Parenting

Another great day in our lovely household. The kids had a shouting match during breakfast, because we have two bus stops to choose from and, of course, one wanted one and the other wanted the other. You can pretty much guarantee that it will be that way. Fortunately, I was blessed with very strong vocal cords and can shout louder than they can. Once that was settled, we moved on to a bout of begging from my son. He always wants something (don't we all), and will beg, argue, cajole, argue, present options, logic, etc until you beg for mercy. This morning it was, "Please download a song I found on iTunes that was free." Once he was completely ready for school I presented MY bargain, "I'll download the song and put it on your sd card if you agree that we'll go to your sister's bus stop choice and you won't give me a hard time about it." He smiled and agreed. I'm slow, but his training has begun to pay off.

So, down we went to get in the car and what should I notice but bright pink fingernail polish on my daughter's fingernails. Many of you would not think twice about fingernail polish, but there are three issues here: 1. The school says it's not allowed. 2. She knows that I don't like it. I really detest the idea that females are supposed to paint themselves to be more attractive to males. Why should I have to do that to attract a mate? Aren't my brains enough, not to mention my legs and breasts? Puhleeze! and 3. SHE LIED ABOUT IT! Yes, that is the crux of the matter.

"When did you paint your fingernails?"

She evaded, "I don't know," with a shrug.

"Well they weren't pink yesterday."

Continued evasion. "Huh? I don't remember. Yes, they were."

This went on for a minute or two until I said, "They were not pink yesterday morning. You painted them when you met your friend yesterday."

"Yeah." Glance at me, glance out the window,

"So, why lie about it?"

"I was afraid I'd get in trouble."

"Well, you're in a lot of trouble now!" Ah, it's so predictable, it makes me wanna cry.

As I pointed out to her, her timing stinks. We're going away very soon and I thought I could trust her to go places independently with certain restrictions. So much for that. Pretty clear that trust is an issue. So, this evening should be lots of fun. I emptied out the drawers of her desk. They looked like someone had taken a trunk full of papers, books, pencils, hair ties, toys and general junk, jumbled them all up and shoved them into the desk drawers. I also pulled everything out from under her bed. She can spend her time sorting through it. I haven't decided whether to let her join us for pizza and a movie or leave her up there in jail. Whatever I decide, she'll say she doesn't care. They both figured that one out pretty quickly. Take away Mom's ammunition by pretending that the punishment doesn't hurt.

You know, this may be one of those blessings in disguise. It may very well hammer home the point that they'd better behave on the vacation or they risk being confined to quarters and missing out on the fun. Last April, during our vacation, they ate half of the breakfast bars, hid wrappers around the room and then denied eating them. They said it was somebody else. Maybe a robber had come in the room and eaten the breakfast bars. We couldn't prove it was them. We all spent the afternoon sitting in the condo, waiting for them to confess. I took a walk, stomped around, cried and begged God to help me, because I figured it just showed that I was as lousy at parenting as I was at everything else. This parenting stuff is not nearly as fun as I thought it would be. Thank God for public school and summer camp.

So, I have about seven and a half child-free hours ahead of me. I was actually pretty productive yesterday and feel some productivity stirring in my veins at this very moment. Scratch that. I think it's the coffee doing it's morning work on my intestines. Later.

Meanderings

I woke up to my husband's alarm today. The radio was louder than usual. He was up, dressed and heading out the door to the hospital when I wandered down the stairs to let the dogs out. My daughter met me with an outstretched hand holding a bagel on a plate.

"There's no butter, so Dad said I should try this and I don't like. It's grape jelly."

"You like grape jelly. Why do you have to be so picky? Maybe you'd like it better if there was butter with the jelly. There's some in the basement in the freezer." I walked to the basement in my flowered LLBean flannel pajamas, shaking my head, wondering what other joys the day would bring. 'I shouldn't be so hard on her. It's just a bagel, but I swear she's just refusing to like it because it looks funny.'

I find the butter, walk back up to the kitchen, open the pack, unwrap a stick and put it in the microwave. Melt, no, soften, one stick of butter, start. The dogs are begging at the door. I walk to the closet, scoop out their scoops of food and let them in to eat.

My son is at the table eating a bowl of cereal. "What do you want for lunch?" I ask.

