Last week, the boys had ear infections, my oldest participated
in his regional chess tournament, and I was interviewed by The Wall Street Journal.
Because when the epicenter of world finance needs a unique
perspective, they naturally think of a certain Chicago mom blogger
who writes about her new poo-colored carpet with the passion of a
thousand fiery suns.
I am not sure how it all actually transpired, but my sister and
I appeared in the Health & Wellness section of the publication
yesterday as well as online in a story about sibling rivalry
written by Elizabeth Bernstein. They slapped a photo of my skinny
sis sitting right next to me as I slouched in my chair, drank
Mike's Hard Lemonade, and exhibited the full glory of my seven
chins and fat rolls.
But who cares? It's The Wall Street Journal, baby! For the rest
of my life, I can subtly weave that tidbit into every conversation
"Before I appeared in The Wall Street Journal, I liked
"There was this one time, at band camp, where I just
couldn't remember which month I appeared in The Wall Street
"I have got to see if the Wall Street Journal wants to talk
to me again before I commit Jack to your son's birthday
In case you are wondering whether I have people in my life who
will mock me forever because of this, please rest assured. When
photographer Ralf-Finn Hestoft showed up at my brother's house in
Deerfield for a family St. Paddy's Day celebration, my baby brother
just rolled his eyes and gave me a look that read "What now?" He
then set another place at the table without question.
The kids were confused. Ralf-Finn snapped away for most of the
day, and Danny wondered aloud if we were secretly Kardashians.
I then had to pretend in front of Ralf-Finn and everybody else
that I had no idea where Danny could have possibly seen an episode
of "Keeping Up with the Kardashians."
Nobody bought it.
So I apologize for not providing my planned essay on why
swearing in front of children doesn't result in them becoming
serial killers. Instead, I want to thank the wonderful Chicago
Parent readers for coming along on my wacky little adventure. You
guys make this fun and keep me from talking to myself. My husband
stopped listening to me years ago.
As an aside, the family is taking bets on how long it will take
The Wall Street Journal to realize that they called the wrong
I've got my money on a week.
Marianne is mother of three sons and the wife of a southside Irish fireman. She has learned that sometimes you're just too dumb to know what makes you happy. She blogs regularly at We Band of Mothers (webandofmothers.com) and curses with even greater frequency. Her material is written for the imperfect, the imprudent, and the impatient mothers who know that all this stuff is really very funny if you just give it a minute.
See more of Marianne's stories here.
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