Hey Nonny

Allison lives in 400 square feet in NYC with her husband, Noah. She enjoys traveling, finding furniture on the street and any gift purchased with a Groupon. Her most notable achievements are a letter to the editor published in USA Today in grade 2, a state penmanship award in grade 4 (she peaked early), and marrying up. Way up. She blogs, at no discernible interval, at reallytherileys.blogspot.com.

I’m not a mother yet. But I’m already gathering the mental reserves to raise our Allison. Because I’m going to get an Allison. It’s only fair that I have to raise an Allison.

Oh, but our Allison. While she will throw illogical tantrums over the way grandpa peels an orange or go postal when you can’t guess in which cup she wanted her milk served, she will undoubtedly serve as a source of humor and levity in our lives.

I offer you, dear reader, a few examples of the way her little mind is going to process things. I know this because I’m her. And I so get it. These are examples I swore I would take to my grave. And in a classic example of not knowing my audience, I’m sharing these stories with veritable strangers. Hopefully Allison will find a copy someday and take some comfort in my words.

We moved when I was six. My last day at Marlon Hills Elementary School was punctuated with a movie (Beethoven. Awesome.) and a slumber party at my best friend’s house. Somewhere in the course of the evening, I spotted a small package of fudge on a counter in their basement. While prone to tantrums, I wasn’t particularly prone to mischief. But I could taste its chocolately goodness and in a moment of weakness, I slipped it into my LA Gear overnight bag and played it cool. I got home the next day and stole away to a quiet corner, ready to sample the fruits of my opposite-of-labor. I unwrapped the package and sunk my teeth into… clay? What the what? I can’t imagine the conversations going down at the Byrne home when what was surely an art assignment for an older sibling went missing. All I knew was I was holding a smoking gun and I needed to do something with it. And fast. So I did what seemed the only rational thing to do. I sculpted three little women, modeled after the first grade teachers at the new school I’d begin attending the following week, and presented them to my new teachers upon my arrival. Naturally.

So if she ever sculpts clay figurines with as-yet-unknown educators as her muses, forgive me if I leap to the conclusion she has a sweet tooth and a guilty conscience. This guilt will follow her for the next 20 years until she finally confesses on a blog, so I’ll probably just let her work that one out on her own.

Fast forward five years and the unusual brightness I exhibited as a young child has developed into full-fledged nerdiness. That’s fine for future scholarship prospects, but not so fine for crushes amounting to much. In 5^th grade, the boys aren’t so much scanning the classroom for earning potential. I’d made peace with the fact my crush, let’s call him Brad (because that’s his name), and I weren’t going to be sitting in any trees K-I-S-S-I-N-G. But I would settle for a photo. And that’s how the 5^th grade newsletter was born. I reported on the Fun Walk, the Weber State football players assembly, and other 5^th grade goings-on. The newsletter also included, oh-wouldn’t-you-know-it, a spotlight feature on two classmates, accompanied by their photo.

You guys. Are you hearing this? I researched, wrote, edited, photographed, designed and published nine issues of that ridiculous 5^th grade newsletter for an excuse to take one picture of the boy of my dreams. By spring, I was so sick of that #@*% newsletter, but I soldiered on.

So when Allison uses her nerdy wiles to develop some extravagant after-school project, I will recognize it for what it is – salve for a desiring heart. She’s definitely going to finish all nine issues of whatever it is she thinks up, because why not also learn follow-through in the process? But I’ll keep a knowing eye for whomever is featured first in photos.