhood coffee shop scanning help-wanted ads on my laptop. So, I need to exercise restraint, even though I’m doing a happy dance inside (set to very upbeat music) because I know in my heart of hearts, in my very core, that this job and I were meant for each other. It’s almost as if fate has intervened at the perfect moment. I’ve heard of this sort of thing happening with online dating and finding one’s soul mate but I never thought it could happen with one’s career. Is there even such a thing as job mates? If not, there very well should be. Still, I can’t ignore the signs pointing to divine intervention. I need a job and the person who wrote this help-wanted ad clearly needs me. There’s no doubt in my mind that God had a hand in this.

The second time I read the ad, I’m certain I meet all the requirements. I can check off every box and then some. I’m responsible (check). I’m a neat freak (big check). Hmmm, preparing meals could be a tiny problem because I don’t cook. Even so, since I won’t be turning on the stove, “no cooking” means I can’t set anything on fire which satisfies another requirement (check). This is the one time I can say my lack of experience works in my favor. As for the other conditions, I’ve got them covered too. I happen to be a college graduate (English major, if you please) with a good head on my shoulders (despite what my mother says about me being flighty). I’m also proud to say I’ve been to Manhattan countless times and I’ve never been run over. Not even once. Okay, so I might have come close a few times but it really wasn’t my fault because those messenger bicyclists can be very fast and don’t exactly watch where they’re going.

If all this isn’t enough, to seal the deal I happen to like…no, I take that back, I happen to LOVE animals. Best of all, animals love me right back. My sister’s dog can’t get enough of me. Alright, so maybe he can’t get enough of dry humping my leg but love is love, am I right? The ad doesn’t specify what type of love is required. Besides, I need a job. I mean I really, really need this job.

It’s not just because I’m twenty-seven and still living at home (although that’s quite depressing in and of itself). In my defense, I had big dreams when I graduated from college. I certainly didn’t think I’d be jobless and homeless—that’s for sure. Back then there was no doubt in my mind I was going to set the publishing world on fire by writing a breakthrough best-selling novel.

I’m not saying I didn’t try. I did. A pile of rejection letters still clogs my desk drawer, a sore reminder of my failures. After a grueling year of rejection after rejection, I had no choice but to face the grim reality that I wasn’t going to light the literary world aflame (not even a tiny ember). So instead, I’ve been jumping around from job to job, hoping to find my next inspiration while trying to save enough money to get a place of my own (because living with my parents for the rest of my life might make them happy, but it doesn’t do it for me). So, if life were a class, I’d get an A for effort and a C minus for execution.

But this job, this job can be my salvation, my lifeline. I mean, who doesn’t want to live in the heart of New York City for the entire summer? It wouldn’t be just any apartment either. I’d be staying … nay, luxuriating, in a penthouse apartment. I’m beside myself thinking about it. I’ve never lived lavishly before. A bedroom in my parents’ house and a dorm room are about the only two places I’ve ever called home. But with this job, if I were to get it (fingers crossed), well … it could change everything for me. It could turn a new page in my life. I could use the time to figure out what I want to do next while saving money at the same time. Not a bad deal if you ask me.

What could be better than sunbathing on a wraparound terrace in my string bikini while sipping on a frozen margarita? Of course, the dog would be sitting on my lap because I’m a responsible dog sitter. Obviously, it wouldn’t be having a cocktail either because that’s not what a responsible pet sitter would allow. You can see how good I am at this already, right?

A thought suddenly pops into my head and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. What if it’s a celebrity dog I’m going to be taking care of? Plenty of rich and famous people hire someone to watch their pets while they’re away on vacation or on set filming a movie. Maybe I’ll be dog sitting for one of my very own celebrity crushes. If that’s true, and if I play my cards right, I might even find love, too. It’s not far-fetched to think that this “said” unknown celebrity/boss might take one look at me (sunbathing in my string bikini) and fall head over heels in love. A new job and an amazing boyfriend.

It’s a long shot I know, but it is possible. In fact, it happens all the time in romance novels and I should know because I’ve read plenty of them. He’s famous and gorgeous. I’m caring and available. The moment we meet our eyes lock and bam! It’s love at first sight. The tabloids will run with the story, quoting him when he tells the press how he fell madly in love with the cute and perky dog sitter. It will most definitely trend and social media will be flooded with pictures of us with hashtags like #dogsitterinlove and #celebritymeetssoulmatedogwalker. It’ll be just like Cinderella except I’m certain Cinderella started out sweeping soot from the fireplace and not picking up dog poop from the sidewalk. But a start’s a start.

So, with all this floating wonderfully (if not unrealistically) in my mind, I open my email and draft a cover letter and attach my resumé to the address provided. There’s not much detail as to what the daily responsibilities entail, no mention of what kind of dog needs sitting or anything else, for that matter. But it makes sense because these celebrity types like to remain anonymous and protect their privacy. I get that. Besides, I’m not about to sweat the small stuff. Not when it’s my dream job. When I hit send, I say a little prayer and start fantasizing about the summer of a lifetime. A summer filled with movie premieres, red carpets and paparazzi.

