“M” is for Mirror, Mirror – Fat Lady In The Pool

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M

Mirror, Mirror on the wall

Who’s the fattest of them all?

When I was young,

My eyes deceived.

Heavier than I was,

Is what I believed.

 Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Who’s the fattest of them all?

Now that I’m old,

My eyes, they lie

Telling me I’m not plump,

On them I rely.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Who’s the fattest of them all?

Aged or of youth,

My eyes, they fool.

Pictures speak the truth,

               And BMI is cruel.

Forget you mirror……….I’m getting in the pool!!!

Dr. Phil Asks “How’s That Working for Ya?”

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You’ve got to wonder about the kind of life someone lives when they’ve emailed the Dr. Phil Show only twice in their lifetime, and both times a producer has called to request they appear on the program.

Well, I can tell you it is pretty normal—except for those two things I emailed the Dr. Phil show about.

English: Phil McGraw photographed for the cove...

English: Phil McGraw photographed for the cover of Newsweek magazine by Jerry Avenaim (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In my defense, Dr. Phil has some misleading web forms.  He has an “Ask Dr. Phil” section where, by nature of its name, I thought it to be exactly that.  So back in 2005 I emailed Dr. Phil a question about a pressing life situation.  I expected an email response from a psychology intern on the “Ask Dr. Phil” staff that would offer up some sage Texas advice like, “When you walk a mile in someone else’s boots, you’re a mile farther down the road than you were before.”

Instead, I came home from work one afternoon to find the message “Call Dr. Phil” written on our family message board.  That’ll put dinner on hold for just about anyone, I betcha!

I called the number which put me through to an assistant producer.  She explained they had an upcoming show on the topic I’d emailed about.  “Do you think your ex-husband would be willing to come on the show as well?”

Officer D.A.R. barely tolerates existing on the same planet with me.  I knew there was no way he would agree to sit on a stage with me. Besides, he hates doctors.  Especially ones that might tell him what an idiot he can be at times.

So recently, I had another pressing life situation and, because I suffer from the inability to learn from my previous mistakes, I shot another question off on the “Ask Dr. Phil” section of the website.  A couple of days later, while I sat waiting for my minivan to be cleaned, my cellphone screen announced a call from area code 323, Los Angeles, CA.

I immediately thought, “This must be the Dr. Phil Show calling about my Ask Dr. Phil question.”

Ok, not really.

I thought it more likely to be a skip tracer—calling the wrong number, of course—and sent the call to voice mail.

Lo and behold, when I checked my voice mail, it was Julie from the Dr. Phil show with a request that I call her back as soon as possible.  So I did.  This time it seems I’d caught their attention with a situation they’d never heard of before.

“Not even Dr. Phil?” I asked.

“Not even Dr. Phil.  And we’re very interested in having you on the show so he can help your family.  Do you think your husband would be willing to come on the show as well?”

In that moment I realized I was 2 for 2 in “Ask Dr. Phil” situations, neither time resulting in a solution because it required the presence of a man, past or present, from my life.  There was no way Chief Money Maker was going to sit on stage and publicly discuss family matters on television.  Besides, he hates doctors.  Especially one’s he thinks are a discredit to people everywhere bearing the name “Phil.”

“Well why did you write us?” asked Julie.

“Because your website says ‘Ask Dr. Phil’” I exclaimed.

“And how’s that working for ya?” she shot back.

Touché.

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How to Beat the Holiday Stress

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Have you ever felt so much stress that you had two thoughts collide in your mind and then spill out of your mouth causing you to sputter something totally ridiculous?  Last week I told Chief Money Maker, “Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and cook G-Bear after basketball practice.”  He gave me a puzzled look and asked if I would like him to boil Wolfy as a side dish.

We all deal with a certain level of stress from day to day, but the holidays amp those stress levels up to the degree of a nuclear reactor plant.  It’s a lot of pressure to scour the mall searching for that last Chia Hippo that you know Uncle Bertie will love.   I’m not exactly sure why we think Uncle Bertie will love a clay pot that grows what appears to be fungus, but since it’s December 24th and you saw it on a late-night infomercial it just seems like a good idea.

As parents, we also feel the pressure to make sure we provide our crumb snatchers with that “just perfect” Christmas season.  Now that I work from home, I have time to make homemade hot cocoa and hot-from- the-oven chocolate chip cookies for the crumb snatchers to enjoy after school.  Then because of the stress of writing deadlines and Christmas cards that need to be sent, I eat the batch of cookies and down the hot chocolate.  The crumb snatchers come home to the wafting scent of the holidays and excitedly exclaim, “Did you make cookies and cocoa?”

