A Perfect Post. ACK! ACK! ACK!

Did I ever mention how much I love an award?

I think I did.

Yup. I did. Here it is where I mention my deep affection for awards.

Sure, I also go on and on about how the last time I got an award I was wearing a plaid uniform and standing before the Catholic Daughters reading my winning essay “Why God Doesn’t Want Me To Be An Altar Girl”. We were a little slow on Vatican II back in my hometown.

Anyway, if there’s nothing I like more than getting awards, it’s giving awards. I could give an award once a day. I think everyone should get an award for something or other. And to those who say, “Giving out awards for every burp and sniff only cheapens awards altogether and makes them meaningless” I can only reply with a hearty and heartfelt “Here! Here’s your award for being The Biggest Killjoy Downer Poopy Head! Enjoy it! Or don’t! Congratulations!”

Now this particular award I’m handing out today is for The Perfect Post, meaning a post on a blog. It’s sponsored by Petroville , and I’d like to first hand them an award for “Most Headscratching Blog Name”. Petroville? I’m not sure what it means, but I think it’s one of those smells you either love or hate. And I love it. Runners-up, of course, go to Finslippy and my sister’s Almost Quintessence , both of which keep me awake at night trying to untangle the puzzle of their monikers. These blog names are like so many copies of Da Vinci Code wrapped around a Rubik’s Cube inserted into a childproof bottle full of tangram shapes and then locked in my powder room. Because once that door gets locked, there’s no getting back in unless you remove the door from the hinges. What I can’t figure is that the door doesn’t even have a lock. And yet it does lock.

So, The Perfect Post.

My Perfect Post for May is being awarded to the lovely and talented Ms. Julie of The Ravin’ Picture Maven for her post What scares me? Jokes and science experiments


Now, what do I look for in a Perfect Post, you might ask.

Honestly, I don’t know.

I mean, I'm handing out my very first Perfect Post award, and I have no set criteria. I sort of based this month’s choice on a mood and a moment and my serious appreciation of a splendid use of interjections in the awarded post. Like so:

“ACK! ACK! ACK!”

One ACK! is so obviously not enough. Two ACK!’s, now that’s good. That first ACK! catches you, but it happens so quickly that you just need to hear it again, hear the exploding then stopped-up disgust of it all. And, normally, you’d think “Whew! Two ACK!’s I can end right here and feel as if I’ve really had an encounter in this post. Those ACK!’s are going to stick with me till dinner time. Now that’s writing!”

But, hold up. Hold the phone.

Who in their right mind would add -you know what I’m going to say, and you still can’t believe it, I know - who but the most crazy and foolhardy of writers would dare mess with perfection and add on, yes, a third “ACK!”, throwing caution and convention to the wind in four quick strokes of the keyboard. It’s too much. Too much bravado. Too much of a good thing. Too much flashy flaunting of the rules and elements of style and don’t we all know it.

Or…or do we?

Yeah, Julie’s crazy alright.

Crazy like a fox.

“ACK! ACK! ACK!”

Hemingway never did it better. Hemingway in “For Whom The Bell Tolls” with his lazy two “ACK!”s in chapter four, and then in the final chapter he goes all Faulkner with four “ACK!s”, and really that’s where he lost me as a reader.


Okay…let me get all seriously here for a moment.

Seriously. You gotta go read Julie’s post.

It’s a perfect recap of one of those parenting days we’ve all had. Maybe not specifically the princess-in-the-toilet part, but here, this part:

The elder says, "It's a science essperiment, Mom! What will happen when you flush a barbie in the potty! And it's a joke cuz it's SO FUNNY!" More shrieking laughter.

My hand is somewhere over my eyes as my brain endeavors to process What Is Happening Here.

The children get quiet. Uh oh. No laughing mom. They wait, will Screaming Banshee mom emerge, or the scarier version: Very Quietly Furious Mom?

Quietly Furious Mom emerges. The truth is, this is Incident #12 of the day. Mom has no more energy for mad.

You know that feeling, right? You know what Julie's saying:

If the princess got dipped in the toilet at 10AM, if this were the first incident of the day, Mommy might suppress a giggle, maybe need to put on her “stern mommy” face so as not to let on just how fascinating it actually is to watch a doll spinning in a toilet. Sort of the thing you might pay money to see at MoMA or on late-night cable TV.

But, when it’s been one of those days?

You know, one of THOSE days. One of those days that started with your kids cracking 12 eggs to make an omelet and moved headlong into doggy haircuts and then sister haircuts and then measuring the perimeter of the house with a roll of paper towels and it’s still only 10AM….

Then, after all that, you are called in to witness the princess spinning in the toilet and it’s like staring into the parenting equivalent of The Eye of Sauron. You feel your soul (and possibly your college degree) being sucked-out right through your own pupils.

And the only thing that might possibly save you, the only thing that makes it even a little bit better, gets you through to another day…oh hell, the next “parenting moment“…is the knowledge that you can tell someone about it (someone beside the hearing-impaired parent).

You can blog about it.

And someone will hear you and answer. Someone out there. Another parent will read along with you, nodding her head in agreement, knowing that she too has stared into the abyss and has felt the utter aloneness of a spinning-toilet-princesses or a 12-egg omelet.

And that other parent will reach out her hand (or his hand, let‘s be fair) and pull you back from utter despair (and morning martini number three) with those five healing words of salvation through supreme empathy:

“Me too, sister. Me, too.”

So go read the Ravin’ Picture Maven. Read her Perfect Post and read some more. She currently has up a knee-slapper about eating at Denny’s.

And don’t forget to give her a hearty high-five and, of course, a “Me too, sister”.

Because we all have a long day ahead of us.

ACK! ACK! ACK!

Enjoy your award!

And thank you for telling it like it is.

10 comments:

tiff said...

Ah yes - the things they don't tell you before you become a parent. Like, how sometimes you really DO feel like just getting on the next bus outta Dodge, to anywhere, as long as it's not home...

Preach it!

Suburban Turmoil said...

You are brilliant. This is, like, the best Perfect Post Award post EVER!

MommaK said...

Wow! I came over ot thank you for being a part of the PPA's and you are giving me an award. Wow. I really need an award. Seriously, I don't get any. Could you make me a button that says something cool? I'm not kidding. If you do, I'll tell you what it means ;-)

Thank you - and the headscratcher's locked door academy.

Julie Pippert said...

Oh thank you! thank you! thank you!

An award from you?

It's like Uta Hagen calling Frieda Milhausen's Nora sheer brilliance.

Seriously here. Thanks. I will be utterly full of myself for at least the time between putting the children to bed and them waking and telling me how very little I am. ;)

I not only got an award, but an entire Haluski entry, well, a good portion of one anyway, about ME!

This was a freaking hilarious entry, for the record.

And also for the record...thanks.

:)

sunshine scribe said...

Your awrd post deserves a perfect post award girl!!

Her Bad Mother said...

Whatever it is, "you can blog about it."

Exactly.

lildb said...

if the great Halushki bids it done, it must be done. so off I go to read, 'cause I'm obedient like that.


your humble servant,
lildb

Jenny said...

ACK! You're cracking me up.

toyfoto said...

Ack! That was good. ... And as a former Altar Girl who fought for years to get on the altar (Our town was slow in recognizing Vatican II, also) so I could do all the menial tasks like setting up and cleaning up. ... And eventully giving up. ... I'd love to read your essay.

T. said...

A triple Ack from me too!

Brilliant, dear, just brilliant!

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