Nose Hairs and Words
The other day my six year old asked me to read him my piece (a slightly modified version of this post) from Austin’s 2012 production of Listen to Your Mother. He sat quietly, and when I finished reading he said, good. Nothing more. Except for this:
Why do we have hairs in our noses?
(Just in case you didn’t click the link up there, I’ll give you this: There is no mention of nose hair in the piece I read.)
Uhhhhh. Well, I think the hairs trap dirt and crud so that it doesn’t get into our heads, I offer. I give him a hug and start to stand up. Teaching moment complete.
Does the crud turn into boogers?
I guess so.
Since our noses and mouths are all kind of connected, do we ever swallow boogers?
I tell him that’s a very real possibility. It’s time to get ready for bed, so I start shooing him in the direction of his tootbrush and pajamas.
Oh, man. Then we’d have to poop out those boogers. Booger poop – now that is funny stuff. You know mom, you should have written about booger poop for your show, then everyone would really laugh instead of just sitting there while you read, like I did.
Children: the cure for delusions of grandeur.
And I suppose booger poop could have been a huge hit on Sunday, when I took the stage with a cast of Austin writers. But as sage as my son’s advice was, we didn’t need it. The show already had something for everyone.
People told me, and other cast members, after the show that they experienced so many emotions that afternoon. And everyone had their own favorite moment. We’d been told that was the case last year, that each piece resonated differently, finding a fit somewhere in the audience. And while that made perfect sense to me – logically, anyway – before the show, it wasn’t until I sat in the theater that I felt the audience connecting. I could feel them reacting with a laugh here, a sniffle there; at times, it seemed like there was a physical link between the reader and certain audience members.
Bizarre. And wonderful.
I’m an incredibly visual person, and an introverted one at that. I always thought the written word was sufficient, sitting there on its page. And it is. It is, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that, well, reading those words out loud, or listening to someone else read, changes written words. It allows the words to wiggle into spots they couldn’t reach before.
So I’m here to tell you, seek out opportunities to share your words and to listen to other people do the same. Not unlike how the crud trapped in our nose hairs becomes something else entirely, taking words from your head to the page to the stage changes them forever.
Thankfully, words become something much, much more beautiful than booger poop.
*
Thank you, Ann Imig, Wendi Aarons, Liz McGuire for bringing Listen to Your Mother to Austin. And thank you to my family and friends who supported me through this adventure.
read moreBlue Water Is So Pretty
What a week! All good, all a blur. And as I say every week (I do, don’t I?), I’m glad it’s Wednesday. My guest today is Jackie, from With Just a Bit of Magic. Jackie is such a kind, supportive, funny blogging friend; I’m always glad to see her name pop up in my in-box, Twitter stream, etc. So I’m extra happy to to share her sweetly funny post about raising a boy after having three girls first. And I’m trying to decide just how honest I should be with her when I answer the I wonder… questions about life with boys!
***
Bets on how long he stays dry?
He went from a cute, cuddly baby that we all adored so much & was the center of our universe to this walking, talking, incredibly busy toddler who sometimes annoys his sisters so much that I wonder about his safety.
As a mom to 3 girls prior to having a little boy I had nothing to compare a boy to other than what I had heard from other people. What I did know was that the girls were a piece of cake…. or I’ve just blocked all the bad memories.
Regardless, the girls were simple. They played quietly alone or together and while they did get into things it was nothing compared to a boy. With the girls I was able to not worry when I went to the bathroom or left the room for a couple minutes.
You know that saying, ‘if they’re quiet you better check on them’? Well, that goes double for little boys… especially curious toddler boys.
This week these are a few of the highlights:
- Playing in the toilet water after I put the blue cleaner in it.
- Moving the chair to the counter so he can get a knife out of the block to help with dinner.
- Waking up at 5am to sleep with me and then kicking me for 2 hours.
- Peeing on my couch and then telling me he made a mess when he knows to use the potty.
- And my all time favorite…. screaming at the top of his lungs for fun and then laughing about it. Even with my ears plugged it hurt and I think that people a mile down the road could hear him.
And just so you know… this was all with me in the same room as him! Who knows what he would do if I went to another room!
I wonder….
:: Am I the only one who thinks girls are easier?
:: Am I the only mom of a boy who gets confused by their actions?
:: Does the screaming stop?
