Mother Trucker

I have a story up today at the wonderful Fresh Yarn, the personal essay website hosted by Hillary Carlip. There are some amazing pieces by great writers on her site, so take a look. Go on. Click away. Nothin' to see here, people. Nothin' but me and my complete inability to create a real hyperlink.

(10/8: Actually, thanks to Bren, I am now a hyperlink literate. Ta da!)

Fresh Yarn

Regrets, I've Had A Few

Monday:

Wear hat that says "Grateful Dead: Tour Alumni" and features a bright, red skull to the elementary school assembly. Attempts to explain that I only bought the hat because I won a gift certificate to The Head Shop do nothing to dispel my quickly growing reputation of Doobie Mom.

Tuesday:

Step into ant mound outside of school and let Samuel Jackson's favorite expletive fly as radioactive hell ants devour feet.

Still wearing hat.

Wednesday:

Show up at wrong house for school volunteer meeting. Finally get to right house and walk in late to meeting. Sit in meeting for 10 minutes until meeting leader says this is the wrong meeting and to come back tomorrow for right meeting. Apparently, don't need hat to be Doobie Mom.


Thursday:

Make a fresh start today and show up at the right house for the right volunteer meeting at the right time. Five minutes in, tell woman who has dollar bills stuffed into her shirt pocket, "Wow, looks like someone had a good night!" Sign up for something and leave before she throws coffee cake.

Friday:

In grand escape from Dollar Woman, signed up for Origami Torture duty. Must now fold 20 pieces of brown construction paper into architectural models of The Louvre so the Kindergarten class can learn about circles. Start drinking on Louvre #2.

Saturday:

Instead of reading classic novel assigned by Book Club, watch two hours of "The E! True Hollywood Story: Serial Killers". At midnight, remember husband is out of town. Amass weapons cache of plastic light sabers and meat thermometers in case any John Wayne Gacy Jr.'s are on the loose in the subdivision.

Sunday:

Apologize to cat for 3 a.m. light saber attack. Apologize to friend for asking if she got her shirt from the 30% off rack at Target. Apologize to son for wine and tear stains on origami Louvres. Apologize to husband for meat thermometer surprise under pillow.

Donate hat to Goodwill.

No Democracy In the Pre-K

OK, time to leave for preschool!

I'm not going.

Yes, you are.

No, I'm not!

Come on, sweetie. You know you like preschool. It's so fun! And you're such a big boy.

Preschool smells.

You'll get to see your friends! And play on the big playground!

No! Don't make me go!

You'll have circle time! You like circle time! Who doesn't like circle time? Idiots, that's who doesn't like circle time. And you're not an idiot, right? At least, you won't be if you go to school and learn your shapes.

DON'T WANNA DON'T WANNA DON'T WANNA DON'T WANNA!

Jack, I understand if you're a little upset about going to school today. But just remember, mommy loves you very much and wants you to GET YOUR SHOES ON RIGHT NOW OR I'M GONNA TAKE YOU ALL THE WAY DOWNTOWN, HOMESLICE!

No!

So. That's how you want to play it. Fine. I'm down with a little home schooling. Game on, man. Game on. Alright, Jack, I've changed my mind. You can stay home with me today. But you have to do what I do.

Like what?

Well, first, we'll clean up all the toys, fold the laundry and steam clean the morning cat puke off the carpet. Then we'll go to your brother's room and play "What's That Smell?" until we have an answer. After a yummy lunch of Slim Fast and Brie, we'll visit Mrs. Jackson and ask her to tell us a detailed story about Mr. Jackson's gender identity issues. Then we'll probably do a little bra shopping and, if we still have time, go to the doctor and ask her to give us some shots just for fun, so...where are you going?

To get my shoes for preschool.

Well, then. Class dismissed.

Mojo! Where Are You, Mojo?

There comes a time in every writer's life when they lovingly take a look at their recent work and say to themselves, "Good God. When did the dog learn how to use my laptop?" And for me, that time has come. Oh, Lawdy, has it come.

I'm cutting back my posts to once a week. Here's why: 1) I need to devote my time to other projects 2) I don't want to turn into a complete hack. I'm quite comfortable being a partial one. 3) I cry really hard when renowned literary critic Anonymous sends me comments saying I'm a "retarted righter" and 4) Wouldn't it be better to have one damn good post a week than two sucky ones like "If My Shoes Had Names"? (It would.)(Although naming my stilletto heels "Bitchy McPalimony" is sort of funny.) (See why I'm stopping?)

To everyone who's read, commented on & passed along my blog over the past few months, I want to say: You have incredible taste. And thank you. It's been wonderful having my work read by someone other than the snoopy guy at the coffee shop who's currently looking over my shoulder. (TURN AROUND,YOU FREAK! I'M NOT DOING ANY ONLINE BANKING!)

So please check in every now and then while I try like hell to get my creative Juicy Juices unstuck. Or use the subscriber thing on my page. I personally can't figure out, but then again, I just found out that HTML doesn't stand for "Hey, That's My Lunch". In the meantime, there's some good, funny writing on my hilarious friend Dena's site: www.denataylor.com/musings. And don't worry--she hasn't given any of her shoes names. Yet.

Best,
Wendi