The Dream: Taking my kids downtown to see the Christmas lights, giant train in front of Macy’s, and horse drawn carriages will be fun.
The Reality: My kids act like bats out of hell downtown and it’s twenty one degrees outside. I don’t even think about chasing them because I can barely move under my ten layers of clothes. They leave a pile of tourists, homeless people, and the Salvation Army lady in their wake. When not apologizing profusely and picking old ladies off of the ground, I try to keep on eye on my kids so they don’t get run over by downtown, rush hour traffic. Within twenty minutes of my supposedly sweet winter wonderland fantasy, I am staring longingly into every bar I pass.
The Dream: Downtown restaurants are kid friendly.
The Reality: Several downtown restaurants claim to be kid friendly, but as soon as my motley crew enters all well-coiffed, cellphone talking heads turn and stare. I could hear a pin drop if it weren’t for my daughter’s shrieks of, “I want dessert!” as she tears past tables adorned with white tablecloths and long-stemmed wine glasses. She nearly trips several waitstaff along her way and I start to second guess my insistence on eating a decent meal. This may be a good time to break my boycott on McDonald’s.
The Dream: My children know how to behave in restaurants.
The Reality: My son waits patiently for his food to arrive, eats his ordered meal, and then reads quietly to himself. My daughter grabs all of the knives from the table and wields them frantically as she jumps up and down in her seat. When everyone at the table refuses to join her, she deems us boring and races around the restaurant looking for allies. I eventually find her behind the bar, shaking every colorful, breakable bottle she can get her hands on.
The Dream: A night out on the town with my children is fun.
The Reality: Now that they are tucked securely in their beds, a night on the town with my children was fun. And next time I plan an adventure with them, I won’t remember any of the realities, only the dreams.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Taking Over the World
Over the summer a couple of stores asked if I would be interested in doing a reading. After coming out of my deer in a headlights paralysis, I said, “Maybe, let me think about it.” But as soon as I left the store I knew there was no way in hell I was going to speak in public.
I write so I don’t have to speak. In fact, after so many years of communicating mainly with people under the age of six, I am quite certain I am incapable of speaking coherently. There was no way I would willingly humiliate myself that way.
But then I received an email from the Angelina Jolie of Chelan, WA. She invited me to join her for a reading at the independent bookstore in Chelan. It seemed innocent and easy enough, so I said, “Maybe” and meant it this time. I don’t know anyone in Chelan and she promised there would be wine, so I thought it could be fun. But when I learned that Jason would be out of town that weekend and that the roads were icy, I wasn’t heartbroken to have to cancel.
But Angelina wasn’t going to let it go. She is a mother of seven, yet somehow still has time and energy to wreak havoc on the old-boy network of Chelan and be a Marketing Queen. She writes press releases in her sleep, calls local papers and is offered a bi-weekly column, and is on more committees than I knew existed. Basically, she is everything I’m not. And I have to admit, I resented this at first. I was jealous of her successes and envied her courage. She was doing all of the things I said I was going to do, but never did.
I contemplated making a voodoo doll of her, but decided learning from her would be a better option.
“Teach me how to be a marketing bitch,” I begged.
She willingly accepted the task at hand. “It’s easy, you’ll see. We’re going to take over the world.”
“Cool. Wait, huh?”
I decided it didn’t matter how or when our world domination would take place, the point was, I was on board rather than hiding at home like I usually do. She made it sound so simple. Her enthusiasm and vigor put me under a spell. Almost like being drunk, yet still able to function. As soon as I got off the phone with her, I’d find myself approaching a new bookstore to sell my zine, querying a new agent, or telling a small press that I had a readership of 8,000 (what’s a couple of zeros?). Before I knew it the words, “Why don’t you come to Seattle for a reading?” came out of my mouth.
She agreed, of course, so it was up to me to make it happen. I started small, by emailing bookstores and places that I was familiar. But by the time a couple of smaller venues had gotten back to me our quiet reading had turned into a Mamapalooza. We had a belly dancing, goat milking, radio talk show mama and a hip-hop dancing zinester on board and they were ready to perform. Press releases were being written, papers were being notified, and world domination was beginning.
“We can’t belly dance in a book store,” I claimed. “We need something bigger, something grander. This is no ordinary reading, it’s a performance.” Clearly, I was having an out of body experience when I called the Hugo House, literary Mecca of Seattle, and asked them if I could book their cabaret. It was available, which I took as a sign, and gave them my credit card. And then I didn’t sleep for three days.
I’m still not sure I’ll be able to read in front of a crowd, but the show will go on with or without me. And it will be fabulous. Join us and see for yourself.
