Tate Publishing - How You Can Help!

As some of you read on social media, there has been an issue with the publishing house that was to release my book this Valentine's Day. Apparently, Tate Publishing was going under - and during the time that they were going under and being sued by basically every major printing press in the U.S., they were also not paying royalties to authors, withholding employees pay, and continuing to take in as many new orders as they could (despite the fact that they haven't had a printing press working with them for 3 months now).

They are under investigation by the Attorney General's office as well as the FBI for supposedly shuffling funds to other LLCs they just opened so that they could potentially file for bankruptcy. Without warning, this week Tate Publishing closed their doors, shut down their phones, and the only remaining thing on their website is a contract termination form that authors can fill out, waiving all rights to a refund. Additionally, they are requiring authors to pay $50 to Tate if the author wants their own manuscripts back... they are literally charging people to reclaim their own intellectual property. (In case you didn't know it, that's kind of illegal.)

I found all of this out yesterday. So obviously yesterday sucked eggs. Plain and simple. And then today I had to reapply my big girl britches and start moving forward, figuring out how to proceed. Thankfully there have been people put in my path that know a significant amount more about this crazy publishing world than I do, and we're taking it one step at a time as we move forward, hopefully towards a soon-to-be released book!

BUT, for those of you who had already purchased The Children Who Raised Me while it was in it's early release stage, there is hope for you to get your money back! (Silver linings!) First, call your credit card or banking center that you used to make your purchase. Inform them of the situation and they will put a temporary credit on your card. This allows them an investigation phase of 2 billing cycles. During that time, Tate Publishing is able to either refund your money, produce a book for you (which they physically cannot do), or file for bankruptcy.

If they file for bankruptcy before you receive your credit, your bank or credit card holder will have to tell you what that means for your reimbursement. However, as long as you do this soon, hopefully they will miss their 2 billing cycle time frame and everyone will get their money back.

Secondly, if you would be so kind, the Attorney General's Office in Oklahoma is asking that all affected parties fill out a Consumer Complaint Form - their office has already received an incredibly high volume of complaints, and the more they get in, the better the likelihood that they will file a class-action lawsuit against Tate Publishing. I know this may mean little to you, but hear me out:

There are thousands of authors who have paid thousands (if not tens of thousands) of dollars to Tate Publishing - beautiful people wanting to find a good "Christian" publishing house that will make their dreams come true. People like you and me with stories to tell - the kind of stories that will inspire and make the world a better place. These lovely people have been lied to, cheated, and manipulated by the very company that promised them success and a platform for ministry. These people are hurting, broken, in shock, and now without the rights to their own materials or the money they've given over to these people.

I am only one of those people... there are so many more who have now lost access to not just one, but multiple books and all of the royalties promised to them. Filing a claim will help increase the chance that these hard-working folks may get a portion of their money refunded to them. For some, this is the only way they can afford to move on with their book being published (or re-published in many cases). Without this, many stories will go untold.

So, to all of you who have been faithful with me on this journey through your love, encouragement, prayers, or purchasing of my book - I cannot say thank you enough. And now I ask you just do one more thing by filing the claim below and giving all of the affected authors a new chance to tell their stories. Thank you. So much love to you all!

Just Another Day

               Ok, so yesterday was just an average day. And I know I should feel ashamed about this, but my toddler watched the movie “Cars” 3 times yesterday (twice back to back) while I did work from home. I made sure he was fed, changed, and safe… but otherwise, I did very little parenting for the little fella outside of helping him build a train track. This kept him occupied for all of 4 minutes before he would scream out of frustration because one of the train cars would derail, at which point I would give him a bowl of crackers and cheerfully suggest he go watch Lightening McQueen some more.

            Parenting score, right?

            So later that evening, my kids returned home from school and The Hubs helped them finish homework while I got dinner on the table and rushed my son off to youth group. Realizing I hadn’t really talked to my oldest outside of hurried dinner conversation, I casually asked him how his day at school was.

            Now, usually this would be answered with a “fine”. And good moms would then press for more information. Unfortunately, I was not feeling in the mood to be a “good” mom. I hate pressing for more information because then I usually hear about how he got in trouble for something and we have to write apology letters and call school personnel and figure out consequences… and who has the energy for that day in and day out, really?! Not this mama.