"Do you have tuna?"

"Yes. I bought some yesterday."

"Tuna."

I grab a can of tuna. The microwave beeps. I put a little butter on one quarter of one half of the bagel and some peanut butter on another quarter. I notice as I'm spreading that it's chunky. She prefers smooth.

I go to the bottom of the stairs and call up. "What do you want for lunch? Tuna or peanut butter and jelly?"

"Tuna."

"OK. Come on down, because I found some butter. Maybe you'll like the bagel better with a little butter on it. Come down and taste it."

I go back to the kitchen to open the can of tuna. The dogs are sitting at my feet as soon as I grab the can opener. "You guys are such beggars," I say. "I grab their bowls and squeeze tuna juice into them. They scramble around each other to make sure they get their share. I put the bowls on the floor, one by each of them, and turn back to the tuna.

My daughter walks in. "Here," I say. "I put a little butter on one part and some peanut butter on another part. See what you like best."

She takes the plate and walks over to the kitchen table. She sits. I turn around, open the refrigerator and find the mayonnaise. As I put it on the counter, I glance at her. She's breaking off a microscopic piece of the bagel with her fingers. She says, "This is chunky isn't it?" She looks annoyed, vexed by my incompetence.

"I just grabbed it and started putting it on. Then I realized it was chunky. I didn't know it had to be so perfect." I sigh and go to the cabinet to grab a container for the tuna. I start mixing the tuna, getting out the bread, two different kinds, finding their lunch boxes. "So, which one did you like better?" I ask her.

"The butter."

"Would you like butter on the other half?

"I already finished. I thought it all had butter on it."

"No, I only put butter on a small part. I didn't put anything on the other half. It just had jelly on it." I spread tuna on a slice of bread, wondering if I've got the amount of mayonnaise right. "So, it wasn't all that bad after all." I say. I put the sandwich in its container and turn to her. My arms are crossed. "I think you just decided you weren't going to like it, because you didn't like the way it looked."

She gets up from the table and walks out of the room. I finish making her lunch and start on her brother's. Where did he go? I peak in the office around the corner. "Get off the computer. We have to leave in five minutes. Do you have socks on?"

"Yeah."

"Check the weather while you're in there."

"Sunny, high of 63" he says after a minute. Well, that's good, at least.

The lunches are packed, so I grab a cup of coffee. Finally. "Time to go," I announce after two sips, as the digital clock on the microwave changes to 7:20. I grab my winter coat and purse. I'm still in my pajamas. The kids run down to the basement. My daughter starts yelling about something. "Stop it." is all I hear. I walk down the stairs.

"He keeps trying to make me trip. Next time, I'll probably land on my face." She's sitting on the floor putting on her sneakers. He's already outside. I walk over to my shoes and see one of his DS games on the floor. I grab it as he walks in the door.

"Come on," he says. "She's been getting here early, remember. We're gonna miss the bus."

I hand him the game. "This was on the floor," I say.

"What? Where?"

"Right here."

"It couldn't be. It was in my backpack pocket."

I turn him around and look at his backpack. "Well, the pocket's open. It must've fallen out when you leaned down to put on your shoes."

"It couldn't have. I put it in there."

"You don't take good care of these games. That's why you're always losing them and have no idea where they are."

We continue to argue as we walk out the door. We get in the car and drive the half mile down the hill to the bus stop. She pulls up just as we stop. She's early. They get out of the car, walk to the bus. I say, "Have a good day. I love you," but they don't hear me. I wave to some of their friends on the bus as she pulls away. As I drive back to the house I think about them and wonder how the rest of the day will go. Yesterday, I immediately changed into my work out clothes and finished my aerobics tape by 8:30. Today, I feel like writing. Should I write about this morning? Will the interactions with them be funny, interesting?

Reading back over what I've written, I feel let down. Nothing special here. Just our usual morning. NOthing like what I read last night. I was looking at a site called Good Reads, trying to figure out what book to read next. I posted on a discussion board and someone suggested Kristin Cashore. It turns out she's from NEPA. That got my attention, so I went to her blog. Funny! Very funny! She talks about how she writes, her method. She says that all day, there are voices in her head, different characters talking, usually fighting, and she tries to listen and figure out what they're saying. Then, she writes it all down in long hand. That's where her novels come from.

