Excerpt
Through illustrations and clever storytelling, Can You Be My Mommy Please? is all about the attachments that children develop towards their caregiver and what it takes to convince both parent and the child to improve the situation. Readers will meet Wendy, a little girl whose life changes when her mother took her to a play group called Dee’s Day Care. Early on she became curious if there were any other children like her there. Some time later, Wendy arrives at Dee’s Day Care and watches her mother leave. Will she be able to make new friends there or will she end up lonely? The outcome awaits readers.

With its touching story, Can You Be My Mommy Please? is an ideal read for parents to give children a clear view about what kind of people they would meet at day care centers someday.

Copyright 2010 D.Y. Kivanc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Chapter One

Whitney awoke to sunlight spilling through her window. “Yes! I’m finally here!” She kicked off the sheet and jumped out of bed. “I’ll be with Mamaw and Scarlet everyday for the whole summer!”
She put her bare feet on the tile floor and it felt nice and cool, not cold like it was where she and her parents had lived for the past year.
Whitney had spent all nine years of her life living next door to Mamaw and Scarlet until her parents, who were both doctors, had accepted jobs in another state last year. It was so good to be back to her warm, sunny home where flowers bloomed all year. Now she and Mamaw, and their ancient cat, Scarlet, could work in the rose garden or walk to the beach anytime they wanted. Oh, how I’ve missed spending time with Mamaw and Scarlet!
Next to Whitney’s parents, she loved Mamaw and Scarlet more than anyone in the world. Right then she wasn’t sure whom she’d missed more, Mamaw or the cat.
A grin split her face as she looked around her bedroom. Other than a short visit last Christmas, she’d been gone for a year, but all her things were where she’d left them. She grabbed her favorite picture of Scarlet off the nightstand and stared lovingly at the little cat’s face.
Scarlet was a small, dainty calico with streaks of gray, white, and yellow, and her pink-tipped nose matched the color of her toes. Born long before Whitney, she was very old, so old that she was a legend around town. Whitney and Scarlet had a close bond, and as the cat’s wise, green eyes stared back at her from the picture, she seemed to know how happy Whitney was to be home. Whitney had never had her own pet and that made Scarlet extra special. In a way, Scarlet was her cat too.
Closing her eyes, Whitney took a deep breath and hugged the picture to her heart. She thought about how Scarlet always smelled like fresh-cut grass and clover. Tingling with excitement, she could hardly wait to step into the kitchen, scoop her up, and smell her hair for real. Carefully replacing the picture, she did a little dance, then ran to the window and threw open the shutters.
The birds were at the feeder and the colorful rose garden covered half the back yard. If there was anything better than the beach, it was the rose garden.
Along with roses there was an inviting butterfly garden. Her breath caught in her throat as a rainbow of butterflies danced from bloom to bloom. Two hummingbirds, not much larger than moths, caught her eye. They zipped between red, trumpet-shaped flowers, hovered and drank. Mamaw’s back yard was better than the enchanted worlds in Whitney’s favorite books. She sighed with joy.
Papaw, who’d passed away four years ago, had designed and planted the garden for Mamaw because Rose was both her name and favorite flower.
Whitney remembered two things most about Papaw: sitting beside him on the back porch watching fuzzy bumblebees bore holes in the eaves while he taught her about Jesus, and him showing her the proper way to chew on stems of grass and roll the flavor around on her tongue.
The smell of roses tickled Whitney’s nose. She inhaled so deeply her lungs hurt, held it as long as she could, then breathed out with a long swoosh. I’m home at last!
In front of the mirror she ran her fingers through her snarled, light blond hair. She looked a lot like Mamaw had at her age. Over the years Mamaw’s curls had turned solid white but her fair skin was still smooth and they had the same upturned nose, sky-blue eyes and bright smile.
The most fun thing they had in common was considering themselves half Tomboy and half girly-girl. One day they might be giving each other a manicure or baking teacakes, and the next they might be fishing with cane poles and real worms while Scarlet napped in the sun.
Mamaw’s real name was Rose Marie Christian. She and Papaw were retired missionaries. Mamaw was a well-known author of children’s books about a missionary family who had terrific adventures in foreign lands that Whitney hoped to visit one day.
Mamaw’s cottage was close enough to the beach to walk and Whitney wanted to go there today. She loved the salt breeze on her face and the way the squishy sand disappeared from underneath her feet each time a wave rolled in.
After breakfast she would ask Mamaw if they could take Scarlet for a walk on the beach and collect shells. If they were lucky they might even see some hermit crabs before the creatures scampered away, burying themselves in the sand.
Whitney gave up on the tangles in her hair and quickly changed into shorts and a pullover top. Not bothering with shoes, she darted from her room. But when she rounded the corner into the kitchen her smile faded. Something was wrong.
The kitchen was silent and still. Mamaw wasn’t at the counter, humming and sifting flour into the wooden bowl to make buttermilk biscuits as she usually was this time of morning. And Scarlet, who should be purring and rubbing herself against Mamaw’s legs, was nowhere to be seen.
