A little bit of work

I had an interesting experience last week.

I was feeling all tapped out.  Wednesday I wrote about how motherhood has been really hard lately and how Juliette has been using up all my attention and energy.  Thursday morning in my small women's bible study group I poured out my heart a little more, praying for an answer.  Within half an hour of getting home, the phone rang.

It was an friend from high school, someone who has been doing video work since university, with whom I did a small pro bono video a couple of years ago.  As it turns out, the professional cinematographer from that video shoot was looking for an Assistant Director and remembered that he liked my work ethic.  He called my friend, who called me.

All of a sudden I was being offered a small job, 4-5 days over a two week period.  Then as we chatted more, it turned out they were also looking for a screenwriter, which I also had experience doing.  I got off the phone pumped.  I knew that daycare might take some juggling, but I also knew that many families have to work out daycare.

It seemed to be the perfect solution, and no doubt an answer to a desperate prayer.  In 5 days of work I could earn a month's wage, I could get out of the house a little, and Juliette could spend some time with someone other than me.  (This would also be good preparation for when James and I are away for two and a half weeks in June.  Juliette has rarely spent any time without me around.)

I dove into the script immediately since the job was a last minute thing (starting this week).  That part was easy.   I was a little apprehensive about the daycare.  I found a university student willing to come watch Juliette in our home.  But was going out to work what I really wanted?  Or was this a case of God giving in to what I wanted, even though it might not be right.  I started questioning, doubting.  If I have the luxury of staying at home, shouldn't I want to do that?  Was this just a case of things getting hard and needing to endure?  Or was this actually a good thing for me?

Alas, after five days, it all fell apart.  The client cancelled the video.  The director called me from New York with the news.  Hopefully I will be compensated for the script, but anything further is a no-go.  After it all, the experience has caused me to pause and reflect on the event, the circumstances, and my emotions.

I think that a few days a month of work, of some sort, will do me good.  My good friend does daycare in her home, and would gladly take Juliette a few mornings a month.  Initially I thought I would just work on some projects in the evening, but I realized that as a morning person, I'm toast by 8pm.  I just don't have it in me to be productive at the end of the day.  But first thing in the morning I am raring to go.

I have a few ideas, including some writing and a couple other leads.  If another video shoot came up I would probably try to work it out.  Hopefully as Juliette grows and her demands decrease I won't feel so depleted at home and desiring to get out.  But for now, these few days just might be what I need to restore my sanity.

Charity Work - Living outside our own little world

Today we had a great opportunity as a family to support one of Colin's best friends.  Keagan, a charming and sweet 9 year old from school, shaved his head after raising funds for the "Cops for Cancer" fundraiser.  He sold 289 t-shirts at $5 each, and raised an additional $600.  That's over $2000.

Keagan's mother is a police officer, and told him the story of how Cops for Cancer started.  A 5 year old boy in Western Canada was being teased at school because chemotherapy had caused him to lose all his hair.  A police officer in the school heard the words from this little boy, and reassured him that "it's just hair."  But that officer didn't stop there.  He went home and shaved his own head.  Then he returned to the school and announced in an assembly that if anyone wanted to tease someone because they were bald, they could tease him.

Keagan heard this story and was moved to do something, too.  And when I heard it, I was moved.  So we donned our t-shirts, packed up the kids and headed down to the city where Keagan stood on stage in the centre court of Square One (a major shopping mall) and had his head shaved.

As I stood with the boys, I talked with them about this.  Keagan does not have cancer, and he hasn't been bullied.  I asked the boys to think about why Keagan would shave his head if these issues don't directly affect him.  The wheels were turning, and I hope that this experience will sit with them for years to come.

We enjoyed a great lunch out with Keagan's family after.  When I approached James about spending a good chunk of our Saturday in this way, he not only saw the importance of showing the boys how to support good causes, but also how to support a best friend.  "Friendships are forged through common experiences," James noted, and I readily agreed.

You never know when an experience will leave a lasting impression on you or your kids.  I hope that as I provide opportunities like these for the kids to see love and charity in action it will start to leave a mark on their own hearts that will lead to action on their part.

The King inside

"Why won't he be the king I know he is, the king I see inside?"
- The Lion King

This line struck me down today.  A simple kid's song, a little love song, and yet a profound idea.

Ten years into marriage, it's easy for things to get hard.  We see the faults and failings more easily than the triumphs and successes.  We are tired and worn out and short-tempered and take it out on those closest to us.  Or we are tired and worn out and give little attention to the one most deserving of it.

