I am currently dealing with an uncontrollable urge to posses (and wear) pink clothing.
Really, I think that says it all.
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Novelist, mother, minister, and yoga teacher muses on books, babies, motherhood, and what matters with reverent humor.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
The Real Truth (And Nothing But)
Well, I might as well be honest. I'm not a real blogger. I can barely understand the cyber-world. I dream of being Amish. (If you don't believe this, it may help to re-read the title of this blog. Nothing but.)
Look, I'm a person who went to divinity school to become a minister. (Now I am one.) Then I went to yoga school to become a yoga teacher. (I have taught so many thousands of classes now--amazingly enough thousands). I did not go into get-rich work. I went into help-people work. I suppose you can include motherhood among it.
Then I wrote this book. Now I'd been writing all along, stories, poems, even other novels. I wrote the book I wanted to read in my postpartum zaniness. (Um, understatement.) You know, to keep me alive.
My dear friend Elizabeth read a draft of my novel and said, "this is a ministry to mothers." Truthfully, that's what I wanted. That's what I want. So to say that's it's awkward to go forth and market myself is nothing less than honest.
On the other hand, I certainly wouldn't mind doing well. Really, really well. I've always dreamed of adopting a bunch of kids. (Truth.) And for that, so my husband says, you need cash. This is not my polite way of saying buy my book or else. (I would never do that--would I?) This is my polite way of saying how complicated this blessing really is.
And isn't that the way?
Look, I'm a person who went to divinity school to become a minister. (Now I am one.) Then I went to yoga school to become a yoga teacher. (I have taught so many thousands of classes now--amazingly enough thousands). I did not go into get-rich work. I went into help-people work. I suppose you can include motherhood among it.
Then I wrote this book. Now I'd been writing all along, stories, poems, even other novels. I wrote the book I wanted to read in my postpartum zaniness. (Um, understatement.) You know, to keep me alive.
My dear friend Elizabeth read a draft of my novel and said, "this is a ministry to mothers." Truthfully, that's what I wanted. That's what I want. So to say that's it's awkward to go forth and market myself is nothing less than honest.
On the other hand, I certainly wouldn't mind doing well. Really, really well. I've always dreamed of adopting a bunch of kids. (Truth.) And for that, so my husband says, you need cash. This is not my polite way of saying buy my book or else. (I would never do that--would I?) This is my polite way of saying how complicated this blessing really is.
And isn't that the way?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Top Ten Reasons to Buy My Book
10. I wrote it. And that is, like, totally, um, you know, like, really, kind of, uh, amazing.
9. It's only $15. There's almost nothing you can buy for that cheap that will give you so many hours of pleasure and satisfaction. As we all know, chocolate will never last as long as a book.
8. You want to help send my kids to college. (In 15 years.) And consider this: I will make $1 for every book sold. That ought to make you want to buy LOTS and lots of copies.
7. The whole first page is about the main characters vagina. Tell me that isn't very cool.
6. I don't write about war, famine or poverty so you don't have to worry about getting depressed reading the book and having to spend more money on pharmaceuticals. In that way, I kind of SAVE you money. It's like therapy. For only $15.
5. You might be on the acknowledgements page. Then you will be famous. And you will want to own a copy not steal one from the local library.
4. It's really very funny.
3. I told my editor I have so many friends the book will be a bestseller instantly from email contacts alone. It's up to you to prove me right.
2. Some other important people (like the amazing Elinor Lipman) read it and think it rocks. Which is useful information. At least I'm not a self-absorbed narcissistic neurotic. (I'm just neurotic.)
1. Because. You love me. The best reason of all.
9. It's only $15. There's almost nothing you can buy for that cheap that will give you so many hours of pleasure and satisfaction. As we all know, chocolate will never last as long as a book.
8. You want to help send my kids to college. (In 15 years.) And consider this: I will make $1 for every book sold. That ought to make you want to buy LOTS and lots of copies.
