Our First Giveaway Ever

These are exciting times, folks. Not only is this our very first giveaway, but it’s for a very amazing local author!

As you may have heard, Heather Armstrong of Dooce.com will be at TKE on April 15th for her new book, It Sucked and Then I Cried. She was here last year for her first book, Things I Learned about My Dad (In Therapy) and if you missed it, let me just say that It. Was. Fantastic.

So, in honor of Heather and the event, we are giving away three (count ’em!) advance reading copies of It Sucked and Then I Cried. The three winners will not only get the book, but will have front-row seats reserved for them at the event.

So, without further ado, here are the rules for Our First Giveaway Ever:

  1. Tell us your favorite mom story in the comments — it can be about you, your mom, your grandma, your friend’s mom, funny, touching; as long as it’s about a mom, you’re entered!
  2. An impartial TKE staff member will then select three stories from the comments, completely at random.
  3. Duplicate entries will be discarded — one entry per person only.
  4. Winners will be awarded their books at the event — you must be present to win.
  5. Winners will be notified by email, so make sure you fill out the comments form completely!
  6. Winners will be announced on Monday, April 14.

Ready? Set…. go!

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3 Responses to Our First Giveaway Ever

  1. Maile Keone says:

    As my grandmother aged, she became less and less able to cook edible food. I went to college close to where she lived, so I got to see her often. As a survival technique I’d pack extra food in my backpack to make sure I didn’t starve during my visits. My sisters, mom and I would all pretend to eat, taking turns distracting her to assist in the charade, and then surreptitiously disposing of the offending food. We would have contests to figure out who could do it without getting caught. Often their dog became a favorite method, but plants, sudden trips outside and even stuffing items into clothing at the table were common.

    The prime example of why we resorted to this behavior was when Grandma was cooking us some fried chicken. She asked me to go to the cupboard, get the Shake and Bake and coat some of the chicken. When I opened the box I noticed the inside plastic bag was rolled down. “She’s already used this once, she’s frugal and saving money” I thought.

    But when I poured out the mix, and out came a soft greenish brown chicken wing with it, I almost lost it right there on her ancient linoleum floor. The “Chicken Wing” incident has become family lore. Although my grandma has passed away we still get a chuckle out of it from time to time.

  2. Dana says:

    I’ve always liked my name. It’s short, sweet and not too girly. Dana…it just always seemed to fit. I knew it meant “from Denmark” (something I’d looked up via Google) a meaning that meant nothing for my family, being of English descent. So, I had no idea why my mom had chosen it, until a few days ago, when she related the story.

    When she was a little girl my mom visited Dana Point, California. A small seaside city that has been called “the only romantic place in California” and is a popular surfing destination. The cerulean water and soft sands left an impression on my mom (an ocean lover through and through) as did the memory of the city’s founder, Richard Henry Dana, who wrote “Two Years Before The Mast”, one of my mom’s favorite books. Up until two weeks before my birth the name Vanessa had been queued up for me, but my mom had a change of heart upon remembering the time she spent in Dana Point, and thus Dana was born.

    Now, that sounds like a nice story behind a name, but the name Dana has taken a step further in my life and what has given it meaning is the fact that I am currently studying to be a writer, and for some reason my writing tends to feature sandy beaches and ocean waves. I think that’s pretty amazing, given that I had no idea why I was given my name until Tuesday of this week.

    I guess my mom had my fate set out for me when she named me Dana, after Dana Point, a small beach city with a writerly past.

  3. Sue says:

    I didn’t want to be a mom. As a college-educated twenty-something, I had an overly-developed sense of making my own way and my independence was the primary focus in my life. I had carved my niche as a career woman with some unusual pastimes, working in a profession which did not pay a lot but nevertheless a skill set which was not easily replicated. I took on every day with my own interests and goals at the forefront. Raising a child just simply didn’t fit within those interests and those rigidly defined parameters. When the doctor told me I was pregnant, every fiber in my being started to rebel… how in God’s name am I going to do this? What is going to happen to the life I’ve so very carefully crafted out for myself? I don’t want this responsibility! And over the next nine months as this person I didn’t know or thought I didn’t want to know grew inside me, I fought this internal battle and tried to reconcile my looming future to the vision of my life I was so rapidly losing.

    I have launched 20 years into the future now, and when I write the words above, I simply cannot recognize myself. This personal change, this mindshift began when my daughter was born, displaying a set of perfectly shaped little fingers and toes and a nose that when it wrinkled, looked just like mine. Learning how to care for an infant, a task at which I felt I was quite incompetent, I discovered she wasn’t nearly the trouble that I’d built up in my mind; as a baby she rarely cried, and when I toted her around in a baby sling on my back, she had a curious way of observing everything around her and something in her eyes already talked to me in the language of kindred spirits. As I listened to my toddler sing by herself as she played, as I watched her grade school presentations, as I helped her with math homework and comforted her tears, to my surprise, I discovered I had become quite well-suited to the role of a mother and that my focus on myself had retreated quite placidly to the backburner, exactly where it belonged. Little by little, without my knowledge, she had deftly accomplished this worming herself into my soul that has continued unabated to this day.

    It is a curious thing to be a mother; to see this person that you have created unfold and blossom into adulthood. What will your child turn out to be? What kind of person will they become? My daughter is quite different than I am in so many ways, but those differences are profoundly interesting and at the same time I am also constantly amazed at the strength of our genetics; she a writer, me a visual designer, but the creative spark runs through our blood. We are not just mother and daughter, but close friends as well; political discussions, religion, current news and our day-to-day lives are daily subjects for conversation. We talk constantly via text message or Facebook or whatever means available to us, but we are constant contact. I know that sometimes she gets tired of me asking her to text me when she gets home so I know she arrived safely, but… that’s just the mom in me – the unwanted role that was so hard to reconcile and caused me so much anguish 20 years ago, but today is now as normal, and as necessary, as breathing.

    I’m deeply grateful I let life take me on a ride I didn’t expect. I would not have it any other way.

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