Remember when I told you about my mom crush?

She is mom of Claire’s bff at the triplet’s preschool and she is such a beautiful mess. She has four kids like me, comes to school drop off in her jammies and seems just  frazzled as me. And the very first time that she had Claire over from a play date, she wasn’t horrified when Quinn peed on her rug. She all like, “It’s no big deal. All my rugs are urine soaked.”

I just adore her.

Now, I did find out that she uses cloth diapers but I am going to let that slide. I do see the benefit of cloth diapers and to be honest, if I ever had another baby, I’d probably use them too.

But as much as I like this woman, I have realized that the feeling might not be mutual. It’s not that I think she doesn’t like me, I just don’t think that her feelings are as strong as mine.

See being out going and making new friends is hard for me. I am usually never the one that makes the first move. I am used to being the one that is pursued.

Because when I do the pursuing, come on too strong.

I had this problem in high school with a boy. I really, really liked him and when he finally asked me to go see a movie with him, I was over joyed.

The ‘date’ went well and we had a good time but after it was done, I was on him like white on rice.

No, not physically but I did call him three times a day, just to hear his voice. I wrote out notes to him, signing them ‘your girlfriend’ or ‘love you’. I sent myself flowers from him on our one week anniversary. I made sure no other girls talked to him. I thought about changing my school schedule around to be near him more. I took a sweater out of his locker to wear. I made him hold my hand and walk me to class.

Yeah, I was full on crazy stalker girl.

Now that I look back on it, I am amazed he put up with me for three weeks. Seriously.

He ended up lying to me and sneaking around behind me back. I was really hurt at the time but what else was this poor boy supposed to do? I was smothering him and obsessed. I practically had us married.

Ever since this experience, I have been really careful with new people. I make sure they like me first so they think my crazy is cute and endearing.

But I like this woman so much that I find it hard to keep my crazy in check. But I am trying for the sake of my daughter and her friendship.

I mean, we are only at the preschool level here. I can’t have the ‘your mom is a stalker’ reputation until at least middle school.

So I have been playing it cool. I resist the urge to call her once a day. I let her chat with other moms at preschool drop off. I schedule playdates every two weeks instead of every week.

And so far, it’s been working.

She has not taken out a restraining order and Claire gets to play with her daughter.

I was dropping off Claire’s friend after a recent afternoon of play when my Mom Crush and I began chatting. I was playing it cool and being funny, making her laugh and such, when on the inside I was doing cartwheels and swooning.

We were discussing how our husband both like to start projects but never finish them when suddenly, ”YOU DUMB ASS SHIT HOLE!” rang through the neighborhood.

“Sorry,” she nervously laughed, “That would be my neighbors.”

“Alan! You are a dumb ass. YOU HAD SEX WITH HER!” the yelling continued.

“Nice,” I said as we both walked out of her garage where we were chatting and onto the driveway after we heard a loud bang.

“Yup, it’s our very own domestic disturbance across the street,” she said, “I would call the county police but by the time they get here the fighting is over. I know, I have called in the past.”

I smiled at her, “Look at it this way, you have your ever own live version of Jerry Springer.”

She laughed and I did too.

“I know. It’s so ridiculous how some people act,” she said as again a door slammed and we heard something shatter.

“Well, at times like these the only thing you can do is send the kids out back to play, grab a chair and a cold beer, sit down and watch the action,” I said, “It’s like ’shhh… mommy is watching her stories!’”

With that she laughed and laughed and laughed some more as I did a mental back flips… yup, we on our way.

We are almost to the point where I can start to let me crazy show.

Now to find her on Facebook.

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“What do you want to wear today, Claire?” I asked her as I flopped down on her bed.

She went to her closet and threw open the doors. I sat up and watched her flip through her clothes like some diva princess.

“No, no, not this, no…” she was saying.

I smiled.

Thankfully, she really is not picky about what clothes she wears. Actually, none of the kids are. Sometimes they complain but more often than not they just put on the clothes that I lay out for them.

Claire finally settled on a pair of shorts and a shirt. I got up from the bed and pulled them down for her. She began chatting aways about how this was her favorite shirt because of the princess and I laid back down on her bed.