We look at our partner and wonder why he won't stand up and do the long list of things, and be the long list of ideals.  We have this view of the "king" we want him to be and wonder why on earth he won't be it?

First of all, I think those lists are long, unreasonable and frankly unrealistic.  Sometimes they are filled with frilly things like putting laundry in the hamper instead of on the floor.  I have complained of it a hundred times, as have all of my friends.  But why do we get hung up on this one?  Is it seriously the one attribute we really desire our husbands to have?

(One friend smashed this complaint for me.  She said that every time she picks up his clothes, she tells herself that she is grateful she has a husband whose clothes she can pick up.)

So is the answer to this question that we should stop trying to change our husbands into someone better?  No, I don't believe so.  I think there really is an answer to "how do I change my husband?"

Let's turn it around for a second and reword this question:  "Why won't she be the queen I know she is, the queen I see inside?"  We all have limitless potential inside.  There are many ways we could improve, do things better, have more energy and drive to move onward and upward.  But what sparks us on?  If my husband was standing in front of me telling me all the ways I could "be the queen he knows is in there somewhere" I would probably not respond very well.  On a good day I would give him the silent treatment and a deadly stare.  On a bad day it might be much worse.

But what if instead he simply started treating me like the queen he knows I am inside?  Like the queen he saw me as when we were dating?  Before he saw me wake up cranky in the mornings, hair askew and makeup smudged?  Before I huffed over a messy house and complained about his long work days?  If he treated me and spoke to me like a queen, it wouldn't take long before I developed the confidence of royalty.

And so, how can I help him "be the king I know he is, the king I see inside?"  Treat him as if he were already that king outwardly.  Honour the work he does.  Praise and support the decisions he does make. Offer help to make combined family improvements.  If I have lost view of the vision of the king I saw all those years ago, then the fault is lying in my own vision.  Because let's be honest: he wasn't perfect back then either.  I just saw him through rose-coloured glasses.  And that wasn't a bad thing.  It was a necessary part of helping him feel he had unlimited potential.  Once we start doing this, I have a feeling we will see that king inside emerge in ways beyond our imagination.

The tragic protagonist

Recently I was watching a television series where the leading character is a tragic protagonist.  While he seemingly is surrounded by wealth, power, and people he slowly sinks further and further, grasping at that money and fame and popularity to save him, and yet nothing can.

I'm not sure if he is meant to be as tragic as I perceive him to be.  I wonder that there aren't many viewers out there who view him as handsome, mysterious, lucky, albeit a little misguided or lost.  I wonder if there are those who wish for his lot in life, for his job, his women, his money, his lifestyle.  there are certainly enough scenes that highlight the Hollywood dream.  Yet it is the moments in between, the dark shots and shadows, the stretching silences, that I latch onto.

I have always been fascinated with world religions.  I think that the existence of so many explanations of where we came from, what our purpose is, and where we are going is proof of the existence of a spiritual plane.  We yearn for these explanations because there is a dimension to humanity outside of the physical realm.  For thousands of years we have filled it with stories, traditions, tales passed on through the ages.  We search for truth, or float toward something that speaks to our experience, or devise an answer that satisfies our questions.

I heard the word liturgy used the other day in this definition: Liturgy comprises the gestures by which we honour transcendent reality.  It helps us give concrete expression to deepest convictions.  It gives us choreography for things unseen and allows us to brush heaven among the shades of earth.  (Mark Buchanan,  The Rest of God)

Religions have formed, rebelled, divided and reformed over the years mostly do to liturgy. People have a specific idea on how to reach out to the heavenly realm.  Even disputes over doctrine seem remote.  If this "God-shaped hole" in our hearts must be filled by the Creator, then all doctrine is an attempt to understand that creator and all liturgy is an attempt to honour that creator.

All over the world through all centuries people have tried to define our Designer to satisfy our minds and have woven spiritual habits to satisfy our spirits.  I will not speak here to right or wrong; I just simply want to note that all of these belief systems stem from our desire to reconcile our deepest questions.

(A clause here that my interest in world religions and spirituality has been held to just that: interest.  One day I hope to immerse myself in learning and studying, but for today, this is all written from a place of very little schooling in the subject.)

While many religions exist, each with their own doorway to knowledge and understanding, it seems the only path that doesn't lead upward is to reject them all.  This tragic television character of which I spoke is a cultural mirror of exactly that: rejecting all sense of the spiritual nature of humanity and embracing the only the offerings of this world.