Too excited to sit still, I pick up my phone and call my best friend Linnie. I know she’s going to be speechless when I tell her. Linnie and I have been friends since kindergarten. We’ve done almost everything together ever since we sat next to each other during Show & Tell (I showed the class my new frilly panties and she laughed so hard the milk she was drinking sprayed out of her nose). That’s Linnie for you. I loved her at first sight. Since then, we’ve spent summers lifeguarding at the community pool, pulled all-nighters during exams and had sleepovers in the family camper in her backyard. We even double-dated to the Senior Prom. Naturally, we went to the same college where we roomed together and then both landed back at our parents right after graduation. Linnie has been by my side through thick and thin. In fact, I can’t remember a time when she hasn’t been there. As fate would have it, last week she got offered a position as a junior advertising assistant in NYC and now I’m going to be following her to the Big Apple. If this isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.

“Linnie. You’re not going to believe it but I think I’m going to be working for Leonardo DiCaprio or Orlando Bloom this summer.”

“Shut up!”

“Well to be honest, I’m not sure who the celebrity is but I just submitted my resumé. I’m going to be a dog sitter to the stars. The best part is I get to live in their penthouse apartment in NYC for the whole summer.”

“Oh my God, Jane. That’s awesome. We can see each other every day.”

“I know. Think of it, Linnie. A penthouse. The views, the nightlife, living in the heart of the city that never sleeps.”

Linnie pauses. “Wait a minute Jane, you’ve never had a dog before. Do you even know how to take care of one?”

Just like that, it’s as if my best friend has thrown a glass of cold water on my face. What little faith she has in me. It’s true that I’ve never owned a dog but that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of one. I can do it. Besides, I can’t let Leo or Orlando down. They’re counting on me.

“My neighbor has a dog,” I fire back defensively. “Besides, how hard can it be? It’s a matter of feeding, watering and walking then repeat.”

“Watering? It’s not a plant Jane. It’s a dog. A living, breathing creature.”

“A plant is a living, breathing thing too. It’s almost the same thing,” I reason while trying not to think about the cactus I killed the first week in my college dorm. “Trust me, Linnie, it’s going to be the most memorable summer of our lives.”

“Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun Jane? You don’t even have the job yet,” she points out.

“Doubting Linnie” strikes again. Talk about raining on my parade, but that’s my best friend for you. She’s the level-headed one in our little duo whereas my head is always stuck in the clouds. That’s one of the reasons we make such a great team. She keeps me grounded and I help her fly. We go together like peanut butter and jelly.

“I have a good feeling about this.” I dismiss her pessimism and push aside the sorry memory of the shriveled-up cactus. “To think Linnie, you won’t have to commute into the city every day. You can crash at my place whenever you want.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. “My place? Jane, umm, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. I mean, this person …”

“Leo,” I correct her.

“This person, whoever he or she may be, might not allow guests. It’s not supposed to be a vacation. You’re going to be entrusted with someone’s home and their dog.”

Despite her protests I don’t let myself be influenced by her reasonable argument. So, I ignore her warning and continue to daydream. “If you mean Orlando, nonsense. I’m sure he won’t mind at all. He’s cool like that.”

“You’re jumping to all sorts of conclusions.”

“Why can’t you just let me enjoy the moment and fantasize? Come on Linnie. Think about it for a minute. Wouldn’t it be fun?”

I hear her sigh on the other end. “Yes, it would.”

“So there. It’s settled. Not only are we going to be true New Yorkers this summer but we’re going to have the time of our lives.”

Click HERE to preorder The Dog Walker!

The post What’s On YOUR Nightstand? appeared first on Sarah Price.

So yesterday, I had an interesting day. I sat down with my laptop, opened it and turned it on. And then I sat there. No words came to me. You see, I have no projects to work on!

For the past nine years, I have not encountered such a day. I’ve always had projects to work on. Trust me, I have tons of ideas but no immediate project on my plate.

As a writer, ideas are a dime a dozen. I probably have that many ideas each day. And, of course, I always have people suggesting ideas to me. But when I work on a project, something has to click. Think of it like love at first sight.

Writing a novel is a lot like courting someone. There are so many people to meet, conversations to have, emotions to feel. The only difference is that writers court MANY people at once.

So as I sit down to decide which idea gives me flutters in my stomach, I also have to get ready to start researching people, places, and things. With every book, I need to create backgrounds, family trees, personalities, characteristics, etc. It’s not as simple as sitting down and typing “Once upon a time…” and letting the words flow.

A builder does not frame a house without having a strong foundation. That same builder cannot install windows and doors, walls and floors, without a sturdy frame.

A lot of aspiring authors/writers don’t realize that writing a novel is much more than just sitting down at a laptop. It requires this background research and planning. You would never build a house without having architectural plans of some sort. The more detailed they are, the better for the final product.

