Last week I had the following conversation with one of my 10 year old boys.
Him: Hey, Mom. I think I’m going to write about an author who wrote a Dust Bowl novel for my Oklahoma state report.
Me: Oh, buddy! You’re going to write about A Cup of Dust?
Him: Well, no. I’m going to write about Steinbeck.
Me: But…I’m your mother!
Him: Steinbeck’s more famous.
Me: Yowch! Betrayed! By my own child!
Him: Sorry. He’s just a bigger name for my report.
Now, for my kids, having a mom who writes books is normal. It’s no more exciting than having a mom who teaches or manages an office or is a nurse. In fact, they (rightfully) think moms who have those jobs are amazing!
Having a mom who writes?
It’s just regular for them.
You know what? I’m cool with that. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I’m glad that they see my job as — well — just a job.
Besides, my boy is right. Steinbeck is more famous. He’s a bigger name. He won all kinds of awards and pretty much owned the bestseller lists in his day. He made bank from royalties and translations and movie deals.
I’m not as famous as Steinbeck.
And that’s all right by me.
Because I’m who I was created to be doing the work I’ve been given to do. I’m not John Steinbeck. I’m Susie Finkbeiner.
I’m a wife. A mom. A novelist. In that order.
But more than that, I’m a child of God.