YEAR OF YES EBOOK

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Year of Yes: How to Dance It Out, Stand In the Sun and Be Your Own Person by Shonda Rhimes. Read online, or download in secure EPUB format. Thank you for downloading this Simon & Schuster eBook. Join our mailing list and get May every year be a Year of Yes. May you inherit a future that no longer. Year of Yes. How to Dance It Out, Stand In the Sun and Be Your Own Person. By Shonda Rhimes. Trade Paperback. Hardcover eBook Unabridged Audio.


Year Of Yes Ebook

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Read "Year of Yes How to Dance It Out, Stand In the Sun and Be Your Own Person" by Shonda Rhimes available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5. Editorial Reviews. sidjudendelstead.tk Review. An site Best Book of November I usually site Store · site eBooks · Biographies & Memoirs. Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes - The mega-talented creator of Grey's Anatomy and Scandal and executive producer of How to Get Away With Murder chronicles .

She has ruled our family holidays with flawless perfection. Food always delicious, flowers always fresh, colors coordinated. Everything perfect. Last year, my mother announced that she was tired of doing all the work. Yes, she made it look effortless—that did not mean it was effortless. So, still reigning supreme, my mother declared she was abdicating her throne. This has made my sister intense and dangerous.

There is no time. Hungry family and friends will bear down on us in less than three hours. We have not even reached the turkey-basting segment of the cooking process.

So unless my sister can kill me, cook me and serve me with stuffing, gravy and cranberry sauce, I am not getting her full attention right now. I am the youngest. Twelve years separate us; that age gap is filled by our brothers and sisters—Elnora, James, Tony and Sandie.

After all, Delorse was heading off to college as I was entering kindergarten. I have vague childhood memories of her—Delorse cornrowing my hair way too tightly, giving me a braid headache; Delorse teaching my older brothers and sisters how to do a brand-new dance called The Bump; Delorse walking down the aisle at her wedding, my sister Sandie and me behind her holding up the train of her gown, our father at her side.

As a child, she was the role model of the kind of woman I was supposed to grow up to be. Most of the important memories of my grown-up life include her. So I suppose it is fitting that she is here now, muttering these words at me. And this moment is important. Not right now. She got up before dawn to call and remind me to take the twenty-one-pound turkey out of the refrigerator to settle.

Then she drove the four blocks from her house to mine in order to do all the cooking for our big family dinner. Chopping, stirring, seasoning. And I have been watching her. Also, I have my three-month-old daughter strapped to my chest in a baby sling and my one-and-a-half-year-old daughter on my hip. My sister and I. Catching up on all the things we have missed since, well.

I have a lot to tell her. I list ten or eleven invitations I received. I tell her about all of them in detail. I will admit to you right now that I toss in a few extra juicy bits, spin a few tales, lay some track. I want her to be impressed. Look, I was raised in a great family. My parents and siblings have many wonderful qualities. They are universally pretty and smart. And like I said, they all look like fetuses. But the members of my immediate family all share one hugely disgusting criminal flaw.

They do not give a crap about my job. At all. Not a one. They are frankly disturbed that anyone would be impressed by me. For any reason. People behaving toward me as though I might be vaguely interesting bewilders them deeply. They stare at one another, baffled, whenever someone treats me as anything other than what they know me to be—their deeply dorky, overly verbal, baby sister. Hollywood is a bizarre place. Are you sure? No wait, really, Shonda? And yet. They love me. In the moment, my sister keeping her head down?

In the moment, my sister keeping her head down feels purposeful. I have to defend myself. How do I defend myself? What do I— At that exact moment and this is so fortuitous I decide the universe loves me , Beckett, the sunny three-month-old baby strapped to my chest, decides to spit up a geyser of milk that runs down the front of my shirt in a creepy warm waterfall.

Take in the mess in my arms. And I have my defense. I have babies!! And Harper! I have a tween! Tweens are delicate flowers! I have children to take care of! Speaking of taking care of stuff. I also have to take care of a little something called Thursday nights.

