Anyone out there enjoy treating themselves to a spa day?

         I do!  A few months ago I was in need of a day away from my kids, spouse, and chore-filled house, so I scheduled a morning appointment for a haircut/color and an afternoon appointment (thanks to a ‘spa days’ coupon) for a massage.

         I arrived at the hair salon full of excitement about my relaxing day.  When I sat down to have the what-are-we-going-to-do-today discussion, I thought I looked okay, save for the dead ends and overgrown roots.  But then, for the better part of an hour and a half, I was forced to stare at myself in the salon mirror.  That’s a long time to stare at oneself, especially with a towel-wrapped head and then with bedraggled wet hair.  My mood wavered then started sliding.

         What can I do, I wondered, about this situation?  (Namely, the situation of MY FACE.)  I’d recently turned 40 and was fresh out of the power to turn back time.

         I conceded that there was much I could not do.  But was there anything I COULD do to help myself along?  Inspiration struck.  My eyebrows!  Yes, I decided.  A woman of any age can pursue good eyebrows!

         So, before my massage, I followed a friend’s recommendation to a nail salon in a strip mall that offers facial waxing.  A young woman escorted me to a private room in the back — clean, spare, neat — and directed me to lie down.  I did.  She leaned over my face and observed my eyebrow flaws critically, slathered on warm strips of wax, then jerked off the strips.  It was painful enough to cause me to cringe and flinch.  But for those of us who’ve survived childbirth, an acceptable pain-price in exchange for shapely brows.

         When she finished, she passed a hand mirror to me.

         Ah, good, I thought darkly.  Another mirror!

         While the eyebrows themselves looked well-groomed, the skin around them looked… extremely angry.  It had turned bright red, which I believed to be normal.  But there were also some not-so-normal looking patches below both brows.  You know how a burn looks?  Sort of smooth and shiny?  That’s how those areas looked.  As if the wax may have… pulled off the very top layer of my skin.

         I assured myself this couldn’t be the case and headed to my massage.  The waiting room had been wall-papered with — you guessed it — mirrors!  Upon further study it really did appear that my brow bone region was missing some epidermis.

         Hm.  And oh, dear.

         I was called back to the massage room, where I spoke with the therapist while trying not to look self-conscious about my red and white raccoon face.  I lay down on the table and placed my face on the cloth-covered, donut-shaped head rest.

         Let’s just say that my strong eyebrow anxiety made massage enjoyment difficult.  I worried, quite sincerely, that my scars would stick to the cloth headrest cover and that I’d try to turn over only to take the cloth and the whole donut up with me.

         Alas, God had pity on me.  When it came time to turn over, nothing stuck.

         But the following days confirmed that I had, indeed, lost a thin slice of skin above each eye.  Relatively easily hidden and quickly healed.  Still.  Enough to convince me that eyebrow waxing isn’t for me.

         The story would end there.  Maybe should have ended there.  Except that I’ve never been easily deterred from a goal.

         So the next time my brows needed attention, I took myself to a kiosk at the Galleria Mall.  There, within view of every shopper in North Dallas, I allowed a wizened gentleman to roll and rip my eyebrow hairs out using threads.  It looks peaceful but it’s as painful as the waxing, only slower.  Again, for those of us who’ve survived childbirth… yada yada.

         I walked away from the kiosk with charming brows, all my skin, and a thimble full of extra wisdom.  1) Hair salon mirrors are not my friend.  They’re more like a business adversary.  Best not to worry too much about OR trust too much in the things they tell me.  2) Sculpted brows are nice to have, but not essential in any way.  3) God has His ways of keeping us all humble.

How do you keep your eyebrows looking fabulous?  What’s your favorite spa treatment? 

And look at this!

Win a Nook Simple Touch™ with GlowLight™ in Becky Wade’s My Stubborn Heart Giveaway and RSVP for FB Party {5/24}!

Celebrate with Becky by entering her My Stubborn Heart Giveaway and connecting with her during the Author Chat Party on 5/24!

One fortunate winner will receive:

• A Brand New Nook Simple Touch™ with GlowLight™
• A $25 Barnes & Noble Gift Certificate
• A copy of My Stubborn Heart by Becky Wade

Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends at noon on May 24th. Winner will be announced at the “My Stubborn Heart” Author Chat Facebook Party on 5/24. Becky will be hosting an book chat, testing your trivia skills and giving away some great prizes!

So grab your copy of My Stubborn Heart and join Becky on the evening of the May 24th for a chance to meet Becky and make some new friends. (If you haven’t read the book – don’t let that stop you from coming!)

 Don’t miss a moment of the fun. RSVP today and tell your friends via FACEBOOK or TWITTERand increase your chances of winning. Hope to see you on the 24th!Becky Wade makes her home in Dallas, Texas with her husband, three children, and one adoring (and adored) cavalier spaniel. Her inspirational contemporary romance, My Stubborn Heart, has just been released by Bethany House.

Congratulations, Amy Medeiros! Send your snail mail addy to k.higgins@snet.net, and I’ll send you a signed copy of the book! Thanks, everyone!

