My mom makes books.
My kids' teachers are asking them what their parents do for work.
My son (he's 3) said, “My dad goes to work and my mom drives the car.” I laughed when his teacher told me. “That’s fair,” I said, thinking back to how it's mostly me at pick up and drop off. He mostly sees that of me, I suppose, though he does see me engaging in writing work too. It’s probably not as memorable.
My daughter’s response is on the post-it:
My mom makes books.
For Christmas last year, my daughter made me a book. She said she knows I like books as a “book maker” and so she knew I would love it if somebody made a book for me.
She was right. The book she made for me is now one of my favorite possessions, and one of the best gifts I’ve received.
As a mother, I’ve always wanted to make my kids proud. I want them to feel like they can follow their dreams, like they can make good things happen for themselves, like they can live the life they truly want.
I don’t know if my daughter will always feel this way, but for now, I’m grateful that she appreciates my love of making books, and that it has inspired her to tell her own stories and make her own books.
