Everything I Needed To Know About Writing A Bestseller I Learned From Barack Obama

On Tuesday I flew to Detroit and back, and on both flights the person sitting next to me had an unopened copy of Dreams From My Father sitting in their laps. I noticed the book in particular because I, too, had a copy of the very same book hidden in my bag. Unlike my seatmates I'm sort of embarrassed to be seen reading the book in public, especially ont he subway, because I feel like I might as well just weat a sign that says "I Am A White Girl Who Wants to Understand the Black Experience". I feel like as a memoirist I should get an exemption - I should be able to unabashedly read any memoir of my choosing in public. That aside, it occured to me that in order for my next book to be a bestseller all I need to do is follow Obama's example. So... here's my to do list:

1. Edit Harvard Law Review

2. Make impressive keynote speech at next Democratic convention

3. Become multiracial (note to self: in this case Jewish does not count)

4. Have dead parent I never knew

5. Get dead parent to be from third world nation

6. Wear more suits

7. Launch "Schank in '08" presidential campaign

Mama, I Hold These Truths To Be Self-Evident

The world according to Milo, if he could articulate as much:

1. All adults are always carrying hot cups of coffee.

2. All doors that are open must be closed. All doors that are closed must be opened.

3. Sweaters suck.

4. Socks and shoes are awesome.

5. All stuffed animals and dolls are Elmo.

6. Blue is yellow. Red and green are also yellow.

7. If only I could have a regular-sized mop my life would be complete. Also I would like unrestricted access to the toilet, and I should be allowed to throw things into it. Oh, and while we're at it, I want my own pair of scissors.

8. The cat likes it when I jump on him and grind my face into his fur.

9. My parents are primarily around to bring me milk. Milk should appear within no less than twenty seconds after I request it.

10. No car ride should be longer than 5 minutes. If I am forced to sit in the car for longer than that, I am entirely within my rights to begin screaming.

Not Like You're Married To Someone Who Wrote A Book On Weddings Or Anything

"We didn't get an invitation to that wedding yet. Are you sure we're invited?"

"Of course we're invited."

"But isn't it in March? It's almost March. They would have sent the invitations already."

"I think it's in March. Doesn't everyone want a March wedding?"

"No. Everyone wants a June wedding."

"Oh. Then it's in June."

The Apocalypse, or Teenagers With To-Do Lists

The paperback of A More Perfect Union is now available on Amazon. It should be for sale at your local bookstore sometime in the next week or so. (I'm just the author - no one tells me these things.) The paperback has a new afterword in it, in which I talk about how every woman has her own level of girliness, and also how My Super Sweet 16 and Teen Prom magazine are grooming future Bridezillas and thus leading to the downfall of civilization.

Word Count

How many words should a 34-year-old have? The next time I go in for a checkup I'm going to ask. In any event, I just learned a new one: otoscope. That's the official word for what I had previously been calling an ear-looking-into-thing. Thank you, my smart doctor friend!

Mommies Who Lie

Earlier this week we took Milo in for his 15 month shots. I'd spent most of the day telling him he was going to go to the doctor and get shots ("sshhots" Milo would repeat, nodding his head) followed by Band-Aids, knowing that he wasn't really processing anything except for the Band Aid part. He spent a happy 30 minutes running around the office in a diaper, opening drawers and playing with syringes, until the doctor came in and began asking questions, like how was Milo's walking and what was he eating and how many words did he have.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe fifty words?"

The doctor looked at me like I was clearly one of these annoying overachieving lying Park Slope mothers.

"And is he stacking blocks?" asked the doctor.

"No." I said.

"Thanks for your honesty," said the doctor. "He probably won't do that until 18 months, but a lot of people come in and say their 15-month-old can build the Empire State Building."

So what, the whole block-stacking thing was just a trick question? It was a question about me, not about Milo, right? It was a question that clearly stated, you are lying about how many words your son says, so I am going to find out what else you might lie about.

Then the doctor picked up that ear-looking-into thing doctors use and Milo reached for it and said, "hammer."

"It's not a hammer," I said, although I was then hard-pressed to know exaclty what to call it, other than an ear-looking-into thing.

"It does look like a hammer," said the doctor.

At which point I grabbed the ear-looking-into thing, shoved it against the doctor's neck and screamed, "SAY IT! SAY MILO HAS FIFTY WORDS! SAY IT!".

"Okay," said the doctor. "He has fifty words."

"Thank you," I said, sitting back down and handing him the ear-looking-into thing. "You can continue with the examination now."

Housekeeping at Fifteen Months

In celebration of your reaching 15 months of age, I present to you, the Milo Index:

So last Tuesday: brooms
What you're into now: mops
On the horizon: vacuum cleaners


So last Tuesday: walking
What you're into now: being carried around the apartment while pointing out everything that goes "beep"
On the horizon: being able to climb up people's legs


So last Tuesday: the words cup, garbage, animal sounds
What you're into now: pretending to blow your nose, occaisonal fake demonic laughter
On the horizon: sentences, I hope


So last Tuesday: applesauce
What you're into now: salami (amama)
On the horizon: sandwiches


So last Tuesday: ripping your hat off
What you're into now: putting hats on everyone, yourself included
On the horizon: keeping your mittens on


So last Tuesday: two naps
What you're into now: singing loudly to yourself for 30 minutes before falling asleep
On the horizon: staying up more than 4 hours at a time


So last Tuesday: putting things into the garbage
What you're into now: taking things out of the garbage
On the horizon: taking things out of the garbage and eating them