Yesterday was crazy. I packed and loaded up the car with kids 2 and 3, then went to the oldest's Stone Soup day at school. We left straight from there to pick up the husband and trek our way to the Thanksgiving place. The first and second grade dressed like pilgrims and Indians and made Stone Soup, which tastes like feet, in case you're wondering, as their Thanksgiving party. When I got there, the first grade teacher pulled me aside and pointed out a second grade uber mom.
"Today is her birthday. We are preparing a suprise and cake in the other room. DO NOT LET HER OUT OF THIS ROOM," she said.
Being an uber mom myself (eye roll) I can appreciate showing another mom thanks and took my job quite seriously. I felt like a snake eyes super agent spy. (My life is boring and I have to make it interesting somehow. DON'T judge me) Then I started to wonder how I would detain her if she did try to leave. Would tackling her be too extreme? What would be a good explaination for tackling her?
"I cannot get enough of your perfume."
"Man, that eye liner is amazing. "
"They've got really nice carpet at this school, don't you think? Here..feel."
"There was a bug....I had to get it."
" I really like you, can we be friends?"
I loved, loved, loved this book. I’ve been a Libba Bray fan for years. I bought this book anticipating I’d enjoy it, but Going Bovine far surpassed my expectations. Bray’s characters are beautifully written, deep and eccentric. I love Libba Bray’s descriptions and would read the same one over and over again. It was like taking a bite of something yummy and not being able to stop at just one bite.
The book didn’t read as quickly the Gemma Doyle trilogy, but I mean that in a good way. I’d literally have to stop reading and think about what just happened. Libba Bray is so creative and paints such a specific and detailed world you can’t help but be transported. In one scene, I wanted to dip my toes in the crease of the book and sink into it.
I’m always impressed with authors who can write a first person perspective of the opposite sex. Cameron read exactly like a teenage boy and I felt like I knew him.
The only other author I’ve known to write well in the first person the opposite sex was Wally Lamb in The Hour I First Believed.
I’d be curious to know if any men out there have read Going Bovine and their take on Cameron. Was he a realistic and believable teenage boy to you?
Twitter is a great tool. I’ve connected with a lot of brilliant aspiring writers, agents willing to give advice, book bloggers, and cheerleaders for writing. One feature I enjoy is the ‘litchat’ or ‘writechat’. Tweeters (writers) discuss different topics, ask questions, and answer them. I love listening in and learning.
Recently, I asked a question geared toward the woman in the chat, particularly the moms, wondering how other Mothers found the time to write. With small children ages 6, 4, and 1, I have difficulty finding time and energy for it all.
Most of the moms that replied were more than encouraging. One woman wrote “Bless you for even trying” I felt elated with their writing suggestions.
I did ask for their help and should have been prepared for advice I did not want. One woman wrote. “Motherhood is a time when it might be better to not attempt another career ... unless you have nannies.”
I love that we live in a free country where we can have our own opinions and express them. I wasn’t really offended by what she said, but surprised. This was a woman, a writer-published one at that-recommending I not write while mothering. Really?
Let me write some notes in the margin for a minute. I consider myself a stay-at-home mother and I’m so thankful for that privilege. It truly is a gift, in my opinion, to stay home with my children and have this time with them. I have the utmost respect for working mothers. I don’t see how you work a 40-hour week, come home, take care of your husband, family, and home. Kudos to you. No, not kudos-peanut butter Reeses cups to you. (Unless you’re allergic to peanut butter.)
Back to the writer’s comment, I realize she wasn’t advising me not to write, but not to attempt another career. Which, in today's world is opening a whole can of conflict considering all the full-time working mothers out there.
What if I took the career aspect out of it altogether? Are you still advising me not to write? What if I were a pianist? Would you advise me not to practice? What if I were an artist? Would you advise me not to paint? A dancer? Should I stop dancing? Do you tell all these mothers to put one of their loves on hold for 18 years? Reading is a great love of mine. Do I give up reading? Should I get a nanny for it?
A lot of my short stories are based on things I see as a mother. Writing them down helps me process things. I realize she was coming from a desire to help, and I did ask for advice from all the twitterverse and should have anticipated all every opinion imaginable, but I respectfully disagree. My family will always come before my writing. If there is a way to balance (and I believe there is) I plan on learning how to do it and do it well.
1.) U2 got paid. I’m just saying. Raymond James Stadium on Friday, held 70,000 people. Supposedly more people than were at the Superbowl. Here is the stage they built for the concert
It was 90 Feet High. The cyldrical video screen in the center weighed 54 tons. According to the BBC News the cost of each stage is from $24 million to $32 million. It take 120 trucks to cart it from show to show. It was an incredible production.
2.) Muse didn’t play nearly long enough. I would’ve paid what I did JUST to hear them. They were awesome. I just wanted more.
3.) When sitting next to people who start smoking marijuana, try not to look guilty when the police take them away. I have my Southern Baptist upbringing to blame, er thank, for this. I don’t lie well at all and hate getting in trouble. If I do something wrong or am in the vicinity of wrong-doing it’s all over my face. I’m desperately afraid of trouble by association. Especially since I don’t know how the police saw them. The pot smokers and I were cordial and they offered me some, which I politely declined. All this worry was completely unnecessary. I try not to judge, but as they were being taken away I couldn’t help but feel like they wasted an already awesome experience. So, stay in school kids. Don’t do drugs. All that stuff.
4.) I went with a friend and her boyfriend, who is Scottish. Scottish people are very difficult to understand. At the end of the evening I’d figured some of it out, but overall, for both being English languages, there was a language barrier. They do say lovely things I’d never think of like “We’re going up and down like a fiddler’s elbow.” Who wouldn’t want to hear that?
5.) Scottish people get really excited when they meet other Scottish people and are even harder to understand after that.
6.) A group of girls a few rows behind us were going crazy for Bono. I mean like, crazy. We didn’t have the best seats, but they reached for him as though they were on the field. At one point I thought they were going to throw their panties at him. I’m not saying he’s not awesome, but he’s like the Pope of Rock and Roll. You don’t throw your panties at the Pope. I don’t care who you are or what you believe in, it’s just wrong.
7.) When walking back to your car with your friends after the concert, don’t step in a bed of fire ants.
8.) Don’t whine about stepping in fire ants.
9.) When your friend’s Scottish boyfriend (who you already have trouble understanding) says, “ Efood ike, Ai cood eave yu overme oulder an curry ou the est oo e ay?” Don’t just nod and act like you understand. What he said was “If you’d like, I could heave you over my shoulder and carry you the rest of the way?”
Now if you’re like me, you might envision Gerard Butler in all his 300 glory carrying you as though you weighed nothing more than a twig. This was not quite so chivalrous. It was more like, “Let’s see how dizzy I can make her as this great exodus of people watch as I spin her butt around in the air.” Not nice. Funny? Maybe. But not nice.
Overall, it was a fantastic experience and I’d do it all over again, pot paranoia and all.