A few weeks ago, as soon as I said I was writing a children's book, Little Z came up with a plan: I should write it and read it to her, make sure she likes it, and then read it to her class at school. If it plays well to her classmates, I can publish it. If not, I should rewrite it.
I did not necessarily entirely agree with this plan, but I knew I would end up going with it, because this is how she is. She is deaf to negativity. "Come upstairs and watch my play," she might say. "No," you might say. "Okay then," she will say back, "I'll see you upstairs in five minutes! And bring a kangaroo." That's just how she is.
Little Z is in second grade now. I ate lunch with her today at school. Heading down to the lunch room, two kids asked me whose grandma I was. Children are so sweet.
I ended up sitting between Little Z and a young man with a red mohawk (probably colored for the homecoming parade today). His teeth were a little too large for his head, having just grown in. Otherwise, he had the look and mannerisms of a personal banker.
"So, how's the book going?" he asked me, tilting his head and smiling. How does he know about the book? I wondered.
"Oh, fine. I wrote the text and now I'm working on the pictures."
"Are you going to read it to our class when you're done with it?"
"Um... sure. Yeah. It might be three or four weeks yet, before it's finished."
"Books take a long time to write," he said with a knowing nod. Clearly he had written several.
I turned around to Little Z, who had just gotten a lunch lady with scissors to help her open her yogurt squirty thing .
"That boy asked me about my book," I said to her.
"Oh, yeah..." she blushed, "I may have mentioned it once or twice... or three... or four times."
The way she said it, I think she meant more like ten or twelve times.
I'm actually a little bit nervous. What if they don't like it?
I did not necessarily entirely agree with this plan, but I knew I would end up going with it, because this is how she is. She is deaf to negativity. "Come upstairs and watch my play," she might say. "No," you might say. "Okay then," she will say back, "I'll see you upstairs in five minutes! And bring a kangaroo." That's just how she is.
Little Z is in second grade now. I ate lunch with her today at school. Heading down to the lunch room, two kids asked me whose grandma I was. Children are so sweet.
I ended up sitting between Little Z and a young man with a red mohawk (probably colored for the homecoming parade today). His teeth were a little too large for his head, having just grown in. Otherwise, he had the look and mannerisms of a personal banker.
"So, how's the book going?" he asked me, tilting his head and smiling. How does he know about the book? I wondered.
"Oh, fine. I wrote the text and now I'm working on the pictures."
"Are you going to read it to our class when you're done with it?"
"Um... sure. Yeah. It might be three or four weeks yet, before it's finished."
"Books take a long time to write," he said with a knowing nod. Clearly he had written several.
Birdie is waiting for her big debut.
I turned around to Little Z, who had just gotten a lunch lady with scissors to help her open her yogurt squirty thing .
"That boy asked me about my book," I said to her.
"Oh, yeah..." she blushed, "I may have mentioned it once or twice... or three... or four times."
The way she said it, I think she meant more like ten or twelve times.
I'm actually a little bit nervous. What if they don't like it?
They're kids. They're going to love it. If they don't, who cares? Kids don't buy books, parents do!
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