Children are an inspiration

Funny thing happened yesterday. Yes, so funny it took me until today to write about it. But I was busy. You’ll see why.

So there I was minding my own business (yeah, right I have seven children and a dog–and had two little friends over as well) and was suddenly hit with an epiphany. Well, the epiphany came after a bit of thought, but it came all the same.  I was contemplating my reason for writing (partly because of a conversation on twitter that annoyed me) and had a conversation with the Lord.

Why am I writing?

I mean, I love writing…the creativity…the stories…the things I learn when I write and read. But it takes so much darn time away from my family. And I wonder if the world even cares. Cares if I write. Cares about kids…

Your kids care.

The thought was like a warm bucket of water. I was hit with it, but it felt…nice.

You’re not writing for the world. You’re writing because you enjoy it. You’ve written a story with the older ones. Now what about the younger?

I took me a minute to digest my thoughts, and my conclusion was this. I had been collaborating on a number of stories with different children, almost naturally, according to their interests and affinity for certain genres. Oldest son helps with my spy book. Oldest daughter “owns” my country book. Second oldest daughter likes fantasy and had begged me to write one. So I did.  I even thought about dedicating each book to said child, but I didn’t want to leave anyone out.

So the solution apparently was for me to write one for each one of them. Okay, DUH, write for my children.  Even if the world never sees my books, my CHILDREN will.  We will have forged a bond (binding if you will) that will live forever in our memories and even on our shelves. Even if it’s only in a 3 ring binder.  And let’s face it…I love my children enough to write them each a story.  Even the little ones.

The feeling was overwhelming. Yes. Write for your children.

So I opened myself up yesterday to discover what my next child’s story would be…and there it was!  Just like that! I couldn’t write fast enough…my thoughts the same whirlwind of motion and E-motion. Yes, I start back to school in three weeks, but that doesn’t matter. My stories are for them. For life. For our time together. Each moment I spend writing “their” story means I’m thinking about them. And each time we talk about “our” book they know I’m focused on them.

So what about you? Why do you write?

I know I’ve asked this before, but since our lives are constantly changing, it’s possible that our reason for doing things will change as well.  And in today’s  busy and morally questionable world it’s important to evaluate what we do, why we do it, and who we’re doing it for.

And at least for me, I know the answer to all the above. And it feels write.  I mean, right. Right?

Right. So I’ll write.

Treasure Tuesday–A new day

Gone.

Just like that. Well, not just like that. He had suffered for weeks, months, an eternity as far as I was concerned. Of course he tried to be brave. To not let his fear show. But that was my brother. Always the optimist. I was the one who couldn’t see past the end of his nose. Of course that was a far cry better than facing the truth.

It wasn’t fair. That someone so young would die of cancer. Wasn’t that for smokers, or people who lived on radioactive soil? Well, I guess we did. At least that’s what some said. Jake said it was just fate. Didn’t matter. That’s why people loved him so much. He was never one to place blame. He just lived. Said it wouldn’t change anything to be blaming anyone. You still had to go on. And go on he had.  Star basketball player. Ace in school. Good with the girls. All the while convinced he’d get better. Or maybe just had hope.

But what was I?  Just his brother. Always living in his shadow and…enjoying it. It was a good place to be. A good place to hide. No pressure, no pain. Just like now.

No one saw me when I left and that had been fine. They were too busy putting their lives back together, as though that were possible. Maybe if I went back and…no! It was time. Mom was always telling me to grow up anyway. So now it was time. Steve would be proud. Happy for me. I was finally breaking free and going out on my own. I mean, sure I was only 16, but no time like the present.

I stirred as my car rumbled beneath me and a bright light startled me awake.  How long had I been asleep? Felt like hours. The engine had died somewhere around mile ten, just as I was heading out of town. No surprise. It had been struggling to stay warm almost as much as I was. But my chills weren’t related to the cold or the snow that fell around me during the night. Lulling me to sleep. Mine was a deep sense of peace. For the path I was on. Sure…straight…

I felt another rumble and smiled, thinking it was almost day. The morning express would be pulling into town right about now, rumbling along the tracks…

No!

