It’s a phrase we’ve heard, and which I’ve tossed around a few times: “Oh, grow up.” And lately, I’ve had a few moments of “Wow. I feel like an adult all of a sudden.” Like when we finally bit the bullet and bought insurance. Do you have any idea how grown-up it feels to have a BlueCross card in your wallet for the first time?

But yesterday I wondered a little about the process. See, my kids are a lot like I was when I was small. Competitive, loud, and they throw temper tantrums whenever they don’t get their way. Every time my mom sees it, she laughs and says, “Gee, I wonder where they get that from.” To which I reply, “I have absolutely no idea. I certainly never acted that way.”

Now, it’s a bit of a joke because I’m so even-tempered now that one of my college professors actually said, “I’m concerned that such temperance is unhealthy in one so young.” Last night my husband asked, “So . . . what happened to that temper?”

My answer? When I was about ten, I started getting on my own nerves. It took a lot of energy to get upset over nothing, and it didn’t seem to accomplish much. So I made a concerted effort to grow up–in that respect, anyway.

Not so oddly, it’s been through having kids that are so stinkin’ much like I used to be that has sparked my temper again. I growl daily, and often think that this 2-4 age may just kick my butt–but then they cuddle up against me . . . I’m still amazed at deeply the mother-instinct runs. I mean, I remember being like my daughter, and screaming every single time I stubbed my toe. (Every. Single. Time.) But now when I thwack my elbow off the corner of a cabinet (like I did last night. Ow.), my first thought is, “Don’t scream. Don’t wake the kids. Suck it up.”

I still have those moments when I feel like a kid myself, I’m still amazed when I feel like an adult in a certain respect for the first time. And I’m finally realizing that this “growing up” thing probably never ends. There are always going to be new steps in the process . . . and as long as I realize that, I keep myself malleable for the Lord to keep on a-workin’ on me.

I confess. I’m one of those writers that just wants to write. When I was first informed that I’d have to market, I said something like, “Grooooooaaaaaan.” I’ve mostly gotten over that, but I still had a few pockets of Hold-Out in my little brain.

For some reason, one of them was discussion questions. I moaned at the very thought of someday maybe needing to write them. Then at the conference in September, someone said something about feeling similarly . . . until they got a piece of reader mail saying that one of those questions changed the reader’s life. Now I’m saying, “Well, huh.”

Given that I’ve already had people express interest in using A Stray Drop of Blood for bookclubs, It occurred to me that discussion questions might be a good thing. I said as much to my husband, who replied, “Better still, put together a bunch of the stuff that you drew on to write it. You know, behind the scenes stuff or information they can read to understand the culture of the day better. Encyclopedia Roseann-ica.”

This sounded cool, so I started taking notes on ideas. And thanks to my obsessive nature, it’s approaching completion on my website. I’ve now got both the Companion Guide and the Discussion Questions online (yes, the questions are also in the back of the book). If you’re curious but haven’t read Stray Drop, you’ll want to avoid the discussion questions (which might tip you off on some plot points) but you still might find the Companion Guide interesting. I’ll hopefully be finishing off my sections today. There’ll still be a few topics without links, though, which will be written by guest-experts. Just go to www.RoseannaMWhite.com, click on the Books tab, and voila. Companion Guide and Discussion Question links are front and center.

And since this is on my mind because I need to go do it, I guess I better, you know . . . go do it. =)

Ever since I can remember, I loved fall. I love the colors on the trees, I love the bite in the air, I love the smell. I love that last hoorah of harvest before the doldrums of winter sets in. Here in the mountains of Maryland, we don’t get a ton of snow, so winter is pretty bleak and dreary. Autumn though . . . we do autumn up right.

When I was a little girl, my love for this season was pure and untainted. As was my love for winter with its surprise snow days, summer with its lazy hours by the pool and world of adventure in my imagination, and my absolute favorite spring, with all that new life poking through and washing the world in bright new green. Then I grew up. Things–and opinions–began to change.