Deutsch: Becher Kakao mit Sahnehäubchen und Ka...

Image via Wikipedia

I sputter, “No, it’s a holiday scented candle.”  Then I have to bake a whole ‘nother batch, just adding to the stress I already feel.

Gift-giving is also stressful.  With five crumb snatchers to please, Chief Money Maker and I made our lists and checked it twice and then checked it again.  We have the same budget for each crumb snatcher, but there was a disparity in the desires of each one.  The number of gifts purchased was unbalanced.  We knew they would scour the gifts under the tree and count how many their siblings received and complain, “That’s not fair…he got more.”  Teenagers are so whiny!

So we came up with a plan to solve that problem.  We wrapped all the gifts and tagged them as gifts for Mama Bread Baker or Chief Money Maker.  We left one gift tagged for each of the crumb snatchers.  Then we explained that the true meaning of Christmas is giving and not receiving and they better get a job so they can start giving.  When they started crying we just started singing, “You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout—”

Cover of "You Better Not Cry: Stories for...

Cover via Amazon

If you find yourself struggling to manage the holiday stress, I suggest you sit back and take a little time to relax in the peace and quiet of your home.  Obviously, you’ll have to get rid of everyone so here’s one of my secret tips.   Send everyone in your household out to find a “22 karat gold plated unicorn lamp with three-way lighting with a brown shade.”  Emphatically stress that you don’t want them to get the one with a purple shade.  I searched the internet and this product doesn’t exist so this should buy you hours to watch a Lifetime holiday movie without interruption.  If they want to know who the gift is for, just tell them it’s for Uncle Bertie.  When they ask about his Chia Pet collection, just say, “Are you sassing me?  You know Santa is watching!”

Whatever this holiday season brings, Mama Bread Baker and the crumb snatchers wish you peace and joy…and hope you find that perfect Chia pet.

© 2011 CThacker

Just What IS a Nebby?

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               It appears that I have been a bit neglectful of my blog recently.  I’ve received thousands of emails asking what happened to it.  (Okay, so it was really just one email, but I’m sure thousands have been wondering.)  I would explain why I haven’t devoted as much time to my blog, but the Judge placed a gag order on me and I can’t explain until she dies, or has to resign the bench for accepting bribes under the table.  That reminds me, I need to transfer some money from my super secret PayPal account.

                Anyway, we’ve had some recent occurrences that have required discussions with the crumb snatchers about Nebbies.   If you’ve never heard the word nebby, it comes from the Pittsburgh, PA area and means meddlesome or spiteful.    There’s your vocabulary lesson for the week.  Now all together, let’s use it in a sentence.  (You can add your sentence in the comment section below.) 

                Nebbies also promote gossip and rumors and can often be found on the squares of small towns, or watching Jersey Shore.  I believe it’s simply in the DNA of the people that thrive on such behaviors.  They just can’t seem to stop being meddlesome and spiteful.  These traits are more commonly seen in women. 

                Statistics (that I just made up) show 98% of guys really don’t care about gossip.  Approach a guy with the sentence, “Did you hear about…” and once they realize you aren’t talking about a great play that was made in NFL football, they just tune you out.  But those females that have the “nebby gene” (as I like to call it) will almost knock you over trying to get close enough to soak up the particles of gossip about to be disbursed into the universe.  And if they’ve gone too long without someone disbursing those particles, they’ll just make something up and spread it themselves.  It also doesn’t matter how untrue, or outrageous the juicy morsel of gossip is, a Nebby will fanatically hold to their fiction as if it were the Holy Spirit inspired Word of God.

                I accidentally spread a rumor one time and I’ve really felt bad about it since it happened.  Several years ago Chief Money Maker, Aunt Sassy, and I were at an event and we were killing time before the event’s start by noticing how many “thin-challenged” people in the crowd were wearing the color lime green.  We made it a contest to see how many we could spot.  Bonus points were awarded if you actually knew the person.  Lo and behold, across the auditorium I spotted a hefty female I knew and she was wearing lime green slacks.    I yelled, “Twenty points for me!”

                They turned in the direction of my finger pointing and Aunt Sassy said, “Where?  The Lime Green Whale over there?”  Now we don’t usually condone name-calling in our household, but Aunt Sassy’s filter between her brain and mouth doesn’t always function correctly.  Unfortunately, there was a Nebby behind me and she also knew the person I spotted.  I knew if I didn’t set things straight, it would soon be all over the town that this poor woman was actually a lime green whale.