This world: a place that values endless pursuits of entertainment and pleasure.  A place that worships self.  A place that says your satisfaction and happiness are the only thing that matters.  A place that offers substances to dull pain and increase pleasure and distract from tangible reality.  A place that offers to fill your gnawing hunger while at the same time starving you from what you need.  It is frightening to realize how instantly gratifying what this world offer is, and how cold the bathroom floor on which it leaves you in the morning.

As someone who leans toward intellect, I have often struggled with the "feeling" side of spirituality.  I cannot reconcile myself to faith because it "feels right."  However I have come to realize that logic and knowledge can exist on multiple planes, soaring above and beyond our earthly and natural capacities.  I can find that joy and peace in faith without leaving intellect behind.  I am grateful, blessed, lucky, to have escaped the chains of the tragic protagonist of today.

Motherhood gets hard

I feel like I'm at a lot point in my motherhood journey these days.  Juliette takes up my attention 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  I have two hours at band on Thursday nights, and two hours at church on Sunday morning (when I run the kids program for 60 other kids) that I am apart from her.  Other than that, she requires me.  I lie with her in the afternoons to get her to nap, and I sleep with her from the time she goes to bed until morning to get her to sleep at night.

These days I seem to have no identity or purpose than being a mother to her.  All my other responsibilities have to cram in around her, while I'm holding her, or while I'm listening to her tantrum because my task requires diverting my attention from her.  It's exhausting, and frankly makes me wish I was working outside the home during the day.

I know that I am lucky to have the opportunity to stay home with my children.  I have friends and siblings who wish they could.  I am not ungrateful for this blessing, but these days are not looking like I wish they would.  I have lost all my other identities: woman, artist, wife, sister, friend.  Everything I do and am is only an appendage to "mother to two-year-old" right now.  I feel distanced from so many things, like the perspective of my life is all skewed.

Mostly I mourn my relationship with James.  It's hard to develop as a twosome when there is always a third wheel along for the ride.  And if we do manage to have an hour in the evening when she's actually sleeping on her own in her room, then I can't even contemplate being in the proximity of another person.

I have a love-hate relationship with reading other people's blogs.  Lately people have been writing of their wonderful marriages, of spending time together, dreaming together, supporting each other.  I miss the early days of our marriage when it was just the two of us.  I yearn to hike and bike and eat out and plan and dream and walk hand in hand.  I know this is a different time of life and I love my children to bits.  I just yearn for a time with a little more balance.

I think our trip to France in June is coming at just the right time.  And while I'm worried about leaving Juliette for so long, I think it might be really helpful for both of us.

Bucket Drumming

It's hard to get into the kids' school very often with other little ones at home, but thanks to my supremely awesome friend and sister-in-law I have been able to bring some music programs to our school.  Last fall I did a choir, and this spring we are doing bucket drumming.

(These photos were taken by the school secretary before we had the buckets out.)

I was nervous to start this club, as I am always nervous with something new.  You never really know how things will go the first week or two.  How fast will they take to the material?  Will they speed through everything I know, or am I expecting too much?  Will I spend the whole time trying to keep order, or will the respond well?

So far, bucket drumming (after two weeks) has been a fantastic success.  We are learning some different rhythms, and our first song "Yuck!"  I'm teaching everything by rote, which means they listen and watch and then repeat, instead of reading music.  While an official music class would require learning to read music, I have more latitude in a club and can get right into some fun stuff.  The kids are already asking if they can have a "spectacle" (concert) at the end of the year.

Repentance

"Repentance - in Greek, metanoia, a change of mind."

I read that definition of an old, familiar word and concept today and it sort of blew me away.  I guess I still had the childish (as in, simple, for children) idea: when you do wrong, you say you are sorry and then try not to do it again.

I never realized how limiting that definition is.

I had heard people say that when you are really sorry for doing it, you really do never do it again.  I inwardly scoffed at the idea, since I could personally attest to the fact that even though I was sorry, I would still probably fall in that area again.  And again.

I would try hard.  I would really mean it, this time.  But that "natural man" kept getting in the way of my spiritual desires.  Then I would brush it off as the trying tests of this mortal life.  After all, I knew I could never achieve perfection in this life, which meant that mistakes would happen.

Saying you are sorry and trying not to do it again also encamps itself in the "action" realm rather than the "mindset" realm.  Trying not "to do" something means that you are trying to control your actions, fighting off temptation, and then sometimes giving in.