***
About the Writer
Jackie writes over at With Just a Bit of Magic. You can find just about anything there from recipes, to pictures, to fiction. She is a wife and mom to 4 kids, and during the day she spends her time working as a product owner for a software development company and heading up social media at her husbands business. In the meantime, she dreams of new career in social media and freelance writing. You can follow her on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, and Pinterest.
read moreErma By The Numbers
At an obnoxious hour last Thursday morning I boarded a plane for the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop in Dayton, OH. I was confident that a good experience waited for me, but I had no idea.
I’m not ready to snap out of the post-workshop after glow just yet. One day soon I’ll share with you some of the deep, meaningful, and hilarious things I took away from four days with Erma and Friends. For now, though, let’s stick to the numbers.
*
64 – Number of hours I wore Grown Up Clothes.
I work at home. At the most, I wear a real bra and business casual clothes six hours a day, one day a week. I didn’t wear yoga pants, flip flops, or running shoes for four days.
The last night, 16-plus hours after getting dressed in the morning, even my bra was over it. While workshop attendees performed standup, my bra unhooked itself. There are only two reasons your undergarments remove themselves: either they find you repulsive after so many hours between showers, or Ryan Gosling just walked in the room.
2 – Number of new Pocket People (I will explain).
Mark and I have a long-running… I don’t know what to call it. It’s just a thing. When we come across an outrageously adorable person, we say they are, “so cute, we just want to put him/her in our pocket.” Current Pocket People include, but are not limited to, Tommy Silva (This Old House), Seth Cohen (of The O.C.), and Ray (from our grocery store).
My new additions? Erma’s husband, Bill Bombeck; and Ilene Beckerman. Dear God, these people are wonderful.
Honestly, all of the keynote speakers were fantastic. I’d be happy to put any of them in my pocket.
5 – Number of times I cried, minimum.
Every time a member of Erma’s family – biological or chosen – read one of her pieces, I wept. Seeing her legacy represented in such a personal way was stunning. That is the power of words well written, of love well documented.
1 – Number of times I feared for my life.
Lesson learned: When the hotel staff at the overflow hotel points you in the general direction of campus and shrugs a “you could walk,” get another opinion. You cannot walk from downtown Dayton to the Marriott near the University of Dayton. Physically, sure. Emotionally, not so much. If you ever register late and the workshop hotel is already booked, please, for the love of Erma, take the shuttle. Do not walk. In case you’re still thinking you don’t need the shuttle, I have a subset of numbers for you here.
3 – Junkies we passed on our way.
1 – Person providing me with hilarious, distracting conversation on this walk of doom. Also, it’s nice to have your own big-city-raised Russian immigrant at a time like this; she assured me that our walk had nothing on the streets of San Fran.
2 – Gas station attendants who openly laughed when we asked to call a cab, saying, “You could call a cab, but sometimes they don’t come.”
6 – Layers of clothes and foundation garments (combined, dummy, neither one of was wearing 6 layers) drenched in sweat by the time we reached that Marriott ballroom.
4 – Number of pounds [my suitcase] gained.
I’m paranoid about surpassing the baggage weight limit, and having to remove my hairdryer or Oxford English Dictionary at check-in. I closely watch that scale at the baggage counter, and I don’t breathe easy until I see a number under 50. Because of this, I know my bag gained four pounds while we were at Erma.
I ate an absurd number of white dinner rolls and lots of cake while at the workshop. And I am thankful that I did not have to stand on the scale at the airport.
1ish – Number of criminal acts.
I lifted my roommate’s Logitech iPad keyboard. An utterly senseless crime, since I have one exactly like it. In court I will make the argument that I thought it was mine, and as it was four – in the morning – and I was packing after fewer than three hours of sleep, it’s an honest mistake. I am sure no jury of my peers will convict me.
In all fairness, she stole my jacket. Oh okay, I accidentally left it hanging in the closet. See: packing at 4 a.m.
15 – Number of hours I slept in three nights, max.
It was worth every sleep-deprived minute.
Unknown Numbers – The times I laughed and the friends I made.
I’m not naming names here. I live in fear of inadvertently leaving off a name, just as I inadvertently skipped out on my bar tab Friday night. I will pay you back, nice people I just met before I did the Drink and Dash.
But I did meet fabulous people. And I did laugh, often until I cried. So I guess I should change that number up there for “Times I Cried” to unknown, as well.
*
There’s no good way to say thank you to all of the people involved in pulling together the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. If I had to quantify my appreciation, it would require a number higher than my English major brain can safely handle. So, simply, thanks to all of you.
