Can I Have a Word?

As a writer, I spend an inordinate amount of time selecting the just right word. Many conversations with my daughters will grind to a halt as I try to pick the right metaphor to demonstrate an otherwise simple point.

“Being a good sport is like being a … a… a good friend. Well, no, it’s more like being a good dog trainer, because even when your dog doesn’t do the trick, you still have to be positive… Actually, no, that doesn’t work. Okay, how about…”

“Moooom!”

Or “You know, that was a good story, and it’s true, you don’t want others to define you. You can’t let them tell you if the music you like is the right music. It’s like being a bird… no, a coach or a trapeze artist, for example…”

My daughter, whose eyes had been glazing over, suddenly springs up. “Oh my! I totally forgot. Did I tell you about how I had to change desks on Friday and now I’m sitting between two BOYS?”

Sigh.

See, when I type up this column I’ve got a little more time to work with and I imagine that I’ve got at least one person’s attention. (For all I know everyone heads over to the jumble, but hey, a woman has to dream.)

So I spend quite a bit of time sweating over every little word. Which is fine, until I hear my husband read to the kids.

Let’s just say that no author’s work is safe when Daddy gets a hold of a story book.

Here’s the scene. They’ll all settle in for a bedtime story. The lamp light is glowing softly and the story is unfolding into the night air. Then, there are a few blips. Silly pronunciations. Mixing up of characters. Before you know it, princess are burping and horses are passing gas and entire communities burn down to the delight of his audience who giggles through it all, correcting him every time.

Writers all over the world can sense, I’m sure, the havoc being wrought on their work. Their carefully paced sentences suddenly flying apart like some sort of Three Stooges routine.

I’ll tell you one thing. He’s definitely not reading them any of my stuff… er… work.

At least not unless I’m there for the corrections.

The Pomegranate Fairly. Under appreciated, overworked. Sound familiar?

Recently I heard that a fellow mom and writer's son had a pomegranate seed removed from his ear.

The mystery for his mom was that he had never, to her knowledge been near a pomegranate, let alone figured out how to peel it and stick a seed in his ear.

Of course I knew what was going on. This was the work of the pomegranate fairy.

If you haven't heard of the pomegranate fairy, you're not alone. She's often overlooked in the news because no one really eats pomegranates anymore and the tooth fairy has more extensive marketing.

The tooth fairy's fame is in large part thanks to major contributions from dentists in an ongoing effort to bring some positive publicity to the loss of a tooth. But that's another story.

(the overly hyped tooth fairy accepting a golden toothbrush award from the American Academy of Dentists)


Anyway, the legend of the pomegranate fairy goes way back to medieval times when mother, in a fit of exasperation, pleaded for divine intervention while eating a pomegranate. Her children had, for the 384th time forgotten to pick up their plates from the table, and, quite frankly she had HAD it. She hurled the pomegranate through the window, beaning a passing fairy.

This fairy, rather than fluttering on to a quieter neighborhood decided this was a sign that things were getting out of control and somebody better start listening or else!

Thus the first pomegranate was planted. Pomegranate fairies planted pomegranate seeds in children's ears so they would develop the ability to listen to their parents. Like so many things of singular importance, modern science has not determined exactly how this works, although the theory around our dinner table is that it probably has to do with the sticky, red juice.

(the pomegranate fairy, captured on a postcard in 1902)


Whatever the mechanism, the great news was that for generations children were listening to their parents, eventually leading to the birth of the greatest generation of all.

Unfortunately, with changes in fairy legislation in the 1980s requiring adherence with 13 international treaties and 94 new FDA guidelines referencing pomegranates and their use in the outer ear, fewer than seven PFs (as they are known in fairy circles) are working in the US today.

Those valiant seven are overworked, under appreciated and just plain tired (sound familiar?) and, as with most people with way too much to do, they blow it routinely.

As a result, some of the seeds, instead of being properly planted, are slipping into the ear canals causing distress to the recipients, freaking out parents, and sending children to ENT doctors for pomegranate seed extraction.

Of course, they don't teach about the pomegranate fairy in medical schools these days, so when a seed shows up, everyone is astonished. Mothers search their gardens and children don't listen to a word that is being said until they hit their 20s.

Which explains a lot, don't you think?

The Tooth Fairy's Third Cousin

Recently I heard that a fellow mom and writer's son had a pomegranate seed removed from his ear.

The mystery for his mom was that he had never, to her knowledge been near a pomegranate, let alone figured out how to peel it and stick a seed in his ear.

Of course I knew what was going on. This was the work of the pomegranate fairy.

If you haven't heard of the pomegranate fairy, you're not alone. She's often overlooked in the news because no one really eats pomegranates anymore and the tooth fairy has more extensive marketing.

The tooth fairy's fame is in large part thanks to major contributions from dentists in an ongoing effort to bring some positive publicity to the loss of a tooth. But that's another story.

Anyway, the legend of the pomegranate fairy goes way back to medieval times when mother, in a fit of exasperation, pleaded for divine intervention while eating a pomegranate. Her children had, for the 384th time forgotten to pick up their plates from the table, and, quite frankly she had HAD it. She hurled the pomegranate through the window, beaning a passing fairy.

This fairy, rather than fluttering on to a quieter neighborhood decided this was a sign that things were getting out of control and somebody better start listening or else!

Thus the first pomegranate was planted. Pomegranate fairies planted pomegranate seeds in children's ears so they would develop the ability to listen to their parents. Like so many things of singular importance, modern science has not determined exactly how this works, although the theory around our dinner table is that it probably has to do with the sticky, red juice.

Whatever the mechanism, the great news was that for generations children were listening to their parents, eventually leading to the birth of the greatest generation of all.

Unfortunately, with changes in fairy legislation in the 1980s requiring adherence with 13 international treaties and 94 new FDA guidelines referencing pomegranates and their use in the outer ear, fewer than seven PFs (as they are known in fairy circles) are working in the US today.
Those valiant seven are overworked, underappreciated and just plain tired (sound familiar?) and, as with most people with way too much to do, they blow it routinely.

As a result, some of the seeds, instead of being properly planted, are slipping into the ear canals causing distress to the recipients, freaking out parents, and sending children to ENT doctors for pomegranate seed extraction.

Of course, they don't teach about the pomegranate fairy in medical schools these days, so when a seed shows up, everyone is astonished. Mothers search their gardens and children don't listen to a word that is being said until they hit their 20s.

Which explains a lot, don't you think?