First Thing:
My 6-year-old son Jack has been learning how to write stories the past few weeks. Almost every day he comes home from school with a manhandled piece of paper filled with his (quite adorable) handwriting. Of course this makes me very proud, and I couldn’t be more thrilled that he enjoys writing.
However, I recently noticed what I’m going to call his “trademark line.” His “signature sentence.” Meaning, the one thing he seems to throw into every single story no matter what it’s about. It’s a little risky, perhaps even a little ballsy, of him to do this, but at least his now well-known recurring sentence lets everyone know they’re reading from The Collected Works of Jack.
For example, here’s a story he wrote about sports:
“One thing that I’m really good at is sports and games like baseball and fireball. Do you know what fireball is? We play it in PE. It is a FUN game that is fast. OK, let’s get this over with. I am also good at climbing!”
A story he wrote about dynamite:
“I wanted to go see what dynamite was. But it was just a dream. Then I saw a picture in a book of dynamite. OK, let’s get this over with. I now know dynamite is cool!”
And finally, a story he wrote about chipmunks:
“Chipmunks are mess makeing eaters. They make crums. They live in the woodlands. OK, let’s get this over with. I am good at drawing chipmunks!”
Apparently, Jack has so many other things on his plate—recess, hot lunch, illegal Silly Band trading—that he just cannot be bothered to sit at his desk and write prose for an hour. No, he needs to move. He’s not a 100,000 words a day machine like that robot Stephen King. Plus, does Stephen King’s hand ever get “icky crampish” after trying really, really hard to not write his E’s backwards with a Spongebob pencil?
Jack’s got a life, man. He’s a f*#@ing first grader who can tie his own shoes and go to the boy’s restroom without getting any pee on his feet. (Usually.) AND JACK WILL NOT WRITE WHEN JACK NO LONGER WANTS TO WRITE!
Second thing:
I just received an email from my dermatologist’s office inviting me to a charity event they’re having in a couple of weeks. I don’t know why they think I would be interested in such a thing since I only go in once a year for my “Healthy Skin, Healthy Woman!” screening, but maybe my surly expression and my unwillingness to hold the elevator for others makes me seem old and wealthy. Who knows.
Anyway, the charity event is your standard food/drinks/small talk thing, but the difference is that this party will have doctors milling about who will be providing discount Botox and Juvaderm treatments for the guests. Yep, discount Botox. A phrase just about as enticing as “Bargain Pacemakers!” Or “Priced to Move Brain Surgery!” Apparently even cheap bastards want to look worry-free.
To make matters even worse, the whole purpose of this big event is to raise money—for the poor women and children of Ethiopia. The email even shows pictures of the smiling Ethiopians in their one room school made out of mud and old UNICEF bags. While I’m sure this is a wonderful and worthy cause, it just doesn’t seem to sit right with me the more I think about it. Maybe it’s because rich, American vanity shouldn’t be tied to poverty in the third world. Maybe it’s because I don’t like their definition of “Beauty” and find it a little exploitative. Or maybe it’s just because I keep thinking the tagline for the soiree should be: “A Night of Botox: Because We’re Really Upset About Africa, But We Sure As Hell Don’t Want to Look That Way, Y’all!”
Obviously, I’m not planning to attend this event or, for that matter, any other events like it at my dermatologist’s office. Instead I’m choosing to stay home where I can just sit on top of my high horse and scowl. I’m actually pretty good at the super annoyed, self righteous scowling bit. In fact, I’ve now done so much of it throughout my life that I’m fairly certain the two deep lines between my eyes make me the perfect candidate for—OK, let’s get this over with— discount Botox!
Like you didn’t see that one coming.
Ah, yes the story writing. My sons hand “gets all hurty” and all of his stories end with something either dying or eating a sandwich. I figure until they all end with something dying I can hold off on therapy. Yep, I am dusting off a space for his Nobel Prize in literature or his “I have completed therapy” certificate. Either way I’ll be so proud.
Love it, love you – you’ve got yourself a writer there 🙂 My 6yo is working on story planning…topic, topic sentence, three ideas, and conclusion. I was proud when he wrote “so in other words” to start his conculsion sentence, until I learned that they were all told that conclusion = “so in other words” + topic sentence 🙂 Eh well, it’s a start. Sadly writing is number 387 on my kids’ likes, right after bra shopping with mom.
Well, you could go to the benefit and sing Manilow songs… okay let’s get this over with, just hide out from the benefit committee.
That’s definitely my new favorite sentece. 🙂
I like to write and I still often have to self-edit Jack’s signature line.
Also, I believe I’m going to title my memoirs, “Discount Botox”.
Perhaps a small donation to the event without making an appearance will keep them from using your profile as the “before” picture as the highlight of the evening…
I am just saying…
My first grader is starting to write and although I am reminding her how important it is, she keeps reminding me all of my writing is done on the computer and that is not fair since I do not have to use a pencil. But, and might I say older kids (damned third graders she hangs out with) have taught her how to write her name in cursive and to put a heart over the “i” in her name. So ain’t that just the cat’s meow!
Several writers I know could learn from Jack and cut to the chase.
I’m with Marinka – in fact, I’m so with her I’m one of those writers who really needs to learn to “get it over with”!
