Raising the Goddess of Spring

I'm not going to lie, I've been spending an extraordinary amount of time at my computer today. Like now - what - it's after 10:00 p.m. and I should be going to bed. I've been at this final bit for the past 10 hours. But I can't relax yet. I'm too giddy. This week was the week that I felt like I was ready to put this project out in the world... and I have done so much work. Book proposals aren't just sending out a pristine manuscript - nuh-uh...they have comparative book analyses and lengthy pitches on why your book deserves a shot at the shelf.  We have got a lot going on behind the scenes here, and while we (I have two co-writers!) await a few more professional reviewer's comments, we are close enough that we can pitch this baby out the window to the world. Of course, this is when all my self-doubt kicks in. We can only send three of the twenty chapters for a start - gosh - how can I choose? I sent four. I couldn't decide. What if I should have sent

My dad is Bill Rese.  You won’t be able to search for him anywhere on the Internet, because he’s a quiet, unassuming kinda guy.  But he deserves a shout-out, so here goes… I know this blog is supposed to be about Maia and all things genetic,  but well, if this isn’t about genetics, I don’t know what is.    My Dad has had a huge influence on me. I have all these awesome qualities (so I like to think). I am a decent cook, love to travel, am crazy about dogs, have tons of energy and love a good adventure. I got all that, and more, from my Dad. This guy is turning 75 on Monday. Because of COVID, I am not going down south to visit him right now for this amazing milestone. He’s not coming up to help me celebrate turning 50 next month, either.  I need everyone to know about him so you can understand me. In my entire 50 years, he is probably the ONLY person who has NEVER said a bad word about me (not like I haven’t deserved it once in a while…. but he has been constant). He is my b

Maia the Goddess of Spring is 25 Maia has a rare chromosome disorder called Emanuel Syndrome. She was supposed to have a huge party on March 21, 2020.  The whole community was coming to celebrate her important milestone.  We were going to share with the world how Maia had beaten the odds and  lived a million more moments than she was given when she was diagnosed in 1995.  Your poor messed up child, Mrs. St-Pierre.  Take her home and love her, because she's not going to see five.  That's what I heard. Then just before her 25th birthday, COVID-19 happened.  The world shut down. We were not able to celebrate.  The hall was cancelled. The cake and balloons were cancelled.  As she lives in a group home with other vulnerable people,  our in-person touching visits have been cancelled. I haven't held my daughter since. But you know what? Screw that.  My daughter is TWENTY-FIVE  and that is a party that can outlast this pandemic.  A few weeks ago, I saw this article about a girl wi