Why We Write....Blog-Hop

     As part of a writers blog-hop, I've been asked to talk about why I write.  All participants will respond to the same four questions, perhaps shedding light on why writers expose their rawest nerves for the world to see and judge.  A college friend has tapped into her creative side and invited me to participate in this blog-hop.  Check out her refreshing, honest take on life at www.errisspeaks.com.

     1.  What am I working on writing?
      I am always working on several things at once. I am currently working on the not-so-obvious struggles of middle class, divorced women with children. Unlike our mothers, we tend to have several educational degrees, yet struggle financially and emotionally as they did.  I have walked the long, difficult road, and experienced our country's welfare system firsthand.  Although the system is flawed, the people who work for the system are not; rather, they are among the kindest, most generous people I have ever encountered.  I am truly a better human being after being forced to take the dismal journey into poverty.  I am also working on a piece about teenagers morphing into unrecognizable, moody creatures who are impossible to communicate with. In addition, I'm writing about the ludicrous concept of having "a balanced life."  My life is more like a three-ringed circus than a tightrope walk.  My final serious piece is about rediscovering my identity after voluntarily losing it to my ex-husband and three children.  In addition, I am working on my third child's baby book...she's eight! Enough said!

     2.  How does my writing differ from others of its genre?
     This is a difficult question to answer because I don't think my writing fits into a genre.  I have written legal briefs, children's books, humor columns, and serious essays.  I've worked on yet unpublished novels and edit English essays for a living.  When I write about issues others relate to, like parenting, not having enough time for anything, and the ever repulsive "balancing act" of life, my work is always painfully honest and simultaneously witty.  I always try to see the humor in things.  Without a lighter perspective, life can get really depressing.  I definitely do not take myself very seriously and I realize that I'm not alone in my chaotic experiences.

     3. Why do I write what I do?
     I am compelled to write.  I can't NOT write.  Writers will understand what I mean.   My brain seems to never turn off, twisting and spinning until eventually a story emerges.  I have been writing my entire life. Though I won many science and math awards in middle and high school, I always preferred writing to math equations. I was published in local papers at an early age and inspired to keep writing. My creative writings gave way to journalistic writings which gave way to legal motions and briefs.  Though not as much fun, I love legal research and writing. I enjoy having a command of the English language.  My stories must be told.  I hope to inspire others to persevere when I feel like a failure.  I especially hope my stories offer camaraderie to my sisters walking a similar road to mine.

    4.   How does my writing process work?
    My writing can best be defined as organized chaos.  I wish I could say that I have clearly labeled folders organized by topic and essay.  Sadly, nothing can be farther from the truth.  I have post-it notes and journals throughout my house.  I dictate my thoughts.  I email and text my friends and family about my issue du jour. I then have to sift through the various mediums in order to create a coherent piece.  Although this process works well for me, as a professor and editor, I certainly wouldn't recommend it for others.

Now is not a good time....redefined

When mommy is chronically ill, "Now is not a good time," takes on a whole new meaning. When mommy is in bed most of the day, most days of the week, of the month, and of the year, seeing mommy in bed is normal. 

When mommy is vomiting and having bloody diarrhea from excruciatingly violent abdominal spasms, "Not a good time" is during the actual vomiting or diarrhea episodes. "A good time" to talk to mommy is the time in between the expulsions. Even though mommy is lying in bed, or more likely lying on the bathroom floor because she doesn't have the energy to crawl back to bed, that is still "a good time" to talk to mommy. It's all the time my kids get. They never know when I'll be violently ill again.  So, this is how our life looks:

Mommy vomits. 

Mommy collapses on the bathroom floor, sweating and trying to catch her breath. 

The kids hear a pause in retching and poke their heads around the corner of the bathroom door. 

They say, "Mommy? Are you alright?"

If I groan even a tiny noise, they shuffle in holding their schoolwork. (They were holding it when they asked). 

They fire questions at me and anything goes; detailed math questions, geography trivia and extremely complicated philosophical questions are the norm. 

They talk about friends and concerns. They cry about recess worries or homework overload or whether they'll ever be able to do a split in ballet. Sometimes they're really worried about me, but mostly they're used to it.

My kids have the same stuff on their minds as their peers, they just sit on the side of the tub to talk to mommy while she's in a disheveled heap on the cold tile floor. 

I muster the energy to talk to them. My brain still works really well and I know the answers to their questions. My voice doesn't always work but I can usually croak out something or at least nod. This is the time when poetry has been written and when debates have been practiced. Public speaking has been fine-tuned. Ideas have been created. From the floor of my bathroom! In between vomiting and diarrhea! When I start to retch or pass bloody gas or crawl to the toilet, my kids will get a garbage bag for me to puke into. They will get cold washcloths for my head. They will bring me water. When it's over, they crawl in bed with me. Paper and pen in hand. They have deadlines after all. 

The Golden Rule

In the midst of gun control debate, I'd like to share what I've learned from my three children. I have a 7 year old and tried to explain the increased security at school. To be fair, we didn't have much security in our small Vermont town where violent crime is rare. The conversation was virtually impossible because of her worldly view.