So, despite having no active projects to work on, I am now rolling up my sleeves to dive in. But diving in means researching and creating the blue prints for what will, eventually, be a paperback novel (or Kindle/Nook eBook) in your hands.

Better get started…

The post A Blank Slate appeared first on Sarah Price.

There’s something missing from the treatment programs that I have encountered dealing with a family member going through addiction recovery. Recovery is all about the patient. I get that. But as the patient moves through the program, there is not (or, in my case, has not been) any treatment for the family members.

Living with someone addicted to drugs or alcohol or gambling is hard. Really hard. If it’s a spouse, you can walk away. But that, too, creates collateral damage, especially when the addicted person refuses to admit his or her role in the demise of the family unit.

But when it’s a child or adult child, it’s even harder. You can’t really walk away.

These recovery programs and their post-recovery support programs get a big fat F in my book. They do not consider the collateral damage left behind by their patients, nor do they work with those patients to deal with the fact that relationships have been destroyed along the way. Everything is about the patient…and not the people who lived through years of torture, abuse, emotional distress, and worse.

After a particularly gruesome weekend dealing with the further demise of a relationship, I was talking to my mother about this.

“Why don’t they work with the families? I mean, the destruction that was done needs to be addressed.”

My mother made a comment that, while it seems glib, was actually very astute. “That’s because they don’t need family therapy to realize that it’s always the mother’s fault.”

Ain’t that the truth?

The divorce was my fault. The bad grades were my fault. The poor behavior? You guessed it. My fault. And when addiction came along…yeah…I don’t need to spell it out.

It’s so easy to blame other people for your failures. It’s a rare person who can stand up and say, “I’m an adult and, despite things not turning out the way I wanted, I have the power to change it.”

In her life, my mother has gotten the brunt of the blame game from numerous people–maybe that’s why I’ve always been so protective of her. However, I’m going to continue the blame game.

You see, I blame my parents. For everything. That’s right. They are 100% to blame.

I blame my parents for teaching me to work hard. On weekends, we had to weed the front beds and help mow the yard while other kids played. We had chore lists and let me tell you, you didn’t want my mother coming home from a long day at work to find out the dishwasher hadn’t been unloaded or trash cans brought in. And my parents lived by example. Maybe we didn’t get to do a lot of after school programs, but that was because my parents were working. Plus, I liked to read and later write anyway so I was just fine with not being forced to do soccer or basketball or Girl Scouts.

I blame my parents for showing me the value in paying off my bills and not accumulating debt. That was a horrible lesson to learn.. My first house was a hovel…a falling down yucky house with black and white snake skin wallpaper in the dining room. But I could afford it without being house poor. Terrible lesson to learn. And I’ll do without rather than acquire huge debt. My dad also taught me to squirrel away money, to save. While I’ve been a little lax in that department recently, I have a plan and will work it.

I blame my parents for making me finished what I started. My undergraduate degree, my masters’ degrees, and then my PhD (although Marc is also to blame for that one). I never walked out on a job, even when I dreaded going to it. I took a deep breath and went until I could find something else and I always gave proper notice.

I blame my parents for teaching me compassion. It’s gotten me into a lot of trouble in my life but I can look myself in the mirror and know that I’ve never purposefully hurt someone. I brake for squirrels (sorry) and I love caring for animals. Perhaps too much.

I blame my parents for showing me how to appreciate life. My father traveled a lot and my mother did her best on her own while working a grueling full-time job. But when we vacationed or went away on weekends, we say other ways of life. I’ll never forget seeing the shacks on a muddy hill outside of Caracas, Venezuela. People LIVED there. It wasn’t a movie, it was reality. How fortunate we are. And, of course, there is never a gathering where my Dad doesn’t belt out a Frank Sinatra song or my mom give a warm, heart-felt speech. They live life large…my own motto.

And I blame my parents for teaching me to take responsibility for the good, the bad, and the ugly. I’ve learned to stand on my own two feet and never ask anyone to do something that I wouldn’t do (except for the dead mouse in my closet that I’m going to ask Marc to dispose of). When I mess up, I admit it. When people accuse me of messing up and I don’t agree, I used to just take the blame like a scapegoat but not anymore.

So you see, my mother was right. PARENTS always get the blame. And while I wasn’t the perfect mother, I did my best. Clearly the child has to be willing to understand the lessons being taught. And God gave us Free Will. So my choice is to blame my parents for all of these things and wish that, one day, my own children will blame me for the good in their life and not shift responsibility to me for the bad choices they have made.

Now, if only the recovery places could get this straight and work it into their program…to help their patients “process” the damage they have done to others and give others a “voice” instead of making their voice the only voice while running away from their responsibilities. It’s a shame. I really thought I was as horrible a parent as my mother and father.

Guess I missed the mark on that one. I’ll just have to try harder…

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