Whitney looked through the window. Mamaw was slumped in her favorite chair on the back porch. Her white curls were untidy and that wasn’t like her at all. Eyes closed, hands folded beneath her chin, her face was lifted toward the sky. She was praying, but it wasn’t her usual style. The strangest thing of all was that Scarlet wasn’t there beside her, neither in her lap nor lying at her feet. The little cat wasn’t on the porch at all. Not wanting to disturb Mamaw, Whitney stood still.
Mamaw opened her eyes and turned toward her. Tears stained her face, her nose red, her cheeks raw. She opened her arms wide. Whitney rushed to her and the old lady gathered her up. “Darling girl….”
“Mamaw?”
“I’m here.”
“What’s wrong?” Whitney asked, feeling like her world was tilting sideways. “And where’s Scarlet?”
“Everything’s going to be okay. The Lord is in control.”
“Where’s Scarlet?”
Mamaw looked at her tenderly, but didn’t say anything.
“Mamaw… where’s Scarlet?” Whitney’s voice rose in panic and she frantically looked around. “Where is she? Where’s our cat?”
Mamaw clutched Whitney’s arms. Whitney pulled away and looked around. “Scarlet, where are you?”
Mamaw hugged her close and Whitney sank against her chest. “Oh, darling girl… I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“It’s about Scarlet, isn’t it? Something happened to her. Is she sick? Is she at the vet’s? Where is she?”
“She isn’t here,” Mamaw said. “Early this morning the angels came and took Scarlet to Heaven with them.”
Whitney swallowed hard. She wet her dry lips. Her throat ached, and her chest felt like it did the time she got the breath knocked out of her by a basketball during a game last year. It had hurt so bad she’d had to sit out for the rest of the game and in the end her team had lost. Only this pain was worse than anything she’d ever known. She whispered the awful words. “Scarlet died?” Her ears were roaring so loudly she could barely hear her own voice.
“I’m afraid she did,” Mamaw said weakly.
“Oh, no! No!”
Mamaw kissed the top of her head. “You know she was very, very old. The vet had been telling me for years it wouldn’t be long. The Lord was good and let us keep her for a long time.”
Tears spilled from Whitney’s eyes. “It’s not fair! She was my cat too! I didn’t get to tell her how much I love her! I didn’t even get to say good-bye!” She would never again rub her face against Scarlet’s soft fur, listen to her purr, or feel her whiskers tickle her nose. “Do you think she knew I loved her?”Whitney’s heart hurt so bad she couldn’t wait for an answer. She buried her face in her hands and wept so hard her body shook.
Hugging Whitney close, Mamaw tried to smile through her own tears. “Don’t worry… she knew we all loved her, especially you.”
Whitney pressed her face against Mamaw’s shoulder and sobbed until her tears soaked all the way though the old lady’s dress. Mamaw stroked her hair while they cried together. Whitney felt like her heart would never stop breaking. When she was finally able to wipe her face with her hands and sit up, she asked, “Mamaw?”
“Yes, my love?”
“I know you were trying to make me feel better when you said the angels came and took her to Heaven. That was your way of telling me she passed away.”
“I thought it would be easier… saying it like that, I mean.”
“Do animals really go to Heaven, or is it only a place for humans?”
Mamaw sighed. “God is the only one who knows for sure. That’s where faith comes in. Hebrews 11:1 tells us that faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
“But what does that mean?” Whitney asked.
“It means that God wants the best for all of us and that includes His creatures.” Mamaw’s face softened. “Animals are very special. God created them before He created man.”
“She was the best cat anyone could ever have.”
Mamaw nodded. “That, she was.”
“I’ll never forget her,” Whitney said solemnly.
“Neither will I. I truly believe she’s up there in Heaven, and that we’ll see her again when it’s time.”
Whitney looked up at Mamaw and their blue eyes met. “Mamaw, would it make you feel better to know for sure that Scarlet is in Heaven?”
The old lady smiled and her blue eyes sparkled for the first time that morning. “It sure would. It would be a blessing.”
Whitney slipped her small hand into Mamaw’s.
Mamaw’s warm fingers wrapped around hers and squeezed.
They exchanged weak smiles. Whitney thought, Then what’s stopping me from finding out?
Jumbled thoughts swirled in her head and a seed of hope was planted. A plan took root and began to form. It sprouted, then shot up so fast she felt dizzy. Filled with purpose, she sat up straight.
For the first time since hearing the awful news, hope swelled in her chest and it stopped hurting to breathe. She vowed that she would do whatever she had to do to accomplish the plan. She didn’t know how, but she was somehow going to prove that animals go to Heaven!

Read more about Scarlet’s Garden: The Visit and Penny Taylor HERE.

Copyright 2010 Penny Taylor. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Nestled beside a tree in the shade from the scorching sun rested Blanco. Seeing Islita he scampered to her wagging his tail. Blanco had smooth white fur, a long tail, and big droopy, dark eyes. Islita embraced him. He greeted Islita by licking her sweaty face.
Removing her sandals, Abuela slipped comfortably into the hammock. Kicking off her sneakers, Islita joined her causing the hammock to sway gently. Towering trees provided much desired shade. Instantly, Islita felt better. Wrapping her arms around Islita, Abuela drew her close, “As a little girl,
just about your age, my mother, would take me to a special place far, far from here. An enchanting place.”

