When you're all set to yearn for a life of hair-tucking and quaint gestures, it's hard to settle for gluten-free pizza. Or is it? Author Karin Beery is chatting today about her "not romantic" husband. See what you think.

​I knew when I met my husband that he wasn’t classically romantic. He’s a bit of a redneck—he considers camouflage a “neutral” pattern—and had never read a romance novel nor watched a rom com. I didn’t have high hopes for grand gestures.
I was right to be skeptical. He bought me roses once when we were dating. Since we’ve been married (almost 18 years), the only flowers I’ve received were a Crayola-colored bouquet of daisies from the grocery story.
As a life-long reader of romance novels (seriously, I started reading them in middle school), part of me grieved. I wanted hair tucked behind my ears, poetic professions of love, and romantic getaways to quaint bed and breakfasts. 

See those beautiful orange pumpkins?
We have plenty more where they came from. And when I say plenty, I mean WAY MORE.
Last year, we planted two pumpkin seeds and grew one pumpkin. This year, we planted two pumpkin seeds and grew 34 pumpkins. Possibly more. We're really not sure if there are more hiding the middle of the patch where we can't see them for the extra tall grass or not. We keep finding them as they turn orange and show through the green. It's almost ridiculous. 
What on earth are we going to do with thirty-four (or more) pumpkins?

"Third grade is supposed to be one of the hardest grades."
These are words my daughter uttered before school started this year. She was nervous. Multiplication tables? State testing? She just wasn't sure she wanted to go to third grade.
You see, she'd gotten in her own head. Convinced herself it was going to be hard, that she couldn't do it.
​And once you get in your own head, it's really hard to get back out.

Know that verse in the Bible that talks about how the birds don't have to worry about what they'll eat? Because God takes care of them. Well, this summer, evidently the birds decided God was taking care of them through my tomato vines.
Sigh.
Don't get me wrong. We've gotten tons of tomatoes this summer. So, I really can't complain. But it's just so frustrating to see a hole poked in a tomato just turning red, so perfect otherwise, and now mostly ruined due to bird germs and bugs and the way it's starting to rot.
And yet, maybe I needed the reminder.

Can I be honest with you here?
I'm learning a lesson lately.
Life's too short ... to finish the book.

Wait.
What? What did the author just say?
​Did she say to NOT finish a book?