Glumps galore

So Seth and I had  our big date last night. I managed to get the kids out the door after they refused any attempt at dinner. I drove downtown--in rush hour--and completely panicked in traffic. My husband walked straight past us, and I left a somewhat hysterical message on his cell phone as he ran out for a quick bite. I parked in an expensive garage, convinced I'd otherwise be sitting at the same intersection until the spring thaw had melted back into next winter.

Not a good start to the evening.

We were going to a party, I'd told Seth. For Shel Silverstein. His favorite poet. At least, I'm telling him it's his favorite poet, and he does seem to love Don't Bump the Glump, the cause of all the fuss. It's Silverstein's first book of poetry, issued in 1964 and recently revived by HarperCollins for its perennially fresh, funny take on made-up monsters. I was stoked, and Seth wanted cake, since all parties must have cake, right? (I tried to downplay this part, I really did.)

Little sister stayed at now-grumpy Daddy's office and mooched Thai food while the Sethster and I headed over to the Big Library With the Gargoyles in the heart of Chicago's Loop. We went up a shiny brass elevator with a uniformed operator to an enormous, marble-tiled expanse overlooking the city, the kind you usually see in museums or as sets in movies about industry titans who are up to No Good, where we got our name tags.

This was the highlight of Seth's evening. He was stunned the smiley lady knew he'd be there and had a printed name tag--when even he hadn't known himself until just hours earlier! Except for the thousand times I'd reminded him, of course. He stuck his name sticker on and beamed.

Mr. Wriggly Happy Pants was also amazed at the coat racks, which held actual people's coats, and not all of them ours. We filed into another breathtaking architectural space, with soaring ceilings and crown moldings as big as me and a sweet view south as the last streaks of sun burnished skyscraper windows.

But the swanky decor screamed "grown ups!" and I almost gasped at my total dunderheadedness. This was a book launch party, not a kid's event! D'oh. The "refreshments" were of the tuna tartare variety, and not from the sticky, fried or frosting-coated end of the food pyramid. Seth was visibly devastated.

I downed two champagne cocktails and an entire school of tuna, while Seth moaned he was starving and refused to touch even the carrots neatly tucked into shot glasses with microscopic dabs of ranch dressing.

Most of the other name tags said Chicago Public Library Foundation on them, and they wore actual grown-up Affluent Supporter of Good Causes clothes rather than my wardrobe choice of my best "fat" corduroys and comfy clogs.

But I did get to meet the fabulous Elyse Marshall of HarperCollins, who set up this ultra-classy event, and I thanked her for all she's done for us bloggers. I also swore--and this time I really meant it--that I'd get better about emailing her links to my reviews.

We watched three teenagers from a youth theatre troupe perform "The Giving Tree" and several poems from "Don't Bump the Glump," and Seth was rapt. Thank God! We skipped out after that, into the cool, drizzly night and back to Daddy's office and then home to a full refrigerator (after plenty of stern we warned yous to our famished offspring). The hubby downloaded my few photos of the event, only to discover he'd forgotten to change a manual setting on the camera and I didn't know to check and the pictures are all of the same black, amorphous blotch. Ah well.

Today Seth tucked the book into his backpack for sharing time. He's still all wriggly about it too.

Comments

[brettdl]

Fortunately, I had bought some white-chocolate covered pretzels for the kids to devour before we headed home.

[Susan T.]

Yay for Seth and his adventurous spirit! Jr. would have been thrilled with the amazing coat racks, too.

The building sounds grand!