Chicken Soup for the Soul: Happily Ever After: Fun and Heartwarming Stories about Finding and Enjoying Your Mate (Chicken Soup for the Soul (Quality Paper)) [Paperback]

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Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen are co-founders of Chicken Soup for the Soul. Amy Newmark is publisher and editor-in-chief of Chicken Soup for the Soul.






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Chicken Soup for the Expectant Mother's Soul [Paperback] price

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JACK CANFIELD and MARK VICTOR HANSEN, the # 1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling coauthors of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series, have dedicated their lives to the personal and professional development of others.

PATTY AUBERY is the coauthor of Chicken Soup for the Surviving Soul, Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul and Chicken Soup for the Christian Family Soul. She is the proud mother of two boys.

NANCY MITCHELL AUTIO is the coauthor of Chicken Soup for the Surviving Soul, Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul and Chicken Soup for the Christian Family Soul. She and her husband, Kirk, hope to be expectant parents by the time this book is published. Aubery and Autio are based out of California

I'm Ready
I stared at the stick in disbelief. Two straight, pink lines. No doubt about it—pregnant. Oh my God!

A mix of excitement and sheer terror washed over me. Sure, my husband and I had talked about having a baby. I just didn't think it would happen so fast. It seemed like one minute we were talking and the next, I was standing in front of the drugstore's home-pregnancy section debating whether I should buy the single- or the two-test pack.

I had a feeling—early mother's intuition maybe? And bought just a single test. That was all I needed. We were having a baby. And I'd never even changed a diaper.

What were we thinking?

My husband, Joe, developed the baby pangs a year ago. I, on the other hand, was seized by fear. I wasn't ready. I'd look at a baby and mentally count the bottles of Pepto-Bismol the parents would consume once that bundle of joy hit those turbulent teens, or I'd calculate how much five years of college would cost. Then the baby bug bit me—and not a second too soon.

Now my body's on this wild, hormonal ride, and I have to say, sometimes I want to get off.

I'm this close to thirty years old, but my complexion is sixteen. Nausea is my constant companion. My friends even ask for upchuck updates. I never drive anywhere without an air sickness bag by my side, and I've thrown up in so many restaurant parking lots that I've thought about asking if I could just rent my dinners instead of buying them. My bladder has shrunk to the size of a lima bean, requiring me to pee exactly every thirteen minutes.

And I'm so acutely tuned in to pain—yeah, that bodes well for an easy labor and delivery—that I swear early on, I could feel each and every cell dividing. Hypochondriacs are not good pregnant women.

More proof. When two barf-free weeks passed, I panicked. I felt so normal. I figured something had to be wrong. Maybe I wasn't having a baby after all. Maybe it was a hysterical pregnancy. Joe assured me the only thing hysterical about this pregnancy is me.

And my maternity underwear.

I'm not sure which is scarier—having my body feel so out of control or those enormous, one-size-fits-all panties. At four months, my belly's still at that awkward is she-pregnant-or-is-that-a-beer-gut stage. My little Buddha belly is enough to keep me out of my stylish silk undies, but it's still too small for the maternity briefs. I can pull those things up over my chest.

I think I just invented combination bra and underwear. I'll call it the brunder. If I can sell that idea to Victoria's Secret, no more worries about our kiddo's college tuition. But I have to say, the most amazing transformation of all&3151even more than filling out that maternity underwear some day—is how neurotic I've become about this little person who isn't even born yet. It all hit when I saw the first sonogram of our baby on the monitor. That's when I really and truly realized this was our baby. Our baby. The nausea and frequent urination, all the inconveniences, well, they just melted away. They didn't matter anymore as I looked at this amazing person. Our baby.

At just eleven weeks old, our little miracle was already so perfectly formed, yet so small--just four centimeters-that Joe nicknamed the baby "Speck."

It was much too early to tell the gender, but I saw a little girl taking her first steps, walking to school, getting her driver's license, going to college, getting married, having babies of her own. Her whole life flashed before my eyes right on that screen. I thought about what a big, ugly world is waiting out there for Speck. One filled with cancer and war and junior high dances. How could I possibly protect her from all the bad, while letting her experience the good?

Yes, in that instant I realized there are much scarier things than that shapeless maternity underwear. But you know what else I realized? I'm ready.

