L is for Lynette (aka My Clone)

If my husband is my opposite (see April 11), my mother is my clone. Or, well, I'm her clone? Something like that. Today is Friday the 13th, but I don't need to switch bodies with my mom to feel like I've walked in her shoes.

Observe:

Mom was an Air Force brat, so her parents traveled all over and instilled in her a sense of global consciousness. My father is English, and my mother was an Air Force brat. Voila global consciousness.

Her parents raised her with a love of the theatre. When she directed Fiddler on the Roof for our church group years ago, I played Tevya's youngest daughter. Turns out limelight is genetic and addictive.

Mom majored in Theatre Arts at BYU, with an emphasis in directing and a minor in English. Me, too.

When she met my dad, she left her entire family to follow him to the land of his origin (though they returned a couple years later). When I married my husband, I left my entire family to follow him to the land of his origin. Fortunately, we're close enough to visit a couple times a year.

Mom worked outside the home most of the years I was growing up. My children also have a working mother and stay-at-home father.

She eventually settled down as a legal secretary and later became a paralegal. I worked at her law firm in high school and college . . . and went to law school.

Mom reads fiction and can be relied upon to have a book at hand at all times. I read fiction and feel lost if I don't have a book nearby. Neither of us read much nonfiction outside of work.

I have my mother's hips, her struggle with weight, and my face flushes just like hers when I exercise. Speaking of her face, all that blood means that we get fewer wrinkles than the rest of you. Which is a Very Cool Thing. Mostly because I'm also her spitting image, which means I'll look just like this in a few decades:

I know. You're jealous.

Okay, side stories: When I had her wedding picture copied once, the copy shop girl completely flipped at how much we look alike. That same year, we went to Hawaii together (dad was busy, dang it) and two boys my age (23) checked us out. One of them pointed to the one next to him, then to each of us and proclaimed "Hey! Brother, brother, sister, sister!" Mom was not amused when I returned with "Mother, daughter!"

There are, of course, some differences. I'll never have Mom's neat handwriting, I struggle to be as self-sacrificing as she can be, and I'm a tad more outgoing than she ever was. You'd think, though, that we would have butted heads as I grew, and would have constantly been at daggers-drawn since we're so similar. We weren't. (Not as much as you'd think, I mean.) I give full credit for that to her generous, wise, and loving nature. (It certainly wasn't because I was an obedient, malleable child.) She gave me room to grow and the tools to become whatever I wanted.

Is it any wonder I chose to follow her?

So are you your mother's daughter? Father's son? Do you fight it or just accept the inevitable?

Mocking Children for Fun and Profit

This will come as a shock to parents, but it has to be said: children are deeply flawed. Yes, even yours. Sorry. The job of parents (as I often reiterate to my own hellions) is to try to correct these flaws before they are released into the wilds of adulthood.

When these flaws manifest, there are many ways to deal with them: 1) Screaming; 2) Yelling; 3) Time-Outs; 4) DHW unapproved physical discipline; 5) Loss of privileges; 6) Grounding; 7) Lecturing; or, my personal favorite, 8) Mocking.

Mocking has several benefits for both parent and child. The child is impressed with the utter futility and foolishness of his flawed behavior while the parent is better able to retain her hair, her vocal chords aren't torn raw by shrieking (actually, this has never happened to me--why do you ask?), and she can maintain an aura of adult superiority while still acting like the child she has always been inside.

The applications are vast.

Toddler throws full-blown-kicking-screaming-on-the-floor tantrum in PUBLIC? Don't be embarrassed: point and laugh. What an entertaining show your progeny is putting on. Accept tantrum tips from nearby parents and enjoy connecting with kindred spirits until peace reigns anew.

Five-year-old declares (for the very first time) that he HATES you? Don't feel hurt: you've passed an important milestone. While your heart swells with pride, engage in a little cathartic No-You-Don't-Yes-I-Do back-and-forth with your wee one.

Nine-year-old announces that he will NOT be doing [insert recent parental proclamation]? No need for a health-endangering rise in blood pressure: level your pint-sized prince with your best "Who's the Boss" stare, raise one eyebrow, then burst out laughing. Wait out the tantrum, then reiterate [insert recent parental proclamation]. Repeat as needed. See? All better.

As you may suspect, this method has applications for more literary babies, as well (and no one will think you're a bad parent for suggesting this method for correcting flaws in your manuscript).

Did you send out your newly-completed-and-rough-polished first draft to alpha readers only to realize (a day and a half later) that the plot is a screaming mess? It's too late to keep your darling home, so point it out and laugh. Encourage others to join in. The points your readers mock the most? Change those first. Thank them for helping focus your revision efforts.

Realize (not for the first time, alas) that you are dreadfully bad at (picking a completely random example) description? Don't fret. Accept the blank canvas that is created by all your invisible characters wandering over your white landscape, pull out your crayons, and engage in a little cathartic coloring.

Has your hero declared that he will NOT be doing [insert recently realized plot-pivotal action]? Don't toss your computer into the street. Pull out your bag of Horrible Happenings, allow a maniacal laugh to issue from your lips, and provide him with the proper motivation. Repeat as needed. See? All better.

All in all, mocking is much more entertaining than screaming. Trust me on this. You'll see that I'm right.


In completely unrelated news, I've recently "completed" my WIP to the point that I can let a few select brave souls read it. My mother, predictably, finished first (aren't mothers cool?) and (with complete objectivity) called my story "Fascinating." (Yes, I'm totally quoting her in my query letter.)

Then, last night, she spend one and a half hours explaining all the ways I'd screwed up. Most notably by including a host of nameless, faceless, personality-devoid parents for my teenage characters. Oops. She kept apologizing for being so negative and I just laughed (oh, yeah, look at me, practicing what I preach): she had so many solid ideas for making it better! Why would I be sad?

Mocking is good.

Now excuse me while I go scream at my children.... Anyone have a throat lozenge?