                I explained, “No, no, no, she’s not really a whale.  Whales can’t live on land.  Anymore.” 

                I could see the Nebby wasn’t truly convinced and I said, “Besides, whales have blubber.  That’s only fat on her arse.”  (I don’t think I actually said “arse” but I’ve always thought it looked cool in a sentence.)

                The Nebby looked at me and said, “Fat IS blubber.”  I knew right then that I had inadvertently started a rumor that would probably be circulated via text to everyone in town within five minutes.  “Did you know so-and-so is actually a WHALE???”  Next thing we knew, the village people (not THE VILLAGE PEOPLE) were forming a search and rescue team to return this poor hefty woman in her lime green slacks to Sea World. See how damaging a Nebby can be?

                So because of that, Chief Money Maker and I work really hard to teach the crumb snatchers that it isn’t nice to gossip or be a Nebby.  We also tell them to keep in mind the old adage, “Don’t believe anything you read and only half of what you see…and if you see it on Jersey Shore, don’t believe it all.”  We think those are important words to live by.

Ceiling Height, Truck Mileage, and Grenade Shrapnel! What a Bizarre Set of Questions!

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                What do ceiling height, truck mileage, and grenade shrapnel have in common?  Give up?  They are all things that could potentially involve crumb snatchers in our household!  If you know me, and you know my family, you would probably find it hard to believe that I’m having some difficulty figuring out what to write about today.  On the other hand, you might guess that the difficulty is coming from figuring out which story to write about, given that these crumb snatchers provide me with more than adequate fodder for this blog.  Which is a really good thing since I officially joined the Post a Week Challenge today!  And then I received a text from Chief Money Maker, out of town again on one of those important business trips, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the insanity that is our life.  Our conversation is pictured below, but it went like this:

                ME:  12:03 PM “Are our ceilings 8 or 9 feet?”

                ME:  3:12 PM “How many miles did you say were on the truck?”

                ME:  6:06 PM “Does a grenade have shrapnel in it?”

                CMM:  7:33 PM “I think. 9 Ft ceilings. 105k no on truck. & most grenades have shrapnel. What a bizarre set of questions.”  (Complete with his fat fingered keyboard mistakes!)  

      

          Now I can only imagine what Chief Money Maker was thinking when he got out of training and read this trio of questions.  And since I know he sometimes talks out loud to himself, I can imagine it went something like this, “Is my wife losing it again?  Have the crumb snatchers driven her to purchase grenades?  Have the crumb snatchers purchased grenades?  Does she need to know how tall the ceilings are so she can calculate how many grenades fit in a room?  Did one of the crumb snatchers fall through the ceiling again?  Are the crumb snatchers making bombs again?  And where is my truck that she can’t look at the odometer herself???”  All perfectly reasonable questions, at least for our household.

                First of all – I know, this part is going to be hard for you to believe but – I do occasionally lose it.  And the crumb snatchers know I can lose it as well, and that isn’t such a bad thing.  There was one particular day when Gummi Bear crumb snatcher had driven poor Mama Bread Baker to the brink of insanity and I snapped like a bungee cord with a one thousand pound Sumo wrestler jumping from the Empire State Building!  I call it my “I lost time” moment, a common complaint of those suffering from multiple personality disorders, and a line from the excellent movie “Primal Fear” starring the ever sexy Richard Gere. 

Film poster for Primal Fear (film) - Copyright...

Image via Wikipedia

     All I remember from the time I regained consciousness was the silence in the house, the look on Chief Money Maker and Gummi Bear’s face, and the rest of the crumb snatchers huddled together in the man cave like a bunch of refugees from Cuba in a row boat caught in a hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean!  Oh yeah, and Chief Money Maker’s nephew was here and he quietly departed the house in the midst of my episode (that’s how we refer to it now) seeking the safety and shelter of his own home.  He apparently, however, was quite impressed by my “going HAM” abilities.  He told his mother, “Mama Bread Baker rocks!”  Gummi Bear and I patched things up later that evening, given that his primary concern was whether or not I would still make him a hot breakfast in the morning!

