When I Get Old, I Hope To Look Back On My Life And…


When I get old, I hope to listen to the steady creak of the rocking chair beside me and know that you are still by my side on our front porch. I hope to look over and not only see the aged man you’ve become whose every wrinkle reflects my own, but also relive the stories each line on our skin has told.

Front Porch

As I reach out my trembling hand for yours like I have done so many times since we met as young college kids, I hope it reminds you of all the times your hand in mine made a world of difference in our relationship. I hope we recall as we sit and rock during days of no demands and no schedules, all the obstacles we faced and more importantly all those we surpassed to reach this day.

I hope we remember where we started, our trips through stores we could only dream of shopping in as a young couple just getting started on life’s journey, creating our wish list of items we would one day purchase for our first home as a couple. I hope we will have filled the shelves with photo albums of all the places we only dreamed of visiting back then.

When you look at me, I hope you not only see the young girl you met who became your best friend before our first conversation even ended, but also the strong woman and loving mother she grew up to be with you by her side.

I hope as we take in the view from the comfort of our front porch, we take a deep breath and thank the Lord for having made our dreams come true. I hope we never forget the struggle and hard work we endured to reach this moment, because it will be those sacrifices we made that made us who we are today.

I hope we open our minds and hearts, dust off the cobwebs, and turn the pages of our life’s album together. I hope if we listen hard enough, we can still hear the patter of little feet, bedtime giggles and even the cries, wails, and tantrums that will now be music to our ears.

I hope we will have filled our home with more laughter and happiness through the years as we created memories with our children, their children, our family and many friends.

I hope when I get old and I look back on the roads I have traveled, I see you and our children always walking alongside me, hand in hand. And, when I get old and look in the mirror, I hope each and every line on my aged skin, reflects a life lived, all the love bestowed upon me in each and every crease, and many many laugh lines from smiles shared with my best friend.


This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday prompt, where writers and bloggers each finish the same sentence and link up to read one another’s answers. This week’s prompt was “When I’m really old, I hope to look back at my life and know that I…”

Twas The Night Before Blogging…


‘Twas the night before Fabulous Blogging, when all through the HomeOnDeranged

Every bloppy was blogging, even time-zoned Lizzi (not that she’s deranged)

Pen Paper Pad laid on the desk with care

In hopes that Hasty Words would soon be there

Carrie Anne Foster and TwinDaddy nestled all snug in their beds (not together)

While visions of Enchanted Seashells danced in the rain – I mean danced in their heads (it was the weather)

Gunmetal Geisha with Sand in Her Toes, and Aussa Lorens and her wonderfully unkempt locks,

Rattled their brains against the muted voice of writer’s block.

When out in Our Land there arose such a clatter,

I summoned my Left Brain Buddha before seeing what was the matter

Off to social media I flew like an indiebutterfly

Threw open all tabs, and let out a sigh.

Words of deliciousness and musings on motherhood

Gave a lustre of calculated chaos out in the bloggerhood.

And what to my wrinkled mommy eyes should appear

But closet confessionals from a recovering pessimist! Elleroy was here?

Like an honest mom with some bitch and some wine,

Thanksgiving, Place Setting, Thanksgiving Table


I knew in a moment Don Of All Trades was online.

More rapid than eagles, his comments they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and tagged all by name:

Now, Samara! Now, Kim! Now, Beth and Jhanis!

On, StephanieOn, Katia! and Her Royal Thighness!

To the top of the Twitter feed and FB walls!

Now blog away, blog away, blog away all!

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot

A bundle of toys (sex toys if I had to guess), he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack,

His eyes how they twinkled (no doubt what he was thinking)

As the cursor on his screen continued its blinking

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow

As he encouraged the bloppies to give it a go!

The stump of a pencil, he held tight in his teeth

And he wielded his words on the keyboard beneath

He was witty and funny, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed at his comments, in spite of myself;

He wrote and he wrote, of home and of work

Filled all the comment threads, and was sometimes a jerk,

But a wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave all to know there was nothing to dread.