It's sort of like standing in front of a shelf full of candy.  You want a candy bar, but you have no money. You know stealing is wrong.  And yet you stand there, willing your hand not to reach out and pocket one.  Again, you tell yourself that it is wrong to take it.  You let your fingers graze over the brightly coloured wrappers.  You smell the faint aromas beneath the packaging.  You wince and pull your hand back, and yet still linger.

Whether or not you actually take that candy bar is beside the point here.  This scenario is about action: do I or don't I?  If you do take it, and later feel guilty and wish to repent, you would admit fault, apologize to the store owner, restore the money for the candy, and promise not to do it again.  You might feel bad for a while, but if there is no real change of mind, then given six months, a year, you might find yourself again staring at another shelf of candy, wondering.

But, if we apply the above definition of repentance, then what you have experienced is a true change of mind.  "Repentance is a ruthless dismantling of old ways of seeing and thinking, and then a diligent and vigilant building of new ones...You turn away, stubbornly and without apology, from that which formerly entranced you." (Mark Buchanan, The Rest of God)

A child who was sorry and promising not to steal again might very well keep that promise.  But perhaps that is only driven by the fact that he knows it is wrong and shouldn't do it.  He might stand again at the candy counter, over and over again, and think about what it would be like to have that candy bar.  Even though he controls his hands (actions) and doesn't act on the impulse, he is still standing there, wishing he could have it.

On the other hand, if he dismantles the old way of seeing and thinking, then he never lingers at that candy bar without a coin in his pocket again.  He hasn't just turned away from that old temptation, but actually has changed the way he thinks about it: there is no point standing there without money to buy.  It isn't about taking or not taking the candy, because taking it isn't even an option.

I think we all have areas in which we are in one state or the other.  On a superficial level, I would never park in an illegal parking spot.  It doesn't even cross my mind that I could pull over, turn the key and get out if the sign says I can't.  On the other hand, I push my speedometer up to exactly 9km/hour over the speed limit when I drive.  If I was pulled over, I might say I was sorry to the police officer, and I might feel a bit sorry that I was breaking that law, and yet I can almost guarantee that in a couple of weeks I would be back to the old habit.  While I would be sorry, I would not be repentant.  However, let's say that suddenly I realize the impact that an extra 9km/hour would have.  For example, I have heard that school zones are exactly 40km/h because studies have shown that if a car hits a person at that speed, the person is much more likely to survive than if they are hit even at 50km/h.  When I heard this stat on the radio about 6 years ago, it changed my mindset about driving in school zones.  I dismantled the old way of thinking and built a new one.

Back to the subject at hand, and more serious areas of sin than driving and candy bars.  The reason we struggle again and again is that repentance hasn't yet fully taken place.  I don't think it's something that can be achieved on demand, because of a consequence meted out or a guilty conscience.  It must root itself more deeply in the heart in order for that lasting shift to take place.

Juliettables

Juliette has a fascination with the drawing of eyes.  Whenever we get out sketch paper and pencils, she wants to me draw eye after eye after eye.  Just one big eye, with details like eye lashes and eye brows, eye lids and flecks in the iris.  I have no idea where this came from.

***

While we do a good job to keep her away from her allergens, once or twice a month she gets something unbeknownst to us and we see the attack all over again.  Last night I think she licked an empty bowl of ice cream.  She was restless and wouldn't go to sleep come bedtime, then around 9pm she launched into an all out tirade.  She thrashed about in the room, screaming, crying, throwing herself on the bed, hitting her head on the wall.  I was in there with her, singing softly, talking gently, hugging her and then letting her go.  After thirty minutes she suddenly collapsed into a ball and fell asleep for fifteen minutes.  Then I watched as she started to writhe in her sleep, wake up, and start the process all over again.  That went on until about 2 am, when she finally collapsed next to me in my bed and slept, albeit fitfully, until 7am.  Poor baby.  Dairy is by far the worst and most immediate reaction, although she still gets patchy spots on her face if she gets any grains, beans or soy.

***

Spring is finally on its way, though late this year, and Juliette is proving to be an outdoorsy kid.  I took her out in rainboots and mudpants the other day and she splashed around in the spring mud for hours.  She won't remember much from last summer, but I have a feeling she will be in her element once the ground is soft enough for digging.

A book

I've started writing my book.  It's one that's been on my heart for over a year to write, but I haven't had the drive as yet to sit down and get to it.

This week, I finished watching a TV series on Netflix that had my attention over the last month.  As the credits closed on the final episode, I simply said to myself:

Well, that's it.  Now you write.