I closed my eyes and wished that just once on a Saturday morning the kids would sleep until at least 8am.

“Someday…” I told myself.

“Mommy.”

I opened my eyes, startled to see Quinn right up in my face.

He had is shirt off and was sporting only socks and underwear and he looked really distressed.

“What is it buddy?” I asked sitting up to better talk to him.

Quinn just looked at me, his eyes boring into my soul.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked again, stroking his head.

“Mommy…” Quinn spoke almost as if the words were too painful to say, “I don’t like these.”

I look at him confused, searching him for what ‘these’ were that he didn’t like.  I stopped when I realized that I he was pointing to his chest.

“You don’t like your chest?” I asked hoping he would clarify.

“I don’t like these two fwings,” he said using both hands to point.

“Quinn, those are your nipples. Why don’t you like them?” I asked.

“Mommy…” Quinn said now on the verge of tears, “they are just not as big as yours.”

I half smiled, half laughed but stopped myself short when I saw how serious he was.

I leaned over and kissed his forehead, “I am sorry, Quinn. You are a boy. Your nipples are going to stay flat and small.”

Quinn looked at me and not being able to control himself anymore, he let out a heart wrenching wail. And suddenly my son was sobbing in front of me about the fact that he had small nipples.

My first thought was to laugh and wait for someone to jump out of the closet and yell, “Gotcha!”

But then I began to wonder… when in the world had Quinn gotten a good look at my nipples? How was he suddenly a supposed expert? Also for the record, they were not that big. We are not talking able tribal plate sized nipples, just normal size. I didn’t even nurse babies for goodness sakes.

I pulled Quinn into me and hugged him tight.

“I am sorry, honey.” I said again, “You are a boy and you are not going to have big nipples or boobs.”

He continued crying. He was not talking comfort in my words so I added, “But you do have a penis and it will grow big someday.”

Quinn sniffled and looked up at me with a half smile. I wiped his tear stained cheeks and gave him one more hug.

My head was spinning. What in the world just happened here? What kind of conversation what this?

I almost wanted to pinch myself to see if that really did just happen.

With Claire now fully dressed and Quinn seemly feeling better and off to dress himself, I tried to shrug off the weirdness and walked down the stairs.

“What was all that crying about?” Jeff asked as I reached the bottom.

“Nipples.” I said matter of factly, “It was all about nipples.”

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“Hey, guys! Let’s go to the beach and watch some kites.” I said.

“Yeah! The beach,” they all screamed.

So off to the beach we went… but we were not the only ones with this idea.

Half of the city seemed to have the same plan.

The day was beautiful and a walk seemed like a good idea.

The mood was soured with the questions, “Are we there yet?” asked about a thousand times.

But ice cream sweeten the deal.

Then we walked some more.

Until finally we got to the main event…

High Flying Kites.

“Aren’t they pretty neat?” I asked the kids.

My question was answered with shoulder shrugs and “Yeah, sure I guess.”

“But mom,” the oldest boy lamented, “I wish we could go swimming.”

And the littlest ones nodding… agreeing.

“I’m sorry kids, it’s only May. The lake is just too cold for swimming.” I answered their pleas.

They all sighed at me.

“How about you all play in the sand?” I asked.

They looked at me and sighed again.

“Ok, fine… but we won’t have any fun” is what they said.

But their giggles told a totally different story.

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“WAIT!” I screamed at myself. “How in the world did this happen?”

One minute I was sitting at my computer spending the afternoon reading blogs and playing around on Twitter while the kids ran in and out out of the house and then the next minute I found myself cleaning.

People, I was just not cleaning but full on, showing the dirt who was boss, cleaning.

Like washing windows, scrubbing walls, vacuuming nooks and crannies, shaking out rugs, dusting, pulling down spider webs and I even took my efforts outside. I weeded the yard, swept the sidewalk and thought about taking a bucket of soap water to scrub off the siding on the house.

Holy Cow! I was Spring Cleaning.

I had gone off the deep end and into the cleaning pool. My mother was going to be so proud.