I don't hear voices in my head all day. Most people would consider that a good thing. When the kids are here, I hear their voices in my head all day, but I try not to listen. When I'm alone, the house is quiet and my head is full of thoughts, but not voices. It's full of my analysis of my world. I guess I'm more analytical than creative. I will analyze this morning's interactions with the kids all day. I'll also think about Kristin's blog, the conversation I had with Cherie and Missy the other day, our upcoming trip, weather trends, anything and everything that pops into my head will be subjected to analysis. Thinking, thinking analyzing, analyzing.

I'm not sure I have a story in me. I keep wondering if I'd be better off reading about the protein I used to work on in Steve's lab and putting together a review article, instead of trying to write non-fiction. I think there's something I'm supposed to write and I can't quite figure out what it is.

It's 8:15. (8:40 now that I've re-read and fixed the typos.) I have seven and a half hours until the kids get home from school. I'm still in my pajamas and my cup of coffee is empty. There are several items on my list, but plenty of time to write, if I can just figure out what's inside of me.

It's 10:15. I tried to do some jobs around the house and discovered my daughter's lunch bag on the kitchen counter. Great. I drove it up to the school. It seems I've been driving something up to one of them every other day for the past month. I'm in a bad mood. (Did you catch that?) I feel discouraged and stressed. I think the stress is because we're going away soon. I love planning trips, but I'm old now and get nervous when the departure date approaches. I'm discouraged because my writing isn't funny. I'm funny. People tell me all the time that I'm funny, that I should be a comedian. But, my writing's not funny. Maybe it's because I'm writing all alone, but I'm funny in front of a crowd. Maybe if I write the story as if I'm telling it to some of my friends and acquaintances, as I have in the past, it would come out funny. Well, it's worth a try, because this is depressing.

I feel a deep need to make popcorn and watch The Order of the Phoenix. Now she can write.

A Cup of Emotion

Another exercise: Time travel back in your life and choose an emotionally charged moment. Write about this cup of emotion. This cup may be a seed for a later longer work. Here goes.

I was a postdoctoral fellow in a yeast genetics lab in Albany. My new husband was a medical student across the street at Albany Med. It was the fourth week of May 2001. I was working as quickly and efficiently as I could, because I wanted desperately to get out of lab early. It was awards day. Brian would be graduating on Saturday and today he would get several awards. His parents were coming, my parents were coming and I had to be there! As I worked and fretted and tried to make sure I didn’t miss any loose ends, the phone rang. Someone else answered and yelled for me.

“Cathy, Telephone.”

“What? I don’t have time for a phone call. Can you take a message? I’ve gotta get out of here,” I shouted.

They grinned. “It’s a southern accent!”

“What? A southern accent? Oh my God! It’s Texas.” I don’t know whether I said it out loud or thought it, but my heart started to race as I lunged for the phone.

“Hello?” I gasped.

“Hello.” Said the slow, lilting voice. “Is this Mrs. Wilcox?” Southern, very southern.

“Yes. This is she.” It was difficult to hold my breath and talk at the same time, but I was almost doing it. The air felt charged.

“Well how are you today? This is blah blah at the Gladney Center.”

‘Oh my God. Oh my God. It’s them. It’s Texas,’ I thought. ‘Why are they calling? I wish she’d get on with it.’ “I’m fine,” I blurted as my mind and heart raced.

“Are you doin’ anything special this weekend, Mrs. Wilcox?”

“Oh, not much,” I chuckled nervously. “My husband’s graduating from medical school and our parents are in town.”

“Well that’s great! They can help you get ready.”

“Ready? For what?” I thought or said. She was grinning on the other end of the phone line. I could hear it in her voice.

“We have a baby boy we thought you might be interested in. Would you like me to tell you about him?”

BOOM. There it was. My deepest desire and my greatest fear all rolled into one. They had a baby for us. Oh My God!! Today? Today of all days?! The words and emotions shot though my mind. I felt electrically charged, vibrating, numb, sweaty palms, dry mouth, the whole nine yards. My fight or flight response was kicking in with gusto.

