One year ago today, my novel LIFE AFTER YES was released.

One year ago today, I wrote the following words:

5:32am. Eastern Time. Tuesday. May 18th. 2010.

I sit here. At my desk. My messy desk. Waiting for the coffee to perk. Waiting to wake up.

Today, I think it will take more than coffee.

Today, my first book is published. Born. Here. There. Everywhere.

Today is big and tiny.

Big because I have wanted this for a long time. Big because after decades of operating on academic auto-pilot, I danced with a dream. Big because there were so many voices, echoing in my head and my heart. Voices that said No. No. No. Voices that said everyone wants to write a book. It is so hard to write a book. No one gets published. Why do you think you are any different? Why do you think you will cut it? No. No. No.

So, today is big because something in me stood up to the parade of No. Big because I chose a different word.

Yes.

It wasn’t a conscious choice. More of a gradual shift. An embrace. An awakening. A realization that our lives are stories we write for ourselves. Their arcs aren’t fixed. Their endings aren’t determined. And how we fill the pages of our days? It is up to us. And so, as hard as it was at first (oh, and it was), I started saying and thinking a sunnier word. Yes. Yes. Yes. This is my life. No one else’s. These are my days. What do I want from these days?

I want love. I want little ones. I want stories. I want dreams.

Today? Today, I am awash in love. Today I wait for my little ones to wake up so I can squeeze them and study their eyes like I do every morning. Today is its own story. One not yet ready to tell. One that will be told.

Today is a dream.

But today is also tiny. Because it is just one. One day. A brilliant blip on my existential radar. Today will proceed like any other. I will refill my coffee cup, my cat mug Toddler gave me for Christmas, and I will hang out with my man and my girls. We will play with rainbow stickers. We will work on puzzles. We will look for that inevitable missing piece. There is always a missing piece. We will smile and laugh and snuggle.

I sit here. Wishing I had planned these words a bit more carefully, but knowing why I didn’t. I didn’t because I wanted to come here and convey what it is that I am feeling. In the moment. On my big and tiny day.

And so. Here I am doing that. Rambling on. Allowing myself to ramble on.

Yesterday, as I wheeled Baby home from music class in her rainbow stroller, she was particularly animated. She pumped her little legs and bounced in her seat. She pointed at passing puppies and speeding cars. And she kept saying the same thing over and over.

Happy Day.

Her words were clear. And loud. And, yes, she might have been singing “Happy Birthday” without the “birth” bit. But it doesn’t matter, does it? She said those words over and over. Happy day! Happy day! Happy day!

And these words echo in my head this morning. Of all the fancy words in life’s lexicon, these seem to be the perfect words to describe this day, the day on which my literary baby is born.

Happy Day.

And through that small space between two sturdy words, two good words, a current of No snakes through. Those voices. No. No. No. So what? Your book is published, but will people buy it? Will they like it? Most books fade away. Don’t get your silly little hopes up. Be real…

And, on this morning, I tell those voices to shush. On this morning, my silly little hopes are up and my smile is here. On this morning, this big and tiny Tuesday Morning in May, I am all about a different word.

Yes.

It’s time for coffee. It’s time for morning kisses. It’s time for today.

It’s time to wake up.

I read these words and smile. Because it all comes back. That exquisite anxiety and anticipation that gripped me. That brilliant sense of not knowing, but hoping. That keen awareness of good fortune laced with glittering uncertainty.

I smile also because some words I wrote inspire me today, on this different day a year later:

“…our lives are stories we write for ourselves. Their arcs aren’t fixed. Their endings aren’t determined. And how we fill the pages of our days? It is up to us.”

Perhaps it is the portrait of egotism to quote oneself, but hey, I’ll risk that. Because here I sit, a whole year later, still scared and still proud, still humble and still hopeful, filling the pages of my good life. Today’s page is a swath of exhaustion and elation, a space full of tiny creatures, including one who was not yet here last year. Creatures who beckon beautifully for my hands and my heart, for me. And they will get me. We will do our thing and have our day, but all the while my mind will dance to last year at this time, a magical day in my personal and professional history.