Copyright 2009 Jo Anne Valle. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

One day, a seed dropped

From a poppy flower

Onto the earth below.

But it was too dry,

And the poppy began to cry:

“Good-bye little one.

You will be missed you know,

but this is no place for you to grow.”

So she let the wind carry the seed

From east to west

Until they found a place

That was best.

Summer had started,

So the seed departed.

Through the heat of the day

She made her way.

Slowly leaves turned orange, red and yellow.

The air began to mellow;

Then snow started to fall.

One day birds began to call.

Green was starting to show

As grass began to grow.

One night they came upon a garden site.

“Here,” said the wind,

“I have found on this ground a lovely patch

that I think will match.”

“What a tiny seed. It’s just what we need,”

chimed the garden flowers.

Copyright 2008 Andrea Nepa. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt
I saw her for the first time through the bars of the pen that I shared with my buddy, Ruffles. Following her was a little boy who was chewing on his coat sleeve and jumping up and down. He was excited (the way we in the pen get excited) every time someone walks past us, talks to us, feeds us or stops to scratch us behind the ear. Did he know what it was like to be a stray? He had a funny way about him, which I would find enjoyable once I moved into my new home.

I knew I had the lady eating out of my paw when she hugged and kissed me and asked if I wanted to be her new baby. She wasn’t afraid when the shelter lady told her that I was a Rottweiler German Shepherd mix and that I was “slightly mouthy” for a 4-month-old puppy. Slightly mouthy? Was she telling her that I talked too much? The lady looked at me, took my head in her hands and said, “Well Chance, today’s your day for a second one.” A second what? Was I getting a new bone, a second bowl of food? What? What? A second what? The lady walked out of the pen and said to the shelter lady, “We want to adopt Chance.” Adopt? Now there’s a new word. I’m getting adopted and a second something all in the same day.

Before I knew it, I was being led away from my pen by the shelter where I had spent two months with my pal, Ruffles. Was I going for a walk? Was this the second one the lady was talking about? Maybe she didn’t know I hadn’t had a first walk. Up to the front counter I bounced with my big paws and happily wagging tail. The lady and the little boy were already at the counter when I arrived. The lady was doing something with a shiny stick and paper and the little boy was looking at me and jumping up and down. Before I knew it, my old leash was taken off my collar and the lady hooked a new one to it.

“Let’s go home and meet the rest of the family, Chance.” Chance? She said my name! Before I knew it I was getting hugs and kisses from all the shelter people who cared for me the last few months. After the kisses and hugs, I pulled the lady out the front door. I was so happy to be outside with this lady and her jumping boy, until I saw where she was taking me. We were heading to one of those big things that move fast on the street. I didn’t want to get into one of those things. The movement makes my belly leap up and down and I get sick. I pulled back on the leash and tried to run back to the shelter. Lady! Lady! Don’t make me get into that thing. She doesn’t listen. Before I know it I am hoisted up by the front paws and pushed into the moving thing. The boy is sitting next to me. He has a big smile on his face and is calling me by my name. He is using other names as well but I ignore him because we start to move and my world starts to spin.

It seems like forever before we finally stop. I drooled all over the inside of this lady’s moving thing. She doesn’t seem to mind because she smiles at me as she takes my leash and leads me out onto the street. “We are home, Chance. It’s time to meet your new brothers and sister.” What are a brother and a sister? We walk up to a building and my question is answered quickly as the lady opens the door and three small dogs come running at me.

The lady says that these are her Pomeranians. However, they sure do remind me of the fury rats I saw on the street before I got to the shelter. They are no bigger than my head and they all have thick furry coats. The lady says, “Chance, these are your new brothers P.J. and Little Rascal and this is your new sister Shelby.” They look nothing like me and I’ve never seen dogs like this before. Shelby tries to bite my paws. What did I ever do to her that she has to bite my paws? All I want to do is play with them but they all run behind the lady and I am left to figure out what to do next.

Copyright 2008 Sandra Gerencher. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Skye Blue & the Fairies
By Susan Martinez
1
Lost

Skye Maxwell was a brat.

For eleven years, she lived her little life ungratefully, as if she were the only important person on earth.  She behaved as if her parents, Jack and Nora, were her servants, put on this earth solely to grant her wishes.  And her wishes were many!

It is said that money changes people, and that was exactly what happened to the Maxwell family.  When Skye was about a year old, Nora Maxwell won two hundred million dollars in the Minnesota state lottery.  Soon after their big windfall, the Maxwells quit their jobs; he was a fire fighter and she was a wedding flower bouquet designer.  They moved to an affluent Minneapolis suburb, dumped their poor friends, and cultivated a taste for the good life.  They lived like celebrities who believed their fame and fortune would last forever.  Yes, money changed everything for the little family that once boasted that they could live on love alone.