                And yes, Chief Money Maker would also have every reason to wonder if the crumb snatchers were making bombs….again.  On our commute home from work one day, we received a call from one of the crumb snatchers (herein to remain nameless due to his witness protection agreement in return for his snitching) alerting us to some odd activity by Gummi Bear and Wolfy.  We arrived home to observe small round BB-like pellets, a white powder, and some rather guilty looking crumb snatchers holding lighters in our driveway.  Upon interrogation by Chief Money Maker, the guilty parties admitted to filling containers with ball bearings and baby powder (for a cool “poof” effect) and then lighting them with fire crackers.  Yes, folks, this is in essence a bomb.   I blame You Tube for their degeneracy!  Just do a search on it for baby powder bombs. 

Image representing YouTube as depicted in Crun...

Image via CrunchBase

                We brought them inside to discuss the seriousness of their actions.  The two somberly sat at the table, while Chief Money Maker returned to the garage to perform the crime scene analysis, and collect and bag the evidence.  While waiting, I asked the two, “Were you both born stupid?  Or do you just practice very hard?”  Ok, so once again, I realized my parenting skills needed a little tweaking and I apologized for the question and began speaking to them about how their actions could have harmed them or someone else.  Then Chief Money Maker entered the kitchen and said, “You two are dumb@$$es!”  Ok, maybe my parenting skills weren’t so off target after all! 

                So, as you can tell, it isn’t so farfetched for Chief Money Maker’s imagination to run wild when receiving a trio of such questions while out of town.  To make matters worse, Sweet Pea and I were in the movie theater when Chief Money Maker responded, and he had to wait two and a half hours before receiving an explanation for the odd combination of requested information.  When I finally spoke with him, he was quite relieved to learn that the house was still standing, the truck was still in our possession, and neither the crumb snatchers nor I, had been igniting grenades.  Mama Bread Baker was simply gathering auto insurance quotes, home owner’s quotes, and utilizing grenades as an analogy in another writing project.  But hey, no reason he shouldn’t have to sweat it out a little.  He does leave me at home alone with sanity snapping-bomb making crumb snatchers!

© CThacker 2011

I Need a Social Security Number for Not Me

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Seal of the United States Social Security Admi...

Image via Wikipedia

            We apparently have another crumb snatcher in our household that needs to be claimed on our income taxes.  However, I first have to obtain documentation for this household member so I placed a call to the Social Security Administration and it went something like this:

                ME:  “I need to obtain a Social Security number for a member of our household.”

                EXTREMELY OVERWORKED-UNDERTRAINED SOCIAL SECURITY GUY (HEREAFTER REFERRED TO AS SSG):  “No problem ma’am.  Congratulations on your new baby.”

                ME:  “Oh, it’s not a new baby.  They’ve apparently been around a while.”

                SSG:  “Ok, well, how old is the household member?”

                ME:  “I’m not really sure, but I’ve been hearing about them since The Eldest crumb snatcher was old enough to talk.  So maybe….nineteen or so?”

                SSG:  “Ummmm….ok.  Is the member a male or female?”

                ME:  “It’s hard to say.  I don’t think anyone has ever mentioned the gender of this household member.”

                SSG:  “I’m a little confused ma’am.  You’re seeking a social security number for a member of your household but you don’t know the age or sex?”

                ME:  “That’s correct.”

                SSG:  “Can you hold on a second?  I may need supervisory assistance with this one.”

                ME:  “No problem.”

                Wow, this is going to be a bit easier than I had hoped.  Normally, when I call government agencies, it’s usually such a hassle to get such a helpful employee on the line.  Is that Phil Collins they are playing?  Cool!

Bildbeschreibung: Phil Collins bei einem Konze...

Image via Wikipedia

                SSG:  “Thank you for holding ma’am.  I have my supervisor on the line and we are going to record this conversation if that’s okay with you.”

                ME:  “That’s no problem at all.  I usually have to repeat phone calls and tell the same thing over and over with you government agencies, so I appreciate your offer.”

                SSG:  “What is the name of the household member for which you wish to obtain a social security number?”

                ME:  “Not Me.”

                SSG:  “Yes ma’am you explained that earlier.  I understand it’s not you, but I need a name.”

                ME:   “Oh, that IS the name.  Not Me.”

                SSG:  “Ummmmm, ok.  Is that a first and a middle, or first and a last?”

                ME:  “That’s a really good question.  I never really asked.  That’s just what they’ve always gone by…Not Me.”

                SSG:  “Ok, do you have a birth certificate for Not Me?”

                ME:  “Oh gracious no.  I didn’t give birth to this one.  Two was enough for me!”

                SSG:  “Do you have a passport, a photo ID, a library card, or maybe a pre-approved credit card offer mailed to Not Me?  We need to have some kind of evidence of this individual’s existence.”