“Ha! Sure,” I said. She proceeded to tell me that he had been born on May 17^th. His birthmother and he were positive for cocaine, but he was very healthy and hadn’t shown any signs of withdrawal. He was being cared for by a nice lady who watched over a lot of Gladney babies until their adoptive parents could arrive. The birthmother was Caucasian and the birthfather African American and he was just the most handsome baby she’d ever seen. “So, do you think you’re interested Mrs. Wilcox? Would you be able to come out and get him this weekend?”

It’s hard to describe the thoughts and emotions that rolled through me one after the other. The thoughts were something like ‘This weekend? What? Was she crazy? We had plans! Brian was graduating from medical school! Didn’t she realize that we lived in New York? Didn’t she know how hard it would be to get a flight at such late notice, not to mention the cost! They had a baby? Finally? The day had finally arrived?’ The emotions were just as confused: excitement, anticipation, elation, fear, nervousness, uncertainty, confusion.

“Well, I think we’ll probably be interested, but I’ll have to talk to my husband and give you a call back,’ I said.

“Very good, Mrs. Wilcox,” she said. “I’ll be waiting for your call.” and that was that.

I hung up the phone, looked around at everyone, my mouth hanging open and said, ”We got a baby.” Then, I thought about where I was and my heart sank. ‘How’m I gonna tell Steve?’ I thought.

Steve was my boss, my wonderful boss and mentor. He was the Principal Investigator of the lab, the PI for short. He wrote the grants, he advised us, the graduate students and I. I’d gotten my PhD in 1998 and had been working in Steve’s lab for almost three years. They had been wonderful years. We had just published a beautiful, groundbreaking paper in EMBO, the European Molecular Biology Organization Journal. I was good at research and loved it and I loved working with Steve. He was intelligent, creative, hardworking and honest. We had our disagreements, but that was OK. We understood and respected each other. I had told him two years before, after Brian and I had failed to get pregnant, that we were trying to adopt.

“One day, out of the blue, we’ll get a phone call that they have a baby for us and that will be it. I’ll have to leave the lab and go home and be a mommy,” I’d explained.

“How much notice will you be able to give me?” he’d asked.

“A day or two,” I’d said.

“What? You’ll just leave?”

“I’ll have a baby to take care of. I can’t work and leave the baby at home!”

“But what about your project?” The look on his face was one of disbelief. I could see that he thought I was being unreasonable. Until the conversation had started, I hadn’t thought about it from his perspective. I just knew that once we had a baby, I’d be a mommy and I’d have to stay home. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll find someone else to work on it!” I said. “You’ve got a technician and three students!” I tried to sound light and confident.

“But they have work to do already!” he retorted, looking very unhappy.

“I’m sorry, Steve. That’s why I’m telling you now. I don’t know what more I can do. This is just the way it works. You fill out the stack of papers, you wait and then, one day, they call. It’s usually about two years later, they said. We’ll just have to hope that my project is more or less wrapped up in two years.”

I felt frustrated, like I’d done something wrong. It wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t get pregnant and that I had this biological urge to reproduce. The mommy urge had been plaguing me since I was 25, for goodness sake. I loved the lab and my work, but my mother had always told me that being a mother was the most wonderful thing in the world, the best job you could ever have.

So, the day had finally arrived. They had a baby for us.

The Perfect Life

Didn't like yesterday's story? Try this one.

How on earth had she gotten so lucky? The past few days had been so amazingly perfect. She'd gotten up around 7:30 am, made coffee and wandered outside to the porch to drink it. The days had been warm, but not hot, around 70 at first and then rising to the lower 80s. Within 30 minutes each morning, her husband had joined her. They'd relaxed together on the porch with their coffee, chatting a bit and listening to the birds sing. It was great to be alive!

After that first cup of coffee, they'd gotten dressed and headed out on a leasurely walk. She liked to walk through town and he liked the woods. Fortunately, they'd found the perfect house when they'd gone into semi-retirement. They owned forty acres next to a game reserve in the foothills of the mountains. Their road was on the outskirts of a lively village. By cutting through the side of their property and across a few large lawns, they could be on the edge of the village. That's where they headed today, walking down the neat streets, smiling and waving to people who were outside, peering in the shop windows once they got near the center of town and chatting about their plans for the upcoming weekend.

"We haven't had Adam and Paula over in a while. Should we invite them for Saturday? We could have them come a little early and help us cook!" she said.