7. The whole first page is about the main characters vagina. Tell me that isn't very cool.
6. I don't write about war, famine or poverty so you don't have to worry about getting depressed reading the book and having to spend more money on pharmaceuticals. In that way, I kind of SAVE you money. It's like therapy. For only $15.
5. You might be on the acknowledgements page. Then you will be famous. And you will want to own a copy not steal one from the local library.
4. It's really very funny.
3. I told my editor I have so many friends the book will be a bestseller instantly from email contacts alone. It's up to you to prove me right.
2. Some other important people (like the amazing Elinor Lipman) read it and think it rocks. Which is useful information. At least I'm not a self-absorbed narcissistic neurotic. (I'm just neurotic.)
1. Because. You love me. The best reason of all.
Friday, May 15, 2009
And Lame-O was his Name-O
I kid you not when I say that I love being home with my children. Shun me if you must, but I sometimes, when I am away from them (as I was for 2.5 hours yesterday for jury duty), ache for their company. (But trust me, I don't ache for it when I'm with them.) There is actually nothing (and I do mean nothing), that I would rather do than take care of them.
However. (Some anxious throat clearing here.) And this is not an indictment. But.
There is something truly LAME about being home with kids. It's called isolation and lack of community. I love my community, my neighbors and my friends. Unfortunately, a disease has inflicted this country called I AM TOO BUSY. The other part of that equation is I CAN'T ASK FOR HELP. Here is the translation: we are too busy to help one another and we are unable to ask for help when we need it. Instead of babysitting one another's children, we pay strangers to take care of them. (Because we are too busy and because we would never put our friends out by relying upon them. Geez! Friends aren't meant to be relied upon....)
Oh, woe is me. I did have a friend watch my two the other day. I felt so guilty I wanted to buy her a BMW or something. It was just an hour and a half.
Mamas, this is no way to live. This is not the way we were meant to live. This is LAME-O. Big time-o. It's a shame-o. I have friends who won't even ACCEPT my help. Because, like I said, what are friends for? Why do we feel so put out when we need help? I think the ME-ism has gone to far. I want someone to call and ask me to watch their kids. That's what I'm here for! And no. No. No. No. I am not too busy BLOGGING to help someone out. Now that would be truly Lame-O.
However. (Some anxious throat clearing here.) And this is not an indictment. But.
There is something truly LAME about being home with kids. It's called isolation and lack of community. I love my community, my neighbors and my friends. Unfortunately, a disease has inflicted this country called I AM TOO BUSY. The other part of that equation is I CAN'T ASK FOR HELP. Here is the translation: we are too busy to help one another and we are unable to ask for help when we need it. Instead of babysitting one another's children, we pay strangers to take care of them. (Because we are too busy and because we would never put our friends out by relying upon them. Geez! Friends aren't meant to be relied upon....)
Oh, woe is me. I did have a friend watch my two the other day. I felt so guilty I wanted to buy her a BMW or something. It was just an hour and a half.
Mamas, this is no way to live. This is not the way we were meant to live. This is LAME-O. Big time-o. It's a shame-o. I have friends who won't even ACCEPT my help. Because, like I said, what are friends for? Why do we feel so put out when we need help? I think the ME-ism has gone to far. I want someone to call and ask me to watch their kids. That's what I'm here for! And no. No. No. No. I am not too busy BLOGGING to help someone out. Now that would be truly Lame-O.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Needy and Shameless
Yes, well, that title ought to get some body's attention. Could land my blog on a few strategic web pages....
Oh, but that' s not what I mean! You should be ashamed of yourself for even thinking it.
No, I need you. All of you out there who read this blog. And I know who you are, so don't turn away when I'm talking to you! Because, like I said, I'm needy and shameless.
In 43 days, my book will be published. And, as it happens, I have hired all of you to help me promote it. (Don't worry. You will be paid later in lavish compliments and hugs. Which, when you think about it, is a lot better than boring old money.)
