Chronicles Woven in Runes
My bedtime storybook, “Sleepy Tales” is very nearly done! I’ve just got one more illustration to complete, and then, it’ll be ready for final review. I’m so excited! It’s a very cute book, I must say.
Stay tuned! More details coming.
Write a poem that takes the form of a letter. It can be addressed to anyone – a friend, a family member, a stranger, yourself, or someone no longer here. The letter should feel personal and emotional. Starting with “Dear…” and ending with a closing is optional, but your poem should feel like a letter.
Dear Mama,
In the trembling hush of my heart, where memories flicker like fireflies over Louisiana’s bayou shadows, I whisper to you across the eternal veil. You, my gentle Mama, whose spirit was ensnared by dementia’s merciless fog, your eyes dimmed like stars drowned in a cruel dusk.
I cling to my hopes of the last fleeting months you spent in my Texas log haven, its twin homes rooted in red-clay earth, built to cradle you close to Lafayette’s warm, Cajun heartbeat. My desire was to have you rest from your hard life, particularly the recent suicides of your son and brother, and enjoy researching our family history, while we heal ancestral wounds.
But you slipped away in your rage, refusing tests, though doctors whispered for years of the thief in your mind. I knew the reason you were so afraid of any discussion of mental health.
Long ago, in Alexandria’s Pinewood, they labeled you delayed, branded you forever thirteen, and caged you for a year. I, barely a pre-teen, struggled to mother my three younger siblings. That was my year of racing home from school and appreciating a new product called Rice-A-Roni.
Over the years, you could only hint and shudder at the memory of managed care back there: stories of overcrowding, forced shock therapy, sedative drugs, chains and physical restraints.
The doctors, aware of my obligatory maturity, precisely illustrated the necessity of me supporting you throughout your life. And I accepted it, unfair as it might have been, there was no other option.
You needed me; that’s all I needed to know. Your husband—my stepfather—banished you there in that hospital, his heart cold as iron, while throwing out his own son, Glenn for trying to protect me.
Not long after that, he stole the funds of my Daddy’s social security payments, painstakingly saved for me and Jeri from his schizophrenia’s chains that had bound him, an emotionally frozen man since age twenty-one.
I lost my Daddy at age four, Jeri having been forcefully conceived at the separation. We were alone and hungry, the three of us. You bore the shame of the accusations and inuendoes. I knew then I had a duty beyond my capacity. Daddy and his family fought for us, driven by the suspicion of abuse, my grandmother’s physical scars until her death.
You met him when I was eight, and Jeri just four. That man’s fists scarred us all—you, me, Jeri, and my stepbrother Michael—before he fled to Southern California, building thirteen dens of sin and shame — porn stores — from our stolen future.
I eventually forgave him, as faith requires. Years later, driving you through desert’s searing grief to his funeral, but I couldn’t face his casket’s hollow stare.
Sundowners sank its claws, pulling you into night’s unyielding grip. You begged me, in moments of piercing clarity, to shield you from my stepsister’s cruelty—her bullying shadow loomed large, a tormentor like her father, who fought neighbors into courtrooms, failed at foster parenting in bitter rivalry with me, and wielded words and hands against you, even breaking your wrist.
She plundered your credit cards, clashed with everyone, even her stepchildren who sued her, childless herself yet sowing discord. When you pressed me for unity, I said she was toxic, but in your naivety, you believed I called her trash. You didn’t understand; as a mother, you only saw division between your children and wanted unity.
In a moment of clarity, you pleaded for protection, and my heart vowed to be your refuge. When the time came, I couldn’t hold you safely here, although I tried. I rationalized that it’d just be for the holiday, so I purchased the flight with a 2-week return. No sooner did you get there, you announced that you were staying.
After you were there a couple months, she cast you out in Utah, leaving you to wander in your car, a fragile shell under weeping skies, for a whole month until a shattered ankle unveiled dementia’s truth in a hospital’s sterile light. They called me only then, my soul fracturing, unaware of the lies that painted our family as uncaring, unaware she’d silenced my cries to bring you home.
I fought, Mama, with an attorney’s fire, seeking guardianship to draw you back to Louisiana’s love, to friends who knew your gentle soul. The court stood ready, my hope blazing, but you faded the day before, leaving my promise unkept, a wound that bleeds still.
