Abigail and I were in the van a few days ago, and she told me that when she grows up, she wants to work at Orange Leaf (it’s a frozen yogurt shop where you can put as much froyo as you can fit in your cup, top it with lots of crazy candy toppings, and pay by the ounce – pretty much heaven to a four-year-old).
“What job are you going to be, when you grow up?” she asked.
“I’m already grown up, and I already have a job,” I answered.
“What!?” She started to laugh. “You don’t have a JOB.”
“Yes, I do. My job is taking care of you kids. I think it’s a lot of work.”
“That is not a job, Mama. You have to go somewhere and get paid for a job.”
“Well,” I said, “maybe one day I will get paid for being a writer. Can my book be my job?”
She shook her head at me, hardly believing that I needed these details spelled out. “If you want to be a AUTHOR, you gotta make a stand.”
I was not sure how to process this. Does my kid want me to write a book about a hard-hitting social justice topic? Is she telling me to take a stand for something important and honorable?
“What do you mean?”
“You need to get some boards and nail them together and stand there with your book and people give you money. Like when girls sell lemonade!”
Ah, of course. An author stand. How silly of me.