And like the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow

Bloppies’ computers gave a lustre of midday glow

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up the google ranks, the bloggers they flew

With a folder full of drafts, and some good leads too

And then in a twinkling it was heard all around

The clicking and clacking as their fingers did pound

I took a brief pause to kiss my list of so then stories and notes from the shallow end,

Of well tempered bards, my chef’s last diet, and laugh lines to mend

Of nurse mommy laughs, the Science of Parenthood, and Sarah’s brand new chapter

Of A Mother Life and that American Small Town feeling I wanted to capture

The words came to life on the glowing screen

An early gift from St. Nick or was it Don Re?

Either way the bloppies were grateful (Thank you Honey)

And went about writing both the sad and the funny.

Whether you’re still becoming super mommy or it’s after the kids leave

Write like chocolate with grace, the words flowing  – no reprieve

Whether an Indian American Mom, An Inquiring Parent or a CarPool Goddess

The Mother of Imperfection, In Ripped Jeans and Bifocals, or Blessed but Stressed

This talk ain’t cheap and perfection may be pending

Cellulite looks better tan, and our passion for words is never-ending

Whether 10,000 followers or merely just ten, let your light shine

Can I get an Amen or Another bottle of whine?

May your readers eyes twinkle, their spirit be merry

May the agents start calling when they’re blown by your query.

Celebrate your talents and let out a whistle

Let your words blanket the net like the down of a thistle,

Be true to yourself in your writer’s plight

Happy Blogging to all and to all a good night!











Dear High School English Teacher, Don’t Kill My Buzz


I sat at the old worn oak table and nervously tapped my foot on the linoleum floor, stealing glances at my parents as they sat next to me trying to hide their own anxiety. How many students had awaited the unknown in this very room through the years? How many parents accompanied their children, likely being transported to a time when they were the student awaiting the fate thrust upon them by adults they never imagined becoming?

As the hands ticked on the unsuspecting clock hanging on the wall, student became teacher, teacher became parent, parent became teacher, in a place where respect was demanded, expected, drilled into our psyche alongside the alphabet.

You, sir, entered the room without so much as a greeting, never acknowledging us as you took the furthest seat possible, distancing yourself and immediately setting the tone for our meeting.

My parents said, “Good afternoon.” You nodded, shuffled a few papers, letting the silence hang heavy between us.

“I’m told you want to be in Honors English. That’s not a good idea.”

Looking at my parents, I took a deep breath.

“I’ve been in Honors English all through high school and would like to continue taking an Honors English course at this school.”

Another deep breath.

“Just because you’ve taken Honors English at your old school doesn’t mean you belong in my class.”

My father spoke, “Her current English teacher recommended she transfer to your class. She’s doing so well.”

You looked at my parents as though you were surprised to find them in the room. I could see the disdain in your eyes because they expressed themselves with an accent, English not being their native language. You stared them down as I shifted in my chair. I wanted to tell you I was no longer interested in your class. It was evident to me you were a horrible teacher and even worse human being. Anger bubbled up inside me when you finally responded to my parents. So did a little something called determination.

“Obviously, English isn’t your first language and while your desire for your daughter’s transcript to reflect four years of Honors English is evident, I don’t believe her past courses have prepared her for my class.”

Looking back, I should have bowed out then, thanked you for your time and not pursued your class. However, I was young and naive, and you made me feel like I had something to prove. I’m not sure what finally convinced you to allow me into your class, but so began the year of English hell for me.

You were as determined as I was, except your goal was to tear me down, constantly remind me I wasn’t good enough for your class. You shot down my creativity, demanding I follow a set formula for every assignment, going so far as to insist I begin every last paragraph with the word “Thus” and never giving me a grade higher than C. I tried so hard to write the way you wanted, losing my voice in the process, but determined to show you I was a good writer. I approached you for help yearning for positive guidance.

“What can I do to earn more than a C? What am I doing wrong?”

Your response stayed with me for years.

“Nothing really. You’re just not a very good writer.”

And, just like that you extinguished my creative spark. You planted a seed of doubt that grew with each sentence I wrote for many years to come.

I don’t know what became of you, but I want you to know something. My creative spark was reignited. These days, I grow more confident with each sentence I write. I make words come to life and never start my last paragraph with the word “Thus” because to this day that word makes me cringe.

However, I’m going to make an exception today because (no thanks to you) I’ve learned I have a way of expressing myself in writing that touches people enough for them to come back for more.
The beauty is I didn’t have to lose my voice to do so.


