Introduction

Kelly Johnson becomes restless in her thirty-ninth year. An appetite for more forces her to take stock of her middling middle-American existence and her neighbors' seemingly perfect lives. Her marriage to a successful attorney has settled into a comfortable routine, and being the mother of two adorable sons has been rewarding. But Kelly's own passions lie wasted. She eyes with envy the lives of her two best friends, Kathryn and Charlotte, both beautiful, successful businesswomen who seem to have it all. Kelly takes charge of her life, devising a midlife makeover plan. From page one, Kelly's witty reflections, self-deprecating humor, and clever tactics in executing that plan--she places Post-it notes all over her house and car--will have readers laughing out loud. The next instant, however, they might rant right along with Kelly as her commitment to a sullen, anorexic teenager left on her doorstep tries her patience or as she deflects the boozy advances of a divorced neighbor. Readers will need to keep the tissue box handy, too, as Kelly repairs the damage she inflicted on a high school friend; realizes how deeply her husband, Patrick, understands and loves her; and ultimately grows into a woman empowered by her own blend of home and career.
Winner of the 2011 Indie Excellence Award, Here, Home, Hope will surely appeal to readers of chick lit and other women's fiction titles who are ready to transition into something new in their own life.

Editorial Review

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Excerpt

Here's how I knew something in my life had to change.

I was sitting in the dentist’s chair, waiting for the topical numbing goo to take effect on my gum so the dentist could jab a needle into the same spot. My only choice for entertainment was to stare at the light blue walls surrounding me or flip through the channels available on the television suspended on the sea of blue. I chose the latter and discovered an infomercial: Learn to preach in

Spanish. The sincere narrator promised to tell me how many souls needed saving, and what an impact I could have, after I took their course, of course.

Maybe this was the answer to the problem I couldn’t name,

the cause of the sadness I felt just under the surface of my life? I could become a successful Spanish missionary. I stared at the screen transfixed until Dr. Bane appeared to administer the shot of Novocain.

Unfortunately, I missed the rest of the infomercial as my tooth’s issues took center stage.

I was at my dentist’s office because, overachiever that I am—even when it comes to grinding my teeth—I had ground

down through a thick plastic mouth guard and cracked a tooth. This, I knew, was not healthy, but it was simply a fact of my life. Or was, up until that moment when I knew something had to change. Which, as I said, was just a moment ago.

At age thirty-nine, just, and dreading forty, I have one gray eyebrow hair that angrily grows back when tweezed, two adorable boys—a teen named David and a tween named Sean—and

a husband named Patrick. I also have two loyal and trusty steeds: my dog, Oreo, and my car, Doug. I am in the middle of life. In a suburb in the middle of America. And I cracked a tooth because I am too busy being restless in my subconscious—“chewing things over,” as Dr. Bane put it. And whatever that busy subconscious had been doing at night, during the day it was drawn to infomercials about preaching in Spanish even though I’m not particularly religious and I don’t speak Spanish. I’m a mess, actually, but I have to say, especially compared to some of my neighbors, I’m lucky.

On the misery scale, far beyond tooth-grinding people like

me were the people who were unhappy. And then there were the

truly miserable like my neighbors the Thompsons. Heidi Thompson departed yesterday to I don’t know where, the tires of her black Lexus sedan screeching as she reversed out of her driveway. She fell in line behind the three moving vans that had showed up at her house as I was taking a shower and left fully loaded before I headed out to run errands. Heidi’s kids seem not to have made it either on any of the vans or in her car, though it appears that the family dog did make the cut. Heidi’s husband—well, soon to be ex-husband—Bob was sitting alone on the front lawn of his empty, furniture-less house this afternoon when I left for the dentist. That was miserable.

So at least I know I’m not Thompson miserable. I am just in the middle. Middling. Muddling. I’ve looked ahead and thought, wow, there are so many things I want to do. I’ve looked behind and felt proud of what I’ve accomplished, especially how my kids have turned out so far. After Patrick and I married and I got pregnant with baby boy number one, I gladly gave up my job as an account executive at a public relations firm. Sure, I had loved my friends at

work and the creativity at the office, but I knew I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. And Patrick’s career path at the law firm has been remarkably smooth. It’s worked out as planned, and he’s a partner now.

We have a wonderful standard of living based on Patrick’s success, my sons are reasonably independent these days, and everyone is healthy. We’re doing well. So what’s the problem? I feel stuck. Between what I’ve done and what I want to do. There was a time when every moment of my day revolved around my kids and their needs, but not anymore. And that’s the question I need to wrestle with, the cause of the restlessness: What’s next?

The thought of reentry into the PR field is daunting. Regardless of how much progress women have made—and we’ve come a long way, baby—stepping back into that world after a long hiatus would mean, if I were lucky, a job behind the receptionist—literally behind her, filing. Actually, interns hold those jobs, not somebody like me. And maybe there isn’t even filing anymore? It could all be digital, paperless. So obviously, that field isn’t it.

I’d once dreamed, in my most private of dreams, of being a

television reporter. I think it’s time to finally cross that one off. That whole high-definition television isn’t flattering, even to the twelve-year-olds who anchor the local news every night.

Other women found answers. A friend of mine started her

successful restaurant while raising four kids after her divorce. Another friend of a friend makes healthy meals and delivers them to busy working moms’ houses in time for heating and serving. Who am I kidding? I get overwhelmed cooking for just the four of us.

