Mama Kat's Writing Workshop: WWVD?

            Today I’m linking up with Mama Kat’s Writer's Workshop. The prompt was a true piece of fantasy writing: “Make a list of ten things you would do if you didn’t have to work.” My first thought was—only ten? I could go on for days. So I decided to put one restriction on the list for myself. I’ve written a post of ten things I would do if I didn’t have to work, but our household income remained the same.

1.) I’d play hooky with my kids now and then. These days, time to myself is at a premium. All day, everyday I am with kids or customers. The only time I am alone is when I’m in the car waiting for the kids. I have become very stingy with my time alone. But if I wasn’t working, I would have more time and be more willing to ditch school for a day to go to the beach or take a walk in the woods with my little guys.

2.) I’m also play hooky with my husband. The only thing I have less of than time by myself, is time alone with Dan.

3.) I’d dust off the piano, get it tuned and learn to play it.

4.) I would take more time to cook. I’d try new recipes that take more than four ingredients. I’d take a break from the old standbys I make five nights a week.

5.) I would write and write and write.

6.) I’d comment on more blogs and respond to the comments on my own blog.

7.) I would train for a mini triathlon.

8.) I would spend school vacations as a tourist in my own backyard. I’d take my kids to Plimouth Plantation, The Museum of Science, and The House of Seven Gables. We’d visit Lexington Green and walk the Freedom Trail. In the summer we’d test the water at every beach on Cape Cod and Cape Ann.

9.) I’d be involved in more than one play a year and I’d go to see all of the plays my friends are in.

10.) I’d finish all the household projects I’ve begun like the porch curtains that still need to be hemmed and hung and the door that’s been primed but never painted. I’d clean out the garage and the basement. Oh, what a glamorous time I would have!   

            So that’s my list. What would you do if you didn’t have to work?

Turning it Around

            At the end of August I felt like I was the only mom blogger around who hadn’t written an ode to the end of summer. Owen fell and cracked his front tooth the same week James had hand surgery. He ended up needing a root canal. I felt like I spent the end of summer trying to make my kids comfortable during the day and heading off to work at night. I wanted to be taking my kids to the beach, gathering the last of the summer tomatoes, inviting friends over for barbeques, and taking walks to Dairy Queen. But between the unexpected medical and dental bills and needing to buy a new car, I had to work as many hours as my boss could give me. It didn’t leave much time or money for fun. August kicked my ass.

            Then September arrived I felt like I was the only blogger who hadn’t written a back to school post. I didn’t feel that feeling of lightness that comes with the freedom of having my house to myself. I knew the tango of getting the kids to two different schools on different sides of town and getting myself to work on time was a task that would take military precision. I knew cramming in homework and dinner before soccer and scouting would be painful. I put together a calendar and color-coded our activities, I made lunches in advance, washed, folded and put away every scrap of laundry in the house. I was too busy getting ready for back to school to write about it. I’m not going to lie. September also kicked my ass.

            Now September is drawing to a close. We’re settling into a manageable, yet far from perfect, routine. After getting sent home from school three times for uncontrollable coughing fits, we finally seem to have James’ allergies under control. We’re managing to juggle all of our activities. And I’ve learned it’s okay to say, “We can’t make it tonight” when it’s just too much.

            Our school system is closed for Rosh Hashanah so we have a four-day weekend. The boys and I slept a little later this morning. We’re going to go to the library and then drive to New Hampshire to go out to lunch with my parents. If the rain breaks, we’ll pick some apples and maybe a pumpkin. We’ll get to enjoy a little of what makes it wonderful to live in New England in the fall. By the time the boys go back to school on Monday it will be October. It won’t be any less busy than September. I don't celebrate Rosh Hashanah myself, but this seems like a really good time to welcome a new year and make a resolution. It's almost October, time for me to do the ass kicking.

Adam's Ad

This week's Write on Edge prompt was to write a personal ad for one of our characters. I loved doing this prompt. It was a great way to explore my character. I had to think about who he is and what he wants. I may do an ad for Michaela as well. 

Adam's Personal Ad

SWM mid-30’s seeks SF mid-30’s

Who am I? A small business owner who left the corporate world to work for myself doing something I love. I make a good living and I can lift heavy things and fix almost anything that breaks. I don’t believe in Valentine’s Day. If I care about you, you’ll know it every day, not just on February 14^th. I tell the truth and I don’t play games. I watch the Patriots, the Bruins and the Celtics, but I don’t mind missing a game occasionally if there is something else to do. I support the Red Sox because I believe in rooting for the home team, but baseball bores me to death. Yes, I’ve been hurt before. I figure if you make it past 30 without picking up a little baggage, you’ve been living under a rock.

Who are you? Blond, brunette, or red head it doesn’t really matter. I look at the way a woman carries herself. There is nothing sexier than a woman who looks like she doesn’t care if anyone is looking at her. If you spent a couple of hours getting ready for our first date, you’ve wasted your time. I bet you were prettier before you blew the curls out of your hair and put that stuff on your face. If you’re tired of guys who check their Blackberries during dinner, don’t give up their seats for pregnant ladies on the train, cancel dates at the last minute, or are afraid to get their hands dirty give me a call.