            But last night, after I ran a trillion errands and listened to the “Cars” background music while making umpteen phone calls, I asked the question, “How was your day, Cam” and was then regaled with a 15-minute monologue about his day. He spoke in speeds that could rival an auctioneer. Only his words made no sense and his stories never really came together clearly. But I was not given the chance to ask for further explanation because, well, he wouldn’t shut up long enough for me to do so. (And honestly, was I listening all that closely? Mmmmm, no.)

            I dropped him off at the church and drove home while my ears finished ringing. All I wanted to do was to go home, put my feet up, and play candy crush (on mute) so that I could unwind from the frazzled day that was not close enough to being over.

            And that’s just when the female child wanted all of the attention. ALL OF IT. She wanted to play games and paint nails and have me guess random objects she was holding behind her back (I mean, seriously, that’s desperation, right there). And all I wanted to do was zone out for the briefest of moments….

            However, just as all hope felt lost, I remembered my old faithful trick. “Taylor, I have an idea of what we can do! Do you want to practice doing hair? I’ll let you practice on me…” We hadn’t played this game in a while, mainly because I have curly hair and she has the talons of an eagle, scraping and clawing at my curls without the slightest bit of compassion. Yet I knew that if she was this desperate for a playmate, she would be gentler than usual.

            Sure enough, this child of mine sprang to attention and immediately ran for my brush and all the hair accessories she could find. And for the next hour, I sat there as she gently played with my hair, putting me into a partial coma, me barely hearing the long stream of high-pitched words emerging without stop from her lips. With each brush stroke and each careful twist of the hair, I was instantly transported into a state of complete calm.

            And then she asked if she could massage my feet….

            What is happening to my life right now?!? I could barely fathom my luck, but there she sat, rubbing my tootsies and tickling at my ankles. My body felt like putty and all I wanted to do was tell her that I was sorry for all the times I’d grounded her or scolded her for getting into my things. I was willing to forgive all wrongs and forget the past entirely. We were starting fresh in that moment, and I was going to sleep like a baby.

            My husband arrived home with my oldest from church at 8pm and it was time for everyone to brush their teeth and get ready for bed. Sadly, my time of soothing had to come to an end - but that was okay, because I was still fully relaxed...

And then the kids argued over something stupid in the bathroom and the lights were left on and clothes were left everywhere in the kitchen (why are they in the kitchen in first place? No one will ever know.) and people kept finding reasons to avoid bedtime and, wouldn’t you know it, my feeling of calm left as quickly as it had come.

            I had to do the yelling and threatening once more… I was willing to charge them their Christmas money to pay the electric bill, tape them to their beds if they got up once again, and I was all about ready to light “Cars” on fire if the toddler screamed to watch it for the fourth time that day (because honestly, 4 times is where any decent mother draws the line, right?).

            Distressed but trying to appear “normal”, I ran the idea of Ben and Jerry’s past my husband… but he wasn’t biting. “You’re not asking me to go to the store for ice cream right now, are you?” he asked.

            “Gosh no, I was just saying that if you ever feel like it, it’s on sale at Uni-Mart…” I replied hopefully.

            He didn’t take the bait, so I retreated upstairs with the toddler to watch Peppa Pig and make a blanket tent out of my bedding in an attempt to calm him enough for bed. After a half hour of suffocating under my sheets, I was able to wrangle the little guy into his crib, accompanied by his handful of matchbox cars.

            Twenty minutes later, I heard the familiar clang of a car falling out of the crib, followed by the equally familiar calls from my youngest. “Mama! Oh, Mama!! My car car fall out da bed!” I arose and retrieved his car, kissed him goodnight again, and went to watch something non-animated on the television as I tried to fall asleep. Then the clang happened again… but this time the car had fallen behind the crib. There was no way in the world that I was moving his bed at 10:30pm to pick up a toy car.

            And I told my sobbing child just that. Although that didn’t seem to stop him from yelling, “Mama, oh Mama” a million more times with increasing vigor. So, I did what all “good” parents would do… I turned up the volume on my TV, turned down the volume on the baby monitor, and I willed myself to close my eyes and wake up on a beach somewhere. (PS, I still woke up at home and next to a hairy man hogging my side of the bed.)