I just checked all of my sources, and Jack is cool. At first I thought his sentence structure was suspect, what with ending that tagline with “with.” Turns out it’s okay to end a sentence with a preposition as long as it sounds right.
This was such a great post. Now I can start writing the same way I speak minus the curses. I feel so enlightened. I also think I have a crush on Jack.
Your son and my daughter are funny. It must be a six year old thing. My daughter’s line is: In the start of time. EVERY single thing she writes must start with that line.
Although if you want to be real about it, it actually says: In the stert of teme.
I thoroughly enjoy your writing and your son’s. I’d write more but I don’t have time as I’m almost as busy as your boy. Thanks for the chuckle!
Ok, let’s get this over with., Make sure you save me some of that discount botox. I’m starting to get that mother’s scowl brow crease thing & my little dude’s only 2.5 years old. I’m going to have ruts by the time he’s 4.
With my first grader it’s all “I like to play” and “(insert friend’s name here) is pretty.” And so, already, we see the differences between girls and boys. Well, actually a lot earlier, but, y’know. Right?
“Priced-to-move brain surgery” – bwhahaha!
I just think your son’s writing is so cute. So real. True thoughts right on the page. As for the botox party, I completely share your sentiments. I always think, when I see the society pages, how much more could you give to that charity event if you donated the price of all those designer dresses and gourmet meals? Stay home with your kids and send in a fatter check. Easy.
This story sums up the wonderfulness of Jack!!! Where would we be without him! Wow, I didn’t know you write German dialogue. Very impressive! Too funny Wendi!!
hilare. we are potty training our son, who is mostly trained, but man, the pee gets everywhere with the boys doesn’t it? sigh.
just wanted to say Hi and introduce you to my new bizness blog. doing more of this than my other blog lately so please say hello. (and it’s a group effort, so don’t blame me for all the sports posts)
thanks neighbor
Ah. A minimalist-modernist writer son. Now, that’s something to smooth out wrinkles and crow’s feet.Who needs discount canned-food-poison anyhow?
My daughter looooooves to create stories – create, not write. After writing a few sentences her handwriting will morph into what she calls “fake Spanish”, which she will then read to me and expect me to transcribe. Last week’s fake Spanish sentence read “Yo comma eldo la boomp, si chach el Cedar Pointo bilk,” which she insisted was (in English) “My mommy and I went to Cedar Point in costumes and I imagined there was a zoo there and the penguins rode the rollercoasters.” : )
Two things – my son once told his preschool teacher he was “not an art project kind of guy.” Apparently, he does not mind writing, but arts and crafts? Let’s get that over with.
Second thing – I have an image in my head of nefarious doctors in white coats roaming the room with loaded hypodermic needles, offering them like cocktail waitresses. “Would you care for a Botox? It’s for the children.”
Thanks for the hilarity this morning.
Truly brilliant tag line you’ve come up with for the fundraiser.
“Fake Spanish” is hilarious. And I love Jack. Cut to the chase, baby!
I. LOVE. Jack! I’m with Candy, but my thought was a little more like the ‘Friends’ episode where Joey was the perfume spraying cowboy…except with needles and vials of botulism…
*Please note – I have a different email addy…I explained why in Marinka’s comments. But I think you may already have it…
AAAAAAhhhhh yes, my son is currently in his freshman year of college, let me share an example of HIS writing, and I quote “thats because im there pimp. y u gotta have ur shirt off in ur pic. u makin me feel extra fat now”
As a mother I couldn’t be MORE proud….*sniff, sniff*
The tagline is super. Just super-duper. Y’all. And yeah, discount botox sounds freaky. Don’t go there. Ever. Even with high-end botox. It would probably botulate your funny away.
As for Jack? Your son will grow up to be a writer extraordinaire, following in his mommy’s footsteps, just you watch. But really, I need a few lessons in boy-raising, because I’m already being called in for my first preschool “meeting.” It couldn’t have been my lack of a pottery barn kids tote, right?
You are so funny. You make me smile. You make me laugh. You even make me pee my pants. Let’s get this over with. Say you’ll be my bride!
[…] need more? You should click here to read a post my friend Wendi Aarons wrote. She’s funny, y’all. Not as funny as me (duh) but she makes me laugh out […]
I need to come up with a tag line. Isn’t it good to know he’s starting early? I too would pass on the fundraiser.
1) I think perhaps Jack should get a job at a major news network. We need him; he’d get right to the point. I can just imagine him interviewing Bill O’Reilly.
2) I’m pretty sure discount botox is made from Ethiopians so really they’re just putting money back into their supply. Real botox is made from Canadians, that’s why it’s so expensive.
There is a local sushi restaurant that is in a renovated Burger King near me that has this big plastic banner out front that advertises ‘Half Pice Sushi on Fridays’
Doesn’t that sound delicious?
LOL@ the “OK, let’s get this over with” line. That’s pretty much how I felt in math class when I was a kid!
You can read Jack’s handwriting? Mine is 12 and I still need a translator – no “fake spanish” here.
And Botox is Botulinum Toxin – Botulism. Powerful Neurotoxin. Why in the hell would anyone want to purposely inject themselves with a neurotoxin? Never could understand that. Wrinkles are badges of honor.
I would go to the dermaparty with you, if only to say crazy inappropriate things and watch people try to mobilize their faces to react.
O.k., let’s get this over with.