Jack and Nora spent extravagantly on their only child because it made Skye happy for the moment, and it made them feel like good parents.  Skye Maxwell appeared to have everything a young girl could ever dream of; pedigreed pets, clothes with designer labels, zillions of shoes, tons of collectible dolls, super cool vacations, a hefty trust fund, plus a pink and peach bedroom fit for a crowned princess.

But apparently all that money had not bought their daughter’s love or respect.  Actually, quite the opposite had happened.  Skye was acting more and more disobedient and spoiled with every year that passed.

This hot ninety-degree day in the middle of June was no exception.

“I hate everything here!” Skye shrieked at her parents, causing heads to turn towards the grating sound.  “Our house and our lake are better than this!  I hate that ghetto room! I hate that smelly, weedy lake! I hate all the gross bugs!” the girl shouted as she stamped one bare foot deep into the sand.  She fixed a sizzling stare on her parents, causing them to wilt a little.  Then she ended her tirade with, “And I hate you, too!”

The parents gasped in union.  Up until that instant, they thought nothing could mar this completely gorgeous day at the beach with its lapping waters, blue clear sky, kind breezes, and happy sunbathers.  Only moments before they were reclining peacefully, side by side, in their beach chairs, soaking in the sunshine.   Everything was perfect.  Now this.

Leaping to her feet, the mother stood before her badly behaved child, planted her fists on her hips, and angrily said, “Skye Maxwell, that’s not a nice thing to say!”

“I never said I was nice,” Skye replied sarcastically, then reached down and plucked up a baby turtle that was scurrying towards the water.  To her mother’s horror, Skye flung the helpless creature into the lake”¦and laughed out loud.  Even those a little hard of hearing could detect wickedness in the child’s laughter.

“You’re right.  You’re not nice.  You’re horrible!” Nora screeched at her daughter.   “Perfectly horrible!”

Nora Maxwell was a petite, champagne blonde with tastes the same shade as her hair.  She stared at her daughter from behind a three-hundred-dollar pair of sunglasses in utter disbelief.  Skye returned the defiant gaze.  Nora didn’t get it.  Why would Skye behave so incorrigibly, especially after she had just bought her a new red swimsuit and a pair of gold pierced earrings barely an hour ago at the resort gift shop?  She hadn’t a clue.

The staring war raged on for a nearly a minute.  It was an odd moment for the mother to realize that her daughter must have recently grown to the same height as she was — five feet one inch.  From outward appearances, it looked like a fair fight.  But on the inside, Skye was far and away more stubborn and cunning than her mother ever could be.   Knowing that she couldn’t win a stared-down fight with Skye, Nora turned pleading eyes towards her husband.

She mouthed the words, “Do something!”

Her husband, Jack Maxwell, sprang into action.  He was built like a bulldozer and cursed with a head full of unruly copper curls.  From a stranger’s point of view, he looked rough and tough, but not from Skye’s.  To her, he was as ferocious as a bunny rabbit.

For the most part, Jack Maxwell stayed uninvolved in the discipline of his daughter.  Not because he didn’t want to reprimand the child.  But rather he didn’t feel he could do so without resorting to yelling, swearing, threatening, and maybe even spanking.

“You’re grounded,” the father growled, as he got to his feet none too gracefully.  Behind him, his beach chair collapsed flat on the ground like a clumsy ice skater.  He felt rage rising up from its dark cave in his gut, and he had to pause and take a couple of deep breaths through his wide nostrils in order to force it back into hiding.

Jack was the son of an angry man and he vowed at an early age never to become like his father.  Still, he wrestled with that little voice inside his head that whispered, “I am so much like my dad.” Unfortunately, Skye sometimes made it nearly impossible for her father to keep his vow.

Standing beside his flustered wife, he frowned down at his daughter with both great big hands fisting and un-fisting at his sides.  Skye noticed the veins in the side of his neck were fat and throbbing; a sure sign he was getting ready to blow his stack.  But still she didn’t back down.

Jack felt the eyes of many strangers fixed on him.  He could feel their contempt even without seeing their faces.  Careful to keep his voice low, he said through clenched teeth, “Skye Maxwell, go back to the room right this minute!”

But Skye was unimpressed with her father’s performance.  True, he may yell sometimes and make stupid faces, but he never spanked or punished her.  This she knew for certain.  This certainty made her feel fearless.

“I won’t go to the room.  I hate that stupid room and I hate both you!”  She stood her ground even if she was standing on shifting sand.  If she were in a better mood, she might have been a bit concerned about her dad’s health.  Sweat was pouring off his face that was as red as his hair and his eyes were bulging like he had just been punched in the stomach.  Skye was no doctor, but she thought that he looked about to have a stroke or something.

Now Skye, on the other hand, was unflappable.  After all, she had rehearsed such parental battles many times before in her daydreams.  In real life or in daydreams, she never lost a battle with her parents before, and didn’t plan on losing one today.  And besides, she had to make them pay for screwing up her vacation plans, or they just might try such a stunt once again in the future.  No way, she thought.  Some parents were just harder to train than others, she supposed.