—Kristen Cook
(c)2000. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Chicken Soup for the Expectant Mother's Soul by by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Patty Aubery, Nancy Mitchell. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442.






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Chicken Soup for the Cat Lover's Soul: Stories of Feline Affection, Mystery and Charm (Chicken Soup for the Soul) [Paperback]

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Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen are the #1 New York Times and USA Today best-selling authors of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series.

Marty Becker, D.V.M., is regularly featured on ABC-TV's Good Morning America and writes a weekly column for over 500 Knight Ridder newspapers.

Carol Kline is co-director of the Dog Rescue Program at the Noah's Ark Animal Foundation.

Amy D. Shojai, writes a weekly newspaper P'ETiquette™ column and the weekly online PurinaCatchow.com "Emotional Health" column.

Oscar, the Garbage-Can Kitty

Oscar was named after the Sesame Street character who lives in a garbage can because that is where we first became acquainted. I was working at a pizza-delivery chain and had been assigned garbage duty. While tossing bags into a Dumpster, I heard a faint meow. I began digging through the trash, and several layers down I found a cat—bruised and thin. I wasn’t sure if the cat had crawled into the Dumpster to scavenge for food or if he had been put there purposely. Our establishment sat directly behind an apartment complex, and unsupervised and abandoned pets were common.

Back on solid ground, it became evident that the cat had an injured leg. He couldn’t put any weight on his right hindquarters. The situation created a dilemma for me. Finances were tight, and I was moving back home to my parents’ house—with two cats already in tow. Dad barely tolerated the two established felines. His reaction to another injured stray was sure to be less than receptive. I took the stray to the vet, hoping to patch him up. After shots and X-rays, the vet discovered the cat had a cracked pelvis. I posted notices, hoping someone would claim the cat or adopt him.

Meanwhile, the response at home was swift and firm: No more cats! Dad insisted I take the cat to the Humane Society immediately. I protested that the cat would be put to sleep. Luckily, my mother intervened. She agreed the injury would make the cat unadoptable, so we would keep him long enough for his hip to heal. Then he would have to go—no arguments.

Oscar must have somehow understood his situation. He seemed to study the other two cats and their interactions with my father. We suspect he bribed Tanner, our golden retriever, with table scraps in exchange for etiquette lessons. When the other cats were aloof, Oscar was attentive. He came when his name was called, and he would roll over on his back to have his belly scratched. As his injury began to heal, he would jump on the ottoman by my father’s favorite chair, and, eventually, into his lap. Initially, Dad pushed Oscar away, but persistence paid off. Soon, Oscar and a muttering Dad shared the chair. At mealtimes, Oscar would come to sit with us.

Positioned on the floor by my father’s chair, every so often Oscar would reach up with one paw and tap Dad on the knee. At first, this provoked great irritation and colorful expletives expressed in harsh tones. Oscar, however, refused to be put off. Repetitive knee-taps soon led to semi-covert handouts of choice morsels.

Oscar greeted my father at the top of the stairs every morning and waited for him at the door every evening. My father sometimes ignored Oscar, and, at other times, stepped over him, complaining the whole time. Oscar mastered opening doors by sticking his paw underneath the door and rocking it back and forth until it opened. Soon, he was sleeping in the master bedroom at the foot of the bed. My father was completely disgusted, but couldn’t stop the cat from sneaking onto the bed while they were sleeping. Eventually, Dad gave up.

Before long, Oscar, aspiring to his own place at the table during meals, began jumping up into my lap. He was allowed to stay as long as his head remained below table level. Of course, an occasional paw would appear as a reminder of his presence.

Three months passed, and the vet pronounced Oscar healthy and healed. I was heartbroken. How could I take this loving soul away from what had become his home, from the people he trusted? Sick at heart, I brought Oscar home and told my parents what should have been good news: Oscar was a healthy cat with a healed hip. “I’ll take him to the Humane Society like I promised,” I said dully. As I turned to put Oscar in the carrier for the trip, my father spoke, uttering three magic words: “Not my cat!” Oscar is home to stay. He now has his own chair at the table and sleeps—where else?—in the master bedroom between my mother and father. He is their official “grandkitten” and living proof that deep within the most unlikely heart, there is a cat lover in all of us.

-Kathleen Kennedy

©2005. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Chicken Soup for the Cat Lover's Soul. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442.