I was totally freaked out.

But it was then I realized that I had been seduced by a machine.

In August, Jeff and I will celebrate 10 years of marriage. I can’t believe that it has been that many years since we said our ‘I Do’s’.

It’s also been 10 year since we had all our wedding showers where friends and family were nice enough to give us all kinds of gifts that we needed to make a home.

You know like pots and pans, laundry baskets, dishes, sex toys, vacuums, toaster and many other things.

Ten years is a long time for these things to last so it is only natural that a lot of these things are breaking or have broken.

We need new stuff, yo!

I have been hinting around to friends and family that it will be our 10 year wedding anniversary and I would really like another wedding shower to replace all the things that are broken with new models but the funny thing is, no one appears to have taken the hint.

I don’t think it’s so unreasonable to ask for another wedding shower. In fact, maybe we should make a new rule… every 10 years you are married you get a party with new gifts for the home.

I can’t be alone in this thinking here. But it appears I am so the replacing all the broken household gadgets is up to me.

Cue my new vacuum.

I was so happy to get this bad boy home.

It’s not that I actually enjoy vacuuming but I do enjoy walking on my carpet without feeling like I am stepping on the sandy beach because of all the crumbs and dirt it has in it.

This new vacuum comes with fancy filters and lights that flash from red to green when the carpet is clean. And the sucking power on this baby… wow, it’s so good that it makes me blush.

But there is one problem with this new machine… he has a power over me that I just can’t explain.

I get him out of the closet, plug him in and his power begins to course through my body. My whole body begins to tingle and then responds with gusto.

I find myself moving furniture, picking up toys instead of just going around them and the pleasure I get from the attachments is probably illegal in at least 6 states.

I am under a spell. The humming and flashing lights are more than I can take. I am pushed to my limit and soon I find myself not just cleaning one room in the house but with a longing to clean them all.

Freaking A! He makes me want to clean the house.

And that was how I found myself one afternoon. Like a hung over college student who doesn’t remember the frat party from the night before, I stood on my porch vacuum in hand.

I have been seduced by this machine.

I must resist him. I must maintain control of myself. I must not succumb to the seduction.

Slowly as to maintain control of the machine in my hands, I walked back into the house. I look around to see if anyone saw me.

Then I wrapped up the cord and put the vacuum beast back into the closet.

I closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

There is only so much cleaning this girl can take and I am way over my limit.

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I walked into the building and the first thing that caught my eye were the lockers.

I was at a parent’s meeting for parents of incoming second graders. In our school district, kindergarten and first grade is in one building and second, third, fourth and fifth are in another. Next year, Hayden would be going to this school.

The principle began talking about the school. She was explaining the daily schedule and what we could expect but all I could think about were the lockers.

When I was in elementary school, only the fourth graders got to have lockers.

It was a huge deal.

Each year since third grade, the year when kids began to care about getting lockers,  kids would long for a locker. I mean, who wouldn’t want a locker. It was a metal box with a door on it that you could put stuff in. It was so much better than some silly hook.

But the best part of a locker was that you could hang pictures and stuff up inside on the door.

Many of the girls in my class hung pictures of cute boys but not me.

When I was in fourth grade, I was all about being grown up. I was 11 years old, I was in the double digits and that meant that I needed to act like a grown up.

I took care of my baby doll, dressing her each day before school and giving her her bottle, I focused on my studies to make sure I could get a good job and I put a lot of effort into practicing for my chosen career… being a singer/actress/dancer girl.

My locker was full of pictures of me performing. There were pictures of me in church choir, acting in my after school performance classes and pictures from my dance recitals.

I was so proud of my locker.

One afternoon, I walked down the hall after recess and I noticed my locker open with a couple of boys staring at my pictures.

“What are you doing?” I screamed at them horrified.

My screaming startled them and the slammed my locker closed. They just stood there smirking at me.

“What?” I seethed at them, hands on my hips. I was an ‘adult’ I didn’t have time for these children.

The boys looked at each other and began to laugh.

“You are Jenny Jazz!” they giggled at me. “Jenny Jazz! Jenny Jazz!”

