I am excited to announce plans for my second novel, The Soccer Mom!

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Meet Alex. Mom of three. Wife. Loves eggs and bacon. Always yearned to be something more, to become someone famous, someone who creates a legacy. Meet Steve. Father of three. Husband. Pharmaceutical Sales Rep. Obsessed with the number six. They make their home in the suburbs of the great city of Boston. The story unfolds when Steve is home for a rare four day weekend with his family. Their first plan is a Saturday afternoon Red Sox game at Fenway Park, however, at the last minute, Alex decides she prefers to skip the game and take a much needed day to herself. 

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Alex, unsure of what to do on a completely kid-free and husband-free day, has thoughts of cleaning out the basement and organizing the kids' closets. Instead, she leisurely takes a walk, paints her nails and sits outside to read. She falls asleep with a tabloid magazine on her lap...awakening as Alexandra, famous Hollywood A List movie actress. She is the girlfriend of notorious Hollywood Bad Boy, Decker Mason. She is a vegan, has no children and has a full staff at her beck and call. Will life be exciting in this glimpse of fame and fortune? Will she love being a famous actress who can command ten million dollars per movie? Will she relish the fact she is a household name? Or will she yearn for her original life back as a mom and wife?

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Similar to the movies, 13 Going on 30 and The Family Man, what will happen when Soccer Mom Alex is thrust into the role of one of Hollywood's most famous celebrities? Be careful what you wish for...

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Prologue

“I want a new life.” There. I’ve finally said it aloud. Some days, during utter chaos, I say the words in my head, or just picture how they would look floating across the sky. When this happens, my mind calms down, like a cool thunderstorm after a long sticky, heat wave. I feel a sense of peace and it gives me the motivation to somehow keep going; to get through the day. I just need to make it until bedtime, I tell myself. Then I can get a break, savor some me time, unwind and relax.

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            Three pregnancies in six years have had its challenges: physically, mentally and emotionally. My weight has gone up and down more times than kids playing on a seesaw. My shoe size went up one size and then back down two. My bra size has been everything from a 34B to a 38DD, filled with milk and not silicone, just to be clear. I have cried watching slapstick comedy as well as action movies. Exhaustion has overcome me to the point where I could have slept standing up for ten hours straight. I have had countless episodes of pregnancy brain fog. Once I frantically searched the house for my car keys while I held them firmly in my grip. It took my then three-year-old daughter to point to my hand. Another time I put a new ice-cold jug of milk away in the cupboard. Three hours later I completely emptied the refrigerator in search of it and had no memory of how it ended up lukewarm next to a stack of clean dinner dishes. On sporadic grocery store runs, I have worn two different shoes, shirts inside out and forgotten to brush my teeth. I cleaned the house from top to bottom near the end of my first pregnancy, yet by the third, I didn’t care that we had a few small dust bunnies that had taken up permanent residence underneath the sofa.   

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            What would you say is the hardest job on the planet? Ding ding ding! A mom. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. I will say that again for those who missed it. Being a mom is the hardest job in the world. I abhor the term “stay-at-home-mom.” I mean, really, who invented such a derogatory phrase for a woman who easily does the work of twenty people? What full-time mom in this day and age actually stays home all day with their kids? I know what this person who coined that phrase was trying to say and it’s worse when you think of it that way. He (clearly, he is male) is saying that a stay-at-home-mom does not work. Really. Well, I’ll tell you right now, that is the furthest thing from the truth. Moms are teachers, cooks, doctors, gardeners, cleaners, handywomen, nurses, chauffeurs, waitresses, maids, security officers, dishwashers, personal shoppers, accountants, counselors, bookkeepers and so much more. Is this man even married? I bet he doesn’t even have kids. Otherwise, he would be worshipping the ground his wife walks on and begging her forgiveness daily for creating such an asinine way to describe a woman who truly walks on water.

