The Job of the Advocate

Life is all about the fine print, the dotted "i," the crossed t, the details that make the difference between the one everyone knows knows what she's doing, and the one who knows, she has no clue. For me, nothing makes me feel more incompetent than knowing, I'm responsible.

This morning, I thought I would be going for my first day of work and I've been cramming for the occasion, but that's tomorrow's adventure.

Before I knew I wouldn't be working until tomorrow, my mind buzzed with articles I could and should be writing.  I should write about the growing pains we're doing with the 17 year old, the about to be 11 year old, the growing pains we need to have with the 8 year old, the ones we've been dealing with when dealing with the 12 year old, and the ones who are far away and the three not already mentioned, but who deserve more time because they don't seem to be demanding much.  

I had whimsical thoughts about being stretched and having it feel too thin, but knowing it would make us stronger in the end, to push Paul to be potty trained at night, to let the 17 year old run in the morning and not be anxious, to tell the 12 year old "No." and stick to it, and make him do something with his time even if he said "No." and get the almost 11 year old to not be anxious about everything.
Reality intervened and I didn't get to write those thoughts.  The three floors of the house needed cleaning and there was a stack of papers almost too heavy to lift from all the back to school nights, first day of the week folders and mail I needed to sort.  All these efforts which required me to act, and which made me wonder, ought I to be going out the door if there's all this stuff to do?  However, I never got time to sit and write the ideas down, only to hold onto the concepts. Writing takes time, and I had up until this point, had none for such things.

With all this cluttering in my head, yesterday I also had to get to the store for grown up clothing so I'd look professional.  I ran into a friend from when I hung out at the gym almost daily, trying to fight off the pounds of three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine...ten pregnancies.  She gave me a big smile and asked what I was doing.  When I told her, she said, "The Holy Spirit puts you exactly where you should be.  This is perfect."  I hadn't mentioned God or religion or anything, we'd just been chatting about my starting up teaching for the first time in 23 years.  I thanked her and held those words all through my errands.

Today, the stack of necessary junky paperwork loomed on my bed. I'd ignored it for as long as humanly possible.   It needed to be tackled.  The laundry sagged on my couch, also needing to be sacked.  There were transcripts to order, airline tickets to research, emails to answer and I hadn't written anything worth sending anywhere in a week.  The great nag of writing is, if it isn't worth sharing, does it count?  Well, I wrote a lot of junk I didn't share, (When I die, I will ask the keeper of my blog to just go in and delete all the drafts) but it kind of feels like when you lose the weight that gets you back to your original, I'm not going to pass this number kind of success.  It's hollow.   Was I still a writer if I didn't write stuff people could read?   My friend's words heartened me as I flailed about this morning, unable to gain traction on anything I was doing.  "The Holy Spirit puts you exactly where you should be."  I sat steeped in those words.  "Maybe, but could the Holy Spirit please direct me so I can get something done?"  No good.   "Holy Spirit, help me act?  I've made a list, I just can't seem to get to it and get it done."

Now we're talking.

There are now four stacks of sorted paperwork.  My inbox is empty.  I even filled out several forms before they are due.   That NEVER happens.   So as of today, I'm designating the third person of the Trinity to be my office manager.    Not only does it put me where I'm supposed to be, it also tells me, "Sherry, get to work."

Pixie Dust

As a fourth grader, she's on the edge of childhood, when magic and fairies and other things of whimsy still dot the mental landscape as tangible and real. But the day creeps ever nearer when they won't.

This weekend, she participated in a cross country meet. She was one of 94 girls, eight dropped out over the course of the two miles. I worried the whole time she would quit. I knew it was farther than she'd ever run. 

When I saw her come over the hill, part of me wanted to run with her, to get everyone to run behind her so she'd know, finishing mattered and how proud I was of her. I needn't have worried. The other mothers and girls that lined the course seemed to get the importance of this last runner puffing along. They cheered. They clapped. They heard me and her brothers and sisters screaming her name and others took it up.

"Come on! Come on! You can do it!"

The organization has runners called "Rabbits" who track with the fastest and slowest runners, and her Rabbit jogged along side, he also cheered her on. When she finished, I don't think she heard a single cheer, but the smile on her winded face told me, she got it. Finishing mattered.

A water and an ice cream later, she told me, "I am never doing that again." and my heart sank, I hoped she wouldn't quit, but I wasn't going to push. The coach came over and gave her a hug and talked about running being a constant race against yourself and how proud she should be for finishing. Other parents from other schools saw her and said, "Great run." They knew how fragile a moral victory can be.

When we got home, she informed me how the other day when she'd lost two teeth, the tooth fairy missed her note. While she watched a video, I went to her room and found it. "Dear Tooth Fairy, I would like some fairy dust." I sat with the note, weighing everything and the tooth fairy, wrote back.

"My Dearest,

Your mother found the note and put it under the pillow for me. I want to tell you something. While Fairies need Pixie dust, we do not make it. You my darling girl, make pixie dust.

When you persist when things are hard, whether it is homework or running or learning an instrument, you create a finer world via your work, and it is wondrous to behold.