"That's a great idea. You know, I was wondering if they might like to play cards. We haven't played cards in ages." he said.

"Cards? I'm not sure they're the card playing type. We always have such great conversations with them. You never know, though. We could suggest it and see what they say."

"What should we eat? If the weather is going to stay nice, we could barbecue."

"I could make potato salad and a big green salad. We could chill some wine. Do you want to have venison or chicken?"

"How about Salmon?"

"Grilled Salmon? I love it! or Red Snapper! Either one."

"Does potato salad go with salmon?"

"It could, if I make it with a vinaigrette and feta cheese. Something lighter than my mother's recipe."

"Hmmm. Maybe."

They turned and went a few more blocks before looping back toward the woods behind their house, continuing to discuss the menu. It was cooler in the woods and the birds were singing brightly. Their dog pranced along beside them , sniffing here and there and enjoying the exercise. Her husband was quiet, listening and looking for signs of deer and other wildlife. She quieted down beside him, relishing his nearness, the joy of having time with him.

When they reached the house, they grabbed another cup of coffee, adding milk, sugar and ice to this mug. They settled down once again on the porch; she with her Kindle to read a manuscript she'd just received, he with his laptop to review patients' labs. They were both working, but reduced schedules. She was an assistant in a research lab at the nearby university and he was an OB/GYN, but kept his patient load very small. He occasionally taught a lecture at the medical college. They used to be hounded to work more, but had made it very clear that it was part-time or no time. It had taken a while, but the administrators had finally stopped pushing.

This was the life she'd always wanted. They worked, but part-time. They volunteered at their church and some community organizations. Their children were grown and living in the northeast. They saw them for the major holidays and as they travelled south for vacations. They saw them a fair amount, more than many people saw their children. The most important thing was that they saw each other.

As she sipped her ice coffee, and counted her blessings, she looked forward to lunch, yard work and another walk around the woods and town. The sun had risen high in the sky and would soon begin its descent. She hoped Adam and Paula would be able to come over. She'd call them soon. Then, she'd put the finishing touches on their menu, so she could pick up any needed items in the afternoon. Tomorrow would be busy and high energy, but today, they'd keep it slow and calm.

It's complicated

“That doesn’t look like data! What are you up to, Laurie?”

“Waiting for my samples to incubate, Kim, and looking at houses.”

Laurie was sitting at a computer looking at a list of houses for sale. She had dirty blond, wavy unruly hair, wire-rimmed glasses and was wearing a skirt and sweater. Kim was looking over her shoulder, grinning, her soft brown ringlets bouncing as she tossed her head. Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Houses, eh? For you and Brian?” Kim asked.

Laurie was skimming the descriptions of houses. She hesitated before answering, pretending to be distracted, because she could hear the unspoken words ‘but you’re not even married’. “Just browsing,” she finally said, closing the website.

She got up from the desk, headed over to the lab bench, opened the cover on the incubator, peered inside and then walked over to her station and picked up the timer. Twenty-nine more minutes. She knew it wasn’t time to end the reaction, but was trying to look busy to head off the conversation with Kim. Nobody understood her relationship with Brian. It was complicated. She wanted their approval, but how could they possibly understand? On the surface, it was too crazy. Admit it, she thought, it’s not just crazy on the surface.

She got out her notebook, picked up her pen and let her mind wander. It slipped back over the past year and a half. They had met in the lab, working side by side, and had gotten to be friends. She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the first time she’d seen him. Oh, no. She almost laughed out loud. That had been the second time…. Yes, that’s right. The first time had been at colloquium, the weekly presentation by graduate students. She hadn’t even known his name then. She’d walked into the room, one of many students and faculty, and noticed the only person in the room that wasn’t eating the free pizza.

‘What’s with that guy?’ she thought. She looked him over, noting his handsome, clean-cut face, his collared shirt and twill pants. He was eating carrots from a ziploc bag. She summed him up immediately. Arrogant. Too good for free pizza.

She wouldn’t have thought much of him, but during the presentation, he kept interrupting, offering explanations when peple asked questions. ‘Oh my gosh!’ she thought. ‘Who does this guy think he is?’ Well, it was pretty clear he thought he was a real hotshot. Her opinion was different. A jerk. No doubt about it.