People keep asking me what they can do to help me. Since you can't sleep on my behalf (the only truly helpful thing I need)--but I digress. You want to help me with my book; isn't that what you meant?
Here's how:
1. Buy it. Preferably locally.
2. Review it for Amazon and give it maximum stars. (I said this would be shameless so don't look askance.)
3. Tell everyone you know about it. In every way you can think of.
4. Come to one of my book events.
What you can do now:
1. LINK to my book. LINK to this blog. MENTION the book's name on your website or blog (THIS LITTLE MOMMY STAYED HOME). Or if you visit other mommy or book related blogs MENTION it to them. If you didn't know it already, the Internet rules the world and the more LINKS to my book and blog, the higher up I go on the all-important Google search engine.
2. INVITE me to your book group. INVITE me to your local bookstore. INVITE me to be a guest on your blog. INVITE me to speak at your library. The book costs money, but hey, I'm free!
3. THINK of other things, because frankly, I know diapers about marketing. Which is why, as I said, I'm so damn needy.
Now consider yourself virtually hugged. Oh, and by the way, you are my favorite person.
Oh, but that' s not what I mean! You should be ashamed of yourself for even thinking it.
No, I need you. All of you out there who read this blog. And I know who you are, so don't turn away when I'm talking to you! Because, like I said, I'm needy and shameless.
In 43 days, my book will be published. And, as it happens, I have hired all of you to help me promote it. (Don't worry. You will be paid later in lavish compliments and hugs. Which, when you think about it, is a lot better than boring old money.)
People keep asking me what they can do to help me. Since you can't sleep on my behalf (the only truly helpful thing I need)--but I digress. You want to help me with my book; isn't that what you meant?
Here's how:
1. Buy it. Preferably locally.
2. Review it for Amazon and give it maximum stars. (I said this would be shameless so don't look askance.)
3. Tell everyone you know about it. In every way you can think of.
4. Come to one of my book events.
What you can do now:
1. LINK to my book. LINK to this blog. MENTION the book's name on your website or blog (THIS LITTLE MOMMY STAYED HOME). Or if you visit other mommy or book related blogs MENTION it to them. If you didn't know it already, the Internet rules the world and the more LINKS to my book and blog, the higher up I go on the all-important Google search engine.
2. INVITE me to your book group. INVITE me to your local bookstore. INVITE me to be a guest on your blog. INVITE me to speak at your library. The book costs money, but hey, I'm free!
3. THINK of other things, because frankly, I know diapers about marketing. Which is why, as I said, I'm so damn needy.
Now consider yourself virtually hugged. Oh, and by the way, you are my favorite person.
Friday, May 8, 2009
But I Want the WHOLE Cake
I don't know if you are like this, but I am. If there's a cake, sharing it makes me nervous. What if it runs out before I get a piece? What if I end up with only a teeny, tiny piece? What if I want more and there is no more?
Along these metaphoric lines I live my larger life. I get an agent. I get a two-book deal. But now--greedy pig that I am--I want the thing to sell. Oh, not just sell, but sell well. (I don't have to be Danielle Steele, I just don't want to end up in the remainders section of your local bookstore.)
In an ironic turn of events, while I can get a major publishing deal, I can't manage to sell an essay to one of the mother magazines I subscribe to. This shouldn't hurt my pride. Alas. I shouldn't want the whole cake. Alas.
This is the Zen: one bite of cake at a time. Don't think about the cakes of the future. So I am trying to teach my toddler to chew. He eats like a snake swallowing a mouse. "Take your time," I tell him. Now I have to model it.
Children are impossible. They are perfect mirrors. They demand that someone become an adult.
What's an adult? Someone happy with what they have, that one piece of cake. After all, you can always make more. Oh, no wait, I've had an even deeper thought. It's not really the cake you want! It's something deeper....
like chocolate.
Along these metaphoric lines I live my larger life. I get an agent. I get a two-book deal. But now--greedy pig that I am--I want the thing to sell. Oh, not just sell, but sell well. (I don't have to be Danielle Steele, I just don't want to end up in the remainders section of your local bookstore.)