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            My doctor was half right when he told me that having a baby sentences you to five years of hard labor. I struggle daily to keep up with the sheer amount of work of caring for three children. The overflowing laundry, the volume of dirty dishes, the endless cooking and food preparation, countless clean-ups of everything from spilled pomegranate juice on my white kitchen counter to pee all over the bathroom floor. However, my doctor neglected to mention that when you have a second and a third child, additional years are tacked on to your sentence until your kids are in school. That is what I dream about at night: waking up in the morning after an uninterrupted night of sleep, preparing a hot breakfast, getting them dressed, packing lunches, and placing homework lovingly in their backpacks. Then smiling and kissing them good-bye as they board the school bus. No fantasies about sunbathing on a beach in Bora Bora. I wake up fully refreshed when I dream about getting my three kids on the bus at eight-thirty in the morning and having the entire day to myself until I get them off the bus at three o’clock in the afternoon. It is glorious I tell you. Pure bliss. Someday when my kids are grown, I may look back and forget how hard it was. I may wonder why in the world I felt like I was losing my mind most days. But this is highly unlikely. It is just too hard to ever forget. For now, I must keep moving forward and realize the tunnel can only last so long. There will be school. Eventually there will be school.

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            I know what you must be thinking, and I need to set the record straight. I love my children with every ounce of my being. I would take a bullet for each of them without blinking. I focus my life on their needs, day in and day out. I always believed that is what good moms do. However, on the flip side, shouldn’t there be more to life for moms, than being a mom? It is a job and one cannot work the same job 24/7 without days off. Regardless, moms do work the same job 24/7 without a day off. There are no sick days, no vacation time, no leisurely lunches. Moms are always on call. That is just the way it is.

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            Family and friends, acquaintances, coaches and teachers know I am a good mom, and this makes me feel proud. They know I enjoy being a mom (honestly most of the time I do) and probably assume it is completely fulfilling. However, my happiness should not be based solely on my children. Any therapist or talk show host would tell me I have lost my sense of self over these early years of motherhood. They would say that I need to find interests and hobbies just for me. Some therapists might even prescribe “homework” in which I carve out me time and document exactly what I did during said time. They would look at my handwritten paper smudged with peanut butter fingerprints and expect to read that I socialized with a neighbor, attended a painting class, or took a walk by myself. In reality, my list might say that I had a five-minute shower with no kids barging through the door. Or that I read for fifteen minutes before falling asleep with the book on my lap. I would be overjoyed with those two accomplishments. However, the PhD educated therapists, probably all sans children themselves, would tell me that is not nearly good enough. They would go on and on about the importance for moms to pursue personal activities. They would provide documentation and case studies. But sadly, not one single piece of advice would be practical in the real world of moms. Let’s face it. Some days there is no time to shower, let alone wake up an hour early to meditate and drink green tea in solitude. Do I even remember what solitude feels like?

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            I already know the next subject on your mind. Why do I want a new life? I brought it up in the first place so here goes. Back in my teens, when I possessed the belief that I could conquer the world, I envisioned becoming someone big. A pop singer performing sold out concerts across the globe. A Supermodel strutting down runaways in Paris. An A-list actress commanding millions per film. An Olympic Gold Medalist showcased on a box of Wheaties. A Pulitzer Prize winning author on the New York Times Best Seller list. The researcher who discovers the cure for cancer. Someone who creates a legacy to span for hundreds of years. To become successful, and you got me, rich and famous. Celebrities must have the life, right? Assistants at their beck and call to satisfy their every whim. Exquisite clothes and killer shoes from the world’s fashion icons. Invitations to world class events, glamorous parties, the Oscars! Top notch photographers making them look ten years younger and ten pounds thinner. Being interviewed by top journalists with articles splashed across newspapers and magazines. Leading make-up artists to put their blemish-free face on the red carpet. World renowned hair stylists to turn their tresses into glossy masterpieces. Private chefs to cater to their every craving, serving the most delectable dishes under the sun. Personal trainers to keep their body smoking hot and in tiptop shape. Worldwide fans to follow their career every step of the way. Having enough money to never have to worry about anything ever again. This would be the ultimate life. Far beyond the simple “American Dream.” I simply can’t imagine a downside. I know paparazzi must be a pain in the ass, but the fame, fortune, and endless perks surely make up for it. Right?