It was last summer — before I got pregnant — when I opened this email from a guy in “TV comedy development” at 20th Century Fox. I read it quickly:

“I came upon your book Single Mom Seeking and we’re interested in optioning your title for possible development… Please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

My eyes went to the word “possible.” Yes, he’d said possible. The skeptic in me translated this to mean “illusive.”

So, I’d skimmed his email again and thought, “This can’t be for real.”

That’s when I’d waved it off and got back to my life. A couple of weeks later, however, my publisher, Seal Press, forwarded an email from this same guy to me: he kindly told Seal Press that he’d reached out to me, but hadn’t heard back. (I’m sorry…) He asked me to please contact him.

I wanted to believe that something might be going on; that this wasn’t just a prank. (And that’s why I’ve kept this all so hush-hush for so long.) After calling back “Mr. Fox” and asking a bunch of questions, indeed, he sounded very professional — and serious.

It all seemed ironic in the best way possible. After all, I was not exactly a “single mom seeking” anymore… Maybe something fertile was in my water.

After many phone conversations with my amazing agents, as well as an in-person meeting in L.A., this is all still unfolding. But after six months of negotiating, a deal was made just before the New Year: Single Mom Seeking has been optioned for a TV comedy show.

Stay tuned. And thank you to everyone who has stuck with my blog — and with me — for so long.

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It probably won’t surprise you that Thunderpants is the kind of man who loves hardwood floors. And me? I am drawn to the look and feel of bamboo, like these from Empire Flooring.

During our extensive after-hours talks, we’ve even toyed with some far-out ideas, like using reclaimed whiskey barrels (photo below). One concerned friend did ask: “But will it make your home smell like whiskey all the time?”

Fortunately, we have agreed about one thing: no carpet. After more research, however, he has made some good points: although bamboo is renewable (it’s a grass that grows without replanting), it does take a lot of energy to ship it from Asia. Whereas, if we use hardwood, we could find locally grown sustainable oak.

Again, it’s all about compromise. And we’re getting good at that, as we continue to live in our dust-covered 700 square feet with electrical cords snaking through rooms, half-empty cans of paint and power tools in corners — and, yes, still sleeping on a mattress on the floor while six months pregnant. It’s all an act of love, I suppose.

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“Everyone take one more guess,” Thunderpants said. “Boy or girl?“

We all guessed “boy,” including our daughter.

The first time I was pregnant, more than a decade ago, I wanted my baby’s gender to be a surprise. I didn’t want to carry around any preconceived notions about having a boy vs. a girl. And I wanted to be surprised when I gave birth. It was amazing how many people asked me, “Are you having a boy or a girl?” — and seemed shocked that I didn’t want to know.

Looking back, I can’t believe that I had the patience to wait. This time around, I wanted to know. We all did.

But we did not want to find out in the middle the 19-week ultrasound appointment. When we walked into the dark room, we gave a card to the technician, with two boxes on the front for “boy” or “girl,” and a spot for her to mark one. We asked her to seal the card in an envelope after she checked the box.

I was fluttery with anticipation as the technician showed us the baby’s heart, spine, limbs, fingers, and toes. The baby was moving a lot, making it hard to get some clear photos.

“This is a wild child,” she said. When it was time for her to look at the gender, she asked us to turn our heads away from the screen. We obeyed.

Forty five minutes later, we rushed out of there. The plan was to open the envelope at our favorite frozen yogurt place. We all ordered “minis” with toppings and sat down on an empty bench.

When our daughter opened the envelope, she burst into the biggest smile.

“I have to call my friends!” she jumped up, leaving the card on the bench.

Thunderpants and I looked down at the same time. “A girl?” We both looked at the card again.

His eyes welled up with happy tears. So did mine. A girl. A daughter. A baby sister.

We’re so excited to meet this little soul:

19 week baby bump with my sister’s hand

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As most of you know, we’re adding onto our little home:

Recently, we found out that one of our builders from Mueller Nicholls has quite a reputation. I’m referring to the sweet guy who’s wearing the vest below, standing behind our amazing architect, Scott McGlashan as we talk about paint colors.

Apparently, something very exciting has happened at some point during the remodels of many homes this particular builder has worked on: more than a handful of couples conceived during construction. (Maybe adding onto your home plants the desire to add to your family?)

Now, we’re part of his successful statistic. Because we have another addition in the works.

As in, a baby.