In that moment, if I could have shot daggers out of my eyes, I would have.

Then I realized they were talking about my dance recital pictures. Oh those silly boys, what did they know? I was thinking of my future. I was going to be famous and someday they would be begging for my picture.

“Oh yeah,” I said.

And with that I did a quick step ball change, step ball change, hip check, hip check, turn and pose, jazz hands!

The boys, looked at me shocked that I had just danced at him.

But soon they couldn’t contain their laughter anymore and ran off down the hall.

“Boys are dumb,” I said to myself as I opened my locker to put my coat away, “I am never going to like boys.”

I smiled as my day dream faded away.

Then I realized all the other parents was half way down the hall. I stopped staring at the lockers, tried to focus on the present and hurried to catch up with them.

As I walked, two things hit me, we are entering grade school territory, a whole new ball game, and maybe Jenny Jazz should make a come back.

This post is part of Writer’s Workshop

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I like knowing things about people.

For example, when I am walking down the street, I want to know why a woman is angry texting on her phone. Is she talking to her teenage son who forgot to take out the trash or a lover she just discovered was cheating on her.

I want to know the reason behind my neighbors buying a new car one day and then putting their house up for sale the next. Did they win the lottery? Did they get new jobs? Or is this one last spending spree before the government comes and arrests them for unpaid taxes.

I want to know the reason behind the affair. I want to know who was cheating on who and how someone could do something like that.

Call me noisey. Call me a butt-in-ski but I just like to know.

I think that people are some of the most entertaining things out there. People never fail to amaze and shock me. I enjoy watching the events unfold and learning the hows and whys behind them.

I believe this is why I love blogging so much.

Blogging fills my need to know things about people. It is a non-stop 24/7 thing that gives me a glimpse into people’s lives.  Whether it be a look at what’s for dinner, pictures of children playing or the story behind an affair or divorce, I get the inside scoop.

Blogging and social media makes people brave. They become more transparent and put things out there to feel encouraged and supported.

Since social media is a powerful tool, brands want to use this tool in order to make connections with people. They are putting things out there about themsevles that we might not have known to foster relationships.

Now, I thought it would be fun to play a little game.

I am betting that you like to know things about people just as much as I do.

So I have gathered a child, myself and a major Brand to play… Two Realsies and a Whopper!

Watch the video. We are going to make three statements about ourselves, revealing something that we have never told anyone before.

Can you guess what the whopper is? Do you know what is true?

Now spill the beans, tell me something that no one knows about you.

There’s a lot you don’t know about Go Daddy! Including all the tools they have for bloggers! Check out www.godaddy.com to learn more!

Join the conversation by telling something unknown about you for your chance to win 3 year Unlimited 4GH Hosting from Go Daddy!

This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Go Daddy. The opinions and text are all mine.

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I am pretty sure that any mom will tell you what a roller coaster ride motherhood is.

There are some of the highest highs and the lowest lows and then everything else in the middle all wrapped up into these little people who are parts of your soul walking outside your body.

We love them with every fiber of our being and one minute we can be surrounded by warm fuzzys and then next cold pricklys are pumping through our veins.

Because of this, children need a defense mechanism.

Like how puppies and kittens are so cute. They need to be so that we don’t throw them against the wall and stomp on their heads when they poop on the carpet for the millionth time, chew a brand new pair of $200 shoes or rip to shreds a couch that had been in the home for less than a week.

Children need that kind of power too.

Sure, children have cuteness but they need more since they are dealing with us moms who at times can be emotional messes.

Since it was just Mother’s Day, I thought that I could take my time getting ready. I wanted to take picking out my clothes and play around with a little extra make-up. I didn’t care that we were going any were special, those things just make me happy. Plus alone time in the bathroom when not rushed to bring someone here or there is a luxury, one I don’t often get.

Jeff being the wonderful husband he is, helped with this matter by sending all the children outside.

The house was quiet and I was alone in the bathroom, happily playing with eye liner and false eye lashes.

Then Jeff made a fatal error… he decided to take this opportunity to answer the call of nature. He grabbed his iPhone and retreated to his bathroom.

