No Love From Erma

It's early spring. That can only mean one thing. The Erma Bombeck essay contest winners have been announced.

Apparently, my love for Erma has not been reciprocated. Yes, I'm sad to say Erma has a crush on another. And it appears I'm not the only one who's been jilted by Mrs. Bombeck. A group of others who were similarly cast aside have banded together to create "Erma's Leftovers."

(image: Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder. )

I need to contact these women to see if there's room in their fridge for my "victory-challenged" essay. In the meantime, I'll just leave it out here until it really starts to stink.

Lasting Memories

There are three days each year that fill me with dread and fear. The kind of days that are so bad I wish I had a fast-forward button on my calendar. Those three days are my yearly date with my OB/GYN, April 15th and School Picture Day.

Sweet faces smile up at me from the order form promising “lasting memories,” and all I want to do is choke them. Who are these kids? What school do they go to because they obviously don't go to my kids’.

You see, at their school the photographers are blind. They have to be. It's the only explanation for why, year after year, my daughter comes home with pictures only a mother could love.

Last year’s photographer was not only blind, but he must have thought my daughter was too. Why else would my adorable little girl be sent home with a school picture of Stevie Wonder? Hello! That’s a headband, not sunglasses. Push it back on top of her head where it belongs!

As if School Picture Day isn't bad enough, there's also the Night Before School Picture Day to endure. The night we spend hours picking out the perfect ensemble and bullying her curls into submission. The night the poor girl sits patiently as we diffuse her hair into big, bouncy loops. The night she smiles at her reflection and beams, "I’m so lucky. I love my curly hair!" Only to wake the next morning to find her beloved locks reduced to a frizzy, matted mess and wail, "It's not fair! I hate my curly hair!"

Desperately, I perform CPR on her lifeless curls. Spray. Spritz. Scrunch. Scrunch. Spritz. Spray. Over and over again until there's no hope left. "I'm sorry, sweetie. The damage was too extensive," I tell her as I stick a headband on top of her head. Her eyes fill with tears. I hug her and whisper, "Don't cry, sweetie. Your hair is bad enough. You don't want your eyes to be red and swollen too," which for some reason makes her cry even harder. Why is it so hard for kids to take constructive criticism these days?

Just as I’m finally getting over this trauma, my daughter leaps off the bus, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, clutching a large envelope to her chest. The familiar sound of crackling cellophane makes my stomach lurch. The proofs are in.

“Mama, I got my pictures!” she squeals, thrusting the envelope in my face. I break out in a cold sweat.

“Mama, why are you crying? My hair looks fine!”

“I’m crying because you’re not my little baby anymore,” I moan. The Kool-Aid mustache had nothing to do with it. I swear.

Note: I knew I should have gone with the reference to Lt. Geordie La Forge instead of Stevie Wonder. I bet the judges were all Trekkies.

Resolution #4: Check

Well, it's not a children's book, but I did submit something I've written. It counts. So, I can officially cross Resolution #4: Submit something I've written off my list. 

I do plan to submit other pieces, but the pressure is off. If I want I can sit on my ass for the next 11 months and still feel successful. Yeah, for absurdly simple little resolutions.

Now, when is "early spring?"

Thank you for submitting your entry in the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition sponsored by the Washington-Centerville Public Library. Your entry details are below and confirm receipt of your submission. Please keep this e-mail for your records. Winners will be posted on the Library's Web site in early spring.

Submit Date and Time: 1/21/2010 1:06:11 PM

ENTRY NUMBER: 337

Locale: Global

Country: United States

Category: Humor

Essay Title: Lasting Memories

Sorry...you'll have to wait...

I just spent the last hour working on a post only to realize that it's the perfect subject for one of the two essays I need to write for my writing class. So...the entry has been saved to my Blogger Dashboard and will be posted at the end of the next 6 weeks. Unless, of course, some brilliant editor realizes how witty it is and decides to publish it in her fabulous magazine. Then you'll have to pay to read my pearls of wisdom....or at least pick up your free copy at a McDonald's play center nearest you.

It's good to dream, right?

Oh, and how's this for another "sign". My homework assignment this week was to study some of the winning essays in the ERMA BOMBECK writing contest! I didn't even know there was such a contest.

Snakes and Erma Bombeck. Who knew?

I Heart Erma Bombeck...

The deadline to vote in my online class poll has passed. Sorry if you missed your chance. The early bird gets the worm, and all that, you know. After many hours spent counting all the votes, the final tally was 3-3.

A BIG FAT TIE! (although my IRL friends seem to think their votes count more than my shiny, new cyber friends'....ummmm, no)

Yep, all that blood, sweat and tears and it's a TIE! Big help you all turned out to be. So, that puts the decision back on my shoulders. And, after pondering long and hard, the winner is........

• That
• B
• Jersey

I know, I know. Half of you are disappointed, but let me explain why before you rip my jersey dress to shreds in Cinderella's Evil Stepsister fashion. 

You see...I heart Erma Bombeck.

Erma Bombeck, for those of you too young to remember, was a newspaper columnist and author who wrote funny stories about being a suburban wife and mother. I guess you could call her the precursor to today's "Mommy Bloggers". She didn't write as an expert on any subjects. She wrote about her regular, ordinary life.
 

I had long since forgotten about my love for Mrs. Bombeck. It wasn't until I started this blog that I remembered my junior high fascination with all things Erma. While my friends and I were secretly reading and underlining the racy passages in this...

I was also secretly nose deep in this, guffawing my way through along with the rest of the 35 year old suburban housewives who were her target audience.

Don't ask me why. I don't know HOW I discovered Erma. My mom didn't read her books; neither did my sister nor my grandmother. Yet somehow I found myself waiting impatiently for each of her new books.

Maybe her column was printed on the same newspaper page as the Daily Jumble; another one of my younger days' fascinations. Wow! I never realized what a nerd I was back then. Good thing nobody knows these deep dark secrets. Maybe it was the only book available that I could understand at the airport newsstand on one of our family vacations. Maybe it was Erma herself trying to guide me in my journey of what I should be when I grow up.

I just don't know.

I do know that I haven't thought about her in years yet she came to me in the shower this morning. I was shampooing my hair and I remembered her books. And my love for them. Just like that. Her name and her books came back to me. I smiled and rinsed my hair.  I understood. Erma had cast her vote. And it was for jersey.

Side Note: For those of you who are going to try to figure out how old I am by researching the publication dates of these books, I'll save you the trouble. On Halloween this year, I'll be 29, and not a day older!