Poetic Payoff, Nine Years Later

Lauren and I were sitting at the same table using laptop computers the day she joined Twitter. Because I had given her a hard time about my having "out-teched" her when I joined Twitter, she had taken great pride in choosing her user name, closettweeter, and she patiently waited—for about an hour—for me to notice her new web presence. Alas, I was busy writing and did not discover her cleverness on my own, forcing her to ask me a question about Twitter so I could be amused with her new identity.

Considering that Lauren could wait no more than an hour to see the results of her actions, I had to marvel at what I discovered yesterday:

Using a style similar to mine, Lauren wrote this nine years ago in a poetry journal I started when I was 12. It took me a couple minutes to decipher the last word (bundles), partly because the handwriting belonged to a 10-year-old and partly because my eyes had sprung leaks. And, since I have moved the book a number of times over the past nine years, and have cracked it open more than once, I am completely amazed that I never noticed the poem until yesterday.

So there you have it, Poots. I finally found what you did, you clever, clever girl.

Typecasting

I bought the DVD Death at a Funeral to watch while Lauren was home on leave. I told her a little about the movie, and then she asked who was in it.

NICOLE
The only people I can think of that you'd know are "Steve the Pirate" from Dodgeball [Alan Tudyk] and Peter Dinklage from The Station Agent.

LAUREN
Peter who?

NICOLE
Peter Dinklage. He also played the "angry elf" in Elf.

LAUREN
Why does he play a dwarf in all the movies?

As soon as she said it--and I nearly crashed the truck, laughing--she tried to clarify her question. But it was too late; she knew it was going to end up here.

LAUREN
You have to explain it! You have to tell people what I meant to say!

NICOLE
Oh, no. They'll know what you meant. But what you said is so much funnier.

LAUREN
Thanks a lot, Mom.

Free Advertising

When Lauren was in high school, she had a collection of pins on her backpack. I added one that said, "My mother is a goddess." She found it a few days later.

Ah, glory days.

And the World Laughs with You

The beautiful thing about approaching life with a sense of humor is that you never know when you might brighten a stranger's day.

A few nights ago, four of us sat at the large community table in a local restaurant. Lauren and I engaged in our typical jabs at one another even as we visited with friends.

Midway through our meal, a woman sat down next to our party and quietly contemplated her iced tea. She seemed to be working on her powers of invisibility, as though she had been stood up and hoped nobody noticed.

As our group was winding down, Lauren left to use the restroom, leaving her lip balm on the table. (She is addicted to ChapStick and the like. Seriously. Addicted.)

Suzin said, "You should salt her ChapStick," which I promptly did.

The woman next to us could remain invisible no longer. She watched me cover the tip with salt, press it in, and carefully replace the lid. She laughed even as she avoided eye contact.

When Lauren returned to the table, four of us waited for the payoff. It might have been a full minute before she pulled off the cap and started to put the salted stuff on her lips.

We all laughed as Lauren said, "What the?" and inspected the lip balm. She laughed, too, as she shook her head and wiped off the salt with her napkin. And I gave credit to Suzin when Lauren said, "Good one."

After we left the restaurant, Lauren agreed that the laugh at her expense might have been just what the woman at our table needed.

I hope so.

Phone Messages and Other Lies

If you see my daughter, tell her that Christopher Meloni called.

She'll understand.

Who Sings That?

The game went like this:

LAUREN
(singing along with radio)

NICOLE
Who sings that?

LAUREN
Avril Lavigne.

NICOLE
Can we please let her do it?

After a few rounds, it turned into this:

NICOLE
Who sings that?

LAUREN
Me.

NICOLE
No, seriously. Who is that on the radio?

LAUREN
Me.

NICOLE
Who recorded this song?

LAUREN
I did.

We played the game for a couple of years. And then it happened.

A few weeks before she left for boot camp, Lauren was riding in a car with her recruiter and another Marine. The radio was on.

LANCE CORPORAL
Who sings this?

LAUREN
(tentatively)
Me.

LANCE CORPORAL
(turning around to look at her)
Did you just say "Me"?

LAUREN
Yeah.

LANCE CORPORAL
Why?

LAUREN
Uh, my mom and I have this game where we try to get the other person to say who it is, and then we say to let them sing it.

LANCE CORPORAL
That's dumb.

I love my daughter. I love that she tells me this stuff! The only thing that made it better was that she had a big crush on the Lance Corporal.

