On Grace by Susie Orman Schnall Page B

tween-y if you know what I mean,” she says, buttoning up her pale yellow cashmere cardigan. It’s eighty-one degrees outside.
    I don’t know what she means, but I decide not to engage.
    “So, Grace, as you know, I’m chairing the winter book fair this year, and I thought you would be interested in taking on a leadership role now that you have all this time on your hands.”
    I didn’t. I’m not. I hopefully won’t.
    “ I think you would be just perfect as the third-grade class chair! It’s not too much work, just weekly meetings, frequent communication with the third-grade parents, and then working the three full days that we have the book fair in the gym, plus setup the day before and breakdown the day after,” she says, leaning into me as if we’re on the same team.
    Act with grace.
    “Oh, Lorna, it’s so nice of you to think of me, but I’m so sorry. I’m not going to be able to.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yes, I’m flattered you asked, but I’m actually going back to work part time, and I just wouldn’t be able to give the book fair the time it requires or deserves. I’m so sorry.” Victory!
    “You’re working? That’s great, Grace,” she says, pinching her lips. “What do you do?”
    “It’s not confirmed yet, so I’d rather not say, but it’s a writing job. I’ll let you know just as soon as it’s all straightened out,” I tell her, as I crane my neck to see if the bus is coming.
    “You know, I’m a writer, too. I’ve written a darling children’s book. Someday I’m going to have it published. Harvey is friends with a fellow from one of the big publishing houses in the city, and he says it won’t be a problem at all.”
    “That’s great, Lorna. Good luck with that,” I say kindly as the bus pulls up. “I’d love to read it someday.”
    “Oh, that’s nice of you, Grace. But I’m keeping it secret until it’s published.”
    You do that.
    “Hey, boys,” I say to Henry and James, and we walk across the grass into our home.
    “Hooray, woo hoo, it’s Friday!” Henry shouts. “Screens!”
    “Screens!” James shouts along.
    Darren and I decided that we needed to limit our kids’ screen time (computer, Nintendo DS, TV) or we’d end up with those kids they refer to on the news when they announce the latest obesity statistics and how it’s all related to kids spending more time in front of screens rather than outside in the great outdoors—where they can be abducted. So we decided that the kids can only use screens from Friday afternoon when they got home from school to Sunday evening. Yes, I let them watch TV once in a while on weekdays when I have to get dinner ready or something like that. But they know the rules and don’t push me too hard for TV time during the week. Come Friday afternoon, though, and it’s a mad rush for the screens.
    Next thing I know, the two boys are sitting on the family room floor side by side, backs against the wall, staring at their screens while their little fingers move nimbly on the arrow keys. Whenever I see them in a “brotherly love pose,” as I like to call it, I get a whoosh in my stomach—a feeling of contentment. That I’m doing okay at this mom thing.
    With the boys happily engaged in mind-numbing entertainment, I start working on dinner. As I assemble the ingredients for burgers, salad, and oven-baked potato wedges, I think about Lorna’s offer. Not from the standpoint of even considering accepting it, but more because of what it represents in the mom world.
    As I chop lettuce, I fantasize about the stay-at-home moms going on strike. Picketing all the school book fairs, hospital benefits, and canned-food drives that, if it weren’t for their unpaid labor, would never happen.
     
    “Movie night,” Darren belts out as he walks in from the garage.
    “Yay!” the boys shout in unison as they drop their DSs and run to give Darren a hug.
    Every Friday night after dinner, we all change into our pajamas and cuddle on the couch to watch