And oh, the final cruelty—Covid’s iron rules stole our touch. My stepsister and I, exiled outside your nursing home, knelt by an open window, our voices cracking through glass to whisper goodbyes. No hand to hold, no warmth to share, just words lost in sterile air, though you bore no virus.
Only after your breath stilled could I reach you, a theft that rips my heart raw. Things remain undone, Mama—your plea for safety haunts me, a vow I couldn’t fulfill. Yet in this letter, I hold you fierce. Beyond the fog, beyond the pain of others’ betrayal, you are my Acadian root, my light in the bayou’s glow.
My patriarchal blessing – a gift from Heavenly Father, reminds me that I “was born of goodly parents, parents that were chosen” for me in the pre-existence.
I see you whole, resilient, your love enduring like the stories I write for children. I read you I Love You Forever, praying its words wrapped you in my boundless devotion.
Forgive those who failed you; know my fight burned on, a daughter’s desperate love. Rest now, free of fear, in a heaven where no shadows fall. I love you, Mama, to the moon and back, forever.
Your daughter,
S.M. Ulbrich
In the quiet of my heart, a space is carved,
For the children who arrive, their trust half-starved.
Their eyes, like windows, hold stories untold,
Of fleeting homes and dreams grown cold.
Though their time with me may softly fade,
A spark of love in their hearts is laid.
Empathy, a gentle seed I sow,
A warmth to seek where their paths may go.
I hold their hands, though briefly mine,
And whisper truths that forever shine:
“You are loved, though the world may shift,
Your worth is boundless, your spirit a gift.”
I teach them to feel, to see, to care,
To find the hearts that kindness will share.
For empathy’s a flame that never dims,
A guide through life, through joys and whims.
Though they leave, my love will stay,
A quiet promise to light their way.
For in their hearts, I’ve planted deep,
A truth to hold, an emotion to seek.
Emotions Poetry Contest contest entry
The little guy in the picture is one of our foster babies. I wrote about him on my blog. Don’t recall the title, but it was something about “when I knew I was a writer”. I’ve been working on this piece for many years, but have never put it online. My gift to you, my new friends.
The essence of my life.
Contest: Write 150 words about your life in full; don’t give just parts of your life.
I was born in a small town. Story was my first language. I learned to read the rules in school and to rebel in books. Now they’re arrows pointing injustice and wonder.
I was married young and divorced younger but I learned motherhood would be an anchor in all storms of love. Then I was married for keeps.
Mother and foster motherhood came. Six boys, two girls, two angels, brave and funny. I learned to read my heart in their handwriting and put children’s books in print.
Misty a mermaid swam in my thoughts and cried for a tiara! Faith grew where my eyes met a portrait of Christ saying, “You are enough.”
I am a writer today scheduling social media posts, recreating like fireflies; still I believe stories can cross ice floes.
My life? Untidy, hope-full, windy, full of notes of beauty, sometimes heartbreaking and often rewriting manuscripts.
A short story about New Moon’s promise
In the small town of Hawkins, where the East Texas hills rolled like green waves under a big sky, lived a woman named Dot, short for Dorothy.
She was a foster parent, her home a revolving door of laughter and tears, where children came like shooting stars — bright, fleeting, sometimes hot, and leaving trails of light in her heart.
Dot had no children of her own, but she had empathy, a quiet force that bloomed in the darkness of night, much like the new moon she watched every month from her front porch.
Tonight was such a night. The new moon hung invisible in the sky, a blank slate promising rebirth. No silvery glow pierced the velvet black; instead, the stars seemed sharper, as if the moon’s absence made room for their stories.
Dot sat on the creaky swing, a mug of chamomile tea warming her hands, listening to the nearby hoot of an owl.
Inside the house, two foster siblings slept: Amy, eight years old with a mop of curly hair and a guarded smile, and her little brother Mikey, five, who clung to a stuffed bear like it was his anchor.
They had arrived three weeks ago, old suitcases battered and eyes wide with the uncertainty of yet another move. Their mother was in recovery, their father a ghost in old photographs.
Dot knew the drill — love them fiercely, teach them gently, and let them go when the time came. But each departure carved a deeper groove in her soul. “Why do they have to leave?” she’d whisper to the night sky on new moon evenings, when the world felt emptiest.
