MotherReader

I wasn’t going to write this story, but then I looked at the line-up of posts I have. Go ahead, scroll down and look in awe. Or maybe a couple of notches below awe. There’s the ALA post with mucho comments. The new Knuffle Bunny exclusive. Two great book recommendations and one book slam. So even though this story is a little late, it feels right to include it and knock the one weak post off the page.

So I had a great Independence Day. At midnight, I was re-reading The Other Boleyn Girl, and I read until 2:00 a.m. for no other reason than I wanted to. I love this series, because though you know it might be trash, the historical aspect allows you believe that it’s good for you. They’re like the book equivalent of Lunchables.

I slept late, and then played around with my digital photos for a while. The family decided to give the community pool party a try, and even though I was worried that it would be too crowded, it was very fun. The kids played games diving for change, racing for soda, and swimming a relay race. There was also food and little star-spangled knick-knacks to buy. At the end, they had a beer dive for the adults. All the kids probably enjoyed that more than anything, because there is something very amusing about watching grown-ups make fools of themselves to get a beer. Adults call that “college.” We went home and Bill cooked out while I snuggled on the hammock with my younger daughter. We ate inside just as the storm went through, meaning the night would probably be fine for fireworks.

At the local fireworks display, we met up with our friends and set up a spot on the ground. After music and visiting, the show was about to begin. Now I didn’t think of the fireworks as a fake war, as noted by John Green at Brotherhood 2.0. It never crossed my mind. But he is an intelligent Printz-winning author, and I’m a blogger who just about wets herself with glee for using “bitch-slapped Tinkerbell” in a post, so maybe that’s understandable. What I’m saying here is that I was moved by the pretty lights and the crowds surrounding me. There was music playing during the display as well, and it was not your standard 1812 Overture, but pretty much any pop/country/rock song that featured the words “America” or “U.S.A.” Yes, we could question the wisdom of including Carrie Underwood’s “Independence Day,” which is about abuse, arson, and perhaps murder, but it was crazy-fun to sing out the chorus while the fireworks lit up the sky. “Let freedom ring! Let the white dove sing! Let the whole world know that today is a day of reckoning!”

Beside me was a man who was cheering on the display like most men would yell at a football game. Given the profusion of Spanish I heard uttered earlier, I’m going to make his story that he and his family recently came to America and were very excited to be here. With the fireworks, and the music, and the exuberance, I was touched. I thought it was one of the best shows I’d ever been to.

Suddenly the fireworks stopped. Technical difficulties. Much more like my luck, especially given my fantastic day. I mean, how much longer could things go well for me? But I was upbeat, and took my girls to the bathroom while the band played and we waited for the show to get back on track. While I was in line, a cute guy — shirtless and built and twenty-fiveish — started chatting me up. He even did the conversational arm-touch thing! I was in complete internal conflict between “Does he think I’m someone else?” and singing “Stacy’s mom has got it goin’ on!”

At that point, the announcement came on that the fireworks could not continue. Show over. Given my incredible day, with the hot guy flirting with me, the universe had clearly had enough. I blew some kind of karmic fuse.

I feel bad for the rest of the audience who paid for my mistake, but what can I do? If you believe The Secret, we all attracted that kind of luck with our negative energy, so maybe we’re all to blame.

And that leads me to the slight — very slight — book connection. At the end of next week, I’m bringing out The Secret. Brush off your copy, or skim it at the local bookstore, and we’ll talk the good, the bad, and the insane aspects of this bestseller.

There’s this memorable scene in a great movie called State and Main. (If you haven’t seen this movie, you really should. It’s funny. Smart funny. Written and directed by David Mamet. The story involves a movie cast and crew that descends on a small town to make a movie. Incredible dialogue and attention to detail throughout the story.) The drunken actor, played by Alec Baldwin, comes careening down the street in his car and crashes it in a screeching, dramatic way. The street is otherwise quiet, except for one man, the movie’s writer. The actor gets out of the car, sees the wreck, and says, “So, that happened.”

That’s pretty much how I feel today after yesterday’s explosive “issue.”

I’ve applied the more amused side of myself to the situation and found some areas that fit in with my irony-prone life. Now, this is the more vaguely defined Alanis Morissette irony, not the strictly defined literary irony, but still.

1. I wrote the article “Be a B-list Blogger” as a way to reach out to newer bloggers who might not know how to best break in to the community, but the article ended up as a jumping-off place for being called an exclusive clique.


2. I was originally going to title the article “Be a Better Blogger,” but changed it because I thought the title was too judgmental. I didn’t want to say that someone was a better blogger because they received more links. However, if their goal was to get more links, than describing it as a B-list blogger was more objective. Or so I thought...


3. I spent the time away from my computer yesterday calling mothers and rejecting their daughters from my school’s drama club. How’s that for bizarre? Actually, it’s a class with an instructor and a class limit and several people turned in registrations too late, so I had to tell them that the class was full. Man, I hate leaving people out.

Luckily, it’s time for Seven Wonderful Things Before Monday at the Seven Impossible Things blog. In the spirit of being inclusive, let me make sure that everyone is aware that they are invited to go to the blog and list in the comments some shiny happy things that happened over the last week. I forgot to mention there that I got some kick-ass shoes today for eight bucks instead of forty.

Also, the next Carnival of Children’s Literature is accepting submissions... um, today. To explain, the Carnivals is a collection of posts from the preceding month, pulled together by one blog and presented to the members of the community at large. To participate you either use the Carnival site to submit an entry, or you write to the host of the carnival with the link to the post you want to feature. You generally pick a favorite post of the month, though sometimes a carnival will have a theme like love or thankfulness or community.

It may not be too late to be included in the Carnival of Children’s Literature if you write an email to Midwestern Lodestar and explain how you are very new at these things, but that you really, really, really want to participate because now you realize after all the past week’s discussions that it is up to you to get yourself out on the dance floor and shake your booty. Tell her that Mother(Reader) said so.

I’ll be back tomorrow with questions for the bloggers who said they wanted them. Brace yourselves, people.