The Hottest Things Men Do

I have surveyed married female friends, my sisters, and two co-workers, and have uncovered the mystery of what makes a man really attractive. Sure, we women still love a man who wears woodsy cologne, can run a marathon, and is swimming in money. But, the truth is women get all sorts of happy when men do these 8 things:

1: Mow then edge the lawn: First of all, women love to see their man sweat. More so though, we love nice neat lines of grass. In a woman’s world this is very similar to vacuum lines—which men may or may not find hot. Edging is the crème de la crème of yard work, pulling together the curb appeal in glorious detail. As a bonus the way a man must hold the edger begs for his biceps to pop. We like that too.

2: Pulling the garbage to the curb: Nothing, nothing, nothing is hotter than the sound of a man pulling the garbage can to the curb. Even hotter: if this happens in the wee hours of the morning to catch the truck before it passes by.

3: Patience with children: A man who bends down to eye-level of a child who is crying, upset, or otherwise having a tantrum and shows kindness instead of frustration marks a man with a great amount of control. It’s impossible not to be moved by this act of hotness.

4: Send us grocery shopping—alone: Shopping solo, sans the grocery list, is like date night with ourselves or therapy without the couch. There are few hotter words than when a man says to his woman, “I insist, go shopping, and I will stay here and play board games with the kids. Take your time.”

5: Plan date night: Suddenly you are married and it seems the planning of date night falls square into the lap of the organized wife. You know what’s hot? When the man plans the evening, gets the sitter, washes the car before the date, opens the door for his woman, and wears woodsy cologne.

6: When he loves family reunions: Tolerating family and slugging through the reunion isn’t hot. But, talking to brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, playing with nieces and nephews, and getting to know each member on of both sides of the marriage—flaws and all—comes off as quite hot.

7: Change a tire: When a man changes a tire he isn’t just getting the vehicle back on the road. No. No. No. When he rolls up his sleeves, prepares to get dirty, and rescues his woman from having to wait for AAA—he’s telling her he can take charge of a stressful situation. But, truthfully, when a man has to look up the step-by-step instructions in the manual on how to get the job done—that’s a hotness extinguisher.

8: A kiss like he means it: Lips have thousands of nerve endings (100 times more than your fingertips!) and if there is passion, greatness, and good hygiene behind his kiss, those nerve endings light up like fireworks. There are, of course, honorable mentions to what makes a man really hot: cleaning up kid barf, sewing on a button, helping the kids with math homework, keeping promises, rocking the baby to sleep, growing a garden, singing along with the radio, spontaneously loading the dishwasher, getting a fresh haircut, having nice feet, and knowing how to dance the waltz. But, hands down the hottest thing a man can do is to come home at the end of the day—when his woman’s own hotness has faded behind the daily tasks of survival—take her face in his hands, look her in the eye, and say, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” Now that’s hot.

nothing is hotter than a cowboy

I am a sucker for cowboys. Always have been. I think the problem started in high school when a group of cool cowboys from "out west" took my friend Katie and I on a four wheeler ride. I asked, "What is that amazing smell??" The guy said, "Cows." I was hooked. Luckily for me, I married a cowboy. Although his family sold all the cattle (love that cowboy word) a handful of years back, I am still surrounded by the greatest cowboy gifts: horses, land, and doggies.

Each year we spend the final week of summer out at the fair. A week with some of the finest cowboys in all of rodeo land. The leather, the dust, the chaps—mmm mmm cowboys—what a great sight. Tonight the cowboys in the rodeo will all wear pink, in a nod to their support for breast cancer research. This act makes me feel gratitude (keep fighting Kates!) for each one of them. If I have said it once I have said it a thousand times—nothing is hotter than a cowboy in the rodeo at the fair. And hotter still is a cowboy wearing pink who recognizes and respects the woman who is every bit as tough as he is.

Long live the cowboy.

My own Miss America.

Five days ago, on a Wednesday night, I drove up and over Sardine Canyon to speak to a group of young women. By the time I got to their camp they were just finishing up dinner—their bright faces reminded me all too well of the times I too had been to girls camp. When it was time to speak to them, I started to get nervous, because I could tell this was a group of young women that would really listen to what I had to say. And they did just that—listen. I talked to them all about their authentic spark—how each of us are sent to earth with a different set of unique qualities...but yet, we are given the same embers of heaven to carry us when we feel our burden is too heavy. The next part of the talk was all about following Christ, and letting his light burn within us. The last part was focused on "Shine On"—putting your best foot (or shiny leg) forward no matter the trials we are faced with. I was happy to share with them moments from my own life and trial that are hard to talk about but I know understood by teenagers. As I looked around at the sweet faces of the young women, all were silent, and many were crying. When my talk was over every one of the girls came up to me and gave me a hug—then told me that I should be the next Miss America. Funny. That is the one phrase I wanted to hear when I was their age, that I had Miss America potential. I smiled the whole ride home, so happy to have met this group of young girls who put a fresh coat of shine on my confidence. Shine on girls! Shine on.