I opened my eyes to see the light cutting off my vision, the train’s whistle blowing sharply through the night. I had let the engine die, hunkering down for the night. It had been too dark to see, but I was sure I’d cleared town. The car shifted again and I knew where I was.  I pushed and shoved against the door with all my might, desperate to get free of the car.  This was no way to die. Quick. Without any goodbyes. Steve had at least said goodbye. What had I done? Snuck out during the night. That was no way to live my life. Abandoning my parents and then dying a senseless death. At least Steve had stood for something.  Told me to do the same.

I shoved the door with all my might, but the night had frozen them shut. Tight. I tried the engine and still no go. The train’s whistle blew again and the light grew brighter against my face. I couldn’t see what was coming.

And yet that was probably for the best. At least I would be spared that much. NO! I couldn’t give up. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t about me. Not anymore. I couldn’t live in a shadow any more than I could let another one fall on my family. Hadn’t they suffered enough as it was. I quickly climbed over the seat and opened the hatch. The little car was new–was Steve’s–but it still had a latch inside the back. Steve’s idea. Ever since he read that story about the little girl who got trapped in the car…he knew he’d never want to own a car that would be so cruel.

I pulled on the latch and pushed on the door. The train’s whistle was blowing louder now and the light was all I could see in the dark. Why was it taking so long. I mean, not that I minded. It could take forever as long as I cared. I wasn’t ready to die. But the hatch was stuck the same way as the sides and I almost cried with relief. Well, it wouldn’t be my fault. My life would be gone, but I would have tried. That was something wasn’t it? At least I had tried.

Steve would have been proud. No…he would have kept trying. Never give up. I braced my back against the bench and braced my feet against the door. It was a big truck–again, Steve’s insistence as he hauled clothes, food, and necessities around to the homeless. Even occasionally letting one rest in his trunk on a cold winter’s night. Mom and Dad had chastised him, but he assured him it was fine. It was a warm car. Insulated. That’s how I had slept so soundly last night. So stupidly!

I pushed my long legs against the hatch with all my might. I was almost as tall as Steve–would pass him now. We had almost been the same height, which of course I loved. Made his friends think I was older and vying for me to make varsity one day. I wasn’t as good as Steve, but maybe now that he was gone they would need someone to finish the season.

The light encompassed the car, the morning train whistle piercing the night right along with it. I roared from my gut as I shoved the hatch again. It opened. I rolled free as the light burst into view, a beautiful brightness beyond anything I had ever seen.

Wait…

I rolled to my side and then sat up in the dirt. The train whistle blew, but I could hear now that it was behind me. By at least a mile. I felt the ground rumble beneath me again and looked over to the see the factory coming to life. That thing was almost noisier than the train, and just as jarring. But Steve said it provided jobs for the town. Kept it alive.

As I looked up at the rising sun and saw the vast building underneath, I knew it was true. It had kept me alive. Made me fight for my life. Reminded me of all the good things I had and how much they were still worth fighting for. I stood up and walked towards the light. Anxious to call Mom…and tell her I was coming home. She would already be up to check in on me. Just like she always did.

And today I would be glad. Grateful to be alive. On this bright new day.

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Next week’s prompt: You wake up to discover it’s your birthday….again.

Treasure Tuesday–Le Chausette Rose de Mysterious

Today’s edition is brought to you by guest authors Kjersten Adair and best friend Courtney Guidry,  who were no doubt inspired by the huge pile of laundry on my couch and today’s Treasure Tuesday prompt. Hope you enjoy their debut story!

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“Hey, Mom, have you seen my other shoe?”

Mom glanced up from her book. “What?”

“My shoe. I’m going out with some friends. We talked about this, Mom.”

“Right…uh..I think it’s in the laundry room.”

“Thanks!” Isabelle turned around and ran straight into her older brother. She glared at him. “Oscar, what are you doing?”

“It’s called ’standing’ genius. Not that it matters to you. I thought your life didn’t revolve around mine.”

“It doesn’t.” Isabelle rolled her eyes. “So move.”

“Make me.”

Isabelle did, by shoving him into the laundry basket in the hall. She made her way into the laundry room, ignoring the string of four letter words coming from behind her. She quickly found her shoe and was just starting to turn around when she heard her brother issue a few other choice words.

“Hey, what’s this?”

Isabelle turned to find Oscar amongst the overturned basket and holding up a pink sock and a bright smile on his face.

“Found it,” he said, jumping up from the scattered mess of clothes and making off with his prize.

