I fell in love with my husband while standing over an ant hill.

On a random fall afternoon, we decided to take a walk through a nature preserve in a small town in Mississippi. It was quiet, peaceful and serene – a far cry from the perennial loudness we experience with our little ones today. It must’ve been just a month into our relationship and I was still infatuated by this charming poet, a divorced father who still believed fervently in love.

He was 31 and I was 27.

We were in a long distance relationship. Every morning I awoke to his text messages and wore my earpiece for hours talking to him while running errands, watching television or cleaning the house. Within weeks into our courtship I knew he was ‘the one’. Oddly enough, I never believed in that type of kismet. I always believed not in fate, but in the power of one’s free will to become whomever they chose in life. 

When I fell in love with him it wasn’t because he picked the perfect flower, wrote the most romantic poem or showered me with gifts and affection. I fell in love with him the day I made a mature choice to journey this life with a man who shared the same values, desires and dreams.

Very often, people believe that love comes ...

June 16, 2014 I wrote my first book in 3rd grade. I distinctly remember taking colorful paper from my father’s printer, cutting it in half, folding then stapling it together. I wrote and illustrated twelve pages and sold them for .75 to my classmates. While I sold a few I didn’t get officially published until […]

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