The Sickness is Real

 In Chapter 10 of my novel Another Dance, the main character's daughter gets sick, setting off a chain reaction of family illness. Annie introduces the sickness with the following excerpt: 

"The day after my second dance class I feel like I would rather be stuck with forlorn dreams and nightmares when all hell breaks loose in my home—and by all hell, I mean the flu. It starts with Penny, or as I like to call her, Patient Zero. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the household will get sick. And it’s never conveniently at the same time; no, the illness prefers to cascade through the family like a waterfall, bouncing from rock to rock, trickling on a flat stone for a break, a moment of ignorant bliss before crashing down even stronger, drowning anything in its wake before finally plunging into the deep end and coming out in calmer waters after it’s been carried away with the current."

My own experience as a mom definitely inspired this descriptive tidbit, and I've only gained more wisdom in that department this past month. It started with my daughter Aubry having a 103 fever the night we showed up at my in-laws' for our family Christmas, four hours away from home. A weekend of high fevers and hanging out in a corner recliner still saw Aubry with a sore throat and fever, so we go to the doctor on Monday, and she has strep throat, with my own case in hot pursuit. For Christmas, we both received a hefty dose of antibiotics...along with our other gifts. Thinking we are in the clear while still taking antibiotics, I come down with a horrible head cold one week later, ringing in the New Year with the worst headache of my life and no spirted libations to blame. Flash forward to today, three weeks later during a four-day weekend between semesters, and my daughter has had high fevers the entire break, reaching up to a frightening 105 degrees at times. She has a historical tendency to get these high fever spikes, but it still doesn't make it easier to see her suffering or to calm my worrying. I know to give her medicine, overlapping Tylenol and Ibuprofen if needed, and lukewarm baths and cool cloths are go-to's, but my mama-heart still aches watching her hurt. And even though we are stuck at home, I find I can't be productive. Homebound means being able to catch up on a good book, watch a movie, or get some grading or cleaning or writing done, right? 

Actually, no, because I can't focus enough to accomplish anything but attend to my sick child. And I guess that is how it should be, but my own need to be productive nags at me, making me fall into a pit of self-loathing. Just another chapter in the Book of Mom Guilt. 

Family sickness is never fun, but as Annie shares in Another Dance, there is a light at the end of the tunnel:

 "As usually happens when the epitome of sickness or suffering is reached, it eventually gets better. Both kids finally sleep through the night, at least until 4 AM Sunday morning, at which time they both manage to crawl into my bed, each snuggling into my side, my body bookended by their moppy heads and sprawling limbs. Even my symptoms lessen by Sunday afternoon, and all three of us are ready to reenter the world of school and work come Monday."

I'm ready for the post-sickness snuggles and hoping the waterfall misses the rest of us. Stay healthy, everyone, and if you do get sick, don't feel guilty. Just relax, be in the moment, and feel better soon.

Butterfly Wings and Worry-Rants

Why am I such a Nervous Nelly? 

Really, if I were someone that didn't seek attention, it would make sense that I would get nervous before interviews, book events, performances, karaoke songs, first days of new terms... But I DO seek attention. I LIKE the spotlight. I WANT to be known. (Blame my daddy issues and my people-pleasing tendencies...perhaps to be explained in later posts). 

It seems silly that I would be drawn to the light, but squint at its brightness. That I am like a moth to a flame, full well knowing the possible outcomes. I'm fully aware of what can happen if attention is gained for the wrong reasons (again, perhaps a future post), but I still want to put myself out there and I still experience the same cavernous pit in my stomach each time I do. 

What brings about this rant of self-doubt? Well, besides my routine existence, I have a virtual book club meeting today. An online subscription book club where readers choose genres from new authors asked if I would talk for roughly thirty minutes. I LOVE talking about myself and my book, but I am so so nervous. What if no one shows up? What if lots of readers show up? What if they hated my book? What if they loved it and I'm a letdown? So many worries. (Besides being a people-pleasure and attention-hog, I am also a top-tier worry-wart.)

I'm not going to change...at least not anytime soon. I've been this way for forty years. I've been singing in front of audiences since I was five, I've been speaking competitively and professionally since high school, and I've been teaching for seventeen years. The butterflies are destined to flutter in my tummy before any event I deem important. Maybe therein lies the problem. I deem too many tasks important. Whether it reflects on me or others, I value relationships and connection so much that I don't want to let anyone down, including myself. 

There's no absolution to this worry-wart's current worry-rant. But maybe there will be compassion and connection. If you, too, find yourself in this predicament, take solace in the fact that you aren't alone. And know that I've been experiencing this for over three decades, and, guess what? Every time, I do it. I get over it. I succeed...or at least survive. And you can, too. 

That's what I'm telling myself as the virtual interview slips ever closer. And while I am annoyed with myself that I am anxious, I don't regret that I care about it enough to be anxious. Because as long as I care enough about putting myself out there, I will do it no matter how ferocious the butterfly wings flap.

It's About Time

 Time. It's what's on my mind right now. As 2024 ends and 2025 begins, it's difficult not to ponder the concept of time: about how fast it is going, about what I didn't have time for, about what I am going to spend my time on in the near future. In fact, I probably spend more time thinking about the use of my time than actually enjoying the moments of time. Ironic, huh? (Cue Alanis Morissette circa 1995). One of my biggest struggles in life has always been the acceptance of the reality of time. I stress about how much time I have to complete a task, whether or not I will get the task completed (spoiler alert: I always do), if I've used my time productively, if I've spent enough time with something or someone...it goes on and on. Apparently, I have a bit of an obsessive spiral-thing going. 