She smiled as she remembered. Yes, that had been the first time she’d ever seen him. A while later, maybe three months later, she’d been invited to a party. She was still trying to decide which lab to join for her research project and Kim had suggested this lab.

“You should join our lab,” she’d said. “John throws a great party! In fact, he’s having one next week. Why don’t you come?”

So, she’d come over for the party and to check out the lab, which was in one of the old sections of the college, down a long hallway and up a rickety flight of stairs. It felt more like she was going into an old Victorian house than a molecular biology lab. She knew she was headed in the right direction, though, because she could hear the music and din of voices.

She’d walked through the doorway, looking around at all the people, searching for familiar faces, when she’d seen him, straight ahead, playing air guitar. She stopped dead in her tracks. Could it be the same guy? Mister “I’m too good to eat pizza and I wear nice clothes when everyone else is in T-shirts and jeans?” She couldn’t believe it! Well, maybe she’d been wrong about him.

She’d been introduced to everyone by Kim. It was a very nice group of people, and John, the lab head, was the consummate host. He seemed more like a Duke or Earl than principal investigator of a lab. Very cultured. Eventually, she’d been introduced to Brian – the well-dressed, handsome, air-guitar man. They’d said hello and then talked. They talked and talked about anything and everything. She couldn’t even remember what they’d talked about, but it seemed like they were in a world of their own. He was nothing like she had first thought. He wasn’t arrogant, just the opposite. She had asked him straight out.

“What’s with you? You don’t like pizza? How come you were eating carrots at colloquium?”

“I’m not part of the department, so I didn’t think I should eat the food they provided. I brought my own lunch,” he said.

“You’re not part of the department? What do you mean.”

“Well, John, the PI, the lab head I mean, has a joint appointment. He’s in the biochem department and the physiology department, but I was hired through the physiology department. I was only at colloquium because JoAnn was presenting and I’ve worked with her on her project.” That explained everything. He’d interjected comments during the question and answer period, because he was on the project. Yes, first impressions could be very misleading.

That had been about two years ago. Since then, she’d joined the lab, made pretty good progress on her research project and gotten to be friends with Brian. He already had his doctorate and was working in the lab as an extension of his training. He was a post-doctoral fellow, postdoc for short. He was a very smart perfectionist and, at the time, married.

Yeah, that had been disappointing, but it didn’t matter. Even though her first impression had been wrong, Laurie didn’t think he was her type. She remembered thinking he was too good looking and too clean cut. She was attracted to more adventurous men. If they had an accent, whew, that really made them interesting. During those early days in the lab, she’d been flirting a lot with a guy from Venezuela. She could hardly think when he was around and she loved to talk about him to her lab mates; where she’d seen him, where he might be next weekend, how good he smelled.

She continued musing, remembering the day that had changed everything. She’d gotten to the lab around 8 am, like she usually did. She was an older graduate student and had been a high school teacher before this, so she was used to getting up and getting to work. A lot of the students, and some professors, tended to work a later shift, something like 10 am to 8 pm, but Julie was an 8 am to 6 pm kind of person. The lab had been pretty quiet. The two technicians were there, setting things up for the day, and Brian and been in his office. After a few hours, she’d gone into his office to ask a question and noticed that he looked terrible.

“Are you OK?” she’d asked. “You look upset.”

He’d looked up from his desk, emotions playing across his face. He looked hurt, conflicted, and surprised she’d asked. “I’m OK,” he said.

“No you’re not. You look like somebody died. What’s the matter?” she’d insisted.

He’d looked out through his office door, looked back at her and started talking. It was like a dam had burst. He told her that his wife had just called. They lived out in the country, quite a long way from the university, and had a lot of animals. One of their cats had been sick for a while and had just died. His wife was upset about it and had told him to come home and bury the cat. He’d protested, saying that he was at work and couldn’t just leave. She got hysterical, screamed at him, told him he’d better come home ‘or else’. “She treats me like I’m her servant,” he said. “I liked the cat, too, but I’m at work. What am I supposed to do? I’ll bury it when I get home tonight.”

It had been a very short conversation, but somehow it had created a connection between them. That afternoon, after he’d left a little early, Laurie had mentioned to one of the technicians how upset he’d been. She had been feeling sorry for him and wanted to share the emotion.