Year of Yes

I do a victory shimmy across the kitchen and point at her. Two jobs! Three children and two jobs! I am a mother! I run shows!

I feel totally triumphant. A mother, damn it. I have children. THREE children. I have more than six hundred crew members depending on me for work. I am bringing home the bacon AND frying it up in the pan. No one can argue with that. But I forgot that this is Delorse.

Delorse can argue with anyone. Delorse puts down her knife. She actually stops cooking and puts down her knife.

Then she raises her head to look up at me. Late fifties. Her sons are grown men with degrees and careers. She has grandchildren. And yet I am often asked if my fifty-seven-year-old sister is my child.

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The horror of it is sometimes too much. So when she raises her head to look at me, she looks more like a saucy fourteen-year-old than she does my eldest sibling.

Her saucy-fourteen-year-old face eyes me. You and I both know it. Trying to appropriate that term as if I am a struggling mom doing my best to put food on the table makes me an ass.

I know it. You know it. And unfortunately? Delorse also knows it. I need to put an end to the conversation. I raise an eyebrow and make my bossy face. The one I make at the office when I need everyone to stop arguing with me. My sister does not give a crap about my bossy face.

But she picks up her knife again, goes back to chopping. The horror of it is sometimes too much. So when she raises her head to look at me, she looks more like a saucy fourteen-year-old than she does my eldest sibling.

Her saucy-fourteen-year-old face eyes me. You and I both know it. Trying to appropriate that term as if I am a struggling mom doing my best to put food on the table makes me an ass.

I know it. You know it. And unfortunately? Delorse also knows it. I need to put an end to the conversation. I raise an eyebrow and make my bossy face.

The one I make at the office when I need everyone to stop arguing with me. My sister does not give a crap about my bossy face. But she picks up her knife again, goes back to chopping. So I wash celery.

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Which is why I am not prepared. I turn. Hand her the wet, clean celery. I live four blocks away.

Year of Yes

Sandie lives four blocks away. Your parents live forty minutes away and would love to stay with the kids.

You have literally the best nanny in the world. You have three amazing best friends who would step in and help at any time. You are surrounded by family and friends who love you, people who want you to be happy.

You are your own boss—your job is only as busy as you make it. But you never do anything but work. You never have any fun. You used to have so much fun. For some reason, I do not like this. My life is fine. My life is great. I mean, look around! Kind of. Mind your own business, Delorse. You are annoying, Delorse. You know what, Delorse?

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You smell like poop. Instead I stand there for a long time. Watching her chop. And finally, I answer. Putting just the right amount of casual arrogance in my voice. I head over to the sitting area, where I gently settle an already napping Beckett into the bassinet. I place Emerson on the changing table for a fresh diaper. The fresh diaper is on. I put Emerson on my hip, lay her head on my shoulder, and we swing back around to face my sister as I head for the stairs. The six words. Mutters them.

Almost under her breath. As she finishes chopping the onions. Six startling words. One of the paintings that will never be taken from my mental wall. My sister, in a brown hoodie, her hair in a neat knot at the nape of her neck, standing there with that knife in her hand, head down, the little pile of white onion pieces on the cutting board before her. She tosses the words out there.

Then my sister slides the onions over and begins chopping the celery. I head upstairs to change my shirt. Family and friends arrive. The turkey cooks perfectly. Dinner is delicious. The grenade lies there in the middle of everything. Thanksgiving Day comes and goes.

Reading Group Guide. About The Author. James White. Shonda Rhimes. Product Details. Related Articles.

Reboot, Refresh, Reinvent: Best Books for a New You in Raves and Reviews. Resources and Downloads. Year of Yes Trade Paperback More books from this author: You may also like:So here goes. No wait, really, Shonda? There are a few parts of the book where she is getting ready for a speech and the book features the live readings of those speeches, which are both really really really good speeches, so that's an added bonus. With three children at home and three hit television shows on TV, it was easy to say that she was simply too busy.

Truly a gift. Thanks for telling us about the problem. Sometimes I would Shonda Rhimes would make an incredible teacher.