Yesterday, I finished work. As in for the whole summer. When I got home and sat my tired butt on the couch, my husband told me he’d read all the comments on my Book Deal post.
“They’re really nice,” he said.
“Are you surprised?” I asked, teasing him.
“No,” he said, ” but they’re so genuine. I mean, you kind of expect the people you more-or-less know to be really happy for you… the Renees and the Clays and the Trishes and Elenas, but there are a lot of other people who are thrilled too.”
I nodded. “My readers rock.”
And you do.
Thank your for sharing in my excitement. I am serious when I say this book deal would not have come about if it weren’t for y’all.
Since I’m a bit short on brain cells (I loaned most of mine to middle school students who neglected to return them), I’m posting a link to my humour column that ran yesterday.
It’s called Why I’m Such a Lousy Soccer Mom. It starts with a wee rant:
The U8 soccer season just ended for my twins. This means I can do something else on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons besides complain about having to go to Vivian’s and William’s practices and games.
My husband endures most of my soccer rants. My first monologue was early in the season and lasted only slightly longer than a Kardashian marriage. He listened as my feminist self went on about the sexist nature of the girls’ team names, with monikers like the Frillettes, the Kittens or the Willows. OK, these are made up, but you get the picture. And the picture is that many of these names would sound more at home at a pole-dancing establishment than on a field. It is especially infuriating to me when I compare them to the names of the boys’ teams: Terminators, Uzis, Killers.
It gets slightly less rant-y and slightly more funny. Click here to read the rest of Why I’m Such a Lousy Soccer Mom.
Feel free to rant about whatever you like in the comments.
What’s your latest pet peeve?
Fun and personal too, but in a nice and friendly I’d like to read more kind of way.
Thanks, Penny. I appreciate that comment.
Maxi-pads as shin guards? Ka-shnortle!
That’s when you pray Vivian or William doesn’t take a kick in the shin, for reasons totally unrelated to their shins. Who wants the coach peeling down a sock to check the shin and toss a maxi-pad in the air?
Of course, with the split-team approach, the parent at that game could blame the other. That’s the
creatively sneakysensible way to handle it.Enjoy whatever down-time you can snatch, Leanne. Love your column.
Thanks, Gloria. You always leave the funniest comments. Someday we’ll meet and laugh together in person.
ROFL – proving once again the wisdom of those who have offered you the book deal!
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We haven’t done soccer so much as little league baseball. I really love the game of baseball, but sometimes I am relieved when I get notice of a rainout. I grow weary of the schlepping–ourselves, baseball equipment, snacks, activities, blankets, etc. If we could do the game in my back yard, that would save me a lot of trouble. Well, unless you count the broken windows. Oh well.
Back yard sports. I could be all over that. The parents could drink wine and umpire…
And I grew up playing a lot of baseball. As a farm kid, it was *the* summer sport.
This Renee is so thrilled you are done-done-done! *doing a little dance* I can’t believe how much you managed to do while working full time. I’m so proud of you. Off to read your piece. Love to your DH for knowing my heart.
I may need you to talk me off the editing edge. Finding this one a little scary.
I would love to be a reader. If you need that help.
Or anything else, frankly. But you know that? Right?
And we ARE so excited for you, Leanne! My squee-dance just won’t let up (this computer wants to change that to ‘square dance,’ and while that could easily be my rant for this comment, I think it’s amazing and maybe even more applicable. Oh! And so why don’t I rant about my horrible 4th grade teacher who made us all learn how to square dance? In NEW JERSEY. Someone should have stolen her brain cells).
Off to read your column!
Squee-dance. Love that. Better than square dancing. đŸ˜‰
Thanks for all your support, Jules. And for making me laugh!