So true to form, Skye lifted her chin insolently, and pointed one finger at his face.  “I guess you should have taken me to Disney World,” she said smugly.   “I guess you should have listened to me instead of listening to her.”  Now she pointed directly at her mother’s startled face.

A cold chill ran down Nora’s spine while Jack dropped his chin to his chest in defeat.

Although Maddens Resort on Gull Lake may be one of most upscale resorts in the Heartland, Skye wanted, no, expected to go to Disney World in Orlando for summer vacation.  She had waited all school year to ride those crazy wicked rides again.   But even her tantrum-of-the-century didn’t make her parents change their minds.  So they deserved what they were about to get, she reasoned.

While Nora wept tears of frustration, Jack shouted at Skye, “Go to the room!” not really caring any longer what anyone on the beach thought about him or his family.  Not even caring about his vow.

“Go to hell!” the girl spat out as she pivoted in the sand and began to run away down the beach.  Screaming at the top of her lungs, waving her arms wildly in the air, Skye Maxwell was certainly living up to the nickname that her parents had given her “Drama Diva.”

“Stop her!” the mother ordered the father.

“Let her go,” he said, surrendering.  “Let her go.”  All of a sudden, he felt sixty instead of forty.  “I’ve had it with her.  That girl is a certifiable brat.”

“True. But”¦”

“End of discussion,” Jack added dismissively.  Then he reconstructed the chair, sat down heavily, and took a deep pull on his Budweiser.  “That girl will be the death of me.  I should’ve been a priest,” he added dejectedly under his breath.

The mother’s perfect salon-sculpted eyebrows pulled into a worried frown as she stood by helplessly and watched her daughter run away.  She dabbed the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips.  She felt all undone.  Her armpits felt sticky””and she hated that feeling.  Plus her head was starting to hurt.  So she, too, surrendered, let out a soft sigh, returned to her chair, and picked up her drink.  With the knack of a barfly, she gulped down her Strawberry Margarita, seeking instant relief from the stress, hoping and praying that no one they knew had witnessed the scene; at least no one important.

“That child is driving me insane,” Nora Maxwell admitted to Jack Maxwell in a half-whisper.

“You know what they say”¦Insanity is hereditary.  You get it from your kids.”  He laughed at his own joke.

Nora squeezed Jack’s hand and gave him a tiny grin.

Meanwhile, Skye ran as fast as she could, her bare feet flying across the beach as she zigzagged around surprised and irritated beach-goers, pets, and beach gear.  As soon as she was out of earshot, she stopped screaming.  Why waste the effort if they couldn’t hear her?

Her long pale hair flapped behind her like a white silk cape in the wind.  And for a moment, she felt like a super hero, escaping the terrible clutches of her evil parents.  But her euphoria was short lived, replaced by the sudden realization that running in the sand was very hard to do.  She was getting over-heated and breathless, but still she ran.

Her furious thoughts kept pace with her legs.  “I hate them.  They are so selfish. I’ll run away and make them cry like babies.  I really, really, really hate them.  Where are they anyway?”

She truly had expected her parents to catch up to her by now, apologize, and beg her to come back, but they hadn’t.  Yet.  Without looking back, she slowed her pace to give them a fair shot at reaching her.

Things and people are not always what they seem; some bright shiny apples have a rotten core.  But you would never know it unless you took a bite.

Like some apples, Skye was not what she appeared to be.  Her outer appearance was sweet and innocent cleverly concealing her true, opposite nature. She had been told that she resembled the actress Dakota Fanning, but she couldn’t see the resemblance.

On the outside, Skye Maxwell was a stunning girl with a heart-shaped face, emerald green eyes, a dimpled chin, and a mouth full of perfectly even, white teeth.  She smiled a lot, even when she didn’t feel like it, just to show them off.  All that silky long blonde hair and pale skin made her look like the offspring of an angel.  Her eleven-year-old body was slender and strong from ballet lessons and starting to develop curves, but at the moment, that body was being pushed to its limit.

Running in the sand made her feet like they were made of concrete and her legs like they were made of noodles.  “Concrete and noodles, concrete and noodles,” her mind sang.  “Hot and tired, hot and tired” went the second verse.

Skye was never much of a runner.  By the time she finally stopped, she was bent forward, gasping for air, and clutching her chest with both hands.  She wondered if a kid could have a heart attack.  If they could, she decided, she was having one now.  And while her heart was crashing like drums and cymbals inside her chest, her body had succumbed to the exertion.

Giving in, Skye dropped to her knees.  Her head was swimming.  In slow motion, she felt the rest of her tip over onto the sand and heard herself wail, “Oh-hhh, crap!” before everything went black.

Skye awoke to the sound of fluttering.  Sitting up, she looked around to see what was making this flap-flap-flapping sound.  She listened intently and realized that it was coming from a wooded area just up the beach.  Momentarily forgetting her “heart attack” and her horrible parents, she got up and walked in the sand towards the intriguing sound.  As she got closer, she saw a cloud of orange and black butterflies, flying and dancing together like graceful ballerinas.

“Wow, Monarch butterflies!” she blurted out excitedly.