Meeting agent Kathryn Beaumont

Luck was on my side the week before Memorial Day as I learned of a writers conference right in my backyard. Well, two hours south of the six acres, but still! I was hoping that I could have a 30-minute consult with the great Kathryn Beaumont from Kneerim & Williams. I have been following her on twitter, have read up on her achievements (nothing small about them), love her personality, and adore her style. I was so glad when the coordinator of the conference emailed me to let me know there was indeed time for me on Kathryn's consult schedule. YEAH! I was so excited! A real live agent! I sent my first 7,000 words to the coordinator to send along to Kathryn for review. I have not been crazy about the first chapter, so I wanted her to give me suggestions that would give me an edge when I start to query agents. First of all, she was just like I expected: warm, funny, nice, and intelligent. My kind of person. Once we sat down she said is, "How can I best help you?" I told her, "I am ready for an agent for my memoir, White Bees." Here is the summary of her advice:

1. "Memoirs are the hardest kind of book to sell to publishers. To increase your chances of being picked up, write your memoir like a novel."
2. "Hit me over the head with the issue of your book right up front." (My first chapter danced around the "issue" but nothing substantial.)
3. Make the memoir universal. Relate it to the masses. "If I am selling this book to Random House, everyone on the editorial board must want to read your book. You need to think about that."
4. She recommended reading, Wild, to gather ideas for my own book.
5. "Don't start a book with a flashback." Oops.
6. She also said when querying agents you don't always have to send the first ten pages (as typically requested)—instead, you can send your BEST ten pages.
7. The most welcome news was her encouragement to me that I am a "very good writer" and "this story could help so many people."

As luck would have it (again) she asked me to send her the full manuscript in a query (but not for at least two months - don't rush it! Fix the first chapter! Make it universal!). I was blown away by her generous advice, candid feedback, and spark of interest in my book. What a pleasure to meet someone who truly is an advocate for the writer. Can't wait to finish my new beginning (and get it right)!

Three stitches. Four words.

Last Saturday, just as I was ready to settle into the couch for a movie, my baby, and some pizza (a rare Saturday night!), I decided to light a candle. You know. To make the air smell good. My multi-tasking ways got the best of me and I tried to take the lid off the candle at grab the lighter at the same time. The lid, stuck, gave way just as the rest of the candle crushed into the granite -- with only my birdie finger to catch the falling giant shards of glass. Immediately, I knew the cut on my finger was more than just a butterfly bandage fix. Yet, I still dumped out a whole box of Band-Aids looking for the right size, all the while the white dishrag I was holding on the cut started to turn a nice polka-dot red. Maggie, just two-years-old, kept looking at me, "OK Mamma? OK?" After a few minutes I called my back-up helper, my father-in-law. He was at my house faster than Jimmy Johns, ready to watch Maggie, and I was on my way to the ER. While I sat there on the hospital bed waiting to get stitched up I saw -- through the fabric curtain -- a gurney come through the ER doors. All I could see where the feet on the gurney. The shoes were those of a cute, hip teen girl. But, she was in distress -- right deep down into her soul. "Why did you do this?" asked the ER nurse. "I hate my life," said the girl with the cute shoes. And, I believed her. There was no question in her voice that she utterly hated her life, and that she had done something horrible to prove it. I wanted to fling the curtain between us open and shout, "It will get better! Just have hope! It always gets better if you just try. Don't give up!" I have thought about that girl all week, and wished there had been something I could do for her. The pain of what each of us were in the ER for couldn't compare to one another. My three little stitches. Her four haunting words.

Still.

Someone once told me that the best gift a daughter can give her mother on Mother’s Day is a heartfelt letter filled with all of the reasons why she loves her. The advice was to put specific memories of her into a letter, and include lessons she had taught you – and not hold back one tiny bit. Somehow though, the Saturday before Mother’s Day, I typically find myself scrambling to put an amazing gift together for her – complete with a pretty bag with tons of colorful tissue paper coming out the top. Just a card? That doesn’t seem nearly enough for all she has done for me. So, I usually buy her something I would like for myself always hopeful she will open it and say, “Oh! Amy! This is just perfect! I have been wanting this very thing!” Truth is, my mom has never been a lover of things. Instead, she is a lover of kind, sincere words – and cards on Mother’s Day. So this Mother’s Day, I will do my best to tell her, in my most sincere effort, how much I loved her then and love her now.


Being her daughter is a joy, and having her as my mother is a gift.

God knew I needed her the day I was born, as I lay in her arms, looked up at her face and heard her familiar voice. He knew I needed her on my first day of school, wearing my deep pink corduroy jump suit, setting off to independence. He knew I needed her on all those days of doctor appointments, surgeries, hospital stays, and solutions. God knew I needed her when I moved away to college and missed my everything -- everyday. He knew I needed her enthusiasm when I called home and told her all about how much I was loving college, just like she did. He knew I needed her when I found love, and shared with her why I wanted to marry. God knew I needed her when Hayden was born and I found motherhood, and then again with Emma. He knew I needed her to be excited for me when I said we wanted another one, and he knew I needed her when Maggie arrived. God knew that I needed my mom. From the very beginning. Just like she needed her mother, and before her, my Grandma needed hers. And so it goes, and so it is. Still. As time began, and as time moves forward, daughters need their mothers -- and mothers need their daughters. Still.

shedding the thin skin

I have been completely sucked into the work of finding an agent for my book, "White Bees." The process is daunting, and part of me wants to put the book I have spent the better part of a year writing, in my nightstand, safe and sound. If I don't share the struggles I have been through that are written in the 80,000 words of my book with agents --  then they can't reject my book, my inner thoughts, one of my greatest accomplishments. Right? No wonder so many people get to this stage of the writing process and decide to give up. But, I made a promise to myself a year ago to complete this goal -- all the way. Not to stop when the writing was done, but to keep going until my goal of getting "White Bees" published became a reality. With the editing process done (thank you Katie Carter!) I will shed my thin skin, and starting June 1st gear up for sending out queries. Wish me lots of luck! I am going to need it.