I am not good at playing games. Years ago I won at bowling and was so ecstatic, I jumped for joy. When my future husband pointed out that I wasn’t a graceful winner, I apologized and explained that I’d never won before. Not bowling, not mini-golf, not anything. Growing up, it seemed my father always won the games we played. If it were just my older brother and I, I still couldn’t compete. I told my fiance that I had plenty of practice losing. “I’m a good loser,” I promised.

The other night, however, I wondered if this were true. My husband and I had bought the board game Clue for our seven year old daughter. In elementary school, I’d played it a couple times at a friend’s house and enjoyed it. After all, it had colorful characters like Mrs. Peacock and Professor Plum, miniature revolvers and candlesticks, and it offered the chance to play detective.  I was excited that my daughter was finally old enough to play a game I’d truly enjoy. No more Candyland or Don’t Break the Ice for me.

She requested we play every night and more often than not, my husband set aside the papers he was grading and took his place around the table. It surprised us the first time our daughter solved the mystery. Then she won again. And when she didn’t win, my husband did.

Wait a minute.

I noticed a pattern developing. My husband won because of his exceptional deductive reasoning skills. My daughter won because she wasn’t afraid to guess and be wrong. But me—I waited to accuse a suspect until I was 100% sure. By that time, someone else would beat me to the punch.

Last night my daughter wanted to play again and I suggested we take a break. This game that I’d fantasized about as a child turned out to be yet another one in which I had no skill. Then my husband teased me, “Momma doesn’t want to play because she always loses.”

Here the Mommy Guilt kicked in. Everything I say and do is setting an example. How could I expect my little girl to smile and say, “Good game” after she lost when I didn’t?

So I took a deep breath and agreed to participate. Right away I could tell I was going to lose again. I rolled plenty of ones and twos. I got trapped in a room I didn’t want to be in. The fates conspired against me. Too soon my daughter bragged that she knew the weapon and the guilty party. All she had left was to figure out the location of the crime. My husband said he had it narrowed down to 25%. Ugh! I told them both to be quiet or people wouldn’t like playing with them. (And by “people” I mostly meant me.) My husband “Awwww” ed in my direction.

That’s when I realized that after plenty of experience, I hadn’t even mastered the art of losing gracefully.

Sensing that one of my opponents would soon win, I was frustrated that they seemed closer to a solution than I was. But I did have a pretty good guess. I decided to take a page from my daughter’s playbook. For the first time ever, I dared to make an accusation without 100% certainty.

Fate smiled upon me and I was right. I’d won! Finally I felt the rush of victory. I reminded myself not to smile too broadly. Good sportsmanship (and good role modeling) take effort.

What amazes me is how well my daughter handles it when she guesses the answer and is wrong. Patiently she waits for the game to end, giddy because we are doing something together as a family. She doesn’t let her mistake stop her from taking a chance the next time, either. Perhaps those who excel at games, like in life, are those willing to risk failure.

Sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. What matters is that we had fun along the way--together.

Are you a good loser? I'd love to hear your comments!

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How often do both you and your guy LOVE a movie? I mean, he likes Die Hard and you like The Notebook. Someone is always compromising. Until now. Because The Music Never Stopped manages the challenging feat of reaching both sexes. 

The main character, 35-year-old Gabriel, was inspired by a real amnesiac stuck in the 1960's due to a brain tumor. From there, the writer, Dr. Oliver Sacks ("Awakenings"), created an inspiring story about a conservative father who kicks his hippie son out of the house. For twenty years, they don't speak. . . until Gabriel is admitted to the hospital dazed and confused. Surgery saves his health, but the doctors are unable to undo the damage. Gabriel barely speaks and cannot remember what happened five minutes ago. Despite the heartbreak, his parents visit him daily.

Eventually they discover that music unlocks parts of Gabriel's memory. Like a light switch, a favorite Grateful Dead or Bob Dylan song allows Gabriel to engage in animated conversations. Unfortunately, the music threatens to reignite the old war between father and son. Is the music really helping this family heal or is it sometimes better to forget?

This movie made my husband and I laugh out loud and ache deep inside. When it was over, I regretted the fact that I could've missed seeing it. As far as I'm concerned, this movie was a million times better than "Awakenings" for which the writer is better known. If you missed this 2011 Sundance Film Festival pick, I highly recommend you check out The Music Never Stopped now. 

How long would you wait for someone you love to return to their former self? If you'd like another story about how a head injury challenges and inspires a family, read "On the Verge" for $2.99 on Amazon. 

Treat yourself this weekend to the romance novella, Made for Two. It's free on Amazon January18-20th.  

Diane acted on instinct when she broke up a fight at the inner-city school where she teaches history. When the superintendent suspends her, Diane returns to her hometown of Foxworth. Almost immediately she finds herself tracking down her old boyfriend, Tim. Just seeing him rekindles her love and she realizes that her life, just like her tandem bike, was made for two. Unfortunately, Tim keeps pushing her away, claiming it will never work out. After all, she still wants to live in the city and he can’t imagine leaving his family’s bakery. But Diane discovers there’s more to it than that. Tim has been hiding in this small town because he has a secret.

"Diane is a spunky, persistent, and engaging heroine." 

"Made for Two is a brilliantly written romantic short about rekindling lost love."

Please share this on Facebook, Twitter or your blog. Happy reading!

Have you already watched Miracle on 34th Street and It’s a Wonderful Life and every other Christmas movie you can think of? I love the classics, but I also enjoy discovering a family film I’ve never seen before. If you’re like me, longing for a heart-warming story in which you don’t have all of the lines memorized, check out Prancer.