My mind will also flit forward to that fat stack of white that lays untouched on life’s table, those pages not yet lived, what’s to come. The babies that will grow big. The books that will be birthed.

Today is a good day. Another Happy Day.

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What were you doing one year ago? Are you inspired and encouraged by the notion that it is largely up to us how we fill the pages of our lives?

I’m having lunch with my agent (the lovely Brettne Bloom of Kneerim & Williams) today. The last time I saw Brettne was about a week before my little babe was born. We went for coffee. I expressed my concern about finishing my next novel with a newborn at home. Brettne, a mother of two young girls herself, urged me to be kind to myself about striking a balance between babies and books. She implored me to enjoy my time with my newest addition and assured me that there would be plenty of time to write and publish good books.

It was a wonderful meeting. Because this is just what I needed to hear; that there is really no rush. That my ideas and stories are going nowhere, that my little baby will only be little for so long, that the biggest concern is that I write the right book, a compelling book, when the time is right. I left my coffee date encouraged and thrilled that I am working with the right agent. And I am.

But. Here’s the thing. In the past nine weeks, I’ve had this nagging, gnawing feeling that I should be writing. Actually, it’s not so much that I should be writing, but rather that I want to be writing. Many times a day, I sit here, nursing my tiny thing, tickling her toes, chasing the big ones, and my mind is elsewhere – plotting prose, whipping up chapters, eager to get to my desk to write it all down. But I don’t. I don’t get there. The day blurs by and I am mush at the end of it.

And so. I will meet Brettne today and I wish that I could hand over a pile of crisp white paper and say it: Here it is. Somehow, despite the domestic chaos, despite the paucity of rest, I have eked out a solid draft. But I will not do this. Instead, I imagine, we will have another conversation much like the one we had last time. I will tell her that I’m having a hard time balancing the personal and the professional, self and other. And, because she’s an understanding and wise person, she will tell me not to worry.

But I will worry. Because that’s what I do. I will worry that this book will not get written, that I will continue to concoct excuses, that time will slide by. That my writer self will be scattered and strewn by my mother self.

But. As I write this, I realize something. Something at once simple and profound.

I chose this.

I chose to become a mother three times over in rapid succession. I chose to immerse myself in the very chaos in which I now fortunately flail. I chose to forgo the modicum of literary momentum I had built in the wake of publishing Life After Yes to have another child. I chose to put my writing on that proverbial back burner for the moment. This moment.

And so. I chose this. And this? This is amazing and frustrating and real and tricky. This parenthood thing, this mothering madness, this exquisite impasse. And I am happy I did. Even if it means that I cannot do something else I love to the extent I would like right now.

Albert Camus said it and I believe it wholly and deeply: “Life is a sum of all your choices.”

This choice – to be a mother, to be a mother to many, to be a mother to many right now – is not just a choice. It is a part of my life. The life I am fortunate to lead, exceedingly fortunate to lead, even if it is not easy sometimes. And, with this in mind, maybe Brettne and I will not raise a glass to finished drafts, but to unfinished lives instead. And to choices. Those we are privileged enough to make.

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Do you ever stop and look at your life and realize that it is the sum of discrete choices you have made? Do you have a difficult time balancing the personal and the professional? Do you agree that I should bask in this moment of motherhood instead of worrying about the birth of my next book? Do you agree that choice is at once a tricky and wonderful thing?

Since publishing my first novel Life After Yes last May, I have been asked the same question over and over: How autobiographical is the story? And even though I’ve had plenty of time to come up with a good and satisfying answer to this one, I tend to bumble my way through my response every time. I say something along the lines of: There are bits and pieces of me in the book – of course there are – but no one character in it is me or someone I know. And the story is totally imagined even if aspects of it do come from my life or experience.