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Chicken Soup for the Military Wife's Soul: Stories to Touch the Heart and Rekindle the Spirit (Chicken Soup for the Soul) [Paperback] price

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Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen are the #1 New York Times and USA Today best-selling authors of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series.

Charles Preston is a U.S. Navy veteran who did two tours of duty in Vietnam. He was awarded the National Defense Medal, Vietnam Service Medal with one Bronze Star, Combat Action Ribbon and Meritorious Unit Commendation Ribbon, among others. Since 1983, he has been employed in the advertising and marketing business.

Cindy Pedersen's grandfather served in World War I, her father in World War II, her husband in the Bay of Pigs and she is currently a military mom.

The Commissary Roadblock

Time is a dressmaker specialized in alterations.
-Faith Baldwin

It was just another harried Wednesday afternoon trip to the commissary. My husband was off teaching young men to fly. My daughters went about their daily activities knowing I would return to them at the appointed time, bearing among other things, their favorite fruit snacks,frozen pizza, and all the little extras that never had to be written down on a grocery list. My grocery list, by the way, was in my 16-month-old daughter's mouth, and I was lamenting the fact that the next four aisles of needed items would have to come from memory.

I was turning onto the hygiene/baby aisle while extracting the last of my list out of my daughter's mouth when I nearly ran over an old man. He clearly had no appreciation for the fact that I had forty-five minutes left to finish the grocery shopping, pick up my four-year-old from tumbling class, and get to school, where my twelve-year- old and her carpool mates would be waiting.

The man was standing in front of the soap selection, staring blankly as if he'd never had to choose a bar of soap in his life. I was ready to bark an order at him when I realized there was a tear on his face. Instantly, this grocery aisle roadblock transformed into a human.

“Can I help you find something?” I asked. He hesitated, and then told me he was looking for soap.
“Any one in particular?” I continued.
“Well, I'm trying to find my wife's brand of soap.”I was about to loan him my cell phone so he could call her when
he said, “She died a year ago, and I just want to smell her again.”

Chills ran down my spine. I don't think the 22,000-pound mother of all bombs could have had the same impact. As tears welled up in my eyes, my half-eaten grocery list didn't seem so important. Neither did fruit snacks or frozen pizza. I spent the remainder of my time in the commissary that day listening to a man tell the story of how important his wife was to him—and how she took care of their children while he fought for our country.

My life was forever changed that day. Sometimes the monotony of laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping and taxi driving leave military wives feeling empty—the kind of emptiness that is rarely fulfilled when our husbands don't want to or can't talk about work. We need to be reminded, at times, of the important role we fill for our family and for our country. Every time
my husband comes home too late or leaves before the crack of dawn, I try to remember the sense of importance I felt in the commissary.

Even a retired, decorated World War II pilot who served in missions to protect Americans needed the protection of the woman who served him at home.
Paige Swiney

¬2005. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Chicken Soup for the Military Wife's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Charles Preston and Cindy Pedersen. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442.







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Chicken Soup for the Mother & Daughter Soul: Stories to Warm the Heart and Honor the Relationship [Paperback]

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This latest addition to the Chicken Soup series will seem mawkish and sappy to some readers, but it is pleasantly uplifting overall. While some of the contributors are well known-Jaquelyn Mitchard and Eda LeShan-most are not. Perhaps, that's why these emotional mother-daughter stories resonate. The vignettes all revolve around the unique bond between mothers and daughters that is often surprising or not fully appreciated until after someone is ill or dies. For example, Julia A. Doyle writes, "In 1990, my mother's life was cut short by the selfishness of a drunk driver. I was sixteen, and had so much left to learn from Mom, but she had already taught me her greatest lesson-loving and caring unselfishly." In "The Lost Heart," Therese Brady Donohue remembers being present while one of her daughters gave birth-at the very same hospital where her middle daughter had died of cancer just days earlier: "On Easter Sunday, I was back in Boston at the same hospital that had been my daughter's last hope. As I held my grandson in my arms, the emotional pendulum was swaying much too fast...." This is a perfect gift for women of all ages.
Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen are the #1 New York Times and USA Today best-selling authors of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series.

Dorothy Firman, Ed.D., is a psychotherapist, author, speaker and trainer who has worked in the field of mother/daughter relationships for more than twenty years. She and her mother, Julie, co-wrote Daughters and Mothers: Healing The Relationship (The Synthesis Center).