            It was just an average day… nothing unusual, just a day. And my house isn’t the beach, despite the January rain acting deceptively like a monsoon. But I am content with these chatty, arguing, squawking little people with all their quirks and peculiarities. I’m happy with my hairy bed-sharer. I am fulfilled at my job that makes me talk on the phone CONSTANTLY and neglect my child to the television sometimes. And I am happy being just a “good” mom. We make it work and I’m kinda proud of us for doing so.

Photo by: suckhoedoisong.vn

"The Children Who Raised Me" ~ Now Available!

In case you missed the memo (which, how could you because I've basically been blowing up my social media feeds with the news because I'm SOOOO excited), my first book is now available online at tatepublishing.com!  If you've followed my family's story, you may already know some of what falls in the pages of this particular memoir. However, have no fear, there is plenty of NEW content that helps put our lives into some perspective. 

From foster care to adoption, mental health behaviors to Reactive Attachment Disorder, grief and loss to new life, Christian parenting to just plain survival - this book has a little bit of something for everyone and I'm so blessed that God gave me the words that needed to be said... words that are hard to say. Although I floundered my way through much of it, my deepest aim was to shed light on the hard parts of raising someone else's children... to say the things that we're told not to say, and to take away the facade that all things related to adoption, fostering, and just plain parenting is nothing but happiness and love.

Because let's be honest. It's oftentimes not. In fact, sometimes it sucks so badly that you can't find breath and you make parenting mistakes and you cry ugly tears that no one should ever feel they need to hide out of shame. We are ALL together in this parenting thing. Whether it's messed or blessed, we are together. Even when you've felt you couldn't go on another moment; Even when you gave up and came back and gave up again and came back again all within the same 10 minutes; Even if you feel like you're failing...

There is always Hope.

And you are never alone.

The Day The Fridge Died

Yesterday I found myself in a bit of an odd situation.  It was mid-afternoon when I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scattered condiments and salad dressing and a random jar of maraschino cherries.  Looking back, I’m thinking I should’ve just tossed them out then and there.  After all, I couldn’t recall the last time we had ice cream sundaes, so they were probably expired… if items like that even do expire.  But there I sat, a broken open container of almond milk pooling towards me lazily as I glared at it through bitter tears.  In the background, my children frantically knocked on the door – the very door that I had locked moments before after banishing them into nature.  It was a mere 30 seconds before they both realized they needed to pee.

 I feel the need to explain my emotional state to you all.  

 This week was Day Camp Week for my oldest (my oldest who is on a new medication that has made him speak every thought that pops into his head… I had no idea that he was capable of thinking so frequently).  This week was also Vacation Bible School Week for our church, which I help lead.

When I first realized that both events landed on the same week, I immediately went into a state of hypervigilience.  Frantic, I planned out each hour of each day for the duration of the craziness.  Throwing in three doctor appointments, setting up for VBS, and the half-hour commute to and from day camp, all the while accounting for the toddler’s nap schedule, I estimated that I had roughly -8.65 hours to accomplish all that needed to be done for the week.

I hadn’t even started yet and I was already behind!!

Obviously this was also the week my trusty babysitter had to travel out of state for work, so I did what I had to do – I panicked and then reminded myself that it’s only a week.  And we can accomplish anything as long as we know there’s a time limit, right?

Well, that’s what I used to tell myself anyways, before this week happened, that is.

To sum it all up, here are some of the daily events that got jammed into my already crazy schedule:

1)      To start the week off, I stabbed myself through the middle finger of my dominant hand.  Yes, there was blood.  Yes, there was nausea and dizziness.  No, this is not what caused the refrigerator to explode its condiments all over the kitchen… that happened at the end of the week!  Using a fondue prong to poke a hole in dried up nail glue for my daughter, I accidently pierced through the top of my finger and straight out the side.  After bandaging it thoroughly, I realized that I was going to be attending VBS with the inability to bend my finger down all the way – causing me to flip off each and every parent, child, and volunteer I met.  Nothing says “Welcome To Our Church” like the worship leader giving everyone the finger.