“Oh, I’m not surprised,” Diana said. “He and his wife have had lots of problems. She doesn’t treat him right.”

“Really?” Laurie said “but he’s such a nice guy.”

“I know,” said Diana. “He tries so hard to please her and she just walks all over him.”

‘Really……’ thought Laurie. ‘How interesting.’ As soon as the thought formed, her conscience spoke up and knocked it down. ‘What are you thinking? Oh my Gosh! He’s married for goodness sake.’

Too true. What had she been thinking? Laurie came out of her reverie and realized that her timer was chirping away, telling her that the reaction in the incubator was finished. It was time to take out the samples, mix them, spin them down quickly in the little centrifuge and tick them in the freezer. Time to go home.

This isn't working

I wanted to write today. I did write because, as you can see there is a previous post. I also wrote a word file that I didn't post. It's another snippet of my life, but written in the third person. I thought that I might like writing that way better. It didn't work though. I feel that I don't know what to write, unless I'm just journalling like this. But who would want to read this? I don't even want to read it when I look back at it a few days later. It's just not that interesting.

I can tell you what I'm thinking. Do you care? Does anybody read this? If a writer writes on a blog that nobody reads, does she make a sound? Are my written, unread words profound?

I've made two entries in a writing contest. I made no impression on anybody. I think that entering contests isn't for me. I'm too easily discouraged at this point. The contests are for short stories, too. I'm not a big fan of short stories. I like stories that are long enough that I get to know and like the characters. In fact, that's one of the reasons I started thinking about writing. I read and loved JK Rowling's books so much and missed her characters so much. I kept looking and looking for another series that would be as interesting and satisfying as hers and couldn't find one. I would sit and read and mentally edit the books i was reading, thinking if they had only done it this way or that way, then it would be so much better. I suppose I could take one of those disappointing books and rewrite it the way I like books to be written. But that would be stealing. I want to use my own ideas. If only I had one.

So, I've been reading a book called "The Right to Write". The author sys that good writing is honest writing. I'm being honest here. I'm frustrated, because I thought that writing might be something I could do and still be a decent mother - the way I want to be a mother. But, no ideas. Just dribble.

I think part of my problem is that I want the whole story to sort of appear before my eyes, my mind's eye. Maybe it doesn't work that way. Maybe if I could just imagine a character that I'd like to write about. I could create a friend for myself - a friend to occupy my mind.

Were I to create a friend, what would she be like? an amalgamation of all of my previous friends. Smart like - ah see. Here I hesitate. I don't want to insult anyone. I guess writers insult a lot of people. If they write about you, you can get insulted. If they don't, then you feel slighted because they left you out.

Interesting that I started with smart, isn't it?

So, smart like Karen, is what I was thinking. Mischievous like Laura. Outspoken like Claire. Sophisticated like Odile. Sincere like Pauline. These are all friends I haven't spent much time with in the last 20 years. What do they have in common? They know me quite well. They are not shy. They are all intelligent. They all work and most have children.

What would I like them to do? I don't know.

Leaving Home

When the time came to pick a college, I didn't approach it like most people. In fact, my approach was ludicrous, but very indicative of my point of view. My guidance counselor advised me to major in chemistry, because I was good at it. (I wanted to major in English Lit) Did I look for a college with a strong chemistry department? Nope. Never occurred to me. I got a compass and a map, set the compass point on H-ville, and drew a circle that was at about a fie hour drive from home. Then, I looked for colleges near the edge of the circle! I figured that five hours would be far enough away that my parents wouldn't drop in unexpectedly and close enough that I could drive home for Christmas break. St. Lawrence University was on teh circle. It was also almost in Canada.

So, off I went to learn and be free. It was so exciting to be away from home. I have lots of memories of sitting in class, studying, eating too much, drinking too much, reading piles of novels (I minored in English Lit) and thinking that I had never gone so long without a hug before. I missed home, but I loved being away.

Senior year came and it was time to figure out what to do next. My expectation had been that I'd have a boyfriend and be thinking about getting married by that time. Things hadn't exactly turned out that way. No boyfriend, no marriage, no motherhood. So, I guess I had to get a job. I remember having just one interview on campus. It was with some chemical company and I asked the interviewer about their environmental policies. The interview ended pretty quickly after that.