The irony is that our builders have squeezed us into an even tighter space this week: a new, temporary wall went up so they can start sheet rocking, which means that the three of us are now living together in 400 square feet. My growing belly is making this small space feel even smaller.

Fortunately, Mueller Nicholls is working as fast and efficiently as they can so we can move in before our “little pumpkin” arrives in early April. We’re quite thrilled.

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For as long as I can remember, I’ve spent a lot of time looking out windows. I was that kid who daydreamed in front of windows. As an adult, I curled myself up into a ball in front of many windows, longing for comfort.

For much of my life, though, I’ve looked through dirty, grimy windows. I never took the time and energy to clean them. (I don’t really know anyone who likes to clean windows.) My half-attempt was too much Windex, which only smeared my view. Looking back, I never did the work it took to clean my windows.

It’s no wonder that I couldn’t see clearly. For years and years, when I walked out my front door, I found myself choosing men who were emotionally unavailable. It has taken a lot of time and exhausting self-reflection to scrub off the grime — so I could see better.

Tell me about the windows you’re looking through:

Can you see out of them? Do you need to spend some time cleaning, too?

~~~

On that note, we spent months researching windows for our addition. Our goal was to find stylish windows that reduced energy use in a cost-efficient way. That’s how we found ourselves face-to-face with Serious Windows. Check out the windows we installed this week!

[Nope, Serious Windows did not endorse me to write this post.]

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Every Friday, we meet with our contractors– a team of five guys  — who sit around the table with us to chat about our addition and answer questions.

Whenever I talk to these guys, I’m very conscious about saying “we” as in:

“We decided to go with a dual low-flush toilet that uses less water.”

“We have definitely made up our minds about solar panels on the roof.”

Well, sometimes, Thunderpants forgets to say “we.”

He says, “I want LED lights in the bedroom.”

And, “I’ve made up my mind about the shower plumbing.”

I meet his eyes, gritting my teeth, as I think, “But, honey, WE stayed up late making those decisions last night. I was right there.”

In my past relationships, I haven’t always chosen to be with men who’ve seen me. I can get sensitive when I feel like I’m not being seen. When it comes to language — “I” vs. “we” — I guess being a writer affects me, too.

Don’t get me wrong: he’s getting a lot better remembering that it’s about us now. He’ll tell me later, “I’m sorry, love. I just forget sometimes. But I’m trying.”

We both continue to try.

In fact, yesterday the lead contractor told us: “I know I don’t see what goes on behind the scenes, but you two seem to make decisions really well together.”

We laughed. “Yeah, come behind the scenes sometime–.”

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The first thing I’ve learn about building a home is this: you’ve got to pour the foundation before you can frame. And the second thing? The world of contractors is a small one.

When the Israeli sub-contractor showed up at 8 a.m. with his crew last week, I said “good morning” to him in Hebrew. He smiled.

That night, I got home from work, and Thunderpants gave me a hug. “I had an interesting conversation with the foundation guy today.”

“Yeah?”

“He said to me, ‘I know your wife from somewhere. But I just don’t know where.’ ”

I raised my eyebrows at him because I could guess where this might be going.

Thunderpants went on: “I told him, ‘Oh, I know where you know my wife from.’ ”

“And then?”

“Then I asked if he knew your Israeli ex. And he said, ‘That’s it!’ ” (My Israeli ex was a foundation guy, too.)

At the end of the day, I guess it’s a relief that it wasn’t my ex who poured our foundation. It would have felt weird to have an ex literally laying the foundation for this new chapter in my life.

After the cement dried, a huge pile of wood was delivered in our driveway. Then, another group of guys started hammering. The three of us go out there every night, in awe, as we look at the frame of our future home.

~~~

And the winner of French Lessons? Congratulations to Cat!

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I first discovered Ellen Sussman (above) via her beautiful, riveting novel, On a Night Like This, about a single mom who is raising a teenager in San Francisco and finds out she is dying of cancer.

So, when I heard that Ellen was writing another novel — two primary characters are a single-mom-to-be and a remarried single mom — I knew I had to get my hands on it.

For the record, I most often pick up non-fiction over fiction. And I speak Spanish — not French. None of this mattered as I poured through this sexy, emotional novel.

The entire novel unfolds in one day (and you might read this book just as fast), and it was inspired by the time the author — a former single mom –  spent in Paris. Three Americans have traveled to the city, and each one has a different French tutor. What these six characters have in common is the fact that they all carry romantic baggage. (Don’t we all?)