2)      This week, my toddler threw a royal fit in the mall parking lot, a place where we were killing time before having to pick Cameron up from camp.  This occurred during the middle of a thunder storm, and I dropped my purse, spilling all the contents under our van.  I climbed under the vehicle to retrieve my things, coming up soaking wet and filthy... and then my shoe broke.  My new shoe.  It broke beyond repair, leaving me to go collect my son from camp a wet, muddy, shoe-less mess... and all the other parents looked at me with pity.  

3)      Wyatt also decided to pack his cuppy into my purse before we left the house for the day.  Only the lid wasn’t shut.  Only after setting my purse on my lap later that day did I realize that my legs were getting wet.  When I lifted the purse, RED juice dripped from the lining of my brand new bag, staining my pants AND all that was inside.  My umbrella is now pink, you guys.

4)      While at the store, Wyatt basically exploded in his diaper.  This occurred shortly after we realized that we’d left the diaper bag at VBS the prior night (because having no sitter, he was forced to come to VBS and eat his weight in cheese balls with the very generous ladies working the snack station!)  Seeing that the only thing we had left was a swim diaper in the van, I tried to make due.  Except a half hour later, we stood in the middle of Walmart as peed dripped down Wyatt’s legs and shoes.  And since he fell asleep on the way home, the fact that I had to change his drenched clothes completely woke him up, rendering him napless for the rest of the day.

5)      Taylor tried to tell me that she broke our ceramic garbage can by “looking at it”.  When I looked at her like she had 3 heads, she burst into tears, saying, “You never believe me!”  Of COURSE I don’t believe you, honey!  Because you’re 8 years old and you don’t have dark magic!!  You obviously didn’t cause the garbage can to explode with your laser-focus!  But what do I know?  I only have 2 degrees… and she can’t even spell “garbage can”.

6)      This week, our audio-visual system at the church decided to malfunction.  Why?  Who knows, because I have about as much technical experience as a giraffe.  I spent over an hour unplugging and re-plugging cords in, turning machines off and restarting them, calling and recalling friends that could tell me what the “little red button” does and if the “blue knobby thingys” are important or not.

7)      Over half of our VBS volunteers also had crazy weeks, causing most of them to cancel some, if not all, of the days they were scheduled to help out.  Luckily, we had other random people stop by the church and we sucked them into our madness (after having them fill out the necessary paperwork, of course)… not that it helped me remember several of their names.  Sadly, I ended up calling everyone Sweetie or Buddy in order to save face.  (Bur rest assured, they were needed and they stepped up, so I love them.  Whoever they are.)

8)      Because our church welcomes those that sometimes don’t fit in at other churches, we found ourselves on the receiving end of a group of kiddos that were “energetic”, many of whom have special needs.  Now, for the record, I LOVE that our church is this place.  I love that we open our arms to everyone and are willing to make them our family within seconds of shaking their hands.  This, quite honestly, is my favorite thing about where we worship.  But as the needs of the many flew around me like confetti in a tornado, I found myself running after AWOLing children, pulling a googly eye out of a little girl’s nose, keeping a child from pulling up little girls’ shirts, and uttering the phrase “For the last time, please stop licking your neighbors’ ears!”  And to top it off, I found a half-eaten lollipop in my purse, securely stuck to the inside lining… and we didn’t even have suckers at VBS this year.

Photo by www.scholarcenter.com

And then, finally, as the week was drawing to a close and my sanity was waning (OK, let’s be honest, I lost it somewhere on Tuesday after my shoe broke), someone ate all the pepperoni out of our fridge.  My pepperoni.  And the VBS power point I was working on took 6 hours to do something that should've taken 20 minutes.  And did I mention Cameron’s new medication and the incessant talking?

 Friends, this is when I broke our refrigerator door.

I'm not exactly proud of breaking the fridge.  They say that it is in our moments of weakness that we find our strength.  And I did.  But there was no pepperoni and I hadn't eaten, and therefore, the fridge needed to die.

My husband returned home that afternoon and quickly surveyed the children locked outside, fear etched onto their little faces.  He cautiously unlocked the door with the key and worked his way to the kitchen.  Shattered pieces of broken plastic and food residue littered the floor.  Silently, he walked towards me as I hyperventilated at my computer, willing it to work.  Kneeling down beside me, he gently offered me a hug.

“So… are we having a rough day?” he tried.