Standing there at the gateway to the woods, wearing her new crimson swimsuit and a grin, Skye Maxwell watched the butterflies with rapt fascination.  They were exquisite and almost looked like they had faces.

Skye loved butterflies.  Even on her worst day, she could never capture or otherwise hurt one.  She remembered reading in her fourth- or maybe fifth-grade Science book that the Aztec people in Mexico believed that the adult Monarch butterfly was the incarnation of their fallen warriors, who still wore the colors of battle.  She didn’t know exactly what “incarnation” meant, but it sounded like a very cool thing.

Then, as if directed by a ballet mistress off stage, the Monarchs turned and began to fly in single file into the cool, mossy woods, flapping and gently bouncing on the breezes.  Skye, enraptured now, followed after them.

She skipped, danced, and twirled on her tiptoes with the butterflies.  It was the most fun she had ever had.  Time and reason evaporated as she unintentionally moved deeper into the forest.

Then as if directed once again by that invisible choreographer, the butterflies suddenly flew off in every direction like an exploding can of confetti.  The sky, which had held up her dark skirts while the butterflies danced, suddenly dropped them.  And even though the stars were out in full force, they emitted very little light.

All of a sudden, Skye was alone in the dark forest.  She couldn’t believe she hadn’t grabbed her cell phone before she ran off.  Realizing her predicament, she quickly turned to head back to the beach, but didn’t know which way to go.  She tried to retrace her steps, but nothing felt right or familiar.  Drawing on her waning supply of courage, she moved on, step by step, desperately hoping the next turn would lead her back to the beach and to her parents, whom she was beginning to miss.  Fear began to flap like creepy moth wings in the pit of her empty stomach.

Then without notice, her courage ran out and panic poured into her.

“I’m lost!” she cried out pitifully.  “I’m lost! I’m lost!”

Scared out of her wits, Skye wrapped her arms around a nearby tree trunk and clung to it, pretending she was hugging her father.  But the tree simply stood there as trees do, unable to return the embrace.  Depressed, Skye sank down to the damp ground, pressed one cheek against the rough bark, and imagined she was pressing her face into her mother’s cheek.  But the bark was hard and scratchy against her soft face, unable to give the child what she really wanted: her loving mother and father.  The same two people she claimed she hated only hours before.

Skye was baffled by her contrary feelings.  If she hated her parents, then why did she also hate being separated from them?  It boggled her weary mind.  Pulling her legs up to her chest, she hugged her knees and shivered, realizing she was not only lost, hungry, and afraid, but cold, too.

The forest was full of strange sounds and shadows.  Her teeth were chattering so loudly she had trouble hearing her own thoughts.  What was she going to do?  Her options were few; either hike around and try to find the beach or sit and wait until someone found her.  Sit and wait, she decided.

Trembling and crying in the dark, Skye had the eerie feeling that she was being watched.  She imagined that a rapist or a murderer was watching her from behind a tree, preparing to attack her.  Or maybe it was a blood-thirsty vampire or an evil demon.  She felt so vulnerable and defenseless.  Bugs were crawling up and down her legs and it felt like spider webs were falling on her head.  However, when mosquitoes started to use her face for target practice, she realized that she had never been so miserable in her whole life.

“Mom!  Dad!” she whimpered over and over again.  “Help me!  I’m lost! Help me! I’m scared! I’m so super sorry I was bad!  Someone please help me!”

Copyright @ 2008 Susan Martinez
Please do not reprint, copy, post on the internet, or otherwise use this material without written permission.

Read more about SKYE BLUE & THE FAIRIES: Skye Blue Mystical Adventures Series – Book 1 and Susan Martinez HERE.

Copyright 2008 Susan Martinez. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Children often imagine that clouds look like animals and numbers. Cloud Jumpers live in these shapes and are looking back at you. Written by Tracy Ahrens and illustrated by Eugene Ruble.

Copyright 2008 Tracy Ahrens. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt
The moon transforms into a grape, an orange and chocolate chip cookie in “What if the Moon” The poetic text expands a child’s imagination while teaching about colors and shapes. Written and Illustrated by Tracy Ahrens.

Copyright 2008 Tracy Ahrens. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

One warm summer day, Kallie Kitten wandered down to the pond near the woods, looking for someone to play with her. Back at the big, red barn, all of the other animals would run away when they saw her coming.

Kevin Kroaker, the bullfrog, was sitting on a log waiting for Lily Ponds, another frog and his good friend. They were going to go swimming.

When Kallie saw Kevin sitting there all alone, she ran right up and tried to grab him. He hopped into the tall grass and hid.

Copyright 2008 Joy Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Chapter One

Bang! . . . bang! . . . bang! Buzz-z-z-z-z. Splash, swoosh, splash-h-h-h . . . The sounds of

hammers, saws, and paint echoed throughout the giant factory. When the noises finally stopped, a squeaky hoist lowered

something slowly to the ground. Ooohs and ahhhs moved through the crowd. It had taken many

months for the workmen to shape Homer’s body into a perfect flying machine. And now, Homer

the helicopter was being born right in the middle of the factory’s scrap heap.

