My daughter Violet was looking at some portraits of me. My friend Nina Rich took them eight years ago for my editor's page at ym. At the time, Violet was gestating in my uterus. I always hate being photographed, but especially when I have morning sickness. I had had my hair and makeup done, and Nina is a good photographer, so they turned out pretty well. V was fascinated by the box of contact sheets. "Mommy," she said. "You look so pretty here. It doesn't even look like you!" Every time I think of that, I just laugh and laugh.
Here's another story, not as funny. The subject of writers had come up. "Daddy's a writer," said Violet. "Yes, and so is Mommy," I reminded her. Silence, and a skeptical look. Had she seen me writing? No. She had seen me doing laundry and making dinner and sweeping the floor. "You used to be a writer," she said, and went back to reading her Ramona book. She's right. I used to be a writer.