This is all true. What I love about writing fiction is that I am allowed to draw from what I have lived and what I know while making stuff up.

I recently finished a wonderful novel called The Nobodies Album by Carolyn Parkhurst wherein the protagonist Octavia Frost is herself an acclaimed novelist. Here and there, Octavia muses on the experience of being a novelist, of having a writer’s soul. And she says something that really struck me.

…There’s an analogy I came up with once for an interviewer who asked me how much of my material was autobiographical. I said that the life experience of a fiction writer is like butter in cookie dough: it’s a crucial part of flavor and texture — you certainly couldn’t leave it out — but if you’ve done it right, it can’t be discerned as a separate element. There shouldn’t be a place that anyone can point to and say, There — she’s talking about her miscarriage, or Look — he wrote that because his wife had an affair.

The Nobodies Album, Carolyn Parkhurst, p. 153

Yes. Yes. Yes. She (Octavia? Carolyn?) has nailed it as far as I’m concerned. The fiction author’s personal experience is an ingredient, a vital one, to the recipe of the story, but it cannot be, and should not be, detectable as such.

Like butter in cookie dough.

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Do you ever find answers to your life questions embedded in the books you read? When you read a novel or other piece of fiction do you ever assume that it is autobiographical? How much of your own life experience do you put into your work (writing or other)? Anyone else a big fan of cookie dough?

Who is the perfect reader? And what is her role?

The novel explores the role of reader as Understander. Pouncey details the opinion of Professor Dempsey, the protagonist’s late father: “Books [are] not mirrors… but windows. One ought not read to understand one’s own place in the world, or the world in abstract, but to understand the individual experience of another. And even more, to understand the individual force and resonance of words.”

This book, and this theory, made me think. And this in my opinion is what the best books do. They make us think. But I’m not sure whether I agree with the words above. Aren’t books (and blogs) both mirrors and windows? Don’t we read for a host of reasons, some opaque to us — to understand ourselves, to make sense of the world, to glimpse humanity, to immerse ourselves in beautiful language? Don’t we read for all these reasons and more? I think so. I do.

And so. As a book and blog writer, I am left wondering. Who are you my current and future readers? What do you hope to find in my words, in my true bits and fictional worlds? What kinds of stories will keep you flipping and clicking and existentially aroused?

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Do you believe books and blogs are mirrors or doors? Who are you? What do you want as a reader? Why do you come here? What kinds of stories bring you back for more? What kind of questions shake you? Which posts reach out and grab you? When do you comment and why?

**Please leave a comment here today 1/27/11 before 11 p.m. EST for a chance to win your own copy of Perfect Reader. Because I am feeling generous, I will also throw in a signed copy of my own book Life After Yes!**

I have never been very good at asking for help. I don’t know why. Maybe it is because asking makes me feel weak or vulnerable, open or exposed. Maybe because I harbor a belief that I should not need the assistance for which I am asking. Maybe because I worry that, by asking, I am intruding upon another person’s territory of time. Again, I don’t know.

But here’s the thing. There are so many times when I need help. I do. With my kids. With my life. With myself. And here’s the other thing: When other people ask me for help, I’m happy to give it. Often, there is nothing better than doing someone a favor, than being there for someone in a moment when they cannot manage alone.

And so. Here I am. Challenging myself. Asking for help.

As many of you know, I published my first novel LIFE AFTER YES almost seven months ago. Of this book, I am immensely proud. I worked very hard on it and I think it’s a unique story. And things are going well. The book is selling. It has received some very exciting and noteworthy accolades (Among receiving several lovely reviews from so many of you, LAY was crowned a TARGET breakout book!, was the SheKnows final book club pick of the year! and is Write Meg’s favorite novel of 2010!). But beyond these nods, what has meant most to me is the support I’ve gotten from readers. Readers I know in “real life” and “virtureal” friends. My months have been peppered with emails from people who have read LAY and loved it. This never gets old. Trust me, it never will. I read these notes over and over.