When you are brave when things get tough, and stick it out even when you feel like quitting; you create pixie dust.

Fairies fly because of people like you, creating more amazing things than we magics can ever imagine. So keep up the good work! Don't quit. 

Love, T.F."

Sherry's Writing Rules

Dreaming of writing the next great American novel or at least crafting a story that has been kicking around in your head whenever you get the opportunity to be still?  Writing is all about allowing your imaginary friends in that genre to talk to you and tell you what they're going to do and where and when, and then doing the research to put them in their place for those occasions when you're not on speaking terms. 

So...how to begin? 

10) Sit in the chair. Yes seriously this is the hardest part for many, for writing cannot be multi-tasked, it is a singular experience.  You can have music on in the background but sooner or later if you are writing, everything else falls away.

9) Have a word limit, but unlike a speed limit, this is your daily minimum.  Make it low enough to meet but high enough to push you on occasion.  I write a poem a day regardless of whether I blog or not, just to keep the brain moving. 

8) Banish the "But what if it's no good" sentence from your brain. You're right, a lot of what you generate will be less than perfect, less than golden, but it is process that generates good quality material. We are working towards improving, rather than perfection.  Inner critics are never pleased, never stated, never satisfied and seldom complimentary. I send them rejection letters all the time.  It is very satisfying.

7)  Corollary to #8, be unafraid and be true.  No one ever got excited by someone who held a tepid opinion. If you're going to write something, make it beautiful, make it about something that matters to you. Otherwise, you will grow bored and stop writing.

6) Addendum to #7 Be unafraid to have fun.  That means, you can make things up,  you can go nuts. Take notes on your life and craft slices and elements into your stories. It's cathartic, it's calorie free provided you don't snack while at the computer, and it allows you to breathe into your characters greater life.  People watch and notice one thing about each person that passes by as you sit at a park bench, make up the history of that item and why it is important.  Airports are awesome for this sort of thing, just past the security check point, when people are putting themselves back together.  Yes, I do this sort of thing and think it fun. That may be why TSA did a private pat down of me last time I passed through the screening.   

5) Edit.  Writing is not a 2nd or even a 3rd draft business. It is a Edit until you hate the damn thing but it sings business.  There's no magic number, but it is always more than 1 and is only less than the number that makes you hit Delete. 

4) Read.  Pay attention to how things are written.  You will start to notice distinctive phrases, cliches, points of view, writing crutches, etc.  You will become aware of the writer, though good writing, really good writing flows such that you only hear the image created by the words.

3) Join a writer's group and/or forum. It will help sharpen your writer's ear and improve your craft.  It will also  help you to grow a thicker skin.  You will discover you can survive the experience of something other than praise.  You will also learn the business part of writing and that can lead to submissions and even (huzzah) paid work. 

2) Read aloud your own writing. Be advised, this is a wounding experience. Ack!  Wooden dialogue...must...stop...Captain...Kirk-like mannerisms.  It's like looking in the mirror in the fitting room, you know where and why you need to hit the gym.

1) Don't quit.  Keep writing. Keep editing. Keep reading, keep rewriting.  There's only one way to guarantee failure, don't try, don't even start. 

Small Successes Thursday Test

This is a test for a project I've been invited to take on.  If you would care to participate to verify this thing works, play along and use Mr. Linky below after you've listed three successes over at your blog.  I'll click on your link from Mr. Linky below and verify that I have in fact done this correctly.  It will count as my fourth success if it does.  If not, well I still have Wednesday to work out the bugs.

Hello!  Welcome to everyone visiting from Family & Faith Live!  My name is Sherry and I've agreed to host Small Successes Thursday.   This is the new spot for anyone grappling with the meaning of life or cleaning of laundry. No promises on my take being the last word on either subject.




It's important for moms to recognize that all the small successes in our days can add up to one big triumph. So on Thursday of each week, we do exactly that.

To participate, just write up a list of 3 of your recent Small Successes and post it on your blog along with the Small Successes button. I'm working on creating a button for you to access with the appropriate non tech looking user friendly link.  But in the meantime, email me and I will email back the code for the button on my blog.  (I adjusted the button to lead back here on my blog only but can't figure out how to post that info without granting access to rework my blog).  You are not required to use the button, but please do link back to the main post here. Then you can add your blog here using the Mr. Linky form (please link to the individual blog post, not the home page of your blog).


If you don't have a blog, you can share your Small Successes in the comments. To get us started, I will share my small successes for this week:

1. I mailed a birthday card to my niece who turns two this Friday.  Normally I'm notoriously tardy about these sorts of things so this is progress.





2. The quest for order in the home continues undeterred by my brood's capacity for chaos. This week we cleaned out two bins of junk.





3. I got a haircut without engaging in martyr type practicality where I wouldn't go until some one else needed it more.





Now it's your turn. Please tell us all about the ways you got it right this week!  Mr. Fred and It Works! are obviously me.

A Valentine

My husband has gone out to dig out our driveway. We've been at it for four days. He brought out the stereo for musical motivation. The CD?

The sound track of "A Bridge Too Far."

