I am putting the final loving touches on the next book, Let’s Pretend We’re Normal.
(If perhaps you are thinking, “Trish, didn’t you already do that?” then to you I say, “Yes, and this is the ongoing joy of the writing life until the publisher waves the checkered flag. It’s never finished, merely abandoned.”)
I want to hand you this delicious little paragraph, because I really and truly love it too much to keep it to myself.
I used to tell them they couldn’t sleep in my room because this space would belong to me and the new dad; I also used to kiss them only on the cheek, telling them my lips were saved for the new dad. But here we are, four years later, and it’s still just us, a very solid three with nobody else in sight. I’m tired of telling them no when I could just say yes. Childhood is too short to send them away or to save kisses for anybody else when together they make up my very kissable life. So for now I let them kiss me right on the lips. And for now I let them sleep on my floor. For now this works for us.