by the way, I had always dreamed of being. And still, it seemed unbelievable— me, someone's mom.

But very soon I had a son and then a daughter. My life began then. And at the same time, my life as a writer did too. I began to read fairy tales, picture books, and poetry to sleepy bodies at night, or during cranky afternoons. I woke up early and stayed up late, just so I could write in peace. I worked from home since my husband ran his own business. I squeezed in my own writing after his invoices were typed and filed. Many days, after breakfast, I'd pack up my two children, one in a stroller and one holding my hand, and take off for long mornings at the library. Many afternoons were spent in the backyard with lunch boxes, reading stacks of books. Life doesn't get much better.

It took years of struggle and rejection, of disappointment and frustration, of reading piles of poetry, biographies of poets, and how-to books on craft, but soon I began to get published in magazines. Years later, my first book manuscript of poems, Sweet Dreams of the Wild, was sold to Boyds Mills Press, a division of Highlights for Children, in 1995. Kent Brown called me himself on a Saturday afternoon. That's one phone call I'll never forget. Sometime later that year, I was lucky