Jody Mace | Freelance Writer

I wonder if my book club will read this post. The reason I wonder that is because last night at our book club I told all the members to read my blog and they all said that they would. But I don’t think they will. Nonetheless I want to dedicate this blog entry to the “worst book club ever” - as we proclaimed ourselves last night. If I were to write operating instructions for a book club they would be something like this:

1. Decide on a book. Consider things like length of book and price of book, as well as other literary qualities.
2. Read the book. This is something that almost all of us almost always do.
3. Arrive at coffee shop, holding book in hand.
4. Snag best available table.
5. Have small argument with coffee shop workers. (Oh wait, this is just only “Oriole” who does this.)
6. Regret decision of what drink you ordered. (this is only me.)
7. Discuss personal issues for 85 minutes.
8. Be overcome with shame when the coffee shop worker tells us that the shop is closing in 5 minutes, because we haven’t discussed the book at all.
9. Discuss the book for 5 minutes. The discussion will, by necessity at this point, be rather perfunctory.
10. Nod when the parts of the book that you apparently skimmed over are discussed.
11. Assure the person who chose the book that we really, really liked it.
12. Wait until the coffee shop worker comes to kick us out.
13. Stand on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop for 2 hours discussing important issues like

• Where to drink before going to the Sex and the City movie
• Sarah Jessica Parker’s hands
• Which politician is the bigger liar, and whether, in fact, lying is a bad trait in a politician
• Why onions and garlic are prohibited by one book club member’s religion
• Why I have a 16 square foot garden planted with nothing but onions
• Why it’s really rude to tell a vegetarian that her favorite fast food biscuit is actually cooked in lard, because then she probably has to stop eating it
• Whether Sarah Jessica Parker is more attractive to women or men

14. Repeat process.

I guarantee that if you follow these steps you too will have the worst book club ever, and that you will look forward all month to the meetings.

I wrote this article about crab legs for National Geographic Traveler, and it’s up on their blog today. Even just seeing the picture of the crab legs and reading the words make me crave them. There really is no limit to how many crab legs I’d eat in a sitting. The only thing that stops me is the impatience of my family. Luckily I only get a chance to indulge once or twice a year.

What is your weakness? What are you powerless to control? What could they put out on the buffet table that would make you shove aside little old ladies to get to it? (Not that I’ve ever shoved aside a little old lady. She wasn’t that old.)

I was just informed that this Sunday is Mother’s Day, and I got to thinking about the Mother’s Days I had when my kids were babies and toddlers. As much as I was in love with them, I have to admit that the best thing was when my husband would just give me a break from taking care of them. He’d take them to the park and leave me, for a while, with a quiet house and no diapers to change, nobody to make a sandwich for. Knowing that I could absolutely trust him to take care of them, that he could take care of them as well as (although differerently) I did was the best gift I could get. Having a partner who is every bit as bonded to your kid, who agrees when you whisper, “She’s the cutest one on this playground, isn’t she?” is something to value. If you’re lucky enough to have a partner like that, my advice is to not worry when he (or she) doesn’t do things exactly like you do. Let your partner develop his own style of caring.

This all brings me to a gorgeous little book that husband/wife writing team James DiProperzio and Jennifer Margulis called “The Baby Bonding Book For Dads: Building a Closer Connection With Your Baby.”

Don’t think of it as a counterpart to the ubiquitous “What to Expect” books, or, really, any of the parenting books that moms tend to read. This is more inspiration than instruction. For the guy who’s about to become a dad for the first time, the book gives examples of how bonding happens between dads and babies during everyday activities and care. The authors, parents of three kids, show how bonding happens all the time - when you’re changing the diaper as well as just gazing into those eyes. It would be difficult for a father-to-be to read this little book and see the breathtaking photos and not be at least a little bit anxious to get his hands on that new baby and start falling in love.

I can’t imagine a sweeter gift at a baby shower for the often-neglected dad.

And moms? The dads in the photos are damn hot.

I admit that I’m lame about blog contests. First off, I ask people to do very difficult things, like write poems or help my husband remember our neighbor’s name (Marla, sounds like Darla from the Little Rascals, thanks Megan.) Then it takes me forever to mail the prizes. Then the prizes are kind of dumb. Like the cowed greyhound that I sent to Donna Koppelman, which arrived with, apparently several broken limbs, due to the fact that they had already been broken and glued back together and my poor packing. (Plus I insisted that she prominently display the greyhound in her home.)

But I recently was one of the winners in by the lbs’s blog contest. First of all, all I had to do was to say the weirdest search term that brought people to my blog. It happened to be “llama penis.” Even though I hardly ever write about llama penises. Then she sent the prize very quickly. The prize was supposed to be a DVD of a Jane Austen movie. (And I love me some Jane Austen movies, even when they don’t involve Colin Firth wearing a dripping wet shirt.) But she gave me more. Much more. She gave me a specially made llama bookmark with a quote on it, A SECOND Jane Austen movie, a llama notepad, and much, much more. It was like a dream come true, especially because I forgot all about the fact that I was supposed to get a prize.

But I just want to warn you all not to expect me to improve my blog contest performance. I can’t compete with that.

On a car ride to a pizza place, I asked my family, “What skill would you want to be really good at if you didn’t have to train for it, practice, or get any education for it?”

Answers ranged from:

Karate
Playing many musical instruments
Speaking foreign languages

to (getting a little weirder)

Telling the future (some disputed that this is a skill)
Time travel (somebody had to one-up the “telling the future” person)
Surgery

to

Life

What skill would you want if it came without cost?