                ME:  “Well, why didn’t you just say so?  I have plenty of evidence that Not Me exists!”

                SSG:  “Let’s hear it!”

                ME:  “Well, for example, we had Sweet Pea’s – that’s my daughter – 16th birthday party the other day and when Chief Money Maker and I went to bed, there were six hamburgers and about twelve hot wings left in the refrigerator.  When Chief Money Maker went to make some lunch the next day, they were all gone.  We asked all the crumb snatchers – we have five – who ate them, and they all said Not Me.”

                There was a pause in the conversation, as I’m sure Overworked Undertrained Social Security Guy was jotting down the details.

                ME:  “Oh and I forgot to mention that Not Me is apparently disabled.”

                SSG:  “You don’t know the age or gender of Not Me, but you know they are disabled?  How do you know this?”

                ME:  “Well, it’s pretty obvious that they only have one foot….or maybe just one leg…because I have sixty-two single socks in the laundry basket right now.  All my other crumb snatchers have two feet, so Not Me is obviously wearing only one sock at a time.”

                Another pause, as I’m sure Overworked Undertrained Social Security Guy was absorbing this new information.  I suspected he was calling in more assistance for this complicated situation because I could hear shuffling of people in the background.

                SSG:  “Ma’am, your case appears to be very complex so my supervisor has authorized me to bring in some of my associates to assist and we are going to place you on speaker now, if that is okay with you.”

                ME:  “Oh, absolutely.  You people have been so helpful today.  I usually end up getting very frustrated trying to work with government agencies.”

                SSG:  “We’re happy to assist.  Can you provide us with more evidence of Not Me’s existence?”

                ME:  “I could provide you with hundreds.  This person has been hanging around our family for a while.  Not Me has colored on my walls when my children were little, drinks the last of the milk and leaves empty jugs in the refrigerator, eats entire bags of chips just brought home from the grocery store, takes change and small bills.  Oh, and they might have some emotional trauma because they sometimes cause arguments that lead to hitting with the crumb snatchers.  Every time we ask who started the fight, it’s ALWAYS Not Me.  Can we get some help for Not Me’s mental health issues as well?”

                SSG:  “Oh, I definitely think my supervisor is looking into mental health assistance even as we speak!”

                ME:  “Great!  I have one more proof of evidence of Not Me, and after that you should really understand why we need assistance.  Last year, Chief Money Maker and I came home to a giant hole in our ceiling and it was apparent someone had been in the attic and had fallen through the sheetrock into our bedroom.  At the time, Gummi Bear crumb snatcher and Wolfy crumb snatcher – the two youngest – were the only one’s at home.  At least we thought.  Unbeknownst to us, Not Me was apparently here because when we asked who was in the attic and fell through the ceiling; both boys confirmed it was Not Me.  That was really frustrating, and cost us quite a bit of time to repair the hole in our ceiling!”

                I suddenly heard laughter and snickering in the background and wondered if my call was running into some sort of celebration that had been pre-planned.  Perhaps a birthday celebration or a retirement ?  Because this gentleman had been so helpful, I wanted to help him wrap up his call.

                ME:  “Sir, do you have enough to start the application process now?”

                SSG:  “Oh yes ma’am.  We have plenty, and we certainly appreciate your call.  We’ll be sending you something in the mail soon.”

                I thanked the gentleman for his time and hung up the phone satisfied with the morning’s efforts.  Once we obtain a social security number for Not Me, Chief Money Maker can claim them as a deduction on our taxes!  Perhaps we could use the additional refund to add on a room for all the items Not Me leaves laying around the house, and all the single socks!

Postscript from Mama Bread Baker:  This blog is based on a true story.  Some details have been dramatized for literary effect, but the actions of Not Me are real.  Really real.  Just ask the crumb snatchers!

© 2011 CThacker

Watching “Jerry Springer” IS Working! I Swear!

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                As most of you know, Chief Money Maker brings in the primary yeast for this family’s bread baking needs.  Because of this, I’ve discovered that there is quite a disparity between the way the crumb snatchers perceive his job and mine.  There is a slim possibility it is because he doesn’t go around telling stories about them, but I’m still not convinced that is the main issue.  I believe the crux of the issue is that no one understands the life of a writer (or a wanna-be writer to be more accurate.)