Sam Elliott plays a financially-strapped widower who spends more time scolding his precocious daughter, Jessica, than talking to her. He’s at such a loss, he’s planning on sending her to live with her aunt. Before he can go through with his plans, his eight-year-old daughter finds an injured reindeer that she’s convinced is Prancer. Hiding and stealing food for this reindeer puts Jessica even more at odds with her gruff father.

This precious movie reminded me of the innocence and unconditional love of children. It almost made me cry while leaving a big, Santa-inspired smile on my daughter’s face. For a Christmas movie that speaks to the reality of hard times and the magic of the season, treat your family to Prancer.

Be sure to treat yourself to A Sister’s Promise which provides a Happy Ending with a Twist. For a chance to win a free autographed copy of “What Happiness Looks Like”, click here. Please "like" and "tweet."

“I wish Romeo could have kittens,” my seven-year-old daughter laments.  I know, you’re thinking Romeo can’t have kittens because Romeo is a male cat. That’s what we thought, too, when we adopted the gray striped kitten from the animal shelter. Since he was so affectionate, we named him Romeo. Then at our first trip to the vet to discuss getting the cat fixed, we learned that he was really a she. By then, I thought it might confuse the kitten to change its name. Either way, Romeo will never have kittens.

Now ten years old, the cat spends most of her day napping under the bed or shedding in my favorite chair. So it makes sense that my daughter wants a cute, playful kitten.

“I like kittens, too,” I say. “But they grow up so fast.” Kind of like kids—only faster. Plus I explain it would be twice the litter to scoop and twice the hairballs to clean. Like all starry-eyed children, my daughter offers to do all of the work. I do not fall for these empty promises. So she gets out a piece of paper and writes “Dear Santa.” She looks up at me, “Mom, how do you spell ‘real kitten’?”

Uh-oh. Will this be the year Santa disappoints her? Maybe another kitten wouldn’t be much more trouble. But then I remember. We’ve been a two-cat household before. We had a crazy calico that used to bite for no reason. I cried when I realized she couldn’t stay once we had a baby. Then my husband fed a starving stray on our back porch. We refused to name the black feline, calling her simply Kitty-kitty. Eventually I caved and took her to the vet for her vaccinations. I resented the hassle of feeding two cats—one inside and one outside. Then one day Kitty-kitty howled and started acting strange. I had no idea she’d soon die in our backyard. I cried and cried. Why hadn’t I realized something was terribly wrong?

That’s the thing about pets. You love them, but eventually they make you cry. Maybe it’s not just the hassle I want to avoid, but also the heartache. All of these memories make me realize I should appreciate what I have. Suddenly I wonder where Romeo is hiding so I can scratch behind her ears. I just love it when she purrs. . . .

(Please do not take this as an invitation to drop off any kittens on my doorstep!)

If you enjoy a story that warms you like the love of a good pet, you’ll appreciate On the Verge, where a husband’s head injury leads him to bring home a puppy and buy a house without talking to his new wife. Available on Amazon for $2.99.


For a chance to win an autographed copy of What Happiness Looks Like, click here.


CAST YOUR VOTE: Are two cats better than one?

I should’ve known something would go wrong. Early in the morning I had to drop my cat off at the vet’s office for her first teeth cleaning and get home in time to catch the school bus. When my alarm buzzed, I walked into my seven-year-old’s room to discover she was already dressed. Excellent! That left plenty of time for her to eat breakfast. No problem.

Now I had a cushion in case I had to chase my cat around the house like last time. I could even grab something for myself to eat and in my wildest dreams, drink a cup of coffee. As I wrangled my cat into the carrier, I kept worrying that something would go wrong. That’s because pets and kids are unpredictable. That’s because whenever I think we have plenty of time, something always happens.

That day’s “something” was my daughter spilling V-8 juice all over the floor, a white dish towel and of course, on her pink tights. Somehow I remained calm as I used about fifty paper towels to tackle the mess. My daughter, who was succumbing to a cold, did not remain calm. She was wearing a pink shirt, pink skirt and pink tights. In her mind, only pink tights would do. I told her to wear white ones. She went to her room and came back mumbling that her shirt didn’t have any white on it. Because there wasn’t white on her outfit, she didn’t want white tights.  Again, as I mopped up red puddles, I explained that white is a neutral and matches everything. (I’d love to see Stacy & Clinton take on a sleepy seven-year-old on What Not to Wear!)

To move things along, I helped my daughter pull on her tights. She whined that they didn’t fit. (They’re brand new, size 7-10). I explained how tights are probably called tights because they feel tight. She didn’t laugh. Then I thought if anyone should be upset, it’s me. I just had to clean tomato juice splattered all over my kitchen and I’m not sure the stain will come out of the tea towel my grandmother embroidered with a kitten and the word “Monday.”

Was there any doubt in your mind that this was a Monday? As I drove through the morning darkness, listening to the radio dj predict snow, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of déjà vu. It seems whenever we’re relaxed, running ahead of schedule, a spill or a rip or some other minor catastrophe puts the rush back into our routine. Have you noticed that once you have kids, if anything can go wrong, it will? Unless of course, you’re expecting it. 

According to Wikipedia, Murphy’s Law dates back to 1877. I say it’s been around longer than that—ever since the first woman gave birth.

If you’re a busy woman, having a Murphy's Law kind of day, treat yourself to the novella, Made for Two. It’s a “sweet read with depth” for 99¢.    

If you enjoy this type of book, check out On the Verge or Made for Two by Karen Lenfestey.