——

Then commenced the argument over which pizza place to go to.

My son said, “You’re just choosing exactly what I don’t want.”

I answered, “Yes, that’s our algorithm.”

He said, “What does this have to do with Al Gore?

My son is reading a book of trivia, which means that for about 30 minutes a night after he is tucked in at night, he emerges from his room and tells us yet another unlikely fact.

C: Did you know that it only takes 7 pounds of force to rip off a human ear?

2 minutes later….

C: Did you know that left-handed people have a life expectancy of 9 years less than right-handed people?
me: That’s terrible!
C: I know! (pause) I’m right-handed.
me: yeah. Me too.

5 minutes later….

C: Did you know that a pople became a Harlem Globetrotter?
me: That is absolutely false. No pope ever became a Harlem Globetrotter.
C: (Reading) “In 2000, Pope John Paul II was made an honorary Globetrotter.
me: Honorary. That means “not real.”
C: Oh. I thought it meant “really good.”
me: Trust me. The pope was not really good at basketball.
C: How do you know that?
me: Because of the robe. He would have tripped.
C: Oh.

Miley Cyrus plays innocent

So she posed for Vanity Fair, for photographer Annie Leibovitz. Now she thinks that the photos were too racy and is embarrassed. I haven’t seen the finished pictures yet, so I don’t know how they are. From the “behind the scenes” photos on the Vanity Fair website, the pictures don’t appear very racy at all to me.

Disney responded:

A Disney Channel spokesman, Patti McTeague, said in a statement on Sunday that the photos were meant to sell magazines.

“Unfortunately, as the article suggests, a situation was created to deliberately manipulate a 15-year-old in order to sell magazines,” her statement said.

But I’m astounded about something. According to the behind the scenes photos at the Vanity Fair website, both her parents were there. So if someone was manipulated, who was it, and who was doing the manipulating? Certainly her parents consented to what happened.

And I have to laugh at Disney talking about manipulating teenagers in order to sell magazines. Pot? I’d like you to meet kettle.

What I think is that Miley is not at all embarrassed. I think that Disney has responded by encouraging her to say that, because, since Miley is only 15, they should have a couple more good years of her appearing squeaky clean. I think that by posing for somewhat sexy pictures and then fanning herself and saying, “Oh my, I didn’t know they’d be like that!” it’s a way for her to have her cake and eat it too. She shows her sexy side, to appeal to old men, but then firmly aligns herself in the world of little girls by implying she was manipulated.

In the words of a former Disney ingenue, “I’m not that innocent.”

We have a longstanding joke in our family that started on a long car ride when I had to make up a story to keep the kids from clawing out each other’s eyes. I told them that their dad was so smart as a child that he went to a special school called “Bright Children Of the South.” The particulars of this joke-story could be rather offensive to other southerners, but if you’re familiar with the Jewish stories from Chelm (if not, google them) you’ll get the idea. Let’s just say that my husband and his classmates did not come out well in these stories, which have been added to regularly through the years.

One day my kids were making fun of my husband and finally he said, “You know, YOU’RE from the south. YOU’RE bright children of the south!” This was eye-opening for them, because although they have lived in the south their entire lives they were unaware of the fact that they were, indeed, southern children, because 1) I’m a Yankee, and they inherited that through my line, and 2) They argued that they live in NORTH Carolina, which means it’s the north. Which also doesn’t make them seem exceptionally bright.

So I was going through all the possible names, keeping in mind that if I homeschool my son long enough this name will show up on transcripts, etc. when suddenly I thought, “Hey! He’s a bright child! And he’s in the south!” So why not BCOTS Academy? Nobody has to know what BCOTS stands for. Well, except anyone who reads this blog.

I’m finally quitting my library job. I hope that the fact that I’m a short-timer isn’t too apparent to the children, although my instructions today to 1st graders who weren’t paying attention to my story to “Look at me in a fascinated manner….just pretend you’re acting in a play” might have given it away.

I’m going to be homeschooling my 10 year old son this coming school year. Yes, I’m relieving his beleagured teachers! I expect them to be giving me flowers, etc. He’s a very inquisitive kid and has never really fit into the school program that well. He has so many things he’s really interested in learning so I figured we’d start there. For example he’s all about the French Revolution right now and has plans to recreate the storming of the Bastille in Legos.

So I’ve been occasionally taking him out of school to go to park days with a local homeschool group, so that he can get to know some homeschooled kids. Yesterday he won the admiration of all the other boys for being the absolute best t playing hide and seek, winning 8 of 10 matches (not including the ones where kids cheated, he told me.) His secret? Hiding in trash cans.

In the state of North Carolina, I’m required to send them a letter informing them that I’m opening a homeschool. I’ve got to give it a name. They recommend not using your family name or your address. So I’ve got to think of something. Maybe this could be a contest. Full disclosure: I haven’t sent out the prizes for the last contest yet. But don’t worry, you will get them! This contest has no prize. i’m just looking for suggestions.

What should I call this school?

So when my teenaged daughter says she’s not going to the school dance because it’s no fun because “her friends don’t dance” is there any doubt what I will do? Do I have a choice? I didn’t think so. I have to point out that she can dance if she wants to. She can leave her friends behind. Her friends don’t dance and if they don’t dance then they’re no friends of mine. And not only that, but I give her leave to act real rude and totally removed, and act like an imbecile.

It’s not my fault if she won’t dance.