                Chief Money Maker has blessed me with the opportunity to stay at home and pursue this life-long dream of mine, and to make sure I bring him lunch every day, pack his suitcase when he goes out of town, call the air conditioner repair man when needed (see previous blog titled Clean House, Dirty Air Conditioner), and refill his coffee as needed.  Hmmmm, did I just describe the job of a secretary?  If you factor in the make-out sessions he asks for on the rare occasions when we get rid of all the crumb snatchers, then I believe I just did.

                Anywho, the life of a writer isn’t easy.  I’ve encountered a few issues in my new profession, the first being that I must share an office space with Chief Money Maker now that he works from home as well.  I pride myself on being a pretty good cube mate.  Chief Money Maker on the other hand has been afforded the opportunity of the solitude of his own private office for many years.  The kind of solitude that allows him to crunch on ice at whim, to giggle out loud at the latest People of Wal-Mart joke arriving in his inbox, and to repeatedly click his pen when on important business calls discussing WANS, LANS, and I think I even once heard him discussing hams. 

                Writers, however, need solitude to reach inside the depths of their creative, or some might say warped, minds and generate the words that will entertain the masses that subscribe to their blog (or the fifteen people currently subscribed).  Either way, I need my own space.  Unfortunately, with a crumb snatcher housed in every spare inch of our home, it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting that opportunity anytime soon.  Perhaps I need to amp my efforts to encourage The Eldest crumb snatcher and his cousin to move out on their own, vacating the upstairs Man Cave so I can take it over as a writing studio. 

                Although Chief Money Maker understands and supports my new objective, the crumb snatchers have some trouble understanding the requirements of my current job.  This has been the second, and more challenging obstacle to overcome in my new career.  When Sweet Pea recently wanted an impromptu trip to the mall, I had to explain that I was working.

                “But Mom, you’re just sitting on the couch watching “Jerry Springer” and eating those bon bon thingies!”

Show host Jerry Springer

Image via Wikipedia

                “No honey,” I explained sensitively, “Mommy is getting story ideas.  Today’s story is about this woman’s brother-cousin Bo that just had a sex change and has become a pole dancer at her favorite lesbian biker bar!  Fascinating stuff, don’t you think?”  Sweet Pea just rolled her eyes and walked away.

                A few days later, The Eldest crumb snatcher brought home a new friend of the female persuasion and brought her into our home office to introduce her to us.  Chief Money Maker was busy working on a 600 page spreadsheet filled with those WAN, LAN, and ham thingies, crunching ice, and clicking his pen repeatedly.  The Eldest explained that Chief Money Maker had a very important job that no one could accurately explain and that he had to go on really important business trips where he sent pictures of himself and his “team” sitting in bars nightly discussing “work”.  The female friend seemed quite impressed.

                He then sweetly introduced me.  “This is my Mom.  She’s an aspiring writer who seems to be working on her novel,” then glancing at my computer screen, “or updating her Facebook status.” 

Facebook's homepage features a login form on t...

Image via Wikipedia

                “No honey,” I explained sensitively, “Mom is networking on Facebook.  It’s not the same thing!”

                His female friend said, “Way cool!  I’ll add you as a friend and we can work on each other’s farms!”  Sigh, no one understands my job.

                The final clue that no one understands my writing goals came when Gummi Bear crumb snatcher, the youngest of the crew, asked me one night if I was going to cook dinner. 

Detailed view of a red gummi bear.

Image via Wikipedia

               While lying on the couch, I responded “Ask your Dad if he can get something started.  I’m going to be working late tonight.”

                He responded, “But you’re just reading The National Enquirer!”

                I finally lost it and called everyone downstairs for a family meeting.  “Look you bunch of insensitive, life-draining, money leeching, hoodlums…”  Wait, I think it was a little more like this.  “I love you all dearly and I need to explain to you that Mama Bread Baker has a very busy job.  Writing for Dummies says that I need to network (i.e. post on Facebook), gather story ideas (i.e. watch “Jerrry Springer”), and expand my knowledge of current events (i.e. read The National Enquirer) to become a successful writer.  You all want me to be successful, don’t you, so we can get that nice built in swimming pool in the back yard, right?”

                They all glanced at each other and the bravest (or dumbest) finally spoke up and said, “Oh, we thought that was going to come from a bonus from Chief Money Maker’s real job.”

                And suddenly the light bulb illuminated.  The crux of the problem wasn’t that they didn’t understand what I was doing.  It was that they hadn’t seen a paycheck coming from my job.  Maybe they have a point.  I guess I better quit networking, gathering story ideas, and expanding my knowledge of current events and get back to work on my novel.  Those crumb snatchers may not be as dumb as they look!

© 2011 CThacker