Whenever a paycheck with my name on it arrives in the mail, I wave it in the faces of my sons, who are now 14 and 18. Sometimes I smack the 14-year-old J. over the head with the envelope because of all the members of the family, he is the most unsupportive of my freelance writing career. He is famous for asking me, "Oh, is it another imaginary check?"

It seems J. cannot fathom that what I do—staring at an LCD screen, guzzling Diet Coke whilst tapping into creativity, and scribbling down dialogue wherever I am—is in fact, a real job.

J. (walking by my office): You’re ALWAYS on Facebook.
Me: I’m not on Facebook, babe. I’m researching a topic for an article.
J.: Oh. You mean you’re doing work for that imaginary job for one of your imaginary articles for your imaginary magazines?
Me: It’s not imaginary. Just because I work on a computer from home doesn’t mean what I do is not real.
J.: Suuuuurrre, it’s real. Except it’s imaginary…(leaves quickly).

My sons and husband tell me when I’m in work mode at my laptop, a ridiculous dramatic expression appears on my face. This mode has in fact inspired a stand-up comedy act the 18-year-old L. performed recently (I bet he'll encore the performance for you in exchange for Taco Bell--but whatever you do, don't call it Taco Bell! My kids are too cool for Taco Bell! It's T. Bell! Trust me!).

His stand-up and my response go something like this:

L. (taking drag of imaginary cigarette, delivered with a kickass Deniro) I AM A WRITER. JUST LOOK AT ME...GLANCE AROUND THE ROOM AT MY LEATHER BOUND LITERATURE COLLECTION. LOOK AT THIS COMPUTER. LOOK AT MY SCOTCH (swigs imaginary scotch from imaginary highball glass).
Me (annoyed): Why? Why? Why? Why does it bother you boys so much that I sit and think and type for my job?
L.: Because it’s imaginary.

I am a petite blonde writer of parenting articles, humor essays, and other nonfiction. I have no idea why that makes me Deniro. I just know I don't deserve this crap from kids who should be cheering me on. I highly doubt Bobbie would take it. And it's gin, not scotch.


Michele has a husband, two children, a master's in counseling, and a blog at hellolovelychild.com.