With great conviction and authority, she told me, "there are no bad guys at school because of the 'Golden Rule' of treating others the way you want to be treated." The "Golden Rule" has no room for evil and appears to form an impenetrable shield around her, particularly at her school
where there are consequences such as "time outs" for failing to abide by the GR.
A closer look at her world and her interactions with friends likely represents the world view of most six and seven year olds. As adults struggle to comprehend the magnitude of horror in Newtown, I am pretty confident that six and seven year olds can't process such vile murders.
Here is a sampling of what I see through my children at ages six and seven:

Six and seven sing to their baby dolls and write inspirational notes to the dolls who must be brave enough to go through the washer after being vomited on.
Six and seven are graded on "citizenship" in school and rewarded with "warm buzzies" (fluffy craft pompoms) when caught doing something nice for others.
Six and seven still take baths and can't wash their hair. Some can't swim, many can't tie. Six and seven are big kids in school and melt down at home with a blankie, thumb or stuffed animal.
Six and seven tell silly jokes which sometimes make sense. They hysterically laugh at physical humor. They dance and spin with abandon. They believe in fairies and magic and that good always wins.
Six and seven play bad guys and good guys where the bad repent and happily rejoin society.
Six and seven are proud. They want you to watch every jump, cartwheel, dance move or silly song. There is no place safer than with mom or dad. Mommies can fix EVERYTHING and always keep them safe.
Six and seven feel beautiful and cherished by all those around them. They are very sure about lots of stuff but still need you to carry snacks and drinks on a 15 minute car ride. They still ride in car seats but can buckle themselves in.
They help around the house and can mostly get organized to go somewhere. They love their families, pets and friends. They shriek "awww" at the sight of any baby, human, animal or robotic.
Six and seven skip into the wonderful, safe place called school to learn and play. They take pride in being the LINE LEADER, the CABOOSE and getting to choose not one, but two books from the library.
First graders swing so high they can probably touch the sun. They can definitely touch the moon, if they felt like it.
When others are sick or sad, they make colorful get well cards and sing songs. My little girl rubs my back when I hurt and sings me a song I usually sing to her. She counts with me during my daily medical injections and dutifully reminds me that the medicine makes me better.
She runs to me saying "I really need a hug." And"Mommy's hugs are the best in the world." She has a special teddy bear called a "Mama loves you bear" which I hug to fill with love if she needs extra love and I'm not with her. I fill my child with hugs and I give her a kissing hand or special stone so she can feel me close to her when she misses me. These things give her the courage to separate from me. And if things go wrong and she needs me there's a silly song I made up which says "Don't you fret. Don't you frown. Turn your frown upside down. Mama come and pick you up."
Always. She comes first. Not politics.
The love of my life. My perfect angel. My heart is hers (shared with her sibs) and no one can ever ever ever weaken that bond. And I will never put her in harm's way.
So now, six and seven may look like homeschooling.
In the wake of a massacre, the babies being slaughtered and those who need to live with the horrific loss in their beautiful town were likely living by the Golden Rule.

The Yenta Factor

It appears that all documents requiring personal information such as address, phone number, and email also inquire about the applicant’s marital status. Why on earth is that information relevant? And the questions do not merely seek to know whether or not the applicant is married. It is deemed essential to determine how the relationship disintegrated. I call this the Yenta Factor. Merriam-Webster defines a yenta as “one that meddles.” While modern day HIPAA laws prevent gossipmongers from blabbing, non-medical forms don’t guarantee such protection.

As a rule, the applicant is required to choose from a multiple choice list:

1.  Single

2.  Married

3.  Widowed

4.  Separated

5.  Divorced

6.  Cohabiting with a significant other

6a. Is your partner the same or opposite sex?

Except where the form is completed for a therapy evaluation or taxes, one's relationship status is irrelevant to the services or products sought. Furthermore, how is sexual orientation relevant? In the event an applicant's relationship status is truly necessary in determining whether to provide services, “Single” or “In a Relationship” should suffice.

My romantic life is really none of anyone's business. If I decide to commit to someone, but not conform to the institution of marriage, does that really affect my need for allergy medication? I completely understand and agree with the need for emergency contact information, but the legalities surrounding that relationship are simply not pertinent. Forcing those of us who are miserably slogging through marital demise to define our relationships is invasive. It makes me cringe to let the DMV clerk know that I'm separated, especially since my ex-husband’s family has lived in our small town for over a century. Sometimes, I’m asked how the divorce process is going! I resent feeling pressured to discuss my personal heartbreak and anxiety with a nosy stranger. It’s quite likely the mundane errand I’m on is my only reprieve from my familial stress. Unwarranted prying has reduced me to tears in front of my children. 

What if my relationship status changes after I started that golf clinic? Am I obligated to let Bonnie the receptionist know that my boyfriend moved out, but I’m dating again? Clearly, the Yenta Factor serves no essential purpose and should be eliminated from all but the rarest of documents. Until then, I’ll just leave that section blank.