This just proves it!

           A few days ago I wrote about how I can’t really call myself a writer because my writing “career” ultimately takes a backseat to my role as a mother, despite my best intentions to give both priorities 100%.  Anyway….. this weekend I had the perfect experience to illustrate and drive home my own point- that no matter how much I want to call myself a writer- I am really a mom who writes.

            Saturday morning I went to my first “book signing”/ “book selling” event.  It was the joint Walk for Life fund-raiser for two local crisis pregnancy centers (check out this link and this one to help support their beautiful ministries).  I was allowed to set up a table and display and sell my book as a way to help promote the pro-life movement and to help support the centers in their work.  

            I worked hard all week (with a lot of help from my oldest daughter) putting together my poster and flyer and planning what my table would look like.  I got up early in the morning to get everything ready and set up for the start of the event at 8 a.m.  Tim and I had dragged the kids out of bed early too and brought them along for the super family-friendly event.

            It was really a wonderful morning.  I met lots of new people.  I shared my novel and its pro-life message.  I made some new connections, one that will possibly lead to my book being featured in another magazine soon.   (It was already in the February/March issue of Catholic Digest.)  I even sold a few books!  

            My children got to see lots of adorable babies.  They got to play in the bounce house and check out the carnival games and play on the playground.  They participated in the walk, racing around the beautiful lake in the center of the park. 

            It was all great.  But…. at one point my three year old daughter looked at me and said, “Mommy, I have to go potty.”  I looked at Tim but could tell he was not interested in accompanying our little one to the port-a-potties in the back corner of the park.  So, I asked him to cover the table for me and took my daughter to the bathroom.  But she took one look at the facilities and decided she didn’t really have to go after all.   I didn’t blame her- port-a-potties are always a little stinky and scary and gross, especially when you're only three years old. 

            It came as no surprise that a little while later she looked at me with horror in her eyes and said only one word, “Mommmmy!”  I knew what that look and that single word meant, and sure enough, a puddle was slowly forming beneath her.  Luckily, the event was outside.  The puddle was in the dirt.  She was wearing a dress that was, for the most part, still dry and clean.  And no one else seemed to see what had happened.  

But, the irony of it all was not lost on me.

            Here was my chance to be a professional, successful author- promoting my first novel and helping to spread its pro-life, pro-family message in my community.  But while I did so, I had to be careful to dodge the wet spot just behind my beautiful display table.  

An author?  Yes.   

Professional?  Sort of.  

 Successful?  I suppose, in many ways…… 

But ultimately and always AND MOST IMPORTANTLY— A mommy (who writes, when she can).