My mother-in-law is an outdoors person, one with Mediterranean blood. She hates winter. I’m talking with-a-passion. My husband does too, though not as bad as his mom. So for them, fall is just a precursor. In every brisk breeze, they see the endless winter looming. In every falling leaf, they see the end of their favorite summer. I once observed how I loved the smell of a forest in the fall, and my scientifically minded honey replied, “You know that’s just rot, right?”

Thanks, dear. Really.

I confess I’m not such a big fan of winter now that there’s no such thing as a day off because of snow. So I now tend to say things like, “I really love fall . . . if only it didn’t end in winter.”

But part of me wishes I could forget the negativity. I could . . . but someone would point it out. And that’s fine, because that’s their opinion. Inside me, though, is that little girl who loves every season the Lord paints on my world. I love watching time roll over the mountains. I love the colors on the trees, even if it does mean they’re dying. I love the smell of that autumnal forest, even if it is rot. I love that cool air, even if it does mean nasty winter gusts are on their way.

It’s just another example of who I am, I guess. I’ll acknowledge your downsides. No point in denying them when they’re true. Just don’t expect me to dwell on it. So long as autumn is blazing across the trees, I’m going to enjoying every breeze.

The deeper I get into the toddler years with my second child, the more I gotta wonder. I mean, really. How is it that this kid can’t sit still for a diaper change, but he can spend an HOUR playing in my silverware drawer? Why will he not let me eat my dinner without a scream to get out of his highchair halfway through, but he’ll diligently try to put a key into a (wrong) keyhole for twenty minutes? And how about the fact that he can never find his cup, but he’ll locate every penny for a mile around?

In some ways, the focus of a toddler really amazes me. What is so intriguing about the sound of spoons clanking together? What is the allure of taking every can out of my cupboard? How can he get so many wipes out of the pack in the three seconds I turn my back?

On the whole, I’m really impressed with these little people I have. My daughter has an inspiring imagination and takes really good care of her brother (when she isn’t bopping him on the head), and the little guy’s getting to that age where he progresses in leaps and bounds. For instance, he hadn’t put two words together (not counting phrases that he probably mistakes for a one word, like “good job” and “thank you”) until yesterday. Then he followed up “Hi, Papa” with “brush teeth” and “no cookie.” (Although that last one . . . hm. Maybe this boy needs help. Turning down a cookie??)

I really like how they show us things about ourselves. I may growl at the dual-focus thing since he never seems to focus on what needs to be done, but am I any different? I could spend hours in front of my computer writing or editing or checking email, but my attention span is amazingly short when it comes time to clean, cook, or listen to my husband talk about cars. Or insurance. Or the economy. LOL.

Pretty smart of God to provide us with cute little mirrors, isn’t it?

Yesterday a couple things happened. Though I spent my free-time de-adverbing Yesterday’s Tides so that it can go out to the editors who requested it today (I’m addicted to adverbs, I swear), I spent the rest of my day with family.

For starters, my awesome and gorgeous cousin Andrea came to visit in the morning. We were always close as kids, though we saw each other only twice a year or so, but it’s been approximately forever since we’ve seen each other. So it was very cool to hug her again, and she now has a daughter who’s two, so the kids could all play together. Or play in the same room anyway, lol.

I also received the first solid proof that Rowyn, a.k.a. Mr. Independence, did indeed miss me while I was gone. He didn’t seem fazed when I left him at my mom’s for an hour on Tuesday to take Xoe to Story Time, and he hasn’t been extra-clingy or anything since I got back. But yesterday afternoon I needed to run to the market and he was still napping. So David stayed home with him, and I took Xoe with me. When we got home, he was up and looked thrilled to see me walk through the door. He sat on my lap for, like, an hour. Followed me everywhere I went. Kept giving me hugs and kisses.

Not. Normal. Wonderful, but not normal. And it occurred to me that the last time he woke up and Mama wasn’t here, I’d been gone for days. So it was great to see his gladness that this was NOT the case this time.

And for the record, after about a millennium of editing, I did indeed get the adverbs cut down in my manuscript, and it should be winging its way across email to various editors’ inboxes today. So anyone with a prayer to spare, feel free to apply it to that! And now, let the waiting begin . . .