Just the other day, I got a note from a friend from high school. She told me how much she loved LAY and mentioned that she is excited to read my next book. And I did it. I emailed her back yesterday and thanked her for her kind and lovely words. And then I asked. I asked if she would mind writing a short review on Amazon. My palms sweat a bit as I typed this, this question, but I did it. I asked for help. Because I want my book, my first book, to continue to thrive. I want people to continue to meet Quinn and read her story. My story. As I emailed her, my friend, I got the idea for this post.

What if I asked my blog readers for help? (In many cases, more help because so many of you have already helped so much.)

What if I asked for those who have read and liked LAY to post a review on Amazon?

What if I asked those who have already posted a review to email a friend or purchase LAY as a holiday gift?

What if I asked those who hadn’t yet bought LAY or read it to do so?

What would happen then?

Here I am. Finding out. Asking. Palms clammy. Ego shivering. Feeling a bit shrunken and shaky. But also excited, hopeful.

It’s an experiment. A stretching of self. A re-drawing of comfort zones. And we will see.

Maybe this asking will offend. Maybe this asking will annoy. Or maybe, just maybe, this asking will trigger something. Something good. An awareness that in this life, we are never alone, that our dreams and desires and doubts have cousins. That there are people out there, supportive souls and sweet strangers and secret Santas, who are eager to assist.

That, sometimes, all we have to do is ask.

**Speaking of help, thanks to all of you for your wonderful baby name suggestions yesterday! So many good and viable ones to ponder!!**

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Are you good at asking for help? Why or why not? If you have read and enjoyed my rookie novel LAY, please consider taking a moment, clicking here, and writing a short review. If you have yet to purchase or read my book, please think about doing so. Did I mention that LAY would make a lovely holiday gift?

I am not a relationship expert. I am not sure I believe in relationship experts.

But I do believe in relationships. In ideas. In theories. In questions. This is one of my favorite parts about writing. For me, it’s not just about weaving words and bringing characters to life. No. Writing is also about positing theories about humanity, about existence, about the nature of relationships. I like to inject a little philosophy into my prose. In my estimation, that’s when things get interesting.

And so. Over the past several years, I have cooked up a slew of ideas, of theories. On many topics – childhood, happiness, love, loss, place, purpose, parenthood… The list goes on and on. I keep these shards of speculation tucked away for future use, for future conversations. But today, I would like to put forth three theories I have about successful relationships. I realize even before I float these ideas your way that they are vague, that they might be full of air. But they are interesting, I think. (To me at least.)

On Nurturing: In most successful relationships I have seen, there is one Nurturer. One person who typically takes care of the other in ways big and small. The Nurturer is very often the person who makes the coffee in the morning and picks up dry cleaning and holds airline tickets during a vacation. The Nurturer is often more about gestures than words, gestures that often come very naturally. It is important that the Nurturer is allowed to nurture. Having two Nurturers would not work very well as the Nurturer enjoys the power that comes from tending to the needs, spoken and unspoken, of the Nurteree. (I put forth this theory in Life After Yes wherein Sage was most definitely the nurturer in his relationship with Quinn.)

On Chaos & Order: In most successful relationships I have seen, one party is more drawn to chaos and the other is more drawn to order. Chaos Seeker is a fan of complexity, of conversation, of life’s loose ends. Order Seeker likes things tidy physically and existentially. Chaos Seeker will often find ways to muddy clear waters just for the sake of doing so. Order Seeker sees the patterns in life and love and home and is attracted to predictability and stability. Chaos Seeker and Order Seeker need each other; the former enjoys the challenge of shaking things up. The latter needs a canvas of evolving chaos to fashion order.