Why Did The Blogger Cross The Road?


The streets of San Jose are expansive lanes of cars zipping this way and that, each rushing to their individual destination. Standing on the corner, a bit intimidated by this new city, I watched from the safety of the sidewalk as drivers travelled their path. I wondered what their journey entailed on a Friday morning in the middle of summer. Where were they coming from? Where were they going?

I was anxious to cross and make my way to my first ever BlogHer conference yet I was hesitant to step out of my comfort zone as the traffic light changed and the countdown began. I didn’t trust the 14 seconds given to navigate my way across the four lanes of traffic with a track in the middle for public transportation, but each time I found myself being carried in the throng of pedestrians performing a tribal dance of street crossing and floated with them until I was safely on the other side.


BlogHer was much the same way for me. I entered a sea of bloggers whose energy vibrated the floors and bounced off the walls of the San Jose Convention Center. Wide eyed, heart pumping I stood in the lobby and took it all in, hesitant to take a step in any direction. Bloggers zipped around me and I found myself wondering about each of them as they travelled past me.

As a new countdown began, another wave of conference attendees entered behind me and I was once again caught up in their midst. I let their energy carry me toward the registration desk, stepped out of my comfort zone, and let the adventure begin. I searched for a familiar face in the crowd and found it in the form of an online group I belong to called The Bloppies, a group of bloggers I had interacted with online for months. These women and more experienced bloggers were just as excited to meet me in person as I was to meet them.

And, just like that I found myself breathing a little easier.

After a whirlwind weekend of highs and lows, laughter and tears, and my moment in the spotlight as a 2014 VOTY I found myself at the same intersection waiting to cross the street once more. Except, this time it was different.

I was no longer intimidated by the fast pace or hesitant of stepping out of my comfort zone and navigating my way across the street. I was leaving San Jose with confidence in myself, my writing, and ready to take on the blogging world. I was not going to take baby steps, but run full force into all the opportunities I had shied away from before and put myself out there. As the sign switched from “talk to the hand” to the walking man, I took action and began my journey across the street. About halfway there I realized I had less time than I thought to get across before the light changed and decided to jog the last few steps. My ankle twisted and I fractured my foot.

20140728_170046 2

It was then I realized why I had crossed that intersection the first time upon my arrival. It wasn’t for the words I would hear from speakers and panelists or the tips of the trade shared in group discussions. I crossed the street in search of my tribe, not knowing I had already met them online. As I leaned on the women around me that last night, I realized every cent I spent on BlogHer was worth being in their presence all weekend as they applauded me, encouraged me and supported me in so many ways.

My best BlogHer swag came in the form of a tribe that may not have fit in my luggage, but I will forever carry close to my heart.


Washington, DC, Capitol Building Photo, Room With A View

2014 BlogHer VOTY – The Selected Post And More!


This is the post that made me dance and scream around the living room last week when I received the email that I had been selected as a 2014 BlogHer VOTY. California here I come! I am honored to be among some amazing talent and will be counting down the days until the conference in July. Scroll down for more VOTY posts worth your time! 


History Of The World Part 2

It was the kind of day when the weather suggests you enjoy the outdoors, warm enough to ditch the heavy coats of winter and the restrictions they provide. Yet as I walked down the streets of Washington, DC, I held tight to a light sweater as I felt a cool breeze in the air. It really was one of those perfect days to sit under a tree, blanket spread with picnic regalia in all its splendor, and a good book in hand. I, however, lost all thoughts of the outdoors and the call of nature, as I stepped through the doors to the dome-shaped building which encapsulates the yesterdays and the tomorrows of our nation’s history.

Washington, DC, Capitol Building Photo, Room With A View

With each step I took upon the tiled floors, tiny squares of intricate designs, I couldn’t help but think of all those whose footsteps graced these halls since 1793. How many men and women eagerly entered this meeting place of the nation’s legislature, with hopes of not only leaving their footprints on these tiles but their imprint on our country? If I listened closely, I could almost hear the intellectual and political discussions, words floating up and around the painted dome with its mythological and historical impressions, secrets being whispered among the collection of American art gracing the walls.