For those unfamiliar with the film (a worthy watch of the heroism and insanity and luck and courage and sadness of Operation Market Garden); there are many quotable scenes but the one that perhaps gets used the most in our family is a discussion between two officers about a heavily fortified bridge that must be captured.

Brigadier General Gavin: What's the best way to take a bridge?
Maj. Julian Cook: Both ends at once.

Brigadier General Gavin: I'm sending two companies across the river by boat. I need a man with very special qualities to lead.
Maj. Julian Cook: Go on, sir.

Brigadier General Gavin: He's got to be tough enough to do it and he's got to be experienced enough to do it. Plus one more thing.

He's got to be dumb enough to do it... Start getting ready.

We switch roles based on who starts the conversation but here are a few examples:

What's the best way to clean the basement?
What's the best way to tackle the laundry?
How are we going to manage 5,6,7, 8, 9 children?
How are we going to pay for college?
How are we going to shovel all this snow? (They're predicting more tomorrow).

Junior Officer: what was all that about, Major?
Maj. Julian Cook: Well someone's come up with a real nightmare. Real nightmare. (Sending out all the junior officers to shovel as we speak).

Being the eternal optimist of the family, I'm now hunting through our collection of music for a different soundtrack; The Incredibles.

Small Successes Thursday

This week, successes had to be scraped from the sides of whatever I could find, like a mom trying to coax one more sandwich out of peanut butter jar so she can pack up the last lunch. 

1) Submitted a piece to the Erma Bombeck contest.  450 words, Erma's style, deadline was Sunday at 11:59 pm.  

2) Worked on a grant and on a piece for Associated Content.

3) practiced piano for 20 minutes yesterday to promote/encourage children to practice.  Hate being my own nag but hate having other people nag me more. 

4) Finished reading "Three Cups of Tea."  A worthy read but I'm not sure I need to go get the second book, "Stones to Schools."

5) prayed for friends, now waiting to see the paths God draws for me.  You wouldn't think a person in a house of 11 would be able to feel lonely, but every once in a while, I'm hit by the reality that community is something I really crave.  Think I'll call my sister and my Mom. 

6) helped 13 year old prepare for auditions for scholarships to be held this weekend.

7) Discovered the quiet grace infused writings of Pope Benedict in his daily devotional, "Benedictus."

Foot Notes

My mom and dad came to visit last week and we talked systems. We brainstormed over how I could minimize the chaos and the clutter and the difficulties of getting six people launched in the morning with lunch.

The upshot of that discussion; six pairs of shoes are currently safely tucked in the shoe closet; kids have laid out their clothes for tomorrow, including mated socks! Banana bread and blueberry muffins have been made in advance of breakfast. The sink is empty, the dryer is finishing the last load and the refrigerator is stocked with the snacks and meals for the week.

It's ten-thirty p.m. I have nothing to do. I can write! Hot diggities.

Except, without the element of chaos from which to draw inspiration, I got nothing. The basement is in nominal shape. Coats are hung up. My five year old took on folding the towels and his bathroom is completely tidy. He's offered kindly to do mine. My daughter changed the sheets this weekend. My oldest did the dishes. Try as I might, there isn't a vignette to craft, a bon mot to share or a grouse I can nurse into a story. I'm stuck with the curse of a clean house and an empty mind.

Naturally, I turned to my beloved spouse who had aided in the clean up for the day by folding while watching the playoffs.
"I need your help." I started.
"Sher, I thought you were writing..."

"I can't. It's the moment every writer dreads. They look at the blank page. The blank page looks back and there is no love. Help!"

"When you can't fall asleep, giving me a rub always makes you yawn. So maybe, if you gave me a foot rub, you'd think of things to write."

"This is a con to get a rub."
"Yes it is; but it might work, it does for insomnia."

I went back to the page. The page was still dull as could be. I had the gift of time, but it seems the need to procrastinate was another source of inspiration. My husband helpfully presented his ankles for a good crunching.

The things I do for my art.

My Original Sin

Desperation leads to desperate actions. After multiple bribes, systems, threats, promises, nagging days dictated by the timer, pull ups and readings of all the annoying books about learning to go…in three weeks, my son turns four.

Up to this point, he had refused to become potty trained.

I am sure when he becomes an adult, if he is so inclined, he can write a tell all book about me. In it, he can detail my certifiable insanity. In my defense, it’s not like I haven’t put in my time.

But I admit it, this was a new low, even for me. I know this isn't Parent Magazine approved.

I told him he couldn’t turn four if he wasn’t potty trained.

I told him it was against the law to turn four and not be potty trained. They’d revoke the birthday license and confiscate the cake and everything.

My son has been wearing underwear ever since.


While I refuse to celebrate until we go two days accident free, a tiny part of me is jumping up and down mentally at merely the possibility of potty training finally taking hold. It has been 1445 days of diapers for this guy alone.

For the record, I also refuse to repent as long as it’s working.

I suspect at the very least, I've committed a venal.
Wonder what I could say to motivate his sister…

For more humor that does not endanger the immortal soul, try http://www.humor-blogs.com!