This time, though, something felt different. Amy had a fire in her, a curiosity that sparked during their evening walks. “What’s a new moon, Miss Dot?” she’d asked one day, pointing at the calendar on the kitchen wall where Dot marked the lunar phases.
“It’s when the moon hides,” Dot explained, kneeling at Amy’s level. “But it’s not gone. It’s just resting, gathering strength to grow full again. Like us, sometimes we need darkness to find our light.”
Amy’s brow furrowed. “Does it feel alone up there?”
Dot’s heart ached. “Maybe. But it knows the stars are watching. And it always comes back stronger.”
That conversation lingered as Dot gazed at the sky now. A soft creak from the door pulled her from her thoughts. Amy stood there in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. “Can’t sleep,” she mumbled.
“Come sit,” Dot said, patting the swing. Amy hesitated, then climbed up, leaning into Dot’s side. The night air was cool, carrying the heavy scent of pine from the nearby woods.
“Why’s the moon hiding tonight?” Amy asked, her voice small.
Dot smiled. “It’s a new moon. A time for new beginnings. What do you think it’s dreaming about?”
Amy thought for a moment, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. “Maybe… a family that stays.”
The words hung heavy, like rain about ready to fall. Dot wrapped an arm around her. “Families come in all shapes, sizes, and colors, Amy. Sometimes they’re forever, sometimes they’re for just a season. But the love? That stays forever, like the moon’s promise.”
Mikey appeared then, bear in tow, his thumb in his mouth. He toddled over and squeezed between them. The three sat in silence, the swing gently rocking.
Dot pointed upward. “See those stars? They’re like all the people who care about you, even the ones you don’t know yet. Even when you can’t see the moon, they’re there.”
As the night deepened, Dot shared stories — tales of the moon’s cycles, how ancient people saw it as a guardian of secrets and fresh starts.
She spoke of empathy, that invisible thread connecting hearts. “It’s feeling what someone else feels,” she said. “Like when Mikey scrapes his knee, and you hug him because you know it hurts.”
Amy nodded slowly. “Is that why you take care of us? Even if we leave?”
“Yes,” Dot whispered. “Because I know what it’s like to feel lost. And I want you to carry that feeling with you — to look for it in others, to give it away. It’s the strongest magic there is.”
A shooting star streaked across the sky, and Mikey gasped. “Wish!” he exclaimed.
They closed their eyes. Dot wished for the children’s happiness, wherever life took them. When she opened hers, Amy was staring at the empty space where the moon should be. “I wished for the moon to come back,” Amy said. “And for us to find a home like this.”
Dot’s eyes misted. “You already have a piece of it, right here.” She tapped Amy’s chest.
The next morning, the social worker called. Their mother was stable; reunification was imminent.
Dot’s stomach twisted, but she pushed through, packing their things with care — extra clothes, drawings they’d made, a little photo book of some of the things they did together, and a small notebook where she’d written moon stories for them.
On their last night, under another starlit sky, Dot gathered them on the porch again. She gave each a polished stone, smooth and dark like the hidden moon.
“Keep this,” she said. “When you feel alone, hold it and remember: the new moon is just beginning. Seek empathy, give love, and you’ll always find your way.”
Amy hugged her tightly. “Will you miss us?”
“Every day,” Dot admitted. “But that’s okay. Missing means we mattered.”
Mikey buried his face in her shoulder. “Love you, Miss Dot.”
“And I love you both. Always.”
The car pulled away the next day, taillights fading like dying stars. Dot stood alone, the house echoing with emptiness. That evening, she returned to the porch, the new moon still cloaked in darkness. But as she sat, a warmth spread through her — a whisper from the sky, reminding her that endings were just veiled beginnings.
Weeks later, a letter arrived. Amy’s handwriting, wobbly but determined: “Dear Miss Dot, We saw the moon growing last night. It’s like you said — new starts. Mom’s trying, and I hugged Mikey when he cried. That’s empathy, right? We miss you. Love, Amy and Mikey.”
Dot smiled through tears, clutching the letter. The new moon had worked its magic, planting seeds of love that would bloom in the darkness, guiding them home.