Painting Ceiling in Capitol

For hundreds of years life changing decisions have been made amid the half circle of desks in the Senate gallery and throughout this building, behind closed doors and in the presence of those whose job it is to record it for our history books. The circular theme of the building a constant reminder of how history repeats itself no matter how hard we try to avoid it, coming back full circle in another attempt to teach us the lessons we didn’t grasp the first time. There is a reason buildings such as this one are preserved at all costs. They hold our history and they hold our future.

I felt honored to walk the same path as these leaders who have shaped our nation, to sit in the very seats they sat in, to admire the artistic details on walls and ceilings and look out the windows at the same panoramic views their eyes have also seen, to stand in awe of the majestic statues of American Presidents stoically keeping watch on the history they once created.

Capitol Building, Washington, DC

I also couldn’t help but feel small and insignificant in this magnificent rotunda, the symbol of the American people and our government. And yet, as I looked through my camera lens at my family, positioned in the exact center of this magnanimous building something else came into focus. I saw my history and my future in their smiles. I saw my husband and I in our first home shortly after being handed the keys, slow dancing in our socks in the living room to the music in our hearts. I saw my children’s peaceful looks as I rocked them back to sleep in their nurseries night after night. I saw us teaching our children to read, to ride a bike, to tie their shoes, to love, and to live. The truth is, life changing decisions occur in our homes every day. Lessons are taught and history is written. Our homes hold our history and hold our future. Each lesson we pass down to our children, each kind word we utter to our family, each impression we make upon someone else is a step in shaping their future, our future, and ultimately our nation’s future. As I headed out past the towering statues of George Washington, Susan B. Anthony, Ronald Reagan, Abraham Lincoln, Rosa Parks, and the many others who have shaped our present, I couldn’t help but be reminded that each of their stories began at home.


My fellow Honorees In the Exploration category:

Amy Mcvay Abbott from The Broad Side for Leaning Ugly
Africadayz for For Ian: An Ordinary Saturday
Angelle Bonnecarrere from She Drives a Vegetable Car for Once Upon a Time in New York
Yuvika Chaube from My Musings for A Letter to the Previous Owner of My Mobile Number
Chris from Campfires and Cleats for Always Hope: The Soldier in the Snapshot
Debra Cole from Urban Moo Cow for Introduction to Eating Disorders
Dalene from hecKtic travels for Death Camp
Natalie DeYoung from The Cat Lady Sings for The Art of Holding Back
Shannon Duffy from Deepest Worth for Shining Through
Cheryl Dumesnil from VillageQ for “I Just Want to Be Like Everyone Else”
Anita Finlay from Anita Finlay for WW II Female War Heroes Deserve to Have Their Stories Told
Gretchen from Second Blooming for Spin Cycle: Haunted Hollywood
Rachel Haas from Dramatic Elegance for To the Men from a Jesus Feminist
Christine Harkin from Naptime Writing for Is That Manic or Depressive?
Kinnary from The Mango Cage for Sunday 29th December
Kylie from The Life of Kylie for When You Were My Age
Elora Nicole from Elora Nicole for Let’s Be Writers
Grayson Queen from Posting Tuesdays for Portrait of a Diabeti
Rara Queen from Rarasaur for I Was Small
Jess Severson from Don’t Mind the Mess for Women, Infants and Children

Kristi Campbell from Finding Ninee receives the People’s Choice Award for Exploration for Sometimes, I’m Maybe Not Myself. By My Maybe Autistic Son.


A few more honorees, you should definitely check out!

Michelle Lewson from They Call Me Mummy for The Ugliest Doll in the Shop

Vikki Claflin from Laugh Lines for Doctor, Can You Give Me a Lift?

Marcia Kester Doyle from Menopausal Mother for 10 Reasons Why I Love Menopause

Linda Roy from Elleroy Was Here for While the Iron’s Hot

Aussa Lorens from Hacker.Ninja.Hooker.Spy for 7 Ways Your Life Is Like High School

Darcy Perdu from So Then … Stories for My SECRET Accomplishment

Stephanie Sprenger from Mommy, for Real for My Beautiful Girls: Raising Feminist Daughters


I Slept With Him For Years…featured on Erma Bombeck website


I am honored to have my piece, “I slept with him for years for fear of being alone” featured on the Erma Bombeck website today.