Julie Firman is the mother of two daughters-her coauthors-and one son. She and her daughters lead workshops on mother/daughter relationships at conferences around the country.

Frances Firman Salorio is a solution-focused marriage and family therapist. All three reside in Massachusetts.






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Chicken Soup for the Soul: Shaping the New You: 101 Encouraging Stories about Dieting and Fitness... and Finding What Works for You [Paperback] review

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Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen are co-founders of Chicken Soup for the Soul.
Amy Newmark is publisher and editor-in-chief of Chicken Soup for the Soul.







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Chicken Soup for the Recovering Soul: Your Personal, Portable Support Group with Stories of Healing, Hope, Love and Resilience (Chicken Soup for the Soul) [Paperback]

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Dr. Robert J. Ackerman is an internationally recognized recovery expert working with families and children. A Professor of Sociology and Director of the Mid-Atlantic Addiction Training Institute at Indiana University of Pennsylvania, Dr. Ackerman is best known for writing the first book published in the United States on children of alcoholics in 1978.

Peter Vegso is President of Health Communications, Inc. (HCI) and U.S. Journal Training, Inc. (USJT). Peter has been disseminating information and producing high-quality conferences in the mental health field for over 25 years.

Theresa Peluso is also the coauthor of Chicken Soup for the Horse Lover's Soul.

Jack Canfield is the #1 New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. He is a professional speaker who has dedicated his live to enhancing the personal and professional development of others.

Mark Victor Hansen is the #1 New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. He is a professional speaker who has dedicated his live to enhancing the personal and professional development of others.

Friends Of Bill W., Please Come…..

Once you learn to walk, crawling is out of the question.
-James D. Davis

Sometime in the early 1990's I was treating a woman in an intensive outpatient chemical dependency group. Let's call her "Grace." Grace was a flight attendant and had been suspended from her job with a major airline due to her untreated alcoholism. She had been stealing the little miniature liquor bottles and drinking in airport bars in uniform, etc. Her employer, realizing she needed treatment sent her to us.

After the eight week program, I suggested to her it might be a good idea to solidify her foundation in recovery before returning to work as she would be working in a high-risk environment (serving alcohol, being out of town alone, etc.). Grace did, however, return to work shortly after completing outpatient treatment. One day while she was departing from a plane at the end of long day a major craving for alcohol overpowered her. There she was, in the Los Angeles International Airport pulling her roller-bag behind her when this massive craving to drink came over her. She tried to just "think through it," or "just forget about it," but it was way too powerful. It was so powerful, in fact, that she had resigned to herself that she would just go drink. Grace thought, Oh, heck with it, I'll get another job….or maybe no one will find out anyway. But deep down inside Grace did not want to drink. She truly had wanted to stay sober, but she was in trouble.

On her way to the bar in the airport, Grace had a moment of sanity. She stopped, picked up the airport paging phone and said, "Will you please page friends of Bill W., “ she paused, quickly looking around for an empty gate, “to come to Gate 12?"

Within minutes, over the paging system in the LA International Airport came, "Will friends of Bill W. please come to Gate 12. Will friends of Bill W. please come to Gate 12." Most people in recovery know that asking if you are a friend of Bill W. is an anonymous way to identify yourself as a member of AA.

In less than five minutes there were about fifteen people at that gate from all over the world. That brought tears of amazement, relief and joy to Grace. They had a little meeting there in that empty gate, total strangers prior to that moment. Grace discovered that two of those people had gotten out of their boarding lines and missed their flights to answer that call for help. They had remembered what they had seen on many walls of meeting rooms: "When anyone, anywhere reaches out their hand for help, I want the hand of AA to be there and for that I am responsible."

Grace did not drink that day. I would venture to guess that none of the people who came to Gate 12 drank that day either. Instead Grace had a moment of sanity, realized she could not do it on her own, took the action of asking for help and received it immediately. This help is available to all of us if we want it and sincerely ask for it. It never fails.

Jim C., Jr.
Contributing author, Chicken Soup for the Recovering Soul


©2004. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Chicken Soup for the Recovering Soul® by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Robert Ackerman, Ph.D., Peter Vegso, Theresa Peluso and Gary Seidler. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442.






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