Saturday, August 18, 2012

That one time I met an Author

So, my last post was about this stupid chick needing to be sterilized.

That post was actually intended to tell you all about WHY I was in Portland in the first place, but I don't really think anyone saw that incident coming and I sort of needed to vent about it. Now that THAT is out of the way, I'm going to share with you the reason I was in Portland in the first place.

Dudes and Dudettes, I totally met The Bloggess. She recently wrote a memoir called Let's Pretend This Never Happened. If you aren't familiar with Jenny Lawson, I reccomend you visit her blog and check her out.

I took my kids with me because I really had no other option. Besides, I haven't tortured them with any kind of grown-up event in quite some time. They were due.

We drove to Portland, only to find out that the book signing was not taking place at the Portland location of Powell's books, like the website had listed. The event was actually taking place in Beaverton, which is about a thirty minute drive in traffic. Excellent. WHY they listed Portland, I do not know. Thankfully, Rawr was able to help me figure out what was going on and where to go. (That was around the time I was telling off the hippie).



The kids and I arrived in Beaverton, found the bookstore and took our places in the audience. And then, IT started.

The whining.

Mom, why are we sitting here? Can I look at books? I need to use the bathroom. Why is that lady sitting next to you wearing a shirt with the Eff Word on it? And how come she is holding dead birds? This is boring. I'm hungry. That lady has on a lot of perfume and it's making my eyes itch. He's hitting me. She started it. LALALALA.

And so on.

I tell you, my patience this week has been pretty thin and for these guys to misbehave the entire hour and a half we were there made me want to scream.

It didn't help that the people behind us were looking at each other and pointing. But, I refused to leave. Yep. I was that mom. But hey, I rarely ever do anything for me. Only recently have I started taking time for myself and this book signing of one of my favorite bloggers was pretty much never going to happen again (unless she write another book) so I made the selfish decision to stay in my seat and correct my children with words like, "Would you two sit down and stop fighting. Keep your hands to yourself. Stop wiping your jawbreaker on your shirt, son. Smallest child, would you please stop manhandling my arm while I'm trying to point threateningly at your siblings? 11, if you can't sit properly in a chair, I'm going to make you sit on the floor."

Hence:

And then this: My youngest has become infatuated with breasts lately. I don't know why. She knows that she was nursed as a baby and recently has taken to reminding me of that fact. It's all very sweet and weird and whatever. So we're sitting there in our chairs and all of a sudden she plows her face into my chest and makes this Mmmm noise.

Me: Kid, what are you doing? Knock it off.

5: These are STILL MINE.

Me: [face burning] The heck they are. Get your face out of there. Those are actually mine. I loaned them to you for a year and look what you did to them.

5: [maniacal laughter] There's milk in them and I will take them from you.

Have you ever wanted to simultaneously shove your kid off your lap while vomiting?

Because I did.

(Um, No. There is not a photo of that)

Gross.I met Jenny Lawson, it was awesome, she signed my book and we left.

Even with all the misbehaving, I'm glad I went.

Some photographic evidence:


 I made my 11 sit on the floor because he refused to behave himself.



The chick who was taking photos needs a lesson in flash and readying people with a phrase like "Get ready!" I'm sure neither Jenny nor myself will be posting this where people can see it.

Except here, of course.
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