Motherhood: From Egg to Zine (and everything in between)
will feature belly dancing, music, and live performances by Christina Marie Wright of Gonzo Parenting zine (www.myspace.com/gonzoparenting), Christy Cuellar-Wentz of Mommy Muse radio talk show and E-book (www.mommy-muse.com), Monica LeMoine of Exhale zine (www.exhalezine.com), Nina Packebush of the edgy-catin mama and the true adventures of the feminist snails zines, playwright Ann Teplick, Pushcart Prize winner Kristin King (www.eskimo.com/~kaking/index.html), authors Janna Cawrse Esarey (www.byjanna.com) and Tanya Ruckstuhl-Valenti. Join us on
Saturday, January 24th at 2:00 p.m. at Play Matters
on Greenwood Ave. (www.playmattersseattle.com)
And
Saturday, January 24 at 7:00 p.m. at Richard Hugo House
on Capitol Hill (www.hugohouse.org)
I write so I don’t have to speak. In fact, after so many years of communicating mainly with people under the age of six, I am quite certain I am incapable of speaking coherently. There was no way I would willingly humiliate myself that way.
But then I received an email from the Angelina Jolie of Chelan, WA. She invited me to join her for a reading at the independent bookstore in Chelan. It seemed innocent and easy enough, so I said, “Maybe” and meant it this time. I don’t know anyone in Chelan and she promised there would be wine, so I thought it could be fun. But when I learned that Jason would be out of town that weekend and that the roads were icy, I wasn’t heartbroken to have to cancel.
But Angelina wasn’t going to let it go. She is a mother of seven, yet somehow still has time and energy to wreak havoc on the old-boy network of Chelan and be a Marketing Queen. She writes press releases in her sleep, calls local papers and is offered a bi-weekly column, and is on more committees than I knew existed. Basically, she is everything I’m not. And I have to admit, I resented this at first. I was jealous of her successes and envied her courage. She was doing all of the things I said I was going to do, but never did.
I contemplated making a voodoo doll of her, but decided learning from her would be a better option.
“Teach me how to be a marketing bitch,” I begged.
She willingly accepted the task at hand. “It’s easy, you’ll see. We’re going to take over the world.”
“Cool. Wait, huh?”
I decided it didn’t matter how or when our world domination would take place, the point was, I was on board rather than hiding at home like I usually do. She made it sound so simple. Her enthusiasm and vigor put me under a spell. Almost like being drunk, yet still able to function. As soon as I got off the phone with her, I’d find myself approaching a new bookstore to sell my zine, querying a new agent, or telling a small press that I had a readership of 8,000 (what’s a couple of zeros?). Before I knew it the words, “Why don’t you come to Seattle for a reading?” came out of my mouth.
She agreed, of course, so it was up to me to make it happen. I started small, by emailing bookstores and places that I was familiar. But by the time a couple of smaller venues had gotten back to me our quiet reading had turned into a Mamapalooza. We had a belly dancing, goat milking, radio talk show mama and a hip-hop dancing zinester on board and they were ready to perform. Press releases were being written, papers were being notified, and world domination was beginning.
“We can’t belly dance in a book store,” I claimed. “We need something bigger, something grander. This is no ordinary reading, it’s a performance.” Clearly, I was having an out of body experience when I called the Hugo House, literary Mecca of Seattle, and asked them if I could book their cabaret. It was available, which I took as a sign, and gave them my credit card. And then I didn’t sleep for three days.
I’m still not sure I’ll be able to read in front of a crowd, but the show will go on with or without me. And it will be fabulous. Join us and see for yourself.
Motherhood: From Egg to Zine (and everything in between)
will feature belly dancing, music, and live performances by Christina Marie Wright of Gonzo Parenting zine (www.myspace.com/gonzoparenting), Christy Cuellar-Wentz of Mommy Muse radio talk show and E-book (www.mommy-muse.com), Monica LeMoine of Exhale zine (www.exhalezine.com), Nina Packebush of the edgy-catin mama and the true adventures of the feminist snails zines, playwright Ann Teplick, Pushcart Prize winner Kristin King (www.eskimo.com/~kaking/index.html), authors Janna Cawrse Esarey (www.byjanna.com) and Tanya Ruckstuhl-Valenti. Join us on
Saturday, January 24th at 2:00 p.m. at Play Matters
on Greenwood Ave. (www.playmattersseattle.com)
And
Saturday, January 24 at 7:00 p.m. at Richard Hugo House
on Capitol Hill (www.hugohouse.org)
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