My face still puffy from crying, my hands still shaking from anxiety, I received his hug and just let myself relax into his big arms.  When he pulled back, there was a trace of a smirk on his face.  He lovingly nicknamed me “The Hulk” before allowing the children to come back into the house and finally pee.  And I was given strict instructions to go out to eat and have some alone time.

I didn’t argue.  After all, he was right.  I needed some alone time.  I needed to regroup after all the craziness and constant running from place to place this week.

That night, four children came to know Christ at VBS.  Four small souls that didn’t know who God was now will spend their eternity with Him.    

I tell you all this because of one important thing:

In the midst of it all, It Is Well.

When VBS seems like it’s a disaster, then It Is Well.  When my purse and all its contents are ruined and I’m left shoeless and muddy, It Is Well.  When my pepperoni runs out in the middle of a low-sugar moment, then It Is  STILL Well!  (And when my husband saved me from breaking the rest of the appliances with my super-human strength, It Was most definitely Well.)

I got thinking, maybe your week has been somewhat like mine.  Maybe you've felt the stress and maybe you've lost your cool.  Maybe you've felt the pressures of having to be everywhere for everyone, doing everything and not feeling like you've got any help or like everything you touch breaks or falls apart or you have a toddler (enough said) or a child (or two) with mental health issues or behavioral needs or emotional trauma.... 

Maybe you've reached your limit this week and you think you can't possibly go on... that a day of rest cannot get here soon enough!

Even so, It IS Well.  It is so well that God gives us the right to cry and be frustrated and angry and sad without Him losing control of our situations.  He allows us to be human and emotional - and then to rest, knowing that He's got it.  He's got your kid.  He's got your job.  He's got your health.  And he's even got that relationship that's on shaky ground.  He's got YOU, Friend.  All of you, every single part.

And even if you don’t have big arms to physically rest upon, know that God’s arms are always there.  He’s holding them out to you, just like He held them out to four beautiful children this week.  Just reach out and remember that He won’t let you go… no matter how many fridges you destroy.

A Slice of Cheese, A Side of Hope

That moment when you get the distinct feeling that your day is going to get far worse before it gets better. Yes, you know the feeling, don’t you? I can practically feel you all collectively nodding your heads in agreement as I write this! Call it Women’s Intuition, a 6th sense, or just Murphy’s Law doing its thing… but we have all been there.

There are those random days where everything goes right – days where it seems that the Lord himself has parted seas of traffic, given all the green lights, and miraculously turned nasty children into angels. These days we can count on one hand. But days like today, they seem to happen a little more frequently. These are the days that you can find me hunkered down at my computer, praying that the roof doesn’t cave in on top of me while I eat a block of cheese.

Why are you eating a block of cheese, you might ask? Because it’s a beautiful aged Vermont white cheddar that deserves to be consumed before we leave for the holidays, and because my day has sucked, and because I exercised already, and because…. Cheese just fixes things, OK? If you have to ask, then you will never truly understand.

To start this gorgeous morning, my youngest accidentally recorded the infomercial for the 21 Day Fix program. I, in all my wisdom, took this as a sign that I was being called to exercise. I now realize that my kid is just button-happy and that my calling was really to eat aged cheddar. However, I found this out the hard way.

Lucky for me, there was a video sampler on YouTube allowing me to try one of the work outs for free. It called for light weights… I have 15 lb weights. Surely that will work, right?

Wrong. This chick had me doing explosive jumping jacks for a minute at a time (10 second breaks in between rounds), followed by high knees (to help you catch your breath, she says!), lunge kicks, and a slew of other equally ridiculous things that made me feel like punching her in the face. I quickly realized that 15 lb weights were not going to work, but the only other thing I could find were family-sized cans of soup.

Only here’s the thing. Soup cans and sweaty hands lead to terrible things. Things like throwing a soup can mid-jumping jack and having it smash through a cup of milk sitting on the counter, sending white liquid everywhere. I literally finished my high knees in a puddle of lactose before my legs refused to cooperate any longer – sadly this was not the last puddle I would find myself standing in today.

