Melanie Gideon’s hilarious memoir is a disarmingly honest take on marriage and motherhood by a woman who realized she was sleepwalking through life and decided she needed to do something about it.
The Slippery Year chronicles her struggle to rediscover meaning and pleasure in life while navigating the comical ups and downs of cohabiting with a husband, a child, and a dog: mattress wars with her snoring mate, the psychological minefield of the school carpool line, and sending her son to sleep-away camp for the first time. Gideon manages to be laugh-out-loud funny while also reflecting beautifully and movingly on her quest to appreciate what she has.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: The Slippery Year|
|Release Date: 08-04-2009|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||The Slippery Year|
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The Slippery Year
Whenever my husband casually says, “Hey, hon, come take a look at this Web site,” I know it’s going to cost me. All of our largest purchases have been preceded by my being summoned to his computer in this manner. So when he says this a few weeks before his birthday, I knew it’s really going to cost me, and I don’t mean just financially.
“Check this out,” he says, pointing. “Isn’t it cool?”
I glance at the Ford E-350 on his screen. It looks like the sort of vehicle that shuttles retirees to the local mall. “Kind of,” I reply.
He frowns and says, “It’s not just any old van. It’s a camper. It would be perfect for us. You said you wanted to see the West.”
I do want to see the West, in theory anyway. In fact, seeing the West was one of the reasons we moved with our nine-year-old son, Ben, to California. But travel takes so much planning, and as I’ve gotten older I’m increasingly less willing to tolerate discomfort: the crowds, the traffic, everybody trying to reach the same place at the same time.
His fingers pound at the keyboard. “It’s got captain’s seats.”
“What’s a captain’s seat?”
“That means it’s very, very comfortable.”
“Nice,” I say, getting back to my book.
Ten minutes later, he says, “I’m going to get one for us.”
“Us?” I say.
“Yes, us—you know, you and me?”
The subtext being: Aren’t you lucky you married a man who wants to buy a family van as his midlife-crisis vehic...