Baby Naming 101: How Does It Flow?

A friend of a friend was pregnant with her second child. She planned to name the baby Talia if she had a girl. When talking about her expanding family, she mentioned some future event with "Jen and Talia."

Again, for emphasis, "Jen and Talia."

She immediately sought a new name.

Riding the (Decidedly Un-PC) Short Bus

The following exchange occurred a few days after Lauren started a new high school.

NICOLE
You ride the short bus.

LAUREN
(exasperated)
It's a short route!

NICOLE
(laughing)
No way! You DO ride the short bus!

No, I had no idea, nor would I ever have known if she hadn't given it up.

Clucking to the Oldies

Aside from the “How much longer?” routine, the radio station battle might be one of the biggest sources of strife between parent and child on road trips. Or trips across town. While Lauren and I shared some musical interests, too much time dedicated to her favorite stations (or singers) tended to make my ears tired.

Even after she was old enough to drive, the battles continued when we were in the car together. Because at some point it is every mother’s job to thoroughly annoy her children, I began to cluck like a chicken along with her music, from time to time. This generally produced something between a look on her face that said, “My mom really is nuts,” and outright protest, “Knock it off!”

Each time, I told her that the melodic clucking was really fun and urged her to join me.

“Um, that’s okay,” was always her reply.

And then it happened.

Lauren was driving us somewhere, we were listening to agreed-upon music, and she said, “I really don’t see what’s so fun about the whole chicken thing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The chicken thing. That clucking thing you do.”

“What about it?”

“I tried it the other day when I was driving to the mall, and I just couldn’t figure out what you get out of it. I didn't think it was that fun.”

The mental image of her sitting in the car clucking tentatively to her music made me laugh until I hurt.

Thank you, Lauren. Thank you for always giving yourself up when you take the bait. What’s a setup without a payoff?

Top 5 Reasons My Daughter is My Hero

5. Funky Shoes
As a child, Lauren proudly wore loud, funky shoes, even if classmates laughed. She gave me the courage to be a little bolder.

4. Ridiculously Dark Eyeliner
As a teen, she was never afraid to overdo the eye makeup, even when I suggested she'd fallen for the old sooty binocular trick.

3. Discussing Mistakes
Lauren has always been willing to talk about her mistakes to people she thought might learn from them.

2. Making Her Dreams Happen
At 10, she wanted to become a Marine. At 18, she did.

1. Making Others' Dreams Happen
She knew she wasn't ready to have a child; she had him for people who were.

True Lies

A friend said Lauren should start a blog, Lies I Told My Mother, with a series of one-line posts:

"I went to all of my classes today."

"I’m going to Melissa’s house to watch The OC."

"My friends and I are going to In-N-Out."

"I already finished my homework."

Something like this, published anonymously, would likely ring true for far more people than I'd care to imagine.

Accidental Culture

A few years ago, one of my middle school students said something about Billy Elliot—he was probably reading a computer banner ad aloud—and a particularly rough eighth grade boy said, “I’ve seen that movie.”

Aware of the danger of biased assumptions, but still thinking that it was highly unlikely, I said, “You’ve seen Billy Elliot?”

“Yeah.”

“The British film?”

“Yeah,” said Vincent*, “the one about the kid that sneaks off to take ballet when his dad thinks he’s learning to fight.”

I asked him what he thought of it, expecting him to denigrate it somehow.

“It was a really good movie. I liked it.”

“It was a good movie. I’m really glad you enjoyed it.”

Now, I was seeing this kid through a slightly different lens, but something still didn’t fit.

“Did you watch it on HBO?”

“No, I got it from the video store.”

“Well, I’m really glad to hear you were willing to check out something new.”

“Yeah.” He was beaming at the unexpected adoration. And then, not realizing that it was a confession of sorts, he said, “I checked out Billy Madison, but someone accidentally put Billy Elliot in the box.”

I laughed out loud. “Did you notice before you put it in the DVD player?”

“No.”

And so it is that one of my most precious teaching memories is the mental image of Vincent, sitting on the couch with microwave popcorn, expecting Adam Sandler, uttering, “What the…?” and then shrugging and watching the movie anyway.

* Not his real name.

got yams?

In case you wondered: the Creamy Yam Soup at Govinda's Buffet looks very much like Tomato Bisque.

Ask my daughter.

