I am deadly serious about mommyhood. Mostly because Crime TV tells me that if I screw it up, one of these little people will eventually kill me in my sleep. And that would really suck, especially if it happened before I got to see Simon Baker close up, which it likely would since having kids really cuts into my creepy stalker time.
So I often find myself offering my children little corrections and bits of guidance, to try to mold them into respectable, responsible adults. Things like, “It’s not nice to draw whiskers on your brother when he’s sleeping,” and “People don’t like it when you leave poop on their walls,” and “Don’t tell me you don’t love me no more, tell me you don’t love me any more,” and “We don’t use our penises to dial telephones.” Which is really weird, if you think about it, because how the hell would I know what “we” do and don’t do with “our” penises? Maybe dialing phones with them is a perfectly acceptable, but not regularly discussed, activity. Maybe I’m discouraging the development of healthy multitasking skills, which has been a non-negotiable prerequisite for every single job on the planet since 1990. For all I know, penises have prehensile capabilities and if raised in a loving, supportive environment, could earn a living packing widgets in a factory while their owners populate spreadsheets. And here I am, cutting his future earning capabilities in half. Bad Mom moment.
The thing is, raising kids right is too big a job for us to do all by ourselves; this is the exact reason why the saying “It takes a village to raise a child” was invented. I also know that I’m like a lot of parents, in that I rely heavily on books to help fill in some of the gaps and reinforce messages about how to get by in this world. Picking the right books, with the right messages, is absolutely crucial, since even if I do everything right, if one of these kids turns out to be a cretin I’ll be the one people point fingers at. And I can hardly sneak past Simon Baker’s security team if the whole country recognizes my face from that story on America’s Most Wanted.
This is where I’ve been having trouble.
The books on the market right now? Just aren’t cutting it. I am endlessly saying to my kids, “If only you knew…”
If only you knew how many kids wish they had cow tongue guacamole to eat right now.
If you only knew how many kids would beg to spend quality time with their mothers sneaking through Simon Baker’s landscaping.
If only you knew how good you have it.
But they have no ideas how good they have it, in spite of me telling them so all the time. Clearly, the books are not doing a good enough job representing the world to these children. They’re not providing the perspective kids need.
Luckily, I’m a problem solver. And a writer. This is right up my alley. I took it upon myself to think of new, improved collections of children’s books, one for bedtime and one for school. These books are entertaining and educational, and will equip kids to grow into strong, empowered adults who make the world a better place. And they’ll combat that pesky “you are a very, very special snowflake” issue that’s giving Americans such a bad reputation in other countries and damaging foreign relations. Which means that you can send preemptive congratulations on my Nobel Peace Prize starting anytime.
So now, without further ado…
The Bedtime Story Collection
The Textbook Collection: