Read an excerpt:
Keep Reading For DROP DEAD LIFE Specific Entries From The Blog…
Hyla Molander in The Mama Monologues
Last month, I had the honor of reading in “The Mama Monologues” at Corte Madera Book Passage, along with NY Times best-selling author Kelly Corrigan and many other talented Writing Mamas. Special thanks to Dawn Yun, founder of The Writing Mamas, for making this laughter and tear-filled event possible. We raised over $5,000 for Abelina Magana, a Northern California mother of three who was shot 15 times and lived to tell. If you would like to make a contribution to Abelina and her children,...
read moreThe Father’s Day Timepiece
On Father’s Day, I hold the wristwatch—a stainless steel Bell & Ross—and notice the delayed clicks of the white second hand. My thumb moves in circular motions across the waterproof glass. I’m surprised by its weight. Erik, my 29-year-old husband, pleaded with me for this expensive watch, but I said, “You know we can’t afford that right now.” We were saving money to buy our first house in over-priced Marin County, California. “Hyla, he’s going to give it to me for one-third the cost.” Oh, Erik....
read moreEmbracing Children’s Psychotherapy
Keira, my five-year-old daughter, whined, “I don’t want to talk to anyone,” from under her purple, fuzzy blanket. She did not want start going to therapy. She had recently returned from school one too many times, saying “nobody likes me,” or “I’m not smart,” or “nobody wants to be my friend.” But that was as far as the conversation ever went. She really didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not even me. I pulled the covers back, exposing her angry, brown eyes. “That’s just it, honey. It isn’t...
read moreOrder Up! Single-Parents Dating Online
Match.com. E-Harmony. Yahoo Personals. J-Date. Yup, I signed up for them all. I was a mama on a mission to find love online. More sites, more options. I had tried the club scene. Blaring music. Dim lights. Too much booze. “Nice toes,” one guy had said, looking first at my feet and then straight at my chest. Tall, dressed in black slacks, button-down blue shirt, full head of blonde hair. He certainly was attractive. But way too young and way too interested in my breasts. Tall, dressed in black slacks, button-down...
read moreDefibrillator, Death, and Denial
For three hours, the grasshopper-like chirps call out from the defibrillator. Three hours. This entire time, I continue to write sections of my memoir, Drop Dead Life, trying to pretend the beeping isn’t there. If the beeping is there, that means we really own a defibrillator. That means I actually need to be ready to pull out the child-sized paddles and jump-start my daughters’ hearts. It’s been a rough few weeks. We just visited the pediatric cardiologist at the Oakland...
read moreGrieving Daddy’s Death
Tatiana, my eight-year-old daughter, begins to cry. “Mom-my! I’m not talking to you. You are making me so sad.” Her curly blonde hair flies everywhere, as if being blown by a fan. She stomps into the bathroom, slams the door, and locks herself in. All morning, Tatiana has not been listening, and I’m fed up with having to repeat my words six times just to be heard. Deep breath, I tell myself. I call through the bathroom door, “Honey, come out here.” To my surprise, she twists the knob right away, but...
read moreEaster’s Death Springs Renewal
My dad is Lutheran, my mom is Jewish. My childhood exposed me to traditions from both denominations, but I certainly wouldn’t describe myself as religious. Spiritual, yes. Religious, no. In fact, if there is a god, I’m still pretty pissed off at him. Today, though, I can’t help but contemplate the religious meaning in both Easter and Passover. Seven years ago, on Easter Sunday, my husband, Erik, and I admired our 17-month-old daughter, Tatiana, as she carefully grasped purple and...
read moreSex with Dead Husband?
A friend of mine recently asked me, “Do you ever have sex with Evan and imagine, just for a moment, that you’re having sex with Erik instead?” Normal thing to wonder about a remarried widow, I suppose. Actually, I love that she asked me this. But the answer is NO. Never have I imagined, in the heat of passion, that Evan was Erik. I did, however, imagine that other men I dated were Erik. Of course I wanted them to be Erik. When you watch your 29-year-old husband slide down the kitchen counter and...
read moreMommy Guilt: Widowed or Not
Guilt. Mommy guilt. Daddy died guilt. Always the guilt. Each morning, at 6 AM, Julian, 2, calls out, “Ma Ma. Ma Ma? Ma Ma,” and the race begins. Ugh! I shouldn’t have stayed up so late. Four kids, like newly hatched spiders, crawl up my skin. They nip at my arms, my shoulders, my feet, and I want to flick them off. I want five minutes, just five freaking minutes, to make my coffee, before I get them ready for school. “Clothes on, hair brushed, then come to the table for breakfast,” I command, but they...
read moreDROP DEAD LIFE Gains Literary Interest
DROP DEAD LIFE, the blog, must make a shift. Despite my own insecurities as an intellectually under-stimulated mommy of four wild children, ages 2 through 12, my memoir, DROP DEAD LIFE, a pregnant widow’s poignant, heartfelt, and often comic journey through death, birth, and rebirth, has recently sparked enthusiastic literary agent interest. So, what this means, I imagine, is that my book will eventually end up in your local stores. Still difficult for me to believe, but it is going to...
read more