It’s time once again for me to acknowledge those wonderful clichés in romance novels and movies. I use them, every romance author I know uses them, and you know what? I love them! But they’re clichés nonetheless. And weighing in at Number One…

Extraordinary nooky. There’s not a lot of mediocre sex in romance novel. Well, it may be alluded to as in I don’t know what the big fuss is over sex! until, of course, Our Hero comes waltzing into town. And then she shall know what the big fuss is, oh, yes! And it’s always wonderful. No one ever says, “Hurry up, okay? Letterman’s starting.”

Fabulous apartments in Manhattan. How is that so many barely-employed people can afford lofts in SoHo? How many great-aunts must’ve died to will them those rent-controlled palaces on the Upper West Side? Remember Friends? Please. A waitress at a coffee shop could not afford even to look at Manhattan, let alone live there. Not unless she had a generous and dead great-aunt, that is. How about the movie Hitch, one of my favorites? A reporter lives in a huge apartment. Huge. She lives there alone. A reporter. (Pause for laughter).

Thoughtfully prepared meals for one. Does no one eat Kraft dinner anymore? Shovel in iffy yogurt whilst standing in front of the sink? Does a person really set the table for one, light a candle, and pour a glass of wine, then sit there and eat?  I don’t. I whip up my favorite orange food, take the pot and the wooden spoon, plunk down in my chair and fire up Real Housewives for a half hour of soul-damaging trash TV. And I love it!

Single, available men littering the streets. When I was single, not one of my friends ponied up an array of handsome, single, straight, employed brothers. Clearly, I should’ve traded in my friends, but I’m loyal. Sigh. Nor did I ever live next to a firehouse filled with attractive single men. Nor an Army base filled with same. Nor a boarding house, though to be honest, if a guy told me he was living in a boarding house, I would wonder about his prison record.

Ah-choo! No one gets truly ill in a romance. Might our heroine (but never our hero) barf after over-indulging on the old pink martinis? Sure. Will she ever get food poisoning, requiring not just a toilet, but a wastebasket too? No. She will not. Might she sniffle adorably while clad in goofy pajamas and murmur the words I glub oo, which the hero will know truly mean I love you? Yes! Will she cough so hard she vomits? No. In romance novels, “in sickness and in health” really only means in adorable sickness but mostly health.

Well, we read romance novels for escapism, right? What could be nicer than a world where we really could afford those fab apartments next to firehouses populated by straight, single men? Leave a comment about your favorite aspects of a romance, and I’ll send one of you a signed copy of UNTIL THERE WAS YOU, in which Our Hero is adorably injured, Our Heroine lives in a place she should not rightfully be able to afford, and the two of them have extraordinary nooky.

Come see the Quills in Anaheim! July 25, Anaheim Marriott, 5-8 p.m., Literacy for Life Signing

Nancy’s latest, FORTUNE’S UNEXPECTED GROOM, has been a BookScan Top 100 for 4 weeks!

Kristan’s CATCH OF THE DAY hit the USA TODAY and NYT bestsellers lists! Thank you so much, readers!

This week, we’re going to hear a lot of great things about a lot of great moms. But I thought it might be fun to visit our less than stellar moments. We’ve all had them. (Except my friend Lisa, who makes the rest of us look terrible.)

So here are a few notable moments in the old mother/child relationship that maybe aren’t so great.

My mom goes to the hospital with a broken foot. We see the orthopedist, whose name sounds like the Hungarian word for granny-style underwear (it’s a weird language). The snorting begins. He is confused at our amusement, which only makes it worse. When Mom is given crutches, both of us know she’s going to fall. She does. Hilarity ensues. Nurses express concern that my mom is being discharged into my care.

My neighbor pretends to give her children up for adoption. Okay, this was a different time. My neighbor is 77 years old. When her boys were fighting and breaking stuff (which was daily, let’s be fair), Carol would pick up the phone and say, “Hello, Bad Boys Home? I have two boys I’d like you to pick up.” Today, that would be considered emotional abuse, but I’m happy to report that both boys are now men and seem pretty dang happy and successful to me.

I embarrass my daughter and godchild by referring to anatomy in a mall. “I’ll meet you at the nipple store,” I blithely call, referring to Hollister, whose name always escapes me. The girls shush me in horror, then bolt into the crowd.

Star Wars dorkiness revealed when I engage in a heated debate about who is cooler — Han Solo or Yoda—while out to breakfast with my daughter. (And please. It’s Yoda.). My daughter’s gentle advice: “You probably should keep some things to yourself, Mommy.”

My mother pretends to abandon her three small children in the car on a dark road, warning us not to open the doors “no matter what you hear.” She’d get out of the car, walk a few yards away, wait us out until our whimpering became loud enough, then come back, laughing. “Oh, you didn’t think I was serious, did you? You kids!” I know. I’d like to say the emotional scars have healed. But I can’t. That being said, I seem to be a normally functioning adult, so clearly Mom did something right!

Got any funny stories of your own less-than-notable moments in motherhood…or your own mom’s? You know you’ll be bringing her flowers on Sunday, so for now, go ahead. Tell us!

SOMEBODY TO LOVE is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller! Thanks, gang!

Congratulations, Kayla! You’ve won a copy of MY ONE AND ONLY. Email me at k.higgins@snet.net. And thanks to everyone who commented! Hope you like the new book!

Kristan’s SOMEBODY TO LOVE received a starred review in The Library Journal!