The Case of Too Much Wicker: Part I in the No More Somedays Series

My mom came in with a stack of books six hardcovers tall.

She set the small tower on the glass-topped white wicker coffee table in center of my room. "I used to like these. Thought you might want to read them."

I leaned out of my matching wicker chair and snatched up a now-familiar glossy blue and yellow cover.

"Nancy Drew?" I snickered the way high schoolers do.

She put her hands on her hips, "You'll like them." Plus, she thought I should know a little about the series that was so popular when she was growing up. Sort of a pop culture lesson, I guess.

She was right, of course. I stayed draped in that chair for hours, a wicker pattern reached a near-permanent state on the backs of my bare thighs. These stories were simple, yet they could hold my teen-age imagination.

And, so I was holding "The Hidden Staircase" in my right hand and twisting a lock of long brown hair around and around my left index finger, when I made up my mind.

"Someday, I will write a book."

I dreamed about it for a few minutes before getting back to Nancy.

This is the first in an unknown-number-of-parts series on being a mother and attempting to accomplish unrealized goals and dreams. Since this is a reoccuring theme in my life, I decided to officially make it a regular topic called No More Somedays. Got tips, stories or inspirations to share? Please do.