On Stress & Serenity: In most successful relationships I have seen, one party is the Stress Maven, more inclined to fret about things – from the toxins in toys to the possibility of terrorism. The Serene One, on the other hand, tends to trust people and the world and that things will turn out okay. Again, these two balance each other out. Stress about life’s grays is often important, but must often be reigned in. It is the Serene One’s job (and often joy) to keep the anxiety within limits.

Again, these are just theories. And here we have just snapshots of these theories. I do not pretend to know what a “successful relationship” is, but I have instincts about things I see around me. Consider the dialectic of the above theories, how they work (or don’t work) together… Is the Nurturer always the Order Seeker? Is the Chaos Seeker invariably the Stress maven? I’m not sure…

Those of you who know me will not be surprised to hear that in my marriage I am the Nurturee, the Chaos Seeker, and the Stress Maven.

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• Thoughts on my decidedly non-expert theories?
• Do you think all of this is a more nuanced way of saying that opposites attract?
  
• In your relationship, are you the Nurturer or the Nurturee? The Chaos Seeker or Order Seeker? The Stress Maven or Serene One?
• Do you like stumbling upon ideas in fiction?
• Do you have any relationship theories of your own? Share ‘em!
  

You are so lucky to have found something you love to do, about which you are passionate, but that allows you to be flexible and be with your girls.

I have heard some variation of the above statement many times recently. From friends. From family. From blog and book readers. And when I hear this, this truth, I nod. Because it’s true. I am lucky. I am exquisitely lucky. To have stumbled upon something (writing) that I genuinely adore. Something that feeds me and fuels me and makes me see the world – and myself – more clearly. And something that by its very nature is fluid and flexible. Something that transcends an orthodox employer/employee model. Something that allows me to be here. Home.

So, yes, I am lucky. I realize this. Every single day.

And yet. And yet, this is not easy. This gig. This juggling act. Because that’s exactly what it is – an act – a show, a dance. Somehow, unwittingly or no, I think I give off the impression that I dwell in dream world, that I bounce back and forth between my prose and my progeny with enviable grace and gumption.

Not so.

I struggle. Every single day. I struggle with the choice. Because it is up to me. Attend birthday party or write two chapters? Pick up from school or edit? Snuggle pajama-clad babes or pen a blog post? These are the questions that float through my mind. And the answers? They are mine to find. And this is amazing. A true privilege.

But this is also hard. Often impossible.

Every hour I spend here is one I do not spend with my girls. Girls who are growing and changing by the day. Every hour I spend tapping keys is one I do not spend tickling toes that won’t be tiny for long.

Recently, I have been doing some serious thinking. Thinking about how I want to spend these days. These days when my kids are little and home. I have thought seriously about hanging it up for a while, putting the writing on that proverbial back burner, for the time being. To focus on the tiny creatures who call me Mommy. To focus on the tiny creature who brews with evolutionary elegance in my core. Why not press pause for a year, one measly year, and focus solely on them, on this fleeting and wonderful time?

Because.

Because I have found something I love to do, about which I am passionate. And I want to do that thing. I need to do that thing. Not doing that thing, not writing, would not be good for me. By extension, it would not be good for them.

And so. I am back where I started. In the struggle. Immersed in a problem it is my privilege to live. Asking questions. Feeling tugs. Shaking from choice. Celebrating the ability, imperfect as always, to do both.

I woke up this morning at 4:30am. A cruel time to rise. It was an experiment though. In the stunning quiet, I poured myself a cup of coffee. I started typing. I wrote 2000 words. Words that say something. Words that need work. Words that require polish. Words that are part of me.

And now. Now it is 7:07am. The house is still silent. I sit here at the kitchen counter. Listening for the patter of little feet. Waiting for the blue of baby eyes. I sit here, swaddled in serene struggle, and tell myself something good. Something foolish, but good.

I can do both. I will do both.

