Friday, May 7, 2010

Brynn…not cool

Yeah, just so you know, I’m not cool. Besides being a writer and doing the housewife thing—and liking it—I’m a mom. And I have all the not cool that comes with that.

People at church don’t know what I do. Well, they know I’m a writer, and they know I go to conferences to see people and do book signings. That’s about it. The pen name is not up for public consumption. One of the ladies, a friend but not close enough that I’d give her my pen name, told me I should make sure my kids know what I do and that people read my books. That they should be proud of me. I laughed and explained that my kids know. In fact, it’s no big deal to them. They know so many writers, it’s a norm to them. I think it’s a lot like movie stars' kids—not that I’m equating myself to a movie star. Not hardly. But my kids know a lot of people in the industry. Being a writer is a completely attainable dream to them.

My younger son still thinks it’s pretty interesting though. He tells his friends and this is how it usually goes:

“So and so wants to read your book.”

“Uh no.”


“So and so isn’t eighteen. You have to be eighteen.”

Older son pipes in. “Hey, you were reading Harlequins when you were twelve. You told me.”

“I don’t write Harlequins.”

Younger son, “So what’s your web address again?”

“Hey, I think it’s time for you to go do the dishes.”


We have various versions of this conversation several times a year. My older son is on to me. Just last night, we were talking about one of his friends. I mentioned he’s a nice kid (translation: you can invite him over. I think you should keep hanging out with him)

And he says to me (brat), “Yeah, Pablo thinks you guys are cool. I had to tell him all the reasons you’re not.”

Sigh. Thank you. Thank you very much.

I think he secretly likes me.

Anyway…a little middle school humor. Today, I got a permission slip for an end of the year trip for the younger son. It was pretty straight forward. A description of the trip and all the necessary details. Then I got to the bottom of page 2. “Please consider being a chaperon. There’s nothing better than spending the day with your child and a bus full of eighth graders.”

Somehow, I’m not sold. LOL.


Bronwyn Green said...

I freaking love your kids - and your ability to use washing dishes as the best distraction technique ever. Well played, Brynn. Well played.

I'm glad to see your kids' school has a sense of humor about field trips...or maybe they just don't want parents coming along. I can't see that line selling anyone on the trip. ;)

Kris Norris said...

Too funny, Brynn.

My kids also ask about reading my books. My oldest wanted to do one of his monthly book reports on it... yeah, I could see how that would turn out. Do you think he could have gotten an A?

I also commend you for reading every line in the permission form. I'm quite ashamed to say I signed one the other day (it was very last min... came home one day for the next) but neglected to read past the part where they were walking down to the beach to study the salmon migration. Totally missed where they'd meet with protestors and carry signs... Oh, and that it was a symbolic migration of people pretending to be salmon...yeah, I'm still wondering if the teacher just pulled out another form when I questioned him later.... hummm.


Molly Daniels said...

LOL:) I was talking with my teens the other day when my 18-yr-old asked about the buzz words in the erotic books. Since my youngling was possibly within earshot, I watered it down.

K laughs at me. "You write this stuff and you CAN'T say the 'P' word? Some erotic author YOU are!"

I explained my concern for the 6-yr old overhearing.

"He's down at R's (his friend)! And you're BLUSHING!"

Like you, I told him to do the dishes:)

Anny Cook said...

My kids (all adults) find my books wildly funny just because I'm mom.

The field trip--why would you NOT find an entire day with eighth graders a barrel of laughs? Sigh. Wonder what that teacher was smoking?

Devon Rhodes said...

Brynnie, you are too cool for school (which is why ix-nay on the ieldtrip-fay).

The other day my 7 yr old (who snuck up on me and looked over my shoulder) asked me, "Mom, why can you type F**k but I can't say it?"

Told her to go clean her room. My version of dishes until she's a little taller.