Unlike other newborn helicopters who were timid and made fussing noises, Homer was brave

from the start.

His shiny skin was cut from the finest silver metal. And on top of the little ‘copter sat two sparkling

new blades. As the blades began to spin, Homer felt a gentle wind above his head. With each

quickening turn of his new propeller,Homer’s emerald green eyes danced and flashed even brighter, and his smile turned to a wide

grin. The dimples in each corner of his mouth and on his chin deepened with delight and his

stubby nose stuck out like a silver jewel.

It was time for the factory workmen to turn Homer over to his mother, the wise, golden-colored

Elsa. She was elegant with six glowing lights on her frame. On top of her huge blades sat a

brilliant strobe light that twirled around, brightly flashing on and off.

Elsa had waited a long time to raise a son just like Homer. She was so thrilled and proud of her

new son that she took him in tow behind her and flew around the factory in a precise, zigzag flight pattern. Elsa

wanted to show off Homer to all the other mothers who had come to celebrate the little ‘copter’s arrival into the

world.

Elsa was a graceful flyer, and under her guidance the two of them drifted lightly through the air

like floating swans.

After several minutes, Homer became restless and decided to play a prank on his mother. When

Elsa zigged, Homer zagged in the opposite direction. Again and again the rope swiftly jerked him backward,

each time giving the little helicopter a thrill.

Young Homer’s daring behavior amazed the crowd. His antics were starting to make his mother

dizzy. Shelooked behind her to see what was going on, only to discover what Homer was doing. He was

snapping back and forth harder than a rubber band from a slingshot! Elsa quickly whirled around, giving Homer a sharp

jolt.

“Now listen to me son,” she scolded, pointing one of her long blades at Homer. “Do not play tricks

on your mother like that again. When I’m flying, you should keep still and just enjoy the ride.”

Homer cringed with embarrassment, his face turning bright red.

“You should always mind and listen to what I tell you,” Elsa continued. “It’s for your own safety,

Homer. Do you understand?”

Looking down at all the other helicopters below, Homer nodded, ashamed. He got Elsa’s

message loud and clear.

The other mothers, taking in the whole scene, were chuckling. Pointing upward toward Homer,

they began teasing Elsa. “You have quite the frisky rascal there, Elsa,” called out one of the mothers. “We

wish you lots of luck raising that wild little ‘copter!”

Elsa was embarrassed by the heckling. She vowed to find the best flight instructor for Homer.

She knew one day Homer would make her proud.

CHAPTER TWO:

Homer grew very fast. Soon he was old enough to learn how to fly mothers, fathers, and children

on trips through the enormous Grand Canyon. Homer knew right away that he would enjoy his work. His

fondest wish was to gracefully soar in the sky, like the birds he often watched gliding freely on the west wind.

But first, Homer had to learn how to fly on his own.

The day finally came for Elsa to take Homer to the Whirly Bird Aviation School, in southern

Arizona, to meet his flight teacher and pilot, Hank. Elsa strapped Homer tightly on her back, right up against her

cabin, and curled the tow-rope securely around him. She wasn’t taking any more chances of letting him loose until

he was properly trained to fly on his own. Elsa flew her little ‘copter piggyback to his new airport.

Hank was a famous instructor who had trained many young helicopters during his career. He

didn’t allow his students to disobediently romp around the sky. Learning to fly was serious business!

Elsa sternly told Homer, “I want you to always, always listen to Hank. He will not waste valuable

time with naughty little ‘copters who do not pay attention to his instructions.” Then with a big kiss and tight

hug, Elsa bid farewell to her son. Homer couldn’t see the tears glistening in Elsa’s eyes as she turned around

and slowly flew away.

With a twinkle in his eye and a slightly crooked smile, Hank walked over to Homer. Hank was tall

and skinny, and as he walked, his sandy-brown, rumpled hair blew in the breeze. He was dressed in blue

jeans with a wrinkled flight instructor’s jacket worn over a frayed T-shirt that peeked out at the neck.

“Hi, ya, pal . . . Nice to meet cha,” Hank said, his words forming slowly. “We’ll al’ have some fun

together, and maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll find adventure too!”

Homer was so excited to meet his new pilot and hear him say the word “adventure”, that when

Hank started polishing Homer’s blades and checking out each control stick in his cockpit, the little ‘copter could

hardly stand still.

Looking Homer straight in the eye, Hank said in a friendly tone, “Now listen up, son. I want you to

learn the right way that a young helicopter should fly. First, you should fly forward and then climb straight

up into the sky as far as you can go.” Hank pointed up toward the clouds high overhead. “I want to see if you are

fast enough and strong enough to reach those puffy clouds towering above. But, first, Homer, you need to know

how each controlstick works.”

Homer paid close attention as Hank continued, “You have a ‘C’ stick and a ‘P’ stick which are

located in front of the pilot, and two foot pedals on the floor. When I press the right pedal, you turn right; when I

press the left pedal, you turn left. When I push the ‘P’ stick down, you dive down; when I pull the ‘P’ stick up,

you climb high. When I hold the ‘P’ stick in the middle, you hover right in midair and keep your blades spinning fast, or

we’ll drop like a big rock! When I push the ‘C’ stick forward, you fly straight ahead. When I pull the ‘C’ stick back, you

fly backward.”