And so I opened up my laptop and jumped in.  Wish me luck.  Starting is the easy part.  It's slugging through as the pages add up and the initial excitement fades.  Writing is part passion and part perseverance.

Beautiful Mess

This morning as I lay in bed next to Juliette (finally sleeping, after being awake until 3am), I was hopping around blogs on the internet.  I happened to land on a blog called "A Beautiful Mess."  I didn't stay on it long, don't remember what it was about or who wrote it.  But the title has left an impression in my mind.

At first I thought "yeah, mess is right."  Being a mom of 4 kids in a small house means the mess is always there.  There is the pile of shoes and boots at the door, and the accumulating laundry, and the six toothbrushes and three toothpastes and the cup and the soap all teetering on the bathroom sink.  The clutter and mess bugs me and frustrates me, but I've learned to just keep on plugging at it, coming to terms with the fact that tidying the mess is just another part of my day while my children are young.

But what struck me deeper was the beautiful mess of motherhood within me.  Yesterday, as I was writing, I had tears streaming down my face as my fingers jabbed at the keyboard, capturing some of my deepest hurts, angers and frustrations I feel as a mom.  This work I am doing is harder than I ever thought, harder than I've ever witnessed in others.  (That's not to say motherhood isn't equally hard for others, it's just we are challenged by our own special set of circumstances.)  I have lately felt the urge to pack it all in and head back to work.  My occasional breaks (like playing in the community band once a week, or bible study on Thursday mornings) are no longer filling my empty tank; I return home and feel the same weight I did when I left.  I am such a mess these days.

A beautiful mess.

Because somehow, every morning, I find myself waking up next to Juliette's peaceful eyes, shut fast.  She has cried and screamed at me all day, and then slept beside me all night.  And yet I am blessed, endowed with, gifted, that one moment, every single morning, in which all of that frustration melts away.  The suns rays peak over the horizon and spill onto my cotton white pillow, bathing us girls in light and my heart overflows with love.  And as each sleepy-eyed boy stumbles from his bedroom I gather them up, stroke their hair, breathe their skin, and forgive the selfish, childish behaviours and demands they made on me the day before.  These days devolve into a mess fairly quickly, as my sleep-deprived, over-touched, maxed-out self is stripped of energy within an hour of waking.  But I look at my streaky mascara in the mirror and tell myself: this is my beautiful mess.  I am a beautiful mess.

Work ethic

Today is about venting.

I am so frustrated with the general (lack of) work ethic today.  Somehow we have created a culture that glorifies laziness, and rewarded getting the most with the least amount of effort.

James runs a business.  It's a moving company geared to seniors and retirement residences. We have trucks and employees and ten years experience.  And we can't seem to get a steady workforce.  And it boggles my mind.

An employee starts as a mover. It is a physically demanding job, much like farming would have been decades ago.  But the rewards of physical labour are great: strength, vigour, good use of the body, and a healthy tiredness at the end of the day.  I spent the last two weeks chipping away at the four foot tall ice block on our deck.  I wielded the ice chipper, broke off a big block of ice and the hefted that 50 pound block over the deck fence onto the ground.  I have never felt better.  And yet, so few people see the benefits of physical labour any longer.

We pay well above minimum wage.  We are sympathetic to home and family responsibilities. There is latitude with booking days off.  James and his brother are kind bosses, who themselves work hard, and create a pleasant and friendly atmosphere in which to work.

If someone just needed daily work at a decent wage, it's there.  But there is so much room for growth.  Anyone with a business mind or good client relations have a number of positions to which they could climb.  There is room for growth, expansion, franchising, and relocation.  We have an entire division in another city that is in need of someone to run it.  For someone with ideas, ambition, potential, it's a gold mine.  While experience in our industry must be gained first, there isn't an endless waiting and guessing period, hoping not to be passed over for a promotion.

I heard CBC radio proclaim the puzzling news that unemployment and job creation are both on the rise.  The analyst said they haven't seen this before...unemployment rising while companies are saying they can't find workers.  This speaks to the same thing I have witnessed in our company.  All we are looking for are honest, hard working people.  But working hard is being shunned by our society more and more.  The sense of entitlement we are being raised on is poisoning the job market. Technology has given us work-saving devices (dishwasher) and time-waiting devices (television), both which feed a society that is becoming increasingly lazy.

