Last week one of the ladies in my book club wondered out loud when one of us would start writing a book about being a military wife. Which was funny because I've been writing mine in my head for the last decade. So far, though, the book has not made it out of my head, because every time I try to put the stories on paper, I realize that I have to change a lot more than just the names so that no one will recognize themselves in my book and then sue me. But my fictionalized version is never as funny, or as interesting, or as moving, or as just plain real as my real life; and I figure if the book sounds boring to me, it's definitely not going to be gripping reading for anyone else.
So I've decided to satisfy myself with writing down the real story instead. Because I swear I can NOT make stuff up that is anywhere near as crazy as what actually happens to me. Case in point: two days ago at the dinner table, my kids were discussing what would happen if their favorite foods rained down from the sky. Grant asked Lauryn what her favorite food was, and she replied, "I'll give you a hint...before you eat it, you dance around the kitchen with it on your head." Grant's response? "Oh, yeah, that's right. You like pineapples. I forgot."
Yes, my six year old daughter believes that dancing around the kitchen with a pineapple on your head is not only a perfectly normal thing to do, but in fact a prerequisite to the consumption of fruit. Welcome to my world. Buckle up.