Isabelle recognized it immediately. “Hey! Isn’t that my fuzzy pink sock?”

Oscar laughed and kept walking. “Ha! No. This is mine. It’s been missing for ages.”

Isabelle ran after her brother and snatched the sock from his hand.”

“Moooooom!” Oscar yelled.

Their mom barely glanced up. “Quit arguing.”

Isabelle quickly headed for her room, annoyed, but sock in hand. Suddenly it was gone, and she turned to find Oscar standing right behind her. “Give it back!” she said trying to grab it, but Oscar moved it away every time she was within reach. Finally she got so annoyed she raised her fist and punched him straight in the face.

He staggered back and Isabelle took the opportunity to snatch the sock away; leaving Oscar on the floor clutching his eye. Isabelle went to put her reclaimed sock back in its proper place, but stopped short when she heard the doorbell ring. “Crud,” she thought. “I’d better hurry. I don’t want to keep them waiting.” She quickly grabbed her purse and  threw the sock in her dresser drawer, pausing briefly as something else caught her attention. She dropped her purse and pushed aside the socks to better find the object of her distraction.

Underneath the rest of her white and blue socks were her long lost pair of soft, pink fuzzy socks.

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Next week’s prompt: You wake suddenly to find yourself in a dark room with a single shining light focused on you.

Treasure Tuesday–What’s that smell?

Sarah crawled out of bed, ignoring the cold floor as she pulled her tattered blanket and stuffed giraffe along towards the door. Sam had sent her back to bed more than once, but it wasn’t just the noise keeping her up anymore. There was a strange smell tickling her nose and making the tiny hairs on her arms stand on edge.

Her feet were silent as they found the top of the stairs, her nose wrinkling up even more now that she was out in the open. She moved cautiously down the stairs, the smell growing stronger as she went. Sam caught sight of her halfway down and jumped off the couch quickly, the look of embarrassment on his face almost as much as the anxiousness.

“Sarah,” he groaned, shooing her up the stairs. “Why can’t you just stay in bed? I mean it’s bad enough I’ve got to babysit, but–”
“But I smell smoke,” she said, wrinkling her nose up again.
“What?” He whipped his head towards the downstairs and took a deep breath, his eyes widening in recognition. He pushed Sarah the rest of the way to her room and then ran down the stairs, yelling to his friends the entire time.

Sarah stood in her doorway pushing her giraffe against her nose, attempting to block the smell while consoling her favorite stuffed friend. She could hear the windows being wrenched open and some of the kids running outside. The smell was getting stronger now, and no matter which way she turned she found it was the same. Her head flipped around at the sound of the pipes coming to life, the quaint but old house allowing just as much noise as draft to creep in.

Her parents never ran the hose during the winter, but there was no mistaking that familiar sound. She pulled her blanket around her face, wrapping both nose and animal up tight. Her parent’s voices soon added to the many others, and sounding even more upset than her brother Sam’s.

Sarah crept back into bed, but was only there a few minutes before her mother came in to check on her.

“Am I in trouble?” Sarah asked, hiding her giraffe so that at least one person wouldn’t get yelled at tonight. “I know I got out of bed, but–”

“No!” her mother exclaimed, taking Sarah in her arms and hugging her close to her chest. Sarah smiled as relief spread through her body, knowing her giraffe was safely secure beneath the blankets. Her mother always hugged her too tight. In fact, she was struggling even now to breathe when she noticed the air wasn’t quite so smelly anymore. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” her mother assured her. “In fact, you did something right. Your brother was too busy with his friends to notice the smell, and there was a spark from the fireplace that caught the roof on fire. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here to warn him. He’s very grateful. We all are.”

Her mother tucked her back in and kissed her forehead, offering another one to her giraffe which he accepted gratefully. Her mother’s kisses were always soft.

Sarah had almost drifted off when a light knock sounded at her door and Sam poked his head inside. “Sarah? I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten upset, but when….well….when my friends act like you’re cooler than me I guess I get a little jealous. Next time my friends are over, would you like to hang out with us?”

Sarah smiled and held her giraffe out to Sam. “Can Sam come to?”
“Your giraffe’s name is Sam?”
“Yes. He’s my very best friend. Just like you.”
“Love you too, Sarah.”
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Next week’s prompt: A pink sock comes through the wash and sends the whole house into a hissy fit.