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• Do you struggle – and constantly – in your efforts to balance your personal and professional worlds?
• Do you think that you are a better parent because you pursue personal goals apart from your parenting?
• Do you ever doubt the choices you have made – and are making – about the way you spend your time?
• Do you think we parents and people can really do both, have both personal and professional success? (What is success? I don’t pretend to know.)
  

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Remember last week when I asked you a few million times to vote for me in a book club contest? Well, I am now officially at liberty to announce that — thanks to all of you and your exquisite voting support — Life After Yes is the final SheKnows Book Club pick of the year!

The book club discussion will take place in October/November. If you are interested in joining or learning more details, please click HERE. And stay tuned for news about upcoming contests, interviews, reviews of LAY and details about a live chat I will be doing over at SheKnows.

A little info on SheKnows: As one of the fastest growing destinations on the web, SheKnows (www.sheknows.com) is consistently one of the top 10 properties for women, generating over 150 million page views and more than 12.5 million unique visitors per month. The SheKnows audience gains access to exclusive content on entertainment, parenting, health and wellness, money and career, dating, beauty and style and more, and are offered a stimulating, well-rounded online experience enhanced with a vibrant message board community, free games and activities, and captivating blogs. The company is based in Los Angeles with offices in New York, Scottsdale and Chicago. SheKnows is part of Atomic Online (www.atomiconline.com), a diversified online media company. (Information taken from this page of SheKnows site.)

So, it goes without saying, but I will say it anyway: I am thrilled. Honored. Pumped. All of the above.

And I am very grateful to SheKnows for providing me and my book this wonderful opportunity, to the readers and bloggers who nominated Life After Yes for consideration as a pick, and to all of you out there who took precious time from your days to vote for this rookie in the writing game. I have said it time and time again here, but it’s true: writing is in so many ways a very isolating, even lonely, experience. And feeling as supported as I do now is really nothing short of amazing. Thank you.

Finally, a big thanks also to my very talented fellow nominees: Chandra Hoffman (Chosen), Claire Avery (Hidden Wives) and Melissa Senate (The Love Goddess’ Cooking School). I look forward to reading these three books and I encourage you all to pick them up as well.

Okay, that’s it for today. Check back tomorrow for my earth-shattering Cheesecake Epiphany.

(And, again, thank you!!!!)

We humans often talk about fear of the unknown. We cower together at the idea of uncertainty, the reality of roads unseen. Change looms and we know this, but we are afraid of its implications. Who will we be? Where will we be? What we life be?

Abstract enough for you? I have a point. (I think.)

My littlest Sister T moved to Chicago this past Monday. She moved there without much of a plan. No job. No roommate. She just went, seeking to shift things up. Now, it is worth reminding you all that T is no slouch. The kid graduated from Yale last May at the tippy-top of her class with a GPA that would make you cry. I do not tell you this to brag, but to tell you that her future? It’s undeniably bright. (I also tell you this to brag, I guess. Hey, I’m proud.)

Anyway. The point here is that she has no idea what her life will look like. Where will she work? Whom will she date? How will she spend her time? Will she meet a gorgeous stranger at 1am at darkened bar? Will she fall in love with a career she never dreamed about before? Will she take in the Chicago fall air and never turn back? I don’t know. She doesn’t either.

I know she is a little scared. A bit fearful of the unknown. This makes perfect sense. If she weren’t a bit anxious about the unfolding of her life, I’d be worried. But I think, I know, she’s also really excited. To walk out into her life. To putter around the real world, a world beyond Ivy. To see who it is she becomes.

And I am excited, too. To watch her fumble and stumble into her own happiness. To witness her evolution. To see her grow.

And, if we are being really honest here, I am a tad envious. She has so many big things ahead of her. I think I might just have to live vicariously. Nothing wrong with that.

Because me? I’m ten years ahead of her in this game of life. A full decade. My life is very different from hers, its contours more fixed, its contents more defined. I am a wife and a mother. I have a home. I have a professional passion. And these are exquisite things I would never ever trade, but they are also known. I have a good sense of what my life will look like in one year, five years, ten. The biggest uncertainty for me right now is whether I will have another girl or a boy this spring. I find out in two weeks and I can’t wait! But then again, I can wait. Because once I find out, I will know.