I attended a luncheon last week featuring jewelry made by women in Kenya. !e beautiful woman in charge of the program

spoke passionately about how our purchases will make a difference in these burgeoning jewelry designer’s lives. How was I going to make a difference, though, aside from buying jewelry made by a woman in Kenya? In fact I am, at this moment, wearing a gold ring with an elephant carved into the center. !e artisan who made it did so with care. Looking at it now, I could almost cry because of its simplicity and beauty. I hope I helped the artist’s life in a small way; but what can I do to help mine?

I can’t feel my chin. That’s disturbing in and of itself, but what’s most disturbing is the fact that my two sons will arrive home from camp at the end of the summer and ask me what I’ve been doing. They’re busy sailing, shooting things, fishing, climbing mountains, swimming, building campfires, and eating really unhealthy food. Me? I’ve been stewing, thinking, pondering, grinding my teeth, supporting other people’s passions, and—eating really unhealthy food. Patrick says I’m using carbs and my summertime spending sprees—elephant ring included—to replace the comfort of kissing the boys good night, driving them to practice, and basically caring for them.

After seventeen years of marriage, I’m not about to admit he

might be right.

Each summer David and Sean are gone, I manage to pack on at least six pounds, not an insignificant amount of weight on a 5’5” frame. I also tend to indulge in shopping sprees that fill my closet with assorted clothes and accessories I don’t need. A check of my closet right now would already reveal a few hangtags. I rationalize that if I keep the tags on, I can always take the clothes back.

The weight is harder to return, though. !is summer I’ve already gained two pounds, and we have another six weeks to go before I get my babies back. !ey—whoever “they” are—say that once you hit the big 4-0, you gain up to ten pounds a decade just doing what you’ve always been doing. At that rate, plus the annual camp pounds, I’m headed for obesity land, or maybe just the Deep South. Today’s paper claimed that Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana have the highest rates of obesity in the states. Perhaps I’ll find my future there?

Drool just made its way to the crease below my chin. Maybe it’s a crease between my double chins? Here’s the thing: too much time on my hands is making me care about small things and lose sight of the big ones. Ever since I opened that seemingly innocuous letter on December 15 last year, I’ve been torn between trying to be happy in the moment and focusing on my future. I guess that’s what happens when you get a wake-up call.

Mine came in the form of a letter from my doctor instructing me I needed a diagnostic mammogram. And that I should schedule it right away. Two things I’ve learned since: Don’t have your screening mammogram right before Christmas. Waiting for results during the holiday season was hell. And the second? I am so lucky. After a double needle biopsy; after stitches for the one site that wouldn’t close, just below my nipple; after waiting for four days including the weekend before Christmas; after Googling and finding everything tragic and horrible about ductal cancer; after crying on my couch and trying to be brave; and after the call came telling me that all was benign, I was fine. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the author:

When we first meet Kelly Mills Johnson, she has the perfect suburban life: married to a successful attorney, living in a fabulous house in an upscale neighborhood, mother of two adorable boys, and she has the summer off from parenting while her sons are at camp in Maine. Yet, she’s grinding her teeth to a pulp and crying at the drop of a hat. So, why is she unhappy, and what is driving her need to change? Do you think there is anything wrong with her life? Why do you think she’s restless, searching? Does the revelation of her cancer scare resonate with you?

Kelly’s archrival is Rachel White, a woman she describes as her personal Gladys Kravitz and a militia mom. What is it about Rachel that stirs such animosity in Kelly? And why, as women, do we often work against each other instead of together?

How would you describe the relationship between Charlotte and Kelly? How does the fact that Charlotte was a friend of Kelly’s younger sister first affect their relationship?

How does Kelly view her friend, Kathryn, at the beginning of the novel? How does her perception of Kathryn change and how do they help balance each other by the end of the story?

What is it that Kathryn represents in today’s society? Does being a powerful corporate woman, by definition, mean disappointment and heartache in a woman’s personal life?

In your opinion, are more women today achieving a greater understanding of and discussing the truth of motherhood and the many different ways to be a “good mother”?

Why is Kelly’s visceral response to Bruce Majors so negative? Does she have any justification for her feelings?

Knowing that each character in the novel has her own struggles, whose problems do you see as the most severe? As all of the women attempt to assert themselves, each in her own way, who does it the best? Is it true that there is no one way to find balance and happiness in life?

Why does Kelly talk to her car? Do you find yourself personifying anything around you? And what does Oreo mean to her?

Melanie represents the teenager in all of us, yet, she is a tragic figure throughout most of the story. Do you think Melanie helps to propel Kelly’s change?

Have you ever known anyone with an eating disorder? What does such a condition reveal about someone’s self-esteem and personality type? How, as a culture, have we continued to fuel this problem?

What does Gavin represent in Here, Home, Hope? Why wasn’t he
at Melanie’s illegal party? Why is he there for Melanie when all signs point to him leaving?

What do you think of Kelly and Patrick’s relationship? How is their family? Do the parents have a close relationship with their sons?

Which of Kelly’s Things to Change resonated with you? Why?

Do you think Bruce and Charlotte love each other? Will Bruce be able to be there, fully committed to his family, this time around?

What did Kathryn discover in Montana? Have you ever had a
similar retreat or spent time focusing on yourself?

How did Kelly grow and change throughout the story? What did
she find? Is life balance something you find externally, through roles, or internally, through your heart?

Which characters best represent each of the words in the title,Here, Home, Hope?

Weblinks

»	Author Kaira Rouda's web site
»	Publisher's Book Info

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