Momnesia

The good thing about having short-term memory issues is that when you pick out Mother's Day gifts for yourself, you are still super-excited to unwrap them.

"What IS this!? How could you possibly have known!?"

Hope all my Mom friends had a wonderful day full of the best kind of surprises.

"Smant" And Patriotic And Pretty As A Shiny Car

As Mother's Day approaches you may be looking for that perfect gift. I want to share with you the book that Ethan wrote and illustrated last year for Mother's Day.

Mom and Me

by Ethan

May 10, 2009

My moms name is Jinny Seedor. She is 33 year old !!!!

The first page shows me, MOM!!!!!/Jinny Seedor. Instead of a typical child-drawn skinny stick figure, I am built like a potato - baked, I think - with three-prong pitchfork hands sprouting from my armpit region and upturned elf-shoe toes sprouting from my nether region. Above Potato-Me is this proclamation: 33!!!! I suppose when you are six, 33 (!) warrants multiple excited punctuation marks. Potato-Me's hair is bright blue and overdue for a trim and blowout.

Her favorite TV show is Gossip Girl and Graysatame and Home Ulon.

Potato-Me is either reclined on a piece of furniture, or sandwiched into an enormous hot dog bun, it is hard to tell. Potato-Me's pitchfork arm/hands are waving with glee, so it must be a pretty good episode. On the TV screen is a steroid-enhanced squirrel eating a piece of lettuce. Or Blake Lively. Unclear. Potato-Me now has orange hair.

She is as pretty as a shiny car because she drss is pretty.

This time my potato head is bald, the stress of picking out an outfit must have been quite a lot. Potato-Me is covered with protruding black and green and purple tentacles/fringe, so either Potato-Me is "drss pretty" or in the midst of an acupuncture appointment gone seriously wrong.

She is so smant. She even knows one of my shark names.

Potato-Me's hair has returned - back to blue - and Potato-Ethan is holding my hand. I can tell the two of us apart because he is the red bliss sized potato, with salad fork hands instead of full pitchforks. And because I am so smant.

Mom and I like play chssers.

Potato-Me and Potato-Ethan with a red table in between. Potato-Ethan has about 50,000 checkers on his side and an intensely competitive expression on his potato face. Meanwhile, Potato-Me has zero checkers, and is smiling blindingly despite the loss.

I make Mommy smile when I ticut her because she thinks it feels weand.

Potato-Ethan is now pink and "ticut[ing]" Potato-Me, who is extra-large and purple. It must have been salon day because Potato-Me is wearing a purple hairstyle any drag queen worth their Spanx would envy. Potato-Me is laughing uproariously because being "ticut" feels "weand", especially when one is being "ticut" by miniature cutlery.

I love my Mom because sheloves me.

Potato-Me is large and blue and Potato-Ethan is small and brown. Behind us is a red heart the size of Wisconsin and an American flag with the number ONE spelled out. Because I am smant and, also, patriotic.

More Fun Than A Bucket Of Puppies

(*I know, that is not a bucket, but best I could do.)

A friend of mine has likened my personality to that of a golden retrievers. A puppy golden retriever, actually. I believe she means that I enjoy meeting new people and am generally friendly and easy-going. Of course, she could mean that I slobber a lot and like to be scratched behind the ears. Or the house-breaking thing? It's unclear. To-may-to, to-mah-to.

Waiting in line today at Giant, I made a new acquaintance who noted my willingness to chat and had some important questions about an upcoming holiday.

Bear with me while I set the scene, this is important for the rest of the plot. I was buying the ingredients for a traditional gourmet dinner: a can of corn, a box of cereal, and some milk, and was tapping my foot in the world's slowest self-checkout line. My purse was slung across my shoulder. While the line inched forward, I reached into the purse to confirm that I had, in fact, grabbed my wallet on my way out the door. I pulled it out and tossed it back in the bag as the corn started to slip from my hand.

Man watches me struggling with my purchases and steps in to help. As he hands me back my can of corn, I smile broadly and say, "Thank you so much! Those cans are slippery!"

He takes my smile as an invitation to pursue further conversation. He gestures in the general vicinity of my chest with his box of Wheat Thins and says, "So, are those new?" His eyes are fixed on my cleavage.

I am a little confused. "Um?"

He continues, "So, where did you get those? They look like they match really well?"

"Um? Wha ...?"

The awkwardness continues, "So, I'm thinking of getting my wife a set for Mother's Day. What do you think? Have you been happy with them? She's been talking about getting a new set for awhile and hers are getting old. Yours look pretty new."

"UMMM ......?"

"So, those are Dooney and Burke, right? Your wallet and purse? Your set?"

Lightbulb literally goes off, as I laugh loudly and nervously, "OHH! My purse and WALLET! YES! Your wife DOES need a new set!" I am so relieved he is not some weird creeper that I am in full-on tail-wagging mode. "YES! Every woman should have a matching set! A NEW set! Yes, just what she wants for Mother's Day! SO much better than flowers! OR plastic surgery! HAHAHA ... haahhahaa ..."

He could not get away fast enough. I think my enthusiasm scared him.