So what better use of my time while at the end of my winter break and at the beginning of a new year than to set feasible goals for how I want to use my time this upcoming year? If anything, maybe the writing of these goals will help settle the spiral of random thoughts, complaints, worries, and dreams. (And if not, at least I made my goal of a weekly blog post). 

How I would like to spend my time in 2025:

*I want to spend time with those that value me and my time and that authentically want to spend time with me. 

*I want to spend quality time with my friends and family and try my best not to waste that time thinking about what I should be doing or could be doing. 

*I want to eradicate the phrase "wasting my time" from my vocabulary. If I'm using time on something, it's probably what I need to be doing in that moment, for whatever reason, and I should trust that. 

*I want to trust myself more in my own use of time and decision-making. I've been surviving and mostly thriving for nearly forty years. I think I've proven my own dependability enough by now. Now to convince myself of this fact and relax rather than succumb to my spiral of anxiety and self-doubt. 

*I want to treat myself to the time I deserve. Self-care is not always high on a mother's/teacher's/wife's list of priorities, but it is imperative. I'm starting to see that now, and I think it's time I start taking it seriously. A one-hour massage might be an hour away from family, but it also might mean many other hours of sanity. (This is what I will probably be telling myself during my one-hour massage rather than just enjoying the one-hour respite. Huh...I need to work on that, as well). 

*I want to enjoy the time I devote to my creative passions and pursuits. That means being deliberate in my time devoted to these pursuits and giving my full self when working on them. 

*I want others to know I value them and their time. I can ensure this by taking the time to tell them and show them. 

*I want time to slow down. Okay, not really. There's lots I'm looking forward to, and sometimes I get so focused on looking ahead that I don't give enough attention to what's going on in the present. I want to try and be in the present as much as possible so I can soak in everything. Especially with little children, I'm going to look back some day and wonder where the time went. I want to make sure I know where the time went and what I was doing, being purposeful and present. 

(How I was keeping track of time this New Year's Eve.)

I'm sure there's more I could add, but it's about time to fix dinner (I hear the children getting unruly, and that usually means they're getting hungry). While I want to use my time to the best of my abilities, there are still practical tasks that need to be completed. But I'm going to go with this in mind: no matter how I am spending my time, it's worth it. I'm going to stop beating myself up so much concerning my use of time and try to enjoy it more. This new year, I'm going to be kinder to myself, more understanding, and more forgiving. 

I think it's about time. 

Something Worth Saying

 What does it mean to have something worth saying? There's a lot of talk, chatter, noise, and brain rot (shout out to Oxford's 2024 Word of the Year), but it's not all worth saying let alone listening to. I like to think I have something worth saying. As a mother, it's my job to keep my children alive. When I tell them to "Look both ways when crossing the street," "Don't stand on the hutch," and "Let's not jump off the top of the swing set," it's certainly with their well being in mind. And even though they try their damnedest not to heed my warnings, I keep shouting, because darn it, I have something worthwhile to say. As a teacher, I impart directions, life lessons, and humorous anecdotes. Whether to help students learn and practice the writing process, aid them in chasing that A, or just build an enjoyable connection, I confidently assume it's worth it for all in the saying/listening relationship. But with writing, not only do I have to have something worth saying, but I need to present it in an engaging way. (Okay, so I probably need to do that as a mother and teacher, as well, but when written down I can't as easily deny my misgivings and missteps). 

Thus brings me to the end of my long-winded introduction. (Was it worth it?) I write because I have something I think is worth saying and hearing, and I hope I can do so in a way that hooks readers and leaves them affected by the characters, words, and story. 

I wrote Another Dance because I wanted to show the dichotomous nature of being a mother. The difficulty and the immense joy. The guilt and the pride. The insanity and the naturalness of the whole experience. How quickly one can vacillate between polarities. As a mother, I know what it is like to feel like I'm not enough, to feel like I've messed up, like I've messed my children up, and that I'm doing it all wrong. But I also know what it feels like to look at my children and feel more at peace and more in sync with another human than I've ever felt. To know within my soul that I was meant to guide these little humans through their entire lives. Motherhood is a tricky bitch, and I thought it was worth capturing within my character of Annie Obless. 

I also wrote Another Dance because I wanted to show that women are strong. They can experience loss, pain, doubt, and guilt, and still learn to accept and love themselves. And even though I am still in the process of doing just that (I really should start a daily mantra), I wanted others to hear this message and feel that they too are doing just fine. Wherever they are, however they are doing, they will be fine. In fact, they can be better than fine. They can be magnificent. I don't think we hear that enough in life. So I'm saying it. And while it might not be the most original concept, it's an important one and one I'm proud to have guided the writing of my first published novel. 

So while not everything I say is literary gold, I do have a lot worth saying. As a mother, a wife, a teacher, and a woman that has doubted herself for the majority of her life, I know what I would like to hear, so I created a story that would do just that. It doesn't mean everything works out perfectly, but it does mean that others are experiencing the same hardships and conflicts, and if others have overcome, then there's hope for everyone. 

Whether you read this first attempt at a blog entry, have read Another Dance or (get ready for this deep dive) my self-published novel Painting Walls, or have just been captive to my verbal pontifications at work or home, thanks for listening. And thank you for helping me believe I have something worth saying.