Please check it out and share away!

Hope your weekend is filled with love and laughter wherever you may be!

Little Miss Wordy 2013 Highlights


“Oh, You’re a Joiner” – Why I Joined NanoWrimo.


She sat across from me at the local coffee shop, checking her phone, looking around as we “got to know each other.” I was the new gal in town and since it wasn’t my first rodeo, I was out there doing what I do best or at the very least what I know I need to do to acquire that sense of belonging in a new place. I was reaching out to a fellow mom, a local, in the hopes of finding that one friend that can instantly take you from outsider status to outsider with a friend status.

We discussed the move, the re-locations before this one, the kids and all the other usually safe topics that come up in polite conversation. In some ways, it was like the job interview I didn’t see on my wall calendar that morning as I stood in the kitchen, coffee in hand, making sure I didn’t forget my kid’s project or overlook a dentist appointment. I recall finding it strange when she glanced up from her phone to ask me what I was into in high school. Both in our late thirties, I didn’t see the relevance of her question given that neither one of us was likely the same person we were during the most terrifying, unsettling, and awkward four years of a person’s life. Nonetheless, I happily chimed on about being athletic, a cheerleader, class secretary, etc.

In the midst of my recounting my nose always having been in a book and how many of my friends were with me from kindergarten through high school, she suddenly glanced up and said, “Oh, you’re a joiner.” I paused mid-sentence, “Excuse me?” She repeated, “You’re a joiner” and went back to her cellphone. I sat in silence for a moment, not exactly sure why I felt offended by her nonchalant comment.

Truth be told, all the activities I had mentioned were clubs of some sort. Maybe it was the way she said the word “joiner” that made it sound like a negative thing. Maybe it was because as I had gotten older, I had begun to take pride in being my own person, standing up for my beliefs and following my passions no matter what other’s opinions might be. Maybe it was because the last thing I now saw myself as was a “joiner.” Instead, priding myself on being more of an individual. Maybe it was just the way she said it with such conviction, as though she had me all figured out. Then again, maybe it was because I didn’t want to admit there might be some truth to it.


This week is the first week of something called NanoWrimo, National Novel Writing Month, which is “a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing on November 1st. The goal is to write a 50,000-word novel by 11:59 on November 30th.”

This mother of two, wife of one, writer and weekly blogger, crazy lady who should be committed, instead committed to this challenge because keeping the house clean, the laundry done, and getting back into my regular workout routine with my new personal trainer isn’t enough. Apparently, I need more!

Cry for Help: I’ve lost my mind. If found, please return immediately as I’m going to need it to complete this novel and, you know, other stuff in my life.

The thing is ever since this summer when my husband and I decided to enroll the kids in school instead of continuing to homeschool them, I’ve been saying I would use the “free” time to write my second book, a novel. Somehow, I never find that “free”time to dedicate to it. So, when the NanoWrimo talk started last month my “joiner” wheels started spinning. An actual goal, a commitment to join the masses all working toward a similar goal, complete with pep talks by famous authors and a community of support every step of the way. By the way, I was giddy to find a letter from James Patterson in my inbox discussing the importance of outlining my novel before beginning. I took your advice Mr. Patterson, thank you.

So, yeah I guess I am a “joiner” but right now I don’t see it as a negative thing. If being a “joiner” means being a part of something bigger alongside some amazing writers and sharing in the highs and lows of pursuing a dream, completing a project, reaching a goal, then color me a “joiner” and let me be.

If it means on those days when – I’m struggling to get my kids off to school on time, not in their pajamas, with more than a pop tart and glass of recently expired (but not so expired as to be dangerous) milk, all while mentally kicking myself in the butt for believing for two seconds I would be able to pull off coherent sentences with only the creativity found in the bottom of a second cup of coffee, let alone write a complete novel in a one month period – I will log onto my NanoWrimo community and find that others can relate and share in my self doubt and misery, then I’m proud to be a “joiner” and will shout it from the rooftops!

Bring it on “joiner” haters!

I’ll be the one with the completed  semi-completed novel (depending on how much “free time” I have) at the end of November.

