Since I was 22 years old, I’ve lived solely with males. First my husband, then my two boys. Even the two cats are males. When our romance came out in February, I wasn’t waiting with bated breath for them to read it. Figured I’d pass out if I did. So to say I was surprised when they all did, (well, okay, the cats didn’t), is an understatement. Not only did they finish it, but they liked it too. (And trust me, if they didn’t, they would have zero problem letting me know.) Not only that, but they were pretty darn good about figuring out which parts I wrote and which Minette did. Half the time I can’t remember who wrote what when we edit.
I often hear from girlfriends about the lengthy, deep, illuminating talks they have with their daughters. All day girly outings like going to the spa for manis and pedis then lunch and a movie…that sort of thing. I don’t know if this is true for all mothers of boys, but those kind of marathon talks just don’t occur often for me. I’ve found that during snatched moments, like on a drive to the mall or while watching a rerun, they will open up to me. I cherish those moments. The thing I didn’t realize and that I do now is, while they shared their lives with me, I shared of myself too. And I guess those moments were special to them too, because they really know me.