And Erma, to you most of all.
read moreMy Secret Fantasy {An unproved theory}
Hello, guest writer Wednesday! This week has been one sneak attack after another; I am constantly surprised by what day it is. I realize that sounds absurd. But it is what it is. I keep adding and subtracting days at my convenience, to make the week what I want it to be. So I was surprised to find us at Wednesday, because I desperately need it to be Tuesday as I have a lot to do before Thursday morning. Anyway… The good thing about it being Wednesday? My friend, Carolyn, from Hooked and Happy is here today sharing a fantasy. Read on, you’ll be glad you did.
***
I don’t think I am alone. Everyone has a secret fantasy, right?
I definitely have one.
You see, as a Mom, my life is full. Very full. And often, I do all of the day-to-day grind.
I sometimes I feel -
Unappreciated.
Taken for granted.
Overwhelmed.
(A simple thank-you after a meal would be “appreciated” by me.)
So, I carry around this fantasy that if I ever went away for a weekend, the house would fall to shambles and nobody would be able to function.
I *see* both the girls dressed in dirty clothes, hungry, getting into mischief, and amid piles of clutter and rubbish.
Thumper, helping herself to a beverage.
Simply put, I think my family wouldn’t be able to survive without me.
I’m not an egomaniac. I do have some confirmation my fantasy may not be far off.
On a recent business trip, my husband made a car reservation with Avis online. When he arrived at the airport, Avis couldn’t find his reservation by name. He called me to for his reservation number.
“It’s on the print-out I gave you,” I said.
“Oh,” he said. “I’ll get the sheet. Can you hold on while I show it to her?”
He placed the phone on the counter and rustled through his bag.
Then I heard, “Well here’s the problem sir. This is the Hertz line.”
He hung up.
I wonder…
:: Am I right? Would they survive without me?
:: Who else has the same fantasy?
:: Should I test this theory?
About the Writer
Carolyn can be found over at Hooked and Happy. She’s a mother to two active and lovable daughters, and loves to craft, cook, write, and drink coffee. You can subscribe to her posts in a Reader, fan her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and check out her boards on Pinterest.
Accidentally Sharing My Feelings
Should I tell you up front that I don’t know where this is going? Probably not.
But I don’t care. I care about you, certainly, but I don’t care if this post follows any rules – writing, blogging, basic social precepts of any kind.
So it’s settled. I have no idea where this is going.*
I feel a malaise. And alternately I feel satisfaction, coupled with a grateful heart. I’m unable to reconcile such disparate emotions.
We (Mark and I), think perhaps I’m experiencing a growth spurt. I will explain why this is a completely reasonable assumption.
We’ve noticed that our children lose their s*&# for a while every time they’re about to reach a major milestone. A child development expert friend of mine says this is completely normal; apparently, little kid brains can only cope with so much. When they’re about to grow (physically, mentally, emotionally), their brains put everything into reaching this new milestone. She said that if we pay close attention we’ll notice a pattern: basket case, followed by a milestone, like walking or a whole bunch of new words or the need to go buy all new jeans since the old ones are suddenly man-capris.
My growth spurt is most likely of the mental/emotional variety, but maybe I’ll actually grow physically. That would be completely amazing. Maybe those long legs I’ve always wanted will finally be mine.
There’s really no other explanation for my two-plus hour nap on Sunday, from which I never fully woke up. Left to my own devices, I would have slept until… oh, hell, I might still be sleeping. There’s no other explanation for feeling weepy one moment and at peace the next. There’s no other explanation for thinking I have the to-do list under control one minute, and freaking out about all the crap I’m not getting done in the next minute.
Well, sure, there are other explanations, but I am not pregnant. I am not menopausal (at least I better not be). I am not enduring a major life crisis of any kind.
So there you have it. I’m having a growth spurt.
I’ll let you know if I have to buy all new pants for my supermodel legs. Fingers crossed.
I wonder…
:: Do you ever feel like you are barely keeping it all together, even when there’s no reasonable explanation for your… craziness (for lack of a better word at this moment)?
* DISCLOSURE: Part of the reason I didn’t know where this post was going, is that I never planned to write it. Earlier today I read this post from Literal Mom, and it was the first time I admitted to myself that I haven’t exactly been holding things together lately. So I ran with that thought, and this is where it led. Not because I just felt some need to be all feeling-y, but because I’m genuinely curious about whether other people go through this same randomness of emotions.
read moreI’ll be here on April 29, 2012
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