“I’m a joiner! He’s a joiner! Wouldn’t you like to be a joiner too? Be a joiner! Oohh be a joiner! (sung to the Dr. Pepper jingle)

Are you a joiner?

The Sunday Sip…Fill Your Cup


I had the honor of being featured at More Than Mommies this morning for The Sunday Sip. Check it out!


It’s Sunday!  Which means that More Than Mommies is here with another edition of The Sunday Sip.  You are going to LOVE meeting our featured blogger this weekend – if you don’t already know her!  If you do already know her then you know that she cherishes blog comments as much as we do – so stop by leave her some love . . . and tell her we love her, too!

I now give you – Leah from Little Miss Wordy!

The Sunday Sip at More Than Mommies


So tell us, Leah . . . what’s in your cup this morning?

Coffee, I was raised in a Cuban Starbucks.

Anyone who WASN’T drinking coffee before reading that post is surely off to make a cup now . . . as a matter of fact, I think I need to tak a minute to go pour myself another cup!

Leah 1

Some of our readers know who you are and some of them will be meeting you for the first time.  How would you introduce yourself to those who aren’t familiar with you or your blog?

I am Leah Vidal, a mom of two, married to my best friend for eighteen years, writer, blogger, and newly published author of Red Circle Days. I paused my career to raise my children and have never looked back, except on those days when it would be nice to have an office to escape to or even a desk to hide under. We currently reside in Puerto Rico, but maintain a home in Texas as well so we live in limbo most of the time.

RCD front cover

How did you come up with the blog title “Little Miss Wordy” was there a process that you went through in finding the perfect name?

Blog names typically say something about the blogger in very few words. Once when asked to describe myself in one word on an application, I answered “wordy” – True Story. I was shocked the domain name was available. It was meant to be!

 Is there a post that you would like us to have our readers stop by when they visit today?  Anything you are particularly proud of or find a lot of people seem to relate to?

I submitted an entry for a WordPress weekly challenge which ended up challenging me not just in my writing, but on many levels. I wrote in regards to my brother’s mental illness for the first time ever, and it was a very emotional piece for me. It was Freshly Pressed, and I was honored but also happy that it would reach many more readers. Mental illness and it’s effects on family members is a topic that isn’t discussed enough in my opinion.

Why did you start blogging?  I know that a lot of us start because of a need to just connect and share.  Did you have a vision when you started?  Has that vision changed at all?

A few years ago, when my family relocated to Puerto Rico I started a site to share photos and keep family and friends up to date. I added a section called “Random Thoughts” and discovered a true passion for writing. The more of my writing I shared, the more people wanted to read and encouraged me to start a blog. Once I figured out what a blog was www.littlemisswordy.com was born. A vision? I’ll get right on that! Right now I just enjoy making words come to life and sharing them with the world.

At More Than Mommies we are always looking for what makes women MORE than their #1 job, being a Mommy.  Being a Mommy takes up SO much of us but it isn’t all that we are.  What makes you more than a Mommy?

I am fitness focused (physically, mentally, and spiritually) believing we need to pay attention to all three in order to maintain a healthy balance. I love to write obviously, but avoiding the kitchen is one of my favorite pastimes.

Thanks so much for sitting down with us this morning, Leah!  It has been a true pleasure to share your stories with our readers and I know that they will LOVE them as much as I do!


You can find Leah blogging at Little Miss Wordy and follow her on FacebookTwitter, Pinterest and G+.  You can also snag her book, “Red Circle Days” on Amazon (Kindle version is only 99 cents!).


If you are interested in joining the ranks of our Sunday Sippers – head to our interest page and fill out a form!  We would LOVE to have you join us for a chat on a Sunday morning!

– See more at: http://morethanmommies.net/2013/10/sunday-sip-miss-wordy.html#sthash.4b9qn3Bs.dpuf

A Letter To The First Commenter On My Blog is live on BlogHer


My post last week, A Letter To The First Commenter On My Blog just went live as a syndicated post in the Blogging and Social Media section at BlogHer! I am flattered that “the powers that be” over at BlogHer liked it so much they asked me if they could share it.

Image: Andrechinn via Flickr

Image: Andrechinn via Flickr

Please head over and comment and share away so they aren’t hearing crickets over there.

Link to it here: