Lesley Crewe - Are You Kidding Me?!: Chronicles of an Ordinary Life

W hen I was about ten, I had a diary with a horrible pink cover depicting a pensive little girl sitting by a wishing well under a trellis draped in flowers. The perfect spot for writing down her thoughts, apparently. I had nothing in common with this chick. She was beautiful and thin. I was fat and homely. And I only wrote in my diary while draped over my unmade bed, on my dirty bedroom rug, or in the bathtub to get away from my pesky little sister.

But it was filled with my day-to-day observations. Ernie S. is such a fink! Went home with Pam for lunch. Her mother wasnt there. She made her own sandwich. It was lonely.

Jotting things down has always been my way of making sense of the world. I would write letters home, helped compose our summer newspaper, The Round Island Mackerel, and was offered the chance to write a column, Home Fires, for The Cape Bretoner Magazine twenty years ago.

What should I write? was my first question.

Its up to you.

They shouldnt have said that, because Ill always make it about myself. Or about my family, which embarrasses them to no end. Then I wrote some columns for the short-lived magazine Cahoots, which eventually led to my writing for The Chronicle Herald, first under the heading Family Matters, and eventually, Are You Kidding Me?

The writing itself spans almost two decades, but it describes forty years of bringing up a family and all the joy and horror that entails. I have a story about breastfeeding. Do you know how long ago that was? Can I even remember it? Well, yes, I can, because I wrote it down for some strange reason, just so today my grown children can make faces and say, Eww.

What I never expected was the love that comes with this gig. People write to me all the time about how we must be soulmates because Ive just said what they were thinking or feeling or doing or planning. When you write about ordinary things, people understand you. They are living ordinary lives too, and those lives are made up of the same ingredients. It feels not quite so lonely to know that other people are struggling out there.

And the bottom line is, people like to laugh.

It was on my last book tour that I noticed the increasing amount of interest in my columns, mostly from middle-aged women who were dying to meet hubby! And believe me, hubby was tickled pink. We all had to talk about the columns before we got into my latest book, so that was the germ of the idea for putting these offerings under one roof.

The funny part about this is that people feel they know me. And why wouldnt they? All I do is tell them what I think, how I feel, what bugs me, what I love, and what I cant stand. But there is always a fine line between bringing something up and giving it all away. I think the reason people put up with me is that I dont profess to know anything about anything. I have a much easier time putting myself down than patting myself on the back, and thats something else we all recognize. We are so hard on ourselves. We need a collective break.

One thing that writing a weekly column has taught me is that a week goes by really, really fast. I often have to scramble for a topic. Ive got one! Deadlines and Anxiety Medication: A Perfect Match.

Fifty-four years later, my horrible pink diary has turned into a fabulous pink book, with the cover designed by my very own baby girl, Sarah, which makes me weep when no one is looking. These silly jottings over the years have turned into the story of my life. Its not a grand or fabulous life, but its an honest and difficult and blessed one, thanks to my wonderful hubby and my amazing kids. They are and always will be my inspiration for everything. Thank heavens. Can you imagine if I had to pay them?

The Kids

I cant help itIm your mom.