I guess you could say I have a fear of the known. A fear that it is all mapped out, my life’s landscape, and that it’s my job to just live within the boundaries. But even as I write this, I chide myself for my simplistic thinking. Life is never known. We can plan and plot, but things are never fixed, never firm. Change always lingers. Surprise always looms.

We never know entirely, do we?

This is scary. This is good.

T, I am so so proud of you. I can’t wait to watch your adventures from afar. And I can’t wait to come visit next month! Love you.

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• Are you afraid of the unknown?
• Are you afraid of the known?
• Do you think at any given point in life we are afraid of one or the other?
• Which city do you like better – Chicago or New York?
• Any words of wisdom for T as she sets out on her life adventure?
  

A final plea. If you haven’t yet, please click HERE to vote for Life After Yes as SheKnows final book club pick of the year! Your support thus far has been incredible! This will be the last time I beg. Promise

Baby knows how to play (age-appropriate) video games on my iPhone. She is very good at these games. Toddler knows how to surf the Internet; her latest fascination is, appropriately, Halloween costumes on Amazon. Toddler’s preschool has a computer lab. She had her very first computer class of the year yesterday. Fine. My kids are itty-bitty modern movers. Too cute, right?

Maybe.

Last week, something happened. We were all in our family room around bedtime. As per usual, the girls had watched a DVRed program or two and Husband and I turned off the television and announced that it was time to call it a night. Baby protested. “No!” she screamed, adorably of course. Then she grabbed the remote. This was a funny image that made us smile because at just shy of two she is still a pretty small creature and the remote for our new television system is, well, bulky. Anyway, she held that remote close to her chest.

And I conducted a little experiment. I said, “Fine, little girl. If you can figure out how to turn on the television and get it to your show, you can watch one more.” Husband and I shared a good old parenthood guffaw at the very idea of this.

Turns out the joke was on us. Baby played around with that fat remote and in no time, the big screen came to life. It was still on the program guide, so we still had some hope, but then Baby furrowed her tiny brow, studied the big black rectangle, pressed a single button and voila. Dora the Explorer.

I kid not. She is 22 months. What the – ? So, Husband and I laughed. And the four of us sat down and watched little Dora bound through those candy green cartoon woods.

I do not know what to make of this. That my kids, my very young kids, are beyond proficient with the technology of the day. On the one hand, I am proud and full of awe. On the other hand, I am, on a very basic level, alarmed. These little people do not even know how to read – or write – yet. Is it okay that they are mastering buttons and screens before they are mastering pages and sentences?

Let’s hope so.

During preschool initiation last year, teachers and administrators from Toddler’s school (which we truly adore) spoke about this phenomenon, this reality that our children, whether we like it or not, are growing up in a different world. That they are digital natives. I can’t remember the details of the presentation, but I do recall being intrigued and impressed and amazed that this school had given this all so much thought, about how to prepare our children for life in this modern age without losing sight of the incomparable more traditional skills and development that have been around forever.

I write about this today because I have a hunch that I am not alone here. I imagine that some of you out there have encountered kids, maybe your own, who are shockingly comfortable around contemporary technology. I imagine that if we are honest here, and ask the big and hard questions, this could be a very interesting conversation.

So. Let’s go.

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• Are you amazed or alarmed at the very idea of digital natives?
• Do your kids fiddle impressively with your gadgets?
• Would you be pleased if your tiny tot was learning about computers at school

If you haven’t yet, please click HERE and vote for LIFE AFTER YES as the SheKnows final book club pick of the year. This is a tremendous honor and I need your help. Voting takes but a few seconds and is very easy. Come on. If my girls can do it, so can you! Thank you so much for your support!!!