Don’t you love it when things just pile in on top of each other!! I’m in another blog hop – but it is a special time of year for me, so I’m indulging myself….

Of course I had to participate in this! Easter is my day. Really! I have to lay claim to it because I was born on it and got married on it. The first I had little control over, the second was kind of contrived.

The story of my birth was that Daddy was at the hospital and spotted the Easter Bunny trying to hippity hop down the hall but he had a baby in his basket and it was just too heavy. Daddy offered to take the baby off his hands to help out, but what Daddy really wanted was a chipmunk. Really, that’s the story I grew up with.  I still have a telegram from one of my aunts (who must not have loved me very much) offering the suggestion that they name me Easter and call me Essie. Fortunately that didn’t stick, though I was “James” for a couple of days, since they weren’t expecting a girl.

Now the wedding was different. I’m from a tiny town, maybe 3,000 people on Sunday morning when everyone’s home. So I go to my childhood church to make arrangements and there’s already a wedding that Saturday – who knew there were two women in town that weren’t already married, so I got shifted to Sunday – Easter Sunday. The florist loved that. It was also April 15, Tax Day. At least he’s never forgotten our anniversary.

Even though hubby groans about it, the kids still get Easter baskets – I don’t care that they’re both grown and gone. I got one as long as Momma was alive, so it’s only fair. Us Easter chipmunks have to stick together . . .

Come on and leave a comment – that’s two books I’ll be giving away – one with each hippity hop…

Check  out who else is on the hop    http://thebloghopspot.com/event-page/

When I spotted Carrie Ann’s request I had to jump in – My birthday is April 5. Happy Birthday fellow Aries!

Growing up we had a rule in the house – you only got a birthday party every three years. That actually worked out very well—1, 4, 7, 10, 13 and 16—Most of the high spots. After sixteen it turned into an annual slumber party, but the parents did forgive me for that eventually.

Funny, but it’s the in-between years I remember better. One year, probably when I was 11 or 12, I took a friend to the movies, one of my first horror flicks and we watched the entire movie through button holes in my coat, because we were completely covered and terrified. Another year I took a friend to a new kind of ice cream parlor—they made super servings with up to sixteen scoops of whatever you wanted. The problem, as I look back, was that everyone ate out of the same huge bowl.  That wasn’t too bad with one person, but we watched a group of kids slurping out of such a bowl, all over each other. Never went back and the place didn’t last long.

However, I think my favorite birthday is one that usually isn’t chosen by most people—the year I turned 30. I’m not a masochist, honest. And in the interest of full disclosure, I don’t really remember my 30^th birthday. No, I was not drunk, not even a little. My son was born exactly one month before that day. So I was in my 20’s when I became a mother, barely. Turning 30 kind of slid by without the angst of “OMG! 30!!” because of him. I was too busy and much too happy. I still am.

Now, please leave a comment! One lucky bloke will win an copy of my eBook – Rth Rising!  And you’ll be entered in the contest for the Birthday Blog Hop.  Thanks!

And now as an extra prezzy I’m up for best first chapter and cover – http://dreneebagbypresentsfirstchapters.blogspot.com/2012/03/rth-rising-by-donna-steele.html   A really good birthday….

I did an interview with Linda Mooney- and no I do not have an accent…

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/other_worlds_of_romance/2012/03/27/donna-steele-is-my-guest-author-on-march-26th

Okay, I promised you a story – my first adult woman’s fiction.  At the ripe old age of 13 Valley of the Dolls came out – those of you with great math skills go ahead.  Anyway I quickly realized this was not a book for a 13 year-old which made it all the better. I loved it.

Fast forward a couple of weeks and Momma is having the bridge club in. Now I’m not old enough that they were all wearing hats and gloves, but you get the picture. I’m in the kitchen minding my own business when I hear Momma say, “I believe Donna read that, maybe she can help you.”  Huh?? But at the summons I head into the formal living room – it’s not even Christmas and I’m wearing shoes, so this is a big deal.

I approach Momma’s table and she refers me to Mrs. K for a question. By now all twelve of the bridge club women are watching me. Mrs. K says, “I was reading Valley of the Dolls” — feel face go numb and attempt to keep a bland expression — “I read the word (insert derogatory term for gay here) and it didn’t sound like she was taking about a bundle of wood or a cigarette, do you know what she means?”

Shit, shit, shit. Sure I knew what she meant. Could the woman not read for context? She had kids my age, for crap’s sake. So I politely nod and say, “That’s a man who dates other men.”

You know how you can feel it when the atmosphere changes before a storm? I could feel my mother’s head snap up. What, I was supposed to lie?  Mrs. K nodded, “Well that’s what I thought.” Momma motions for me to leave the room and, dead girl walking, I do. Momma read the book that night.

I did go on to read Rosemary Rogers and Kathleen Woodiwiss, etc. but fortunately I was able to keep them hidden and no one in the bridge club ever asked for my help again, though I must admit, my babysitting jobs were cut back a bit.  Oh well….