What a Wonderful, Crazy Life!

I've always wanted to write a great novel.  The idea of creating intriguing characters, heart-wrenching conflict, something everyone would be clambering for…what could be better than that?  And yet, I'm so inadequate.  You start writing, and your brain goes numb.  How many times have I started a story, only to quit as I got to the dialogue?  A billion.  Ok: two.  I know there's a story in here somewhere; it's just accessing it that's the problem.  So how do I do this?  Maybe I start by writing about myself.

I'm a mid-40's, white female.  Married, two boys:  one is fourteen and just entering the true teenager mode.  You know, something like this:

Me:  How was your day?
Him: Blurg.
Me:  What?
Him:  Fine!  (You have to imagine the annoyed tone along with the extreme attitude.)
Me:  What was the best part of your day?  Tell me something you enjoyed.
Him:  I don't know! (Silently telling me to shut the hell up and leave him alone.)

My favorite moments are when his friends are in the car.  Then the conversations sound something like this:

Me:  How was the dance?
Him: Fine.
Me:  Did you dance with anyone?
Him: No.
Friend:  Yes, you did.  I saw you, but I won't tell with who.
Me:  There's candy in it for you Friend, if you tell…
Friend:  Oh!  Well, then there was Jennifer, and Lily, and Amber, and…ow! (That would be my son punching Friend in the arm.)

Communication:  it's our strong-point.

I also have a pre-teen.  He's twelve, and the exact opposite of the teenager.  He'll not only tell me everything, he never stops talking.

Me:  How was your day?

Him:  Did you know that there are 150 ways to eat a Cheeto?  First, you can pop the whole thing 
in your mouth (demonstrates), then you can just bite off tiny bites (demonstrates), then you can scrape it with your teeth (demonstrates), then I think licking your fingers should count (demonstrates), you can also dip them in vanilla ice cream, that's my favorite…

Me:  Awesome.  But how was your day?  What did you do?
Him:  Recess.

My first child tells me nothing, and the second one, well, let's face it, he tells me nothing, too.

I'm married.  We've been married for eighteen years, and now the challenge is how to keep things "fresh."  Frankly, I think I'm perfectly content.  I've got everything I ever wanted:  a husband, kids, a nice home in a great town; but I think my husband is bored.  This is the danger zone, right?  It's that mid-life time you hear about filled with affairs, sports cars, plastic surgery…

He did grow his hair long for a couple of years.  I wondered at the time if this was evidence of a mid-life crisis, but I think he was just trying to keep things "fresh."  He donated the hair and looks like my handsome husband once again…thank goodness!

I'm a teacher.  Insanely enough, I decided I wanted to be a High School English Teacher.  When I went into it, this meant:  Changing People's Lives through Literature!  The reality is, it means papers beyond papers, morning, noon, and night, evenings, and weekends.  It means teenagers who roll their eyes at me.  It means twelfth graders whose essence from March through May oozes with:  "How dare you expect me to show up and do something?!!?  I'm a senior, woman!"  I'm fond of saying, "You could throw them a naked beer party and they would resent you for asking them to show up."

This past year I taught freshmen and juniors.  For you non-education types, this means, 9^th grade and 11^th grade English.  My 9^th graders bounce in for 1^st Hour English every day, full of energy and smiles.  It's amazing how much has happened between yesterday and today, and they want to share it all!  I hear about their difficult math test, the trip they had to make to the hospital the night before to visit a sick uncle, how stupid boys are, and then my favorite:  one will bounce up and say something like, "Did you know that penguins don't fly?" 

Then my second and third hours completed my morning.  These were 11^th graders, and while Beowulf wasn't their favorite thing to worry about, they gave it a shot.  They listened attentively, participated in discussions, had cool ideas of how those crazy Anglo-Saxons connected to their world…overall, juniors in the morning are very enjoyable.  And that's where it ends.  After lunch, they roll in surly, tired, and unenthused.  What do you mean we have to write an essay?!!?  Don't you know that we've already put all of our energy into our morning classes?  What do you mean we have to read a book?  In English?  You're crazy, lady!

I even had a brawl break out in the middle of my room this year.  I'm in the middle of doing a Required Activity for State Mandated Testing, and two of my darlings decide that they're bored enough they'd rather have a fist-fight than be there.  Hey, it means a week off, right?

Good times, those afternoon juniors.  So when they told me that I'm being shifted to all 9^th graders next year, my response?  Bring it on!!!

So there's definitely some ammunition for story, here, right?  But I have to put it aside for a while as my twelve-year-old just stumbled down the stairs, glared at me as he calmly took his laundry to the laundry bin, and then glared at me as he stalked back by on his way to the bathroom.  He finally wandered over to me and stood there glaring, until I was convinced that it was my fault that there is dirty laundry and biological needs in this world…until he broke out into a metal-mouth grin that melts my heart.  Kids!!!

"Did you know that Michael and I have a favorite handshake?  Here, let me show you.  Put out your hands, then I walk toward you with my hands out, we bump and I bump away, then we do it again, and again, and again…"

Love!