I was invited to sign Mothering Heights Manual for Motherhood books at B&N yesterday. I know I should have gobs and gobs to say, but I am speechless. I’ll defer Christine Fugate, Goddess Publisher Extaordinaire, instead…:)
http://www.motheringheights.net/the-daily-slog/2008/11/22/book-signing-a-blast.html
This Friday, November 21, 2008 from 1-5 pm a few of the OC contributing essayists will be signing copies of Mothering Heights Manual for Motherhood! Even if you’ve already received the book, come by for contests/giveaways. Something to do while waiting in line to see Twilight next door!
As part of my volunteer duties in Jackson’s first grade class, I was asked to compile answers to a series of questions about how to prepare a Thanksgiving meal from each of the students. The goal was to illicit funny responses and compile the best for a family keepsake. Naturally, the teacher thought I’d be great at this because of my profession. So imagine my shock when I floundered.
First up was Zachary. “Zachary, where do you think you get a turkey?” I asked, poised with pen in hand.
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Oh…well, where do you think I’d get a turkey?”
“That depends where you live.” He answered.
“Oh?” I could feel his creative six-year-old mind turning. Does she live IN Turkey? Thanksgiving Island, perhaps?
“Yeah, do you live near Trader Joe’s or Albertsons?”
NEXT.
“Jackson, where do we get our turkeys?”
“You mean, where does Dad get our turkeys?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked in defense.
“Well, you always make Dad go get it and then he cleans it and cooks it, along with everything else.”
“And, what pray-tell am I “always” doing on Thanksgiving?”
“Blow-drying your hair.”
“I’m not writing that, Jackson. Go back to your desk.”
And then I proceeded to steal answers from the other kids to make Jackson’s sound less…humiliating.
When I was done, his teacher asked if I got some nuggets.
“Boy, did I…kids sure say the darndest things, don’t they?” (har, har)
I knew you’d be perfect for this.” She said
She was right of course. If anyone knows how to cook a turkey, it’s me.
My six-year-old had to write a few sentences on where he’d like to go for vacation and how he’d get there for his first-grade homework. He was also asked to draw a picture. Now this little guy’s been on at least 20 planes, to half as many states. Maui, Jackson Hole, San Francisco…a pretty rich photo album and he can’t even tie his shoe yet. But instead he wrote that he’d like to go the skate park (4 miles away) for 100 days in a row. And that “his mom will just drop him off.” Nothing cultural, nothing exotic…just a concrete jungle of bowls and ramps with a Dorito-packed vending machine. You can barely make out my trailing exhaust pipe in his picture.
This, of course, will tell his teacher two things: a) that Jackson likes Doritos, and b) that I’m negligent. But the truth is, I don’t “just drop him off.” I wait in the car and talk on the phone. Or sometimes I read a book. Anything to avoid talking to the other DADS who have dutifully taken their SONS to the skate park while their WIVES are home, undoubtedly planning AWESOME vacations.
Thank God for erasers, is all I have to say.
I just got back from an hour-and-a-half at the DMV with my three-year-old, with nothing to read/eat/chew and had a blast.
A blast.
The toothless grins? The chains of smoke wafting their way up my son’s nostrils through their sliding, bullet-proof doors? Heaven. Seriously, the last time I sat in a room with no one to talk but my youngest was probably the day he was born.
It makes perfect sense that the DMV taught me drive slower, though, doesn’t it? Or that objects are closer than they appear?
It’s these painfully ordinary moments that teach us to merge.
I had the great honor of working with an Emmy-award winning writer a few years back before he moved to Florida - a man so funny I’d make sure to finish my hot coffee before seeing him. But I learned something else about him today - a kindness and commitment to children that makes me wish I would have skipped the darned coffee and spent more time with him.
He’s just written two children’s e-books - “Parsley” & “Charley” - about losing a pet. Both are beautifully written and illustrated and available to print out in your very own home. (Because let’s face it, the last thing you want to do when your kids lose a pet is run to Barnes & Noble for just right thing to say.)
Check it out at: www.onemillionlovestories.com
Thanks for the laughs, Bill. And for the heart too.