You can read more of Adam's story here: http://39forthefirsttime.blogspot.com/p/story-of-michaela.html

RemebeRED: Curtain Call

For this week’s memoir prompt, we’re going to let narrative take a backseat. Choose a moment from your personal history and mine it for sensory detail. Describe it to us in rich, evocative details. Let us breath the air, hear the heartbeat, the songs, feel the fabric and the touch of that moment.

Curtain Call

           It is so dark I’m afraid I’ll fall into the orchestra pit. Someone shines a flashlight from the wings to help me find center stage. My arms are covered in goose bumps and my skimpy costume is itchy where the netting is stitched to the satin. My heart is pounding like it does when I take a math test or when I go down a hill too fast on my bike.

            The lights come up and warm me. I can see the stage now—I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. The audience is still in darkness so I cannot see their faces, only the shapes of the people in the first row. My family is out there somewhere but I can’t tell where. I remind myself to smile.

            The music begins. It’s much louder than when I dance in my living room. I move to the rhythm as I’ve done a thousand times at home—standing on my toes and stretching out my arms. My racing heart begins to slow as I dance. I don’t have to force myself to smile any more. I have never felt so happy as I do at this moment. I don’t care any more that the costume is itchy. It’s black and shiny and trimmed with red sequins and white feathers.

            Too soon the song is over. The invisible audience claps. I love the sound. I curtsy deeply over the dusty stage and run into the wings. I am seven years old and this is my first curtain call.  

I'm sure any seven-year-old girl these days would consider this a very odd song choice for a dance recital. But it was "Creative Movement" class in the 70's and I loved it.

Tough Mama

            Monday I took my fourth trip to Children’s Hospital in Boston with my son James. It was time to take his cast off. He had surgery three weeks ago to repair some damage he did to his hand a few years ago. We’ve had a few challenging moments with his right hand in a cast but he has adapted remarkably well. He has learned to use his left hand to eat, write, and of course play video games. I can’t imagine an adult coping this well without his or her dominant hand for this long. He rarely complained about pain or itchiness and managed to do almost everything he would normally do. The biggest challenge was trying to keep him from going full-speed and damaging himself again. Or damaging someone else—that cast made a pretty effective weapon.

            I love Children’s Hospital. Fear and sadness could so easily take over a hospital for children—there are so many kids with really serious conditions. But every kid is treated like a regular kid. No one stares at the little girl who has obviously lost her hair to chemo. No one makes a fuss over the boy with visible scars on his face. Everything is normal there. Maybe the definition of normal becomes much broader when you’re dealing with sick kids.

When adults at Children’s engaged James in a conversation they would ask him about his age, his grade, whether he liked Sponge Bob or if he liked sports. Everywhere else we go people ask him about his cast. The closest anyone at Children’s came was when they asked if blue was his favorite color—since his cast, his shirt, and his stuffed monkey are all blue. I’m not faulting folks for asking. They’re curious and concerned about seeing a little boy in a cast and James doesn’t seem to mind. But I would imagine that someone whose child had some visible long-term condition would get really tired of explaining it to strangers.

            Yesterday afternoon I was helping James do exercises the occupational therapist prescribed for him. It’s painful and slow. But if he wants to regain full motion in his finger it has to be done. He catches his breath as he bends each joint and holds it down for ten seconds. He gets a little teary eyed. “Don’t hold your breath Buddy,” I tell him, remembering the things I know from years of yoga. “Take a deep breath when we bend your finger.” We move through the three joints twice. “Do you want to just do two more and take a break?” I ask him.

“How many do we have to do?”

            “Ten.”

            “No. Let’s just do it.”

            It hurts but he keeps going. He knows there are times he can play me with his sad eyes and pouty lips. This time he knows I can’t let him stop. Giving him a break is all I can offer. Without the exercises his finger won’t be any better than it was before the surgery. James knows I can’t give in. He gets it and he’s willing to work through the discomfort to get better. I am so impressed with his determination.

            A part of me wants to let him stop. That part of me that nursed him countless times at 3am, the part that crawls into his bed when he has a bad dream, the part that has read Good-night Moon hundreds of times, the part that has sung “Sweet Baby James” thousands of times. That part of me wants to tell him it’s okay to stop and make him a cup of hot chocolate instead. The Tough Mama inside me has to tell that part of me to go sit in a corner while I do my job. The tough Mama (or Papa) is the part of our parenting brain that makes our kids get vaccinated, eat his vegetables and take nasty tasting medicine. It is the same part that makes him do his homework when he’s had a tough day or takes away privileges when he’s done something wrong. I hate being Tough Mama. But I know I have to be her sometimes.

            James hurt his fingers six years ago. Just his fingers. They’re going to get better but it’s going to take some work. When I helped him with his therapy I was thinking about all the parents of patients at Children’s Hospital—the parents whose kids are dealing with problems much larger than a couple of fingers. The Tough Mama part of them must be huge. I don’t know how they do it. I know the short answer is, “What choice do I have?”  But still, you do it. You tell the sweet-nurturing part of yourself to go find something else to do while you do what you have to do to make your baby well. I tip my hat to you Tough Mamas and Papas out there. You have my eternal respect and nightly prayers.