Oh, silly man. He does not realize that the children know. They know instantly when the ‘gaurd’ is away from mommy.

And they will come running.

Now why the children don’t go to the bathroom to ask Daddy things, I will never know. Me being busy in the bathroom has never stopped them but Daddy busy in the bathroom, God forbid, the children inturput him in there.

“Mom, can I have a snack?”

“Mom, can the snack be Gogurt?”

“Mom, I can get it myself?”

Mom, he wants a Gogurt too.”

“Mom, can she have a Gogurt?”

“Mom, can I have a strawberry one?”

“Mom, can I have a berry one?”

“Mom, can it have Sponge Bob on it?”

“Mom, I don’t want Squidword. Sponge Bob, mom. Sponge Bob!”

“Mom, I can open it.”

“Mom, I need scissors.”

“Mom, can you open it?

“Mom, some fell on the floor?”

“Mom, can I lick it off the floor?”

“Mom!”

Suddenly these little people surround me with a thousand requests running in and out of the bathroom just as I have begun the delicate operation of attaching false eye lashes to my face.

But then as if they can see my stress level rising, the roller coast getting ready to reach it’s climax, they go in and defuse the situation.

No mommy head exploding here.

They use their God give ‘defense mechanism’ and do the one thing that makes it all better.

“Mommy… you’d are the best. And the prettiest! Happy Mofther’s Day!”

*sigh*

And once again the warm fuzzy feeling is back and I am putty in their hands.

Sure, one of my eye lids is glued shut, there is a child trying to shut a chair in the fridge and yogurt is all over the floor.

I just don’t care.

Well, I care,  just not enough to go bat shit crazy on them.

Because there is no way to melt a mommy faster than to tell her she is loved and pretty.

Saying she is pretty helps… a lot.

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“Oh mom….” I cried into the phone.

“Jenny. What?!” my mom said sounding alarmed since she was at work and I ambushed her with my tears.

I am not usually a crier. Sure, I cry over sappy movies but that is usually because there is wine involved and wine makes me all emotional.

It was just that in that moment, I was overflowing with so much emotion that it was just literally leaking out of me in the form of tears.

My morning had started off like any other. I was pulled from my sleep by an annoying alarm and a boy asking if he could watch TV. This meant it was time to get everyone up and ready for school.

I dragged myself through the morning routine feeling very hungover even though no alcohol passed my lips the night before and got the family ready. I then plopped myself back into bed to catch a few more hours of sleep before Hayden’s Mother’s Day Tea at school.

The night before had been amazing and late like driving till wee hours of the morning late. It was the performance of the Northwestern Indiana Listen to Your Mother. This experience of being on stage, telling my story, listening to people laugh and respond to me, was something that I will not soon forget. It was exhilarating, a pure emotional high. I loved every moment of being on stage and I know one thing for sure… I must do it again.

I pulled the covers up to my chin and waited for sleep to come.

The sleep was deep and dreamless, perfect to recharge my exhausted body.

I smiled when I woke up and then looked to the clock.

“HOLY SHIT!!!” I screamed when I saw the time.

10:08am.

I had to be in Hayden’s classroom at 10:15am.

I threw back the covers and ran to the kitchen to start the coffee maker and then ran back to my room to get dressed and try to make myself look less like a hooker sporting black eye liner smudges on her face because she partied the night away and more like a respectable mom.

Thank God, ‘bedhead’ is stylish because there was no time to do anything to my hair.

I grabbed a cup of coffee, threw ice cubes in it and slammed it down. Then out the door, I ran.

10:23am

While driving to school, the only thing running through my head was the mantra, “Hayden I’m coming. I’m coming. Don’t be sad, dear boy. Please don’t be sad.”

The guilt in that moment was overwhelming. Hayden was so excited for this tea. He had been talking to me about it for weeks and had questioned me many times making sure that I was really coming.

“Mommy!” Hayden ran to me with a big smile on his face when he saw me enter his classroom. “You are so late.”

I squeezed my boy tight and kissed his head, “I am so sorry buddie, I slept too long.”