Superhero Incognito

When Lauren was 14, I shared a secret with her. “You know, I really am a superhero. I just decided to carry these extra pounds so that you could have a normal childhood.”

She responded to my news by rolling her eyes and saying, “You’re a loser, Mom,” launching the volley of name-calling that continues to be our trademark way of saying, “I love you.”

“Moron!”

“Imbecile!”

“Nincompoop!”

“Dunce!”

“Dolt!”

The last one threw her off her game. “Dolt? What’s a dolt?”

“Look it up in the dictionary,” I said. “It’ll be—”

“—right next to your picture,” we finished, in unison.

My Favorite Mondegreen

A couple years ago, Lauren and I were listening to Lonely No More by Rob Thomas started playing on the radio.

Lauren said, "That one line makes no sense at all."

"What line?"

"He says, 'Let me do your girlfriends.'"

When I stopped laughing, I clarified, "No. It's 'Open up to me LIKE YOU do your girlfriends.'"

"All right," said Lauren. "That would be different!"

But I'm Sure This Has Happened to You

Comedian Steven Wright says, "Yesterday I... No, that wasn't me." It's funny. It was supposed to be funny. It came immediately to mind when I overheard the following in a restaurant:

"Remember when were going through the separation and Joe* came over with a gun and threatened Nancy* and me? No, wait, that wasn't him."

Seriously? How many exes have come around waving guns at this woman?

* Names have been changed.

Shortest-Term Memory Ever

The following exchange took place last year between the mother of a lacrosse player and the father of another player.

WOMAN
Nice to see you! I'm sorry, I keep forgetting your name.

MAN
Tom.

WOMAN
Paul?

MAN
Tom.

Alternative Medicine

My daughter is due to provide a wonderful, childless couple with the ultimate Mother’s Day present in about two weeks. I can’t say enough about open adoption (or closed adoption either, for that matter). Has this made me less ruthless with the “lies” I tell her? Hardly. Her pregnancy worries provided me with lots of opportunities like this:

LAUREN
I’m craving onion bagels and the store is out of them!

NICOLE
You can’t eat onion bagels anyway.

LAUREN
Why not?

NICOLE
It has to do with the way they are prepared. It’s not good for the baby.

LAUREN
You’re lying.

NICOLE
No, I’m serious. Ask your doctor, or look it up online.

And she continues to fall for my stories and walk into my setups, always with grace and a well-developed ability to laugh at herself.

Two weeks ago, she asked me what she could do about her swollen feet and ankles. First, I gave her authentic advice and told her to see her doctor if it didn’t get better. Then, I told her not to get freaked out if she had to have “that more aggressive treatment—for the life of me, I can’t remember what it’s called” and began to describe a 12-inch square platform covered with surgical steel pins that was similar to a bed of nails. I explained that the doctor would place it beneath her feet as she sat at the end of the examination table, and then help her stand upright in such a way that her weight would be evenly distributed across the pins. When Lauren said she really hoped she didn’t have to have the treatment, I further reassured her that it was not at all painful, comparing it this time to the interactive Pin Art toy.

Lauren took my initial advice. The next morning, she reported that the swelling had gone down and that she was scheduled to see the doctor three days later, anyway.

NICOLE
Would you do me a favor? When you see the doctor, will you ask what that treatment is called? I still can’t remember, and I even tried Googling the description so I could send you the information, but I couldn’t find it.

LAUREN
Okay. I tried to find it on Google, too.

NICOLE
Thanks. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t remember the name. You know how I get.

LAUREN
I’ll ask on Thursday.

It was a long three days, and I have to admit that it didn’t go down quite the way I’d hoped. When I casually asked Lauren if she’d learned the name of the treatment, she said that the doctor had never heard of it. I pried a little more, to see how the conversation went and, sure enough, Lauren had tried describing it (“It’s not acupuncture.”) only to be met with, “No, I’ve never heard of anything like that.” If the doctor had suppressed laughter or given Lauren funny looks, it had been completely lost on her.

NICOLE
At any point in the conversation, did your doctor say, “Does your mom like to mess with you?”

LAUREN
No. Why?

NICOLE
Because I made it up. It was supposed to be a “cantaloopy” thing.

LAUREN
Oh. You’re a dork, Mom.

Yes, yes I am.

C-A-N-T-A-L-O-U-P-E

From the movie Sabrina (1995):

SABRINA
Didn’t you once say everything is business?

