About the Author

I am the mother to three of the most wonderful people on the planet, and I’ve taught them all to read. We read together almost every night before bed. My oldest is seventeen. I can’t believe he still allows me to carry on like this, but he does.

I’ve read hundreds and hundreds of books to my kids since number one sallied forth. After number three was born, I started writing books, too. To top things off, I’m married to an exceptional man who writes exceptional books of all varieties. I encourage you to check him out. I certainly do.

We live in a house of a certain age, in a neighborhood of a certain vintage, in the crossroads of the West (Provo, Utah).

Here I am in Brasília, age three. It’s my first day of pre-school, and I’m as excited as can be. I’m also frustrated (as I well remember) because I still don’t know how to read.

Skipping ahead a year or two, my dad teaches me to read from a black workbook entitled (wait for it) Teach Me To Read. We do a page every afternoon. Although I am dying to become a real reader, I keep things at a tortoise pace. I feign mistakes and fumble along. Occasionally I insist that we repeat a lesson. I do this to spend as much time with my dad as possible. Clearly I am a very conflicted child.