He smiled at me and pulled me to his desk. I sat down as Hayden ran to get me a glass of punch and a cookie. He was so proud to be serving me a snack. He then pulled a book out from his desk.

“Read it, mom. I made it for you,” he said.

“Moms Wear Many Hats…” I began reading.

Soon it was time for the show to begin and all the moms were ushered into the school gym. The kids all lined up and began to sing songs about families and moms. The words were silly but sweet and I couldn’t help but smile.

As I watched Hayden sometimes sing and sometimes play with the wall next to him or the dress of the little girl standing in front of him, I thought of the six flower pots I had at home on my kitchen window sill from the triplets (one from each kid from preschool and daycare). They had been so excited to present me with these flowers, telling me weeks in advance that they had planted them.

A smile spread across my face and suddenly, I felt hot tears running down my cheaks.

It was all just too much.

“It’s nothing, really. Everything is fine,” I sniffled into the phone.

“Good. I was worried when you were crying,” my mom said. “Why are you crying?”

“I am just so happy,” I said. ”I just have the best kids in the world!”

The greeting card companies tell us that Mother’s Day is a day to show your mom that you love her. Well, on this day…. this mom feels pretty darn loved.

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“Ew! Gross! What is that?” Claire asked as she slid her chair back from the table.

I rolled my eyes.

“Oh yum!” Hayden said in his best kiss up voice, “It’s meatloaf.”

I am pretty sure the cure all for a grey, cold day is comfort food and on that night, a nice turkey meatloaf with cheesy bacon mashed potatoes was about as comforting as it gets for me.

“This is what is for dinner,” I said to a sulking Claire. “You can either eat it or you can wait until morning for breakfast. ”

Then I walked to the kitchen and returned to the table with something that I new would sweeten the deal. I placed a pan of hot home made rolls on the table.

“And if you want a roll, you need to eat meatloaf first!” I said sitting down in my chair while thinking to myself, “So there. You wanna whine about dinner, I am going to play dirty.”

There was a collective sigh from all the kids as they grabbed their forks and poked at dinner.

“Mommy,” Quinn began, “What is meatloaf made of?”

“Well this meatloaf is made of turkey but meatloaf can be made from beef or chicken or any meat as long as it’s ground up,” Jeff answered.

“Or vegetables or Tofu,” Hayden added with a smile.

I smiled and nodded as the table once again fell silent while people chewed or pretended to chew.

“Mommy,” Quinn began again, “Could meatloaf be made from squirrels?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said.

“What about ducks?” Quinn asked

“Um, I suppose,” I said.

“What about anteaters?” Quinn asked.

“Sure…” I said sensing a pattern here, “Guys, meatloaf could be made from any kind of animal meat as long as it’s ground up.”

“What about wolves?” Jake asked.

“Really?!” I said, “Wolves?”

Jake nodded his head and looked at me expectantly.

“I guess there are people who eat wolves and they might want to make them into meatloaf  but you’d have to made sure that didn’t eat you first,” I finally answered.

With that the table feel quiet.

I looked around and every one eating and noticed Claire fidgeting in her chair, her eyes as big as saucers. Her cheeks were stuffed full of food like a chipmunk gathering food for winter and I knew she was going to blow.

“Run!” I screamed, “Run to the bathroom. Don’t you dare throw up on this table.”

Claire dashed off her chair and soon the oh so pleasant sounds of vomit hitting water could be heard from the bathroom.

I again rolled my eyes, “How many people can say that they make meatloaf so good it causes their children to throw up?” I thought.

Soon the drama of Claire’s malfunction was over and people were once again eating.

“Come on guys, hurry up,” I said, “We have baths to take and Hayden you have homework to do. Everyone needs to finish their vegetables and take two more bites of meatloaf.”

The table exploded with a collective, “Aw Mom!” but after a stern look from Dad, bites were placed in mouths.

“Mommy,” Claire hesitantly began, “Could meatloaf be made from people?”

I looked over at her not sure how to answer.

“Yes, Claire!” Quinn pipped in, “but they would have to be ground up first.”

“Oh yeah, and before that you’d have to beat them in the head with a stick,” she added. “And stab them with a knife.”