Foster care is difficult for everyone, but sadly, it’s necessary. Most of the kids we saw had only a plastic bag with a couple of items. As VP of the FPAssociatoon, I always advised foster parents to send kids out with some personal items they could call their own, like a photo album. Many kids never saw their own baby pictures! That’s how I started writing – journals for the kids to take with them. There are many good foster parents out there; you just hear about the bad ones.
Dedicated to my friend, Dorothy Phillips
Some stories weave themselves into our hearts, becoming more than words on a page—they become part of our lives. Robert Munsch’s Love You Forever is one such tale, a children’s book that captures the eternal bond between parent and child with a tenderness that transcends generations. Its iconic refrain, “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be,” resonates deeply, reflecting a love that evolves yet never fades. For me, this book holds special meaning, as I gifted it to my mother and mother-in-law for Mother’s Day, a gesture to honor the unbreakable ties of family. Its emotional depth inspired my own children’s book, Discovering Misty: The Mermaid of the Emerald Coast, where love and connection shine through adventures along Florida’s shores.
In Love You Forever, Munsch crafts a narrative that mirrors life’s cycles. A mother rocks her baby, singing her lullaby of devotion, and as time passes, the roles reverse—her grown son cradles her in return. This poignant shift hit me profoundly when reading to my sons, now grown, in our East Texas home. The story’s simplicity—its gentle rhythm and heartfelt illustrations—belies its power to evoke tears and gratitude. It reminds us that love is a constant, even as life changes. I felt this when I wrote Discovering Misty, where Misty the mermaid and Moriah the loggerhead turtle forge a friendship that weathers challenges, like Moriah’s entrapment in a fisherman’s net in Friends Forever. Their bond, set against the vibrant Emerald Coast, echoes the steadfast love in Munsch’s tale, showing young readers that care and loyalty endure.
What makes both stories timeless is their ability to speak to all ages. Love You Forever isn’t just for children; it’s for anyone who’s loved or been loved. Its message of eternal devotion connected me to my Acadian roots, where family and heritage are sacred. Similarly, Discovering Misty uses the magic of mermaids and coastal adventures to teach trust and friendship, inspired by the real-life Misty Joy, a Florida performer whose warmth infuses the series. When Misty helps Moriah or teaches a lesson about kindness in The Missing Tiara, it’s my way of bottling that same universal love for young readers, encouraging them to carry it forward.
As a writer, I’ve learned from Munsch to keep stories simple yet profound, letting emotions breathe through small moments—like a mermaid’s smile or a mother’s lullaby. For this Thoughtful Thursday, I invite you to revisit a book that shaped your heart. Share it with someone you love, just as I did with Love You Forever. And if you’re looking for a new adventure, dive into Discovering Misty on Amazon or Audible, where love and friendship sparkle like the Gulf waves.
What’s a story that’s touched you? Let’s talk in the comments on Family Circle 14 or S.M. Ulbrich Author Blog!
Every baby is a treasure trove of potential. One of the most effective ways to help your little one thrive is to read to them daily. And remember, there’s no age too young to start! Even newborns can gain from early reading, benefiting their cognitive development and strengthening their bond with parents or caregivers.
As both an author and a parent, I believe it’s our duty to enhance individual lives by leveraging community power for collective well-being — and early literacy serves this purpose by laying the groundwork for better lives.
Here’s a guide to understanding the unique advantages of early literacy for your family, along with suggestions for finding free books to read to your infant or toddler.
Does early reading correlate with academic success? A recent study from the American Academy of Pediatrics shows that reading aloud to your child from birth fosters essential language, literacy, and social skills, which often lead to greater achievements in school and beyond.
Our primary goal is to prepare children for the formal education environment — whether it’s public, private, or homeschool — with the skills necessary for success. By making reading a daily ritual, you set your child on a path to graduation and possibly higher education. Cultivating a love for learning and reading ensures your child’s journey of growth and discovery never ends.
Stronger Parent-Child Bonding
Reading aloud to your infant familiarizes them with your voice and brings comfort. As they grow, a regular reading routine provides a sense of stability that fosters trust. Devoting your attention during these moments creates intimacy and security, which are vital for healthy development. Moreover, discussing characters and stories can evolve into deeper conversations about real-life issues as they mature.