As the day goes on, the stories begin to link. And the sexual tension builds. The book is so easy to read because it’s divided into sections with riveting descriptions that pull you in. You can finish section, and then let it go until later. This is the perfect end-of-summer novel!

If you want to read a great interview with Ellen about French Lessons, go to Women’s Fiction Writers by Amy Sue Nathan.

~~~

Ballantine Book is giving away a copy of French Lessons to one of you!

This enter the contest, please answer this question in the comments:

If you could go travel anywhere in the world — and have your own personal tutor for the day– where would you go? And why?

~~~

Winner to be chosen by Random.org at 9 p.m. PST on August 26.

P.S. There are no winners — so far! — to my last book give away because no one has guessed it right. Did I make the contest too hard?

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The other night, during a mild anxiety attack after our contractors left, I had a small argument with my husband. Then, I sat down to write a post about how scared I felt. Blogging tip: when you write in the midst of such intense feelings, don’t publish it right away. Let it sit for 24 hours.

Well, I didn’t follow my own advice. I published that post right after writing it, and the next morning, as I re-read it, I shook my head. I’d gone off on a rant, and it wasn’t even well-written. So, I deleted it. Within 24 hours, a few blogging (and real life!) friends wrote to me, wondering what happened.

The truth is: any big life changes bring anxiety, whether you’re getting married, moving, or building an addition onto your home. The question is, “How do you deal with that anxiety?”

I’m still learning the answer.

“Late in the evenings can be the worst,” Crazy Computer Dad wrote to me in an email this morning. It’s so true.

After an anxious night, I usually wake up and I see how many wonderful things happening in my life right now. In fact, this morning, I’m looking out our window where a group of guys is laying the foundation to our home. Laying the foundation. If that isn’t symbolic, I don’t know what is.

So, why during such an amazing time of transition, do I feel anxious? Sometimes, it’s as if I can’t let myself deserve THIS: so much love, a new home, a sweet daughter, a man who listens.

This weekend, here’s how I’m going to deal with my remodeling anxiety: I’m going on our local American Institute of Architects (AIA) 2011 Home Tour. This self-guided tour celebrates design excellence in the Bay Area and educates the public about the impact of architecture in this part of California.

I have a feeling that seeing these completed, constructed homes will inspire me. That’s because I can really see what’s coming around the bend, and open myself up to feeling worthy of this. Check out these beautiful, sustainable modern homes:

McGee House
This two bedroom house is resolutely ‘green’ and devoted to salvage and reuse of materials. The upper walls are clad with metal from over 100 car roofs. The awnings are made from old Dodge Caravan windows. The lower story is clad with poplar bark, a furniture manufacturing waste product.

Berkeley Cube
A modern cube addition, 20 feet in each dimension, sits in a backyard peering over a plain worker’s bungalow from the 1940’s. Energy consumption, sustainability and a modest budget drove the design process. Though smartly modern in style, the cube continues in the vein of practicality established by the stucco Bungalow.

DIY House
A small second house on an urban lot, designed to be built by the owner who had no prior construction experience. The architects, who are also engineers, meticulously planned the building and its assembly methods to meet a restrictive program and a very tight budget, while celebrating the beauty of simple, durable materials. The house is a clever box, designed for energy efficiency and future expandability.

Thanks to everyone who has reached out to me this week. And if you’d like to chime in about anxiety, please do!

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At last, eight months after our wedding, we packed out bags and went on a real honeymoon. Actually, we packed our biking panniers — and took off on a cycling honeymoon!

When I showed our photos to a girlfriend, she said: “It looked fun — and strenuous.”

Exactly. We cycled for one week straight: 200 miles, with an elevation gain of almost 5,000 feet. I fell in love with the wildflowers, the billowing clouds, my husband who carried all the gear, and the valleys (time to go downhill… woo eee!)

In the spirit of fun, I’m having a contest:

If you can guess where we went on our honeymoon, I’ll send you a copy of my book, Single Mom Seeking.

The photos below will hopefully give you plenty of hints. If more than one of you guesses correctly, Random.org will choose the winner. And if you happen to be one of the friends (you know who you are!) who already knows where we went… sorry, but this disqualifies you. (The contest is open through Saturday, Aug.13 at midnight PST)

Here’s one more hint: We went to a place where English is not the native language.

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