“People meatloaf, that might be really yummy but only if you grind them up,” Jake stated.

I sat there a little bit horrified and a little bit curious as to where this was coming from and I listened to my sweet young triplets discussing the ins and outs of making people into meatloaf.

I then came to two conclusions.

First, maybe it might be time to consider a vegetarian lifestyle because children and cannibalism just don’t got together.

And second, from now on… I am sleeping with some kind of weapon under my pillow because there is no way I am going to let my children try out this theory and make me into a mommy meatloaf.

*Let it be known that we don’t encourage cannibalism in our children and after this lovely conversation the children were schooled in the fact that we don’t eat people unless in extreme survival situations. Also, because people don’t taste very good.

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“We are all writer’s and we just finished our dress rehearsal for our show, Listen to Your Mother,” she explained to the server taking our order.

The rest of the woman around the table smiled and nodded and began talking about the show and what it was but I was taken into my own thoughts.

“We are all writer’s….” she had said and she had included me in that general statement.

Am I am a writer?

I have never considered myself a writer. I just think of myself more as someone who writes. I consider myself a blogger but not really a writer.

I don’t know what actually makes a person a writer… going to school for writing, getting paid to write, authoring books? Is that how someone becomes a writer?”

Writing has been something that I enjoy. It has helped me cope with stress in my life. I wrote in a journal every single day during my pregnancy with the triplets. If I hadn’t of done that, I don’t think I would have stayed sane. It helped be cope with the pain and betrayal I felt after Loretta died.

Writing gives me clarity and release.

In grade school, my favorite thing to do was go to the writing table. I loved pulling pictures from the basket and making up stories about each one. A picture of a lake turned into a story of a princess lost at sea. A picture of a cow because a story of a farmer getting sprayed in the face with milk because his hands were cold.

I remember being chosen to participate in something called Young Authors. During the year, our class worked on stories, illustrated them and then made them into books. Then the teachers picked 5 of the best and those kids were taken to a local college were we got to spend an afternoon with an author and learn all about writing books.

Two years in a row, my books were chosen.

To this day, I still remember sitting in that audience listening to the author speak and being in awe. Maybe someday, I could write a book?

I don’t know if I still have that dream a writing a book. Don’t get me wrong, I very much enjoy writing. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t write.

But does that make me a writer?

Maybe.

There is one other person in this house that has recently found writing….

Hayden.

His school folders are full of stories that he has written and his teacher will often write, “Star Writer” across each paper.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that this makes me beam with pride. I mean what parent doesn’t want their child to love something they love.

Hayden’s stories are short and sweet but I love the glimps into his thoughts that they give me.

“Hayden, I am so proud of all the writing that you are doing at school,” I say one afternoon. “You are doing such a good job.”

Hayden give me a bashful smile and hugs my leg.

“Did you know that I when I your age, I liked writing in school?” I add.

Hayden looks up at me as I tell him all about the stories that I have written and how now, writing is a big part of my life and something that I still like to do.

“Mom,” Hayden begins as I wait anxiously for him to tell me that he too loves writing and maybe someday wants to become an author so that I could live out my dreams through him, “You know what I am really proud of?”

“What?” I say to quickly causing Hayden to give me a ‘mom are you going to go crazy’ look.

“I am really proud of the fact that I have a mom…” he says.

“Yes, yes here is comes. He is proud that I write. He wants to be a writer too” I think to myself barely able to stand still.

“…. who has brought in the most snacks over the school year. That makes me the most proud.” He states with a smile.

He hugs my leg again.

“What?” I ask very confused.

“It makes me so proud that my mom has given the most snacks to my class,” Hayden says.

He smiles at me again and then turns to go play.

I want to call after him and discuss this more. I want to make him watch me write so he can see my joy and we can share it together but I let him go.

Besides, there are three other children, sure they make scribbles now but maybe those scribbles could turn into words and who knows…

Related posts:

1. Writer’s Workshop: The Boy that Won’t Quit
2. Writer’s Workshop: Blog to Book
3. Writer’s Workshop: Kind of Stumped