Humor runs in my family. My great-grandfather, my grandfather, my father, my brother and I—we all have it. Perhaps it’s been written into our DNA, making our double helix twist into a grin.
When I was little, my grandfather and I could ping-pong lines back and forth, picking at each other. He would say something with his quarter-smile and I would fire back. We kept going until we both cracked up.
Those are my favorite memories of him: him shaking his head and looking at me with a mischievous expression.
I was raised on humor, and I wanted my children to thrive on it too. Fortunately, they inherited the signature strand and Izabella is a major carrier.
Whenever I read a book, I look for jokes. Whether it’s a rom-com or a psychological thriller, I wait for a character to break the tension with a funny line.
When I began reading to my children, I searched for books that would make them laugh. I found plenty of beautiful books, meaningful books, educational books, and books advertised as hilarious. But very few could satisfy our peculiar appetite for humor. I hunted for stories that would let my children lose themselves in laughter.
At some point, without consciously deciding to, I began slipping my own jokes between the lines. Sometimes I extended a story or invented a sequel. Eventually, my children began asking me to make up stories or continue the adventures of characters I had invented the night before.
One night around Christmas, I created a tale about elves. I no longer remember what I told them that night, but the story turned their darkened room into a circus. Max, who must have been about four, bounced on the mattress, unable to contain his laughter. Nellie screamed and kicked the wall, disturbing our neighbors. I laughed so hard I couldn’t finish my own sentences—completely failing to put them to sleep.
When I finally left their room, I paused behind the door, still laughing. I remember shaking my head, thinking, “This would make one heck of a book!”
A spark warmed my chest, and a thought blazed through my mind:
Maybe I could write it?
But as I stepped into our messy kitchen and saw the pile of dishes in the sink, reality anchored me back to my life. So before getting my hands wet, I found a Post-it and wrote: ELF NINJAS—A FUNNY STORY FOR KIDS. I stuck it to the back of the bedroom door and promised myself I would write that story before I forgot it.
Since I became a mother, every idea, every project, every undertaking had disappeared beneath dishes, laundry, and everybody else’s needs. I didn’t want this one to fizzle out with the others.
But it did.
That note was covered by bags and hats—lost and forgotten for years.
Until three years ago… It found me.
I couldn’t remember the story at all. But I remembered the promise. And that scribbled note eventually became my first children’s book: The Elf Ninjas Save Christmas.
Wolverine Lily 