LINUS LARRABEE
No, but it sounds like me.


Lauren and I were not involved in the event described below, but it sounds like us. The actual participants were my parents’ friends—I’ll call them “George and Alice.” Had this been a scene from our lives, I’d have been George, and Lauren-as-Alice would have taken it well.


George and Alice were on a road trip. Pointing out a handwritten sign at one of the many fruit stands along their route, Alice said, “That’s funny! They spelled ‘cantaloupe’ wrong; they put an ‘e’ at the end.”

George shook his head. “No, the sign’s right. It says ‘cantaloopy,’ not ‘cantaloupe.’ It’s another kind of melon.”

Duped by George on a regular basis, Alice was skeptical. “It is not! They just spelled it wrong.”

George proceeded to tell Alice everything he knew about “cantaloopy.” The plants weren’t very hardy. Perhaps only two or three regions in the country had the right climate for growing them. The melons were a little smaller and not quite as sweet.

“Then why haven’t I heard of them before?” she asked.

“Well, they’re one of the more expensive exotic fruits, so most grocery stores don’t carry them.”

Having supplied enough plausible details without cracking a smile, George convinced Alice he was telling the truth. Meanwhile, he scanned the handwritten posters of every fruit stand they passed until he found one that did not advertise “cantaloupe.”

George stopped the car. “I need to get out and stretch my legs.”

“I want to get something to eat,” said Alice. “Do you want to come inside with me?”

“No, I’ll wait out here,” he said, adding, “Why don’t you see if they have ‘cantaloopy’ here? I’d like to try one.”

“Okay.”

Unable to find any of the rare melons on her own, Alice asked an employee if they had any “cantaloopy.”

“You know,” she clarified, “the one that’s spelled like cantaloupe, but with an ‘e’ at the end.”

George and Alice are no longer married.

On Following Bliss

"You have to follow your heart," said the master.

"I thought I was supposed to follow my bliss."

"The heart knows the way to the bliss. You cannot follow one without finding the other."

"But what if my heart wants me to leave behind everything I know, everything that makes sense to me?"

Smiling, the master said, "Then that is where you will find your bliss."

Life: Journey or Destination?

In the 1969 comedy, Support Your Local Sheriff, James Garner becomes the sheriff of the small town where he plans to prospect for gold. Viewing the position as temporary, from the start, he repeatedly tells people, “Basically, I’m on my way to Australia.”

Garner is no closer to reaching Australia when the movie ends, though he continues to claim it is his destination. Perpetually “on the way,” he sees his present situation as impermanent, yet he makes no real progress toward reaching his goal.

Are you perpetually on your way to somewhere else? How will you know when you get there?

Eunichs: Part II

INT./LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

NICOLE and LAUREN sit on couch watching television.

LAUREN
Thanks a lot, Mom.

NICOLE
What?

LAUREN
Eskimos. Eskimos come from Alaska.

NICOLE
Eskimos?

LAUREN
Not eunichs.

NICOLE
(laughing)
Did Mr. Szmidt clear that up for you?

LAUREN
Yes. Yes, he did.

Eunichs: Part I

INT./EXT. NICOLE'S CAR - DAY

NICOLE drives LAUREN to high school. Junior year.

LAUREN

Where do eunichs come from?

NICOLE

Eunichs?

LAUREN

Aren't they from Alaska?

NICOLE

(suppressing laughter, avoiding eye contact)

I really don't remember. Ask Mr. Szmidt today.

LAUREN

Okay.

It's Not a Lie, It's a Gift for Fiction

Credit David Mamet for helping me to set the record straight. After all, lying is wrong. (Ditto for stealing. The title of this article is a line from Mamet's "State and Main.")

Much of what shows up here will likely come straight from the annals of mother-daughter exchanges, because truth is so much funnier than fiction.

Take my kid, for example.

When Lauren was in her early teens, she and I began affectionately trading insults and name-calling, each trying to outdo the other. After I told her the hospital staff had made me take her home, because she was scaring the other babies, she laughed and said, "Good one, Mom."

She delivered the come-uppance a few days later, in response to the lie, "By the way, you're adopted." Without missing a beat: "Yesssss!"

I dedicate whatever follows to my redheaded, quick-witted muse. No longer a teen, she is one of "The Few, the Proud," and a living example of one willing to follow her dreams. I love you, Poots!