Expanded Vocabulary
Conversational language often differs from written language, which requires precision and a broader vocabulary to convey complex ideas. Early reading introduces infants and toddlers to a diverse range of words they might not encounter in everyday talk, setting the stage for a rich vocabulary.
Improved Speech Skills
Through your narration, your child absorbs your pronunciation and the rhythm of sentences. Babies’ brains are highly responsive, and the sound of your voice stimulates their language-communication areas. This exposure aids in understanding words and phrases they will hear elsewhere and helps them learn to articulate their thoughts clearly.
Foundation for Logical Thinking
While it may seem that logic is too advanced for infants and toddlers, early reading lays the groundwork for critical life skills such as problem-solving and reasoning. Following a storyline requires understanding cause and effect, time sequences, and decision-making, helping your child develop a framework for logical thinking that will benefit them throughout life.
Preparation for Writing Skills
As your child connects with you, builds vocabulary, and grasps language logic through your reading sessions, they are also gearing up for writing. Familiarity with books from an early age simplifies the writing process, as bright illustrations paired with text help them link images, sounds, and letters, making written language more accessible when the time comes.
Exposure to Diverse Ideas
A child’s imagination knows no bounds. One of the most remarkable benefits of early literacy is witnessing how they interpret stories through their unique perspective. Books can transport you both to different cultures, fantastical worlds, and extraordinary creatures, broadening their horizons and nurturing creativity.
Cultivating a Love for Learning
Perhaps the most significant benefit of early literacy is fostering a lifelong passion for learning. Sharing stories transforms education into an enjoyable experience, encouraging your child to continue exploring new ideas as they grow. When you demonstrate the importance of reading, your child learns to value it too, paving the way for a successful life.
No one should face financial barriers to early literacy. Here are four ways to access reading materials for your child without spending a dime:
Public Libraries
Libraries are invaluable resources, providing access to a multitude of books and other materials. Obtaining a library card is usually a simple process requiring just a photo ID. Librarians can assist you in selecting age-appropriate early reading materials.
United Way Imagination Library
Want free children’s books delivered to your home each month? The United Way Imagination Library does just that, at no cost. This program has already sent over a million books to children in Ohio. All you need to do is live in a participating county and have a child between newborn and age five. After signing up, your child will receive a special package in the mail each month, culminating in a delightful keepsake book to celebrate their journey into formal schooling.
Little Free Libraries and Book Banks
Inspired by his mother, Todd H. Bol created the first Little Free Library in 2009. These community book exchanges allow anyone to take or leave a book, and starting one can be a fun project for you and your child. Additionally, book banks, often supported by local organizations, provide free or low-cost books for children of all ages. Your local librarian can guide you to nearby resources.
Digital Books in Multiple Languages
While nothing compares to the tactile experience of a physical book, digital options can also be valuable, especially in bilingual households. Unite for Literacy offers hundreds of free e-books suitable for young readers in both English and Spanish, making it easier to introduce your child to a second language.
By engaging with your child through the Library and other reading resources, you open their eyes to new worlds and ideas. Each book shared enriches their understanding of the world and their imagination.
Join us in creating a brighter future for all by investing in your family’s literacy journey today.
Shirley
Someone recently asked me if I’d always known I was meant to be a writer. The following is my answer to that formidable question. Writing the two Discovering Misty books was my first attempt at writing professionally.
It seems, though, I’ve always written. I was Editor for the California State Foster Parent Association for several years. One year, I was awarded special recognition for my newsletter at the National Foster Parent Association in Chicago. I was also Editor and VP for our FPA association in Sacramento County. That’s where I was a medical foster parent for 14.5 years, taking in more than 200 infants and children who were extremely medically fragile. We adopted 3 of our foster children, and 2 are still with us, never to leave home, and 1 married. The 2 with us are special needs. We had 5 kids at the time, who we homeschooled, then homeschooled them, and now we have 16 grandchildren and 3.5 great-grandchildren!
It has been suggested to me to write of my experiences as a foster parent. If I have time, I may just do that. We definitely had some experiences that would be fascinating to read about, and gratifying to share. Some of my stories are so heavily wrought with emotion from the various perspectives of the parties involved. Some of my babies were not expected to live very long.