While gathering towels to clean up the milk, I hear the voice from YouTube informing me that this was a sample of the 21 Day Fix EXTREME program, NOT the regular program. And, hello, if you know me at all, you know there is nothing extreme about my physical capabilities (although my husband would argue that I can do some extreme Mom-Dancing… but I don’t think that actually qualifies).

Me and my jelly legs cleaned up the spilled milk as best as we could, all the while cursing the Campbell’s soup company and YouTube and children that play with remote controls. But no matter how much I scrubbed, I couldn’t get the sour smell to go away. How long had that milk been sitting there, anyway? I began to follow my nose from room to room, and it led me to my toddler, standing happily watching Paw Patrol in the living room. I lifted his shirt and went to pull his diaper back to see if he was, indeed, the source of the rank odor. And when I did this, I submerged my fingers into a squishy pool of warm, orange baby crap.

Trying to keep my gag reflex reactions to a minimum, I ran to the kitchen sink and began scrubbing my fingers. Sadly, my nail beds still smell like I had a manicure in a sewage treatment facility.

I went back to Wyatt, only then noticing the pooey footprints across the floor. Obviously he had sprung some sort of ridiculous rectal leak because the amount of juices that had run down his legs and apparently soaked his socks informed me that he may need to see a doctor to get rehydrated! I swiftly began to strip him before he could take another step. My rubbery legs sank to the floor as I wrestled him out of clothes, depositing smears and globs on everything as we went. I reached for the wipes and went through half the pack as my son joyously found great pleasure in playing with his poopy weenie and then clapping his hands, sending bits of diapery remains everywhere.

Everywhere.

My hair, his hair, my clothes, the carpet, the bench, and the two toys he grabbed that were sadly within reach of where I had tackled him – all now brown. It was only when I reached for a clean diaper that  I realized with great dread that whoever had changed his last diaper in the living room had not restocked the supply we keep on the end table.

This is person must be shot.

The only solution was that we were just going to have to make a run for it. I needed to get the baby upstairs and to the bathtub before he set off another bomb. However, my dogs kinda have a thing for poopy items. I don’t know, they’re messed up in the heads or something. But knowing this prevented me from making a quick run for it with Wyatt, because I just couldn’t leave the demolished diaper and crap-filled clothes on the floor in the same room as my mentally challenged canines.

Noticing that Wyatt was re-engaged with his television show, I took 5 seconds to run his poopy laundry downstairs and tossed them into the washing machine. Wyatt used those 5 seconds to pee all over the floor, naturally. In that moment it became apparent that my son and I were not moving towards the same goal for the day. Not at all, really.

I soaked up the pee as best I could and took my sticky, naked baby upstairs… stairs that now presented themselves as a tremendous obstacle due to that dang work out! I asked Wyatt very sweetly to not go to the bathroom on Mommy as we carefully took one stair at a time, but he just smiled at me and said “Peepee, Peepee!” over and over.

Finally in the shower, we both watched as the water running off of us turned a dingy shade of brown as flecks of stuff dripped off of us and moved towards the drain. And as I stood there, I thought of all the things I was supposed to have been accomplishing this morning. Things like packing, laundry, writing, making phone calls for work, and paying our bills. Things that weren’t getting done because of explosive jumping jacks and explosive baby butts.

I looked down at my sopping wet toddler. He was happily playing with his bath toys and wiping soap bubbles on my legs. I realized that for whatever reason, the plans I had for my day were not going to happen. At least not all of them. But hearing my littlest love saying the word “Bubbles” over and over again as he nodded his head up and down in excitement somehow felt better than folding laundry.

I thought of how often I go through my day with my own agenda. I make my plans and to-do lists. I focus on what I want to get done. Yet, sometimes God says, Wait a second… I know the plans that I have for you today…. Plans that will give you a hope and a future.

Being crapped on wasn’t part of my hope for the future, granted. But after going Christmas shopping on Saturday for Isaac, our love that was taken from us, and wrapping all those gifts on Sunday so that we could send them out, I think God knew that I needed to spend time in the bubbles with my little one.

The next time you find yourself crying over spilled milk, remember that there are plans for you that are meant to bring hope. You just need to push through the crap to see it. And eat a block of cheese, because it really does fix things.

If you find yourself in the middle of life's mess and need some additional support, particularly with raising difficult children, check out the MommyhoodSFS Membership program and sign up today.