Hank paused a moment and a grin crossed his face. “Homer, did you know helicopters are the

only aircraft that can fly backward? . . . So, got all that?”

Homer’s mind began to spin. He wasn’t sure he understood all the new instructions.

Hank encouraged his little student, “Now don’t worry, Homer. You’ll soon get the hang of all your

controls working together perfectly.”

Hank gave Homer his first tank full of gas. Homer felt a powerful sensation flow throughout his

frame. His confidence started to rise but quickly dropped when he began to wonder, “Will my new engine

start up right away? Will my blades go ‘round and ‘round, turning faster and faster, whistling whir . . . whir-r-r-r . . .

whir-r-r-r?”

“Now, don’t try to do any of those fancy flippy-flops or cartwheels that other new helicopters try,”

Hank warned, climbing into the pilot’s seat. “They only get themselves into a lot of trouble!”

The moment had finally come. Hank turned the start key and pushed on the thrust button. Homer

tightly held his breath then let out a coughing gasp followed by a booming puff of smoke. His

engine started up and began making a purring sound. The engine shook louder and louder. Soon it became a deafening roar.

Homer’s blades began spinning faster and faster. The vibrations felt like a jumbo eggbeater. He was ready to take off.

“WHOOPEE!” He shouted.

With a hard, fast jerk, Hank pulled the little ‘copter’s “P” control stick. This was a brand-new

feeling and experience for Homer. He started to wiggle and wobble on his feet. With all his might, Homer

gave a giant leapfrog lunge. To his surprise, he lurched straight up into the sky. He began sliding and staggering

sideways in a crooked flight pattern — but at least he was flying!

Although Homer had been warned by Hank, he couldn’t resist doing at least one big flip-flop followed by a double cartwheel. As he did these fancy tricks, he punched

out of the clouds and started falling wildly out of control.

“Help! Oh, help! Somebody help me!” he cried.

Hank quickly corrected Homer’s mishap by bringing him back into level flight. “Now listen, Homer,

ol’ buddy,” Hank called out firmly from the pilot’s seat. “Ya gotta pay much more attention to your lessons

and quit goofing off if you really want to learn to fly. Understand me?”

Homer lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hank,” he said guiltily. “From now on, I won’t show off any

more.”

“Good,” replied Hank, “then, let’s try again.” Hank pressed all three of Homer’s controls, sending

him shooting swiftly back into the air.

Again and again Homer tried and tried his best to fly. At first he flip-flopped by mistake, doing a

nosedive toward the ground. Hank quickly yanked the power stick backward. Homer climbed higher and higher,

speeding toward the white-capped clouds. But the little ‘copter was flying at such a steep angle that his blades

stopped spinning.

Homer’s engine started coughing and all of a sudden quit working. Homer froze dead still, right in

midair; he had stalled out!

Homer’s whole body turned upside-down, and he slowly floated out of control, going round and

round in lazy circles. Spinning in tighter circles, he started to gain speed, coiling into a deadly, tight curve.

Again, Hank came to the rescue, pulling Homer into level flight. Soon the little ‘copter’s crazy flying began to upset

Hank’s stomach. He and Homer were getting dizzy.

Hank instructed Homer, “We’re both pooped-out. I think we’ve practiced enough for today. Let’s

head for home.” Hank eased the control sticks to the middle and flew Homer at a gentle pace. Soon they

arrived back at the helicopter landing pad. Hank held Homer hovering above the pad while slowly lowering him until

his landing skids softly touched the ground.

Homer breathed a sigh of relief as he thought, “It’s wonderful to be in the hands of a skilled pilot

like Hank. I’ll do better next time.”

Homer didn’t give up. At each lesson he practiced harder, becoming better and better. Then one

sunny spring morning, to his utter amazement, Homer found himself flying perfectly. He skillfully circled, spun,

and darted sideways, backward, and straight up and down. He even hovered just inches above the ground without

flopping over.

Hank was so proud of his new student. Homer had, at last, earned his wings. “Congratulations,

Homer,” Hank happily hollered, “I knew you could do it!”

Hank then revealed some remarkable news to Homer, “After you have had enough flying

experience, you might be able to operate your own controls without a pilot on board. But remember, pilots who fly

helicopters have to think and act fast. So you, too, will have to pass the test of patting yourself on the head while

rubbing your belly at the same time.” Hank teased, “Want to give it a try, Homer?”

Homer decided he’d try that trick another day.

Homer worked hard over the next few months, paying close attention to his lessons. He quickly

became very good at flying under Hank’s instructions.

Hank thought now was the perfect time for Elsa to come for a visit so she could see her little ‘copter had become a skillful and obedient flyer. Hank decided Elsa’s visit

would be a secret; he wanted to surprise Homer!

Elsa was thrilled when Hank asked her to fly to the canyon; she promised to meet them

the very next day.

Copyright 2008 Julie W. Buscher. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.