One little guy came to me right out of NICU, not expected to live but a few hours. However, his story is in the medical journals of having lived 19 months in my home; his life filled our home with joy and heavenly sweetness from the start to that final day.
Due to confidiality restrictions, which I fully support, I will respectfully refrain from using his real name or circumstances. This sweet boy had the most gentle, yet playful, spirit. Every morning, in exasperation, I would fuss at him for pulling out his G-tube (gastrostomy tube used for feeding him his only source of nutrition), and he would laugh and laugh… Until I had to insert it back in.
Technically speaking, he should not have lived for more than a few hours. He was missing some vital organs, and was doomed at birth with another life-threatening medical condition. Yet, he rarely cried, or even complained. He couldn’t sit up or roll over, but he had so much angelic joy!
He had so little, but he was filled with love and joy. It was such a pleasure to have him in our home and we loved him very much.
I kept a diary for most of my foster children to later give to the parents. Writing in first person, I told the family how much “I”, baby loved them and thanked them for the privilege of being born into that family. There were many times, when I was writing, that I truly felt the spirit of that child communicating with the family they were separated from. Whether due to their own misdeeds, or their inability to care for the child, for whatever reason, I felt I was a bridge or gateway between spiritual realms. When the sacred occasion was to be present during the dying process, I literally felt myself as a conduit, one who aided in transferring that sweet spirit back home to waiting, loving family on the other side.
Those certainly were tender mercies.
Shirley
As the author of Discovering Misty: The Mermaid of the Emerald Coast and George and the Brave Eagle, and a blogger who recently celebrated 500 visitors, I’ve faced plenty of moments where life’s challenges made me pause and reflect. During tough times—whether juggling foster parenting, coordinating Overpassers for USA rallies, or pouring my heart into my next book—I’ve caught myself wondering, “Do I really need to follow all of God’s commandments?” If you’ve ever asked yourself this, you’re not alone. Let’s explore this question together, one word at a time, with a perspective rooted in hope and my journey of leading with heart.
How I See It
Here’s how I see it: God’s commandments aren’t a rigid checklist or a cosmic test we have to ace. Instead, I like to think of them as a loving guide from a Father who knows way more than we do. Imagine His wisdom as vast as the Emerald Coast’s horizon, stretching far beyond what we can grasp (like Isaiah 55:9 says). As a parent of two girls, five boys, and a foster mom to over 200 kids, I’ve learned that guidance isn’t about control—it’s about helping someone find their way. That’s what God’s doing for us.
Sometimes, we picture God holding back blessings, like they’re locked in a heavenly vault, only handed out if we follow every rule perfectly. But that’s not how it works. Picture this: God’s blessings are like a constant rain, pouring down with love. The problem? Our fears, doubts, or mistakes can act like an umbrella, blocking that rain from soaking into our lives. His commandments are less about restrictions and more about showing us how to lower that umbrella—stepping into the full shower of His grace.
Not Barriers but Paths to Peace and Joy
Take my time as a Cub Scout leader or managing 800 Scouts on our 25-acre LDS church park. Rules like “stay on the trail” weren’t about spoiling fun—they were about keeping everyone safe to enjoy the adventure. God’s commandments work the same way. They’re not barriers; they’re paths to peace, joy, and connection. When I write stories like George and the Brave Eagle, I weave in themes of courage and hope, reflecting how following divine guidance helps us soar, just like George does.
Overwhelmed?
For my audience—parents, book lovers, and those seeking light in tough times—the challenge is often feeling overwhelmed by expectations, wondering if we’re “doing enough” to earn God’s love. My approach? Start small. Pick one commandment, like kindness or gratitude, and lean into it with intention. In my blog, I share how small acts—like reading to a foster child or waving a flag for unity—build bridges to hope. Try it: reflect on one way you can “lower the umbrella” today, maybe by forgiving someone or taking a moment to pray. You’ll feel the blessings start to flow.
God’s not up there judging our every move—He’s cheering us on, ready to pour out love.
Just like I keep writing, one word at a time, to connect with readers and spread hope, we can follow His guidance, one step at a time, to live fuller lives.
How do you lower your umbrella to let blessings in? Share your thoughts below—I’d love to hear!
Shirley
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