And while I vent and complain, it also helps me to hold up a mirror to my own life, and to the ways in which I am raising my children. I hope to spend my days working hard, and learning to value how that work benefits me physically, emotionally and mentally.  And I hope I can successfully convey the importance of hard arms work to my children instead of smoothing the road to laziness for them.

Demanding children

James and I are sitting in on a family class Sunday nights, with four other couples, as we talk about the challenges of raising a family. The other couples all have children who are older than ours by 5 to 10 years. Nonetheless it is interesting to talk and share stories, ideas, challenges, successes, and everything else that goes along with parenting.

Last week we spoke at length about the old debate of nature versus nurture.  How much of our children's personality come with them, and how me much is shaped by parents, families, and their surroundings?

I think about this a lot.  A lot.  Because James and I seem to have four children who are all very demanding, challenging, headstrong. Not one is laid back.  Not one is easy going. Not one likes to just go with the flow.  They are each very different in their demands, but it is exhausting parenting  these four.

Juliette tantrums when she doesn't get what she wants. The funny thing is, we don't cater to her, we don't give in to her.  We can't, with three other children that also need us.  But the result is that I have two choices: engage directly with her as she chooses, or listen to her cry and scream.  That is both lhysically and emotionally exhausting.  It leads to lots of tears and frustration. It means that she is generally at my side 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I am an introvert who needs time alone to recharge.  And while I can take it now and then, it is at the expense of my heart and ears as it means setting her down to cry.  Oh, and she has yet to cry herself out.  That girl can literally cry for hours.

Benjamin has some inner desire to defy.  Not desire, need.  A need to defy.  A need to do the opposite of what you ask.  A need to rock the boat and poke at others and test every iota of patience you've got.  Even in the simplest things.  "Benjamin, please open your mouth so we can brush your teeth," becomes a battle of wills.  It descends into threatening and yelling and tears from everyone involved. But he has no problem with the brushing of teeth, so why does he sometimes choose to make it difficult?  "Benjamin, do not go onto the road."  He looks at us, hears, and then walks nonchalantly into the road.  He has no currency in which we can work.  He simply lives to defy.

Caleb is a big ball of emotion. He is easily hurt physically and emotionally. He feels things intensely. He wants to squeeze the life out of you when he hugs because he loves you so much.  But he also might throw someone out of a moving car if he got mad.  He needs both touch and time to express and experience love, which means he delivers a constant stream of words to be heard, acknowledged and answered.

Colin needs order, but it edges a little on compulsion.  The chaos of his younger siblings is oftentimes too much for him.  A he has turned eight I see him retreating more and more into books, a desperate attempt for his little introvert self to deal with the intensity of our small home.  He is learning to deal with change, but often gets left behind as our attentions are sucked up with the others.

And so I look upon these four fireballs and wonder....is it something we have done?  Is it because James and I are both intense personalities that we have genetically created uber-intense children?  Is this why they say two first-borns should never marry?  Or is it because neither of us are laid back that we don't have a laid back environment to nurture that in our children?  Or would these lovely little souls have been much the same in any home, in any family?

Mothering is by far the hardest and at the same time most rewarding thing I've ever done.  I never knew exactly what it would require of me, would never have guessed the constant demands, the unending service, the utter lack of any sort of break.

And yet, every morning I wake completely renewed (despite the average 2 hours of sleep I get at night), more in love with these precious us kids than ever.


 

Writing, editing, publishing

Well, that happened.

This week the book Motherhood Realized was released.  I have an essay on motherhood published in it.  I haven't yet received my copy, but it's on its way.  Seeing my words, my name, in print will be really cool.

But even better was being on the email chain of the writers.  For the past two weeks I've been receiving emails from our publisher, encouraging us to promote the book and updating us on sales and success.



That #27?  That's the best seller ranking on all of Amazon.com.  Yep, we broke into the top 100.

Now, day in and day out, I'm feeling the desire to write.  The funny thing is, I don't even know what it is I want to write.  I have some really solid non-fiction ideas, plus some anthology leads, and the moreI read fiction the more I just want to write a story.  I know writers usually start with a passion for a story they want to tell, but me, I just feel like I have words bubbling up and over that need a blank page on which to land.

Of course, right now, it's not happening.  While Juliette is not sleeping at night, I'm not sleeping at night, which means my days pass in a fog.  Any free time I do have usually ends up in a mindless passage of wasted time.  I can't seem to focus my mind on being creative in the least when I'm so depleted.  But I keep telling myself that all these wonderful things I want to do don't have to be done right now.