The Name Game.

I took AB to the Taste of Chicago this past Sunday. We ate overpriced cheesecake and “Chicago-style” hot dogs, but had a good time nonetheless. I realized as we were walking were about to walk into the mass of Taste of Chicagoers that this excursion could be disasterous. A friend had told me of her son getting lost in Target and then I thought of when I got lost in a Home Depot and wound up holding the hand of a stranger who I thought was my father. (My dad has conveniently forgotten this event, suggesting that I dreamed it. Incredible jedi mind tricks is what I call that. I am not ashamed to say that I use it on AB as well. I learned from the best.)

 What if AB got lost?! So, we stepped to the side and I did a quick Safety101, which I realize in hindsight would not have worked at all, but I needed the assurance.

“You need to hold hands with Mommy at all times, okay? But just in case, what’s your name?”

“Annabelle R____!”

“Awesome. And what is my name?”

“Mommy.”

“Riiiight. But Mommy also has another name. Mommy’s name is Tiffany Hayes.”

“You’re not Stephanie Hanes. You’re Mommy, silly.”

After about 5 minutes she got it and we went on our way. I pointed out what the policemen looked like and that she should find one of them if she got lost. She nodded like she got it, but I know she didn’t. Thankfully, she held my hand the entire time. I think that the crowd scared her into behaving.

Last night we were having our quiet reading time on the couch, (me- Lincoln by Gore Vidal, her- a stack of Arthur books from the series by Marc Brown). Apropos of nothing, she looked over at me and said, “What’s your name again?”

Ruh-roh.

“Mommy.”

“No, your other name.”

“Um, Tiffany Hayes.”

“Tiffany Hayes, can I please have some milk?”

Egad. After an incredibly inept explanation that she only needs to use my other name if she cannot find me when we are out, she seemed satisfied and reverted back to her various forms of “Mom” depending on her wants, needs and moods.

But my name resurfaced right before she fell asleep. We were into our third bedtime book when she closed it and said, “I’m going to take a nap.”

Alrighty, then. Rarely, does “night-night” happen so smoothly. I was about to celebrate with some ice cream and more SVU, when she stopped me.

“Hey! Lay down.” Damn. It turns out that this “I’m going to take a nap” was code for, “I’m going to turn my back on you and close my eyes but you still have to lay next to me because it is your motherly duty.” So, I laid down.

She turned to face me and pressed her nose against mine. “We are best friends. Tiffany Hayes and Annabelle are best friends.”

Tiffany Hayes’ heart in that moment = completely melted.

Me Gone Wild.

This week I have been afforded the chance to play an amazing game of make believe.

This week I have been neither a mother nor a law student but a young writer living on Chicago’s North Side. I have been whistled at and honked at appreciatively. I have searched for the perfect Cafe Americano. I have flirted with various cute boys at coffee shops and bookstores.

This week I have read Bret Easton Ellis and Jay McInerney and longed for a time when authors were given the same status as movie and rock stars. Inspired by the possibility of such an era’s return, I have written and written and written.

This is me gone wild.

Nikki Giovanni.

On Saturday, I was in the presence of the great Nikki Giovanni.  She was at Women and Children First bookstore in Andersonville promoting her new children’s books, Lincoln and Douglass, and Hip Hop Speaks to Children. I had this reading on my calendar for weeks. So excited.
I thought, how great will it be to expose AB to such a great artist at such an early age. I am such a culture mother. Yet, it was a disaster. I was too ambitious. Granted AB had been at a birthday party half an hour earlier where I had allowed her to run around like a banshee.  She repeatedly climbed on the stage when Ms. Giovanni was talking. Eventually she settled in a corner that had toys.  The final straw was when she attempted to climb on a bookshelf to get to the new Charlie and Lola book. I had to climb on stage grab her and walk on the store with her wailing at the top of her lungs. I was so angry and humiliated that I was on the verge of tears. I finally lost it in the alley around the corner from the store as I frantically called my family members, desperate to talk to someone.

I felt like a total failure as a parent. I was beyond mortified.

But Ms. Giovanni did not let me down.  She was incredibly gracious and kind.  She expressed sadness that we had to leave. (AB was the only child of color there.) When AB was first getting fidgety, Ms. Giovanni said that it would be okay for her to go up on the stage and stay there while she spoke. But her kindness increased my humiliation.  I just kept thinking, “How could such a thing happen in front of such a awesome person?”

However, the incident was a long time coming over the course of the week, as I felt my temper getting shorter and my stress level rising. Combine this with her skipped nap and we were a walking powder keg.

This was a lesson learned. I have visions of AB growing into a great strong, amazing, and intelligent woman and how embarassed she will be when I tell the story of our first encounter with Ms. Giovanni. But we shall redeem ourselves.  No worries.

Junot Diaz.

I had the great pleasure of meeting the coolest nerd ever, Junot Diaz. He is the author of my favorite short story, “How to Date a Brown Girl (Black Girl, White Girl or Halfie)” and he recently won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. for The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.

“Hi, I’m Junot.” He introduced himself by name to each and every person in line. That was just one of his many endearing qualities. 

He didn’t sit at the table they had set up for him, but stood at the edge of the stage. He was much more physical than most authors. He’s a kisser. (Double kiss, both cheeks.) He’s a hugger. He’s a hand shaker. He’s a shoulder grasper.

He has a particular form of speech. He has a habit of ending his statements with “yeah?”. He has the mouth of a sailor interlaced with hip hop slang and ”wait a minute, let me get my dictionary” kind of words. He’s genuine.

And his intelligence. I am truly in awe of his intelligence. He is absolutely brilliant.

I want him to be my friend. I have a feeling he would be a great friend.

Nam Le.

My sister and I had the pleasure of meeting the impressive Nam Le at a reading yesterday.  He is the author of a new collection of short stories entitled The Boat.  He was so chill, unassuming, intelligent and kind. The Australian accent, his way of saying “Please” rather than ”Yes” when calling on an audience member, his incredibly thoughtful responses, his corporate lawyer past, his consciousness of the relationship between the writer, the reader, and the story, and the fact that he wore the same shirt he is wearing in the picture above, all equal me loving Nam Le.