Some excerpts of all my books… Enjoy

Who’s Going To Watch My Kids?

My whole family is close. Really close. I still talk to my father and brother almost every day, and also to my aunt, my late mother’s sister. When I was growing up, my grandparents were over at our house all the time, and my father has been known to pop by my grownup house for a quick visit with our kids or a weeknight family dinner. My grownup nuclear family of four is equally as close as my original one. There are no secrets among us, and we are always there for each other no matter what.

Over our years of employing many nannies, we’ve developed close relationships with a few of them. Some more than others. I tried to keep each relationship as professional as I could, but that was easier said than done. Even though a nanny is technically an employee, she is given the task of caring for the people most precious to you: your children. She sees you at your most vulnerable times, and she becomes a part of your most intimate family relationships. A nanny may see you breastfeed your baby, she’ll change your childrens’ diapers, and she’ll care for your sick children when you need her most so that you can go to work. Somewhere along the way, a nanny can and will start to feel like family. The lines become blurred for better or for worse.

Shopping For Love

“It looks like a slip.” That was Mommy’s reaction to my first real sophisticated dress. “That’s why they call it a slip dress,” I tried to explain to her outside of the dressing room at Knit Wit in Philadelphia. “I don’t know where you are going in that,” countered my mother. That was one of her classic lines. It has stuck in my head to this day. Even if I love something, I will ask myself where I think I am going in it. If I can’t come up with an answer, I can’t get it.

On this day, however, I was fully prepared for that remark and gave her one reason from the list in my head. I told her I had a million (meaning two) fraternity and sorority parties to go to. “All right, you can get it, but we’ll show it to Aunt Jo first just, to make sure.” Yes! I thought. Aunt Jo would love it. She was a bit more hip than my mother, and I wasn’t her daughter, so what did she care if I looked like a complete slut? We stopped at Aunt Jo’s house on the way home. “Fabulous,” she said in her typical excited voice. That was that. Whatever my mother’s sister said was gospel. The Knit Wit slip dress was a keeper.

My Name is Rebecca Romm, Named After My Mother’s Mom

My grandma had freckles and blue sparkly eyes. Her smile was toothy. She never told lies. She liked to play tennis and sing in the shower. She could tell a story for over an hour. She was truly beloved and loved many others. And this is why you were names after her said my mother.

As I looked in the mirror that night before bed and saw all the freckles that live on my head. I felt proud of my name as mom kissed me goodnight. She gave me a hug when she squeezed me so tight. Rebecca she said you may have your grandmother’s name but you are like no other. No one is ever the same. I soon went to bed with a smile spanning ear to ear. And thought of the people who brought us all here. My name is Rebecca Elizabeth Romm. I am the girl who was named after her mother’s mom.

Excerpts was last modified: March 24th, 2015 by Rachel Levy Lesser