In an ironic turn of events, while I can get a major publishing deal, I can't manage to sell an essay to one of the mother magazines I subscribe to. This shouldn't hurt my pride. Alas. I shouldn't want the whole cake. Alas.
This is the Zen: one bite of cake at a time. Don't think about the cakes of the future. So I am trying to teach my toddler to chew. He eats like a snake swallowing a mouse. "Take your time," I tell him. Now I have to model it.
Children are impossible. They are perfect mirrors. They demand that someone become an adult.
What's an adult? Someone happy with what they have, that one piece of cake. After all, you can always make more. Oh, no wait, I've had an even deeper thought. It's not really the cake you want! It's something deeper....
like chocolate.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Isn't it Neurotic?
Today it involved putting the baby to her nap and allowing her to cuddle her favorite sweater. A sweater with a large hood. And a zipper. As I've never left her with anything in the crib before (she is almost 13 months old), I feared the worst. Somehow she would manage to roll around in the crib in such a way that the over sized hood would strangle her. I turned up the baby monitor REALLY loud, listening intently for her breathing. You can guess the rest.
She's fine.
But then I am the woman who checks on her children after a night out to make sure that the babysitter has not somehow dispensed of them. (For what? I don't know. I don't do these things. I just worry about them. Maybe some illegal baby ring?)
But then these utterly helpless, perfect beings have been--impossibly--placed in my care. I certainly don't want them to think--or pay good money to a therapist as an adult in order to rehash this neglect--they got mere medioctrity when it comes to mother-worry. No, this is one area in which I do excel.
Everyone needs to be good at something.
She's fine.
But then I am the woman who checks on her children after a night out to make sure that the babysitter has not somehow dispensed of them. (For what? I don't know. I don't do these things. I just worry about them. Maybe some illegal baby ring?)
But then these utterly helpless, perfect beings have been--impossibly--placed in my care. I certainly don't want them to think--or pay good money to a therapist as an adult in order to rehash this neglect--they got mere medioctrity when it comes to mother-worry. No, this is one area in which I do excel.
Everyone needs to be good at something.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Oh, Some This and That
This:
The food trapped inside my son's strap-on-the-chair booster seat could feed a small, starving nation. (And don't think I don't feel bad about it.)
That:
Just finished re-re-re-reading Anne of Green Gables, and, being a sentimental pile of mush, cried a great a deal. I so identify with Anne. (Go ahead and laugh.) There is one difference between us. She outgrew her freckles. I still have mine.
This:
I keep the cat box next to the laundry in the basement so I am forced to look at it and CHANGE it. You can imagine the lovely effect this has on clothing. Feline Feces Drier Sheets, anyone?
That:
Did I mention I've written a book? And it's 51 days to PUBLICATION. Yes, that's right, it's the final count down (hit the theme music). WHOOHOO. So, if you haven't ordered your copy now, I'd advise you did. Because a) you want to help me create a buzz, b) it really is a very funny book, c) the word is they will sell out instantaneously. (Or was that just a dream...?)
The food trapped inside my son's strap-on-the-chair booster seat could feed a small, starving nation. (And don't think I don't feel bad about it.)
That:
Just finished re-re-re-reading Anne of Green Gables, and, being a sentimental pile of mush, cried a great a deal. I so identify with Anne. (Go ahead and laugh.) There is one difference between us. She outgrew her freckles. I still have mine.
This:
I keep the cat box next to the laundry in the basement so I am forced to look at it and CHANGE it. You can imagine the lovely effect this has on clothing. Feline Feces Drier Sheets, anyone?
That:
Did I mention I've written a book? And it's 51 days to PUBLICATION. Yes, that's right, it's the final count down (hit the theme music). WHOOHOO. So, if you haven't ordered your copy now, I'd advise you did. Because a) you want to help me create a buzz, b) it really is a very funny book, c) the word is they will sell out instantaneously. (Or was that just a dream...?)
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