The Oldest Profession

Not that one, silly.

This one.

And if you don’t think motherhood is a profession, then you’ve obviously never tried to comfort a colicky baby, potty trained a toddler, read Good Night Moon umpteen bazillion times, monitored homework assignments and science fair projects, coached a soccer team or led a scouting troop on a camping trip, sat on your white knuckled hands while your teenager took the wheel of your car, or furnished the dorm room for college.

There is no retirement from motherhood, either. Just ask the many parents of adult children who still have plenty of sleepless nights worrying about “grown up” offspring and their emotional, marital, or professional troubles.

Ever since Eve -  and I can only imagine how difficult life was for her being homeless with those two fractious boys! - mother’s have borne the brunt of the world’s scrutiny when things go wrong for their children. It’s always the mothers fault, a dictum straight from the annals of Freudian psychoanalysis, but one many people have bought into even if it’s only subconsciously.

As mothers we’re usually harder on ourselves than the most critical society member. Whenever our children face any hardship, confront any difficulty, fail to perform to their optimum potential, we always look in the mirror first. What could I have done differently? Where did I go wrong? How did I fail?

And what can I do to make it better.

Because just as often as mothers take the blame upon themselves, they also try to right every wrong. The ultimate example of a knight in shining armor, every mother wants to rush in to the rescue, whether the hurt comes from  a skinned knee on the playground, the sting of rejection in love, or the lack of success in the workplace.

Who dares to hurt my child? the mother cries, guns blazing. Let me at them!

But for all its history of heartache and worry and disappointment, very few mothers would trade this job for any other. Most of us find the deepest of all satisfactions in the tiniest of all rewards.

A sticky kiss goodnight.

A handful of dandelions offered up in a grubby fist.

A poem signed with a dozen scribbled x’s and o’s.

A grumbly “Love you too” at the end of a phone conversation.

A surreptitious wave from the stage at graduation.

Then, if you’re very, very lucky, the cycle starts all over again, and the fruit of all that labor rewards you one hundred fold with something that will keep you in business until the end of your days.

Happy Mother’s Day to my fellow professionals everywhere.

Guest Post: My Village is My Family

On this Friday before Mother’s Day, I’m pleased to feature a wonderful guest post by Heather Von St. James, a young mom who has faced down a devastating illness with the help of her family. As a mother and a grandmother, it particularly touches my heart. Read on, and you’ll understand why. And I bet you’ll start thinking about your own family village in an more profound way.

The phrase “it takes a village” is a saying that is thrown around when you have a baby and it’s one that I found to be true. My daughter entered the world on August 4, 2005. My pregnancy was normal and I was fortunate to not have to deal with any serious complications until the end when we found out Lily was frank breech and I would need an emergency C-section. After that, everything was fine! We were immediately surrounded by our “village” that was comprised of both of our families and the wide circle of friends who came to meet Lily. Life was truly amazing and I felt we were blessed. A storm was on the horizon and nothing could prepare us for what was about to come. I returned to work and within a month I started to feel tired and had little energy to function. I thought this could all be attributed to my new duties of being a mom and heading back to work. I went to my physician for a series of tests. On November 21, 2005, I was diagnosed with malignant pleural mesothelioma. This is a type of cancer found in the lining of the lung, and is caused by being exposed to asbestos.

When I first got the news, all I could think about was my precious Lily. My prognosis was grim and I had only 15 months to live without treatment. After looking at my husband and child, I knew that I had to do whatever it took to save my life. My husband and I immediately flew out to Boston, and I underwent extrapleural pneumenectomy surgery. The surgery required that I have my left lung removed. I was to go through chemotherapy and radiation treatment afterwards. All of this was very overwhelming.

We could not have gotten through any of this without our village. It’s funny to see who stays around and gives you all of their support and others who are the first to flee. The people that decided to stay were a strong support system, and we couldn’t have gone on without their help.

While we were in Boston, Lily stayed with my parents. They were not only her grandparents, but they were also in charge of raising her. They had their own village that offered their support. This consisted of girls I used to babysit for when I was a teenager. They were now married, had families of their own and were ready to pitch in and help watch Lily. While we were out in Boston, we made new friends who were going through the same traumatic experiences.

Back at my childhood home, my darling Lily was learning the basics. Each of these events I was blessed to witness through pictures that my mom emailed to me. The nurses would sing her praises with me every time a new batch of photo’s arrived. Lily was the reason I was fighting for my life and she was in the best hands possible.  Even though there may be time between visits, the bond that my parents and Lily share is unbreakable.

Write On Wednesday: I Am A Writer

And today I have written. A lot.

And even though most of it was related to work writing - i.e, it was technical and not creative in nature, I’ve recently developed a greater appreciation for the medical writing I do, particularly since I’ve been trying to teach others how to do it. I realize how mindful the writer must be to write these medical reports effectively, a mindfulness I used subconsciously all along.

All the while I thought I was an administrator at work, I was really a writer, masquerading behind Excel worksheets and schedules and meetings. When I was working as an administrator and not a writer, I lost track the skills required to create these reports and make them user friendly for their target reader.

I am a writer, and a writer at heart I remain.

One of the things I wrote was this post on my Write On Wednesday blog, about the 5 w’s of being a writer.

I put the post together in the form of a meme, asking my writer friends to ponder the 5 w’s of their writing life. I wanted time today to think about the answers to these questions for myself. Who am I as a writer? What pulls at my writer’s imagination? Where and when do I ply my craft? And perhaps most importantly, why do I - or any of us - write at all?

But as it turns out,  I never had an opportunity to think about those 5 w’s.

I was too busy writing.

Because I am a writer.

The 5 W’s of Writing

My  one and only journalism class stressed the importance of those vital 5 W’s, the Who, What, Where, When, and Why of every good story. I downloaded Jeff Goins new ebook, You Are A Writer, and reading it made me consider those same “w’s” in terms my identity as a writerly type person. Goins exhorts us to stop beating around the bush of our identity as writers. Part of being able to declare ourselves as a “writer, hear me roar!” involves developing a persona, or a concept of writerly self.

Seems like the answers to the 5 w’s could be an important part of that process.

Ponder these, my writer friends. And if you are so inclined, share your thoughts in the comments, or on your blog.

WHO: How do you identify yourself as a writer? Is it something you do for self-fulfillment, do you have a message to impart, do you write to make a living and is that different from other writing you do?

WHAT: What’s your line? What subjects or themes do you return to again and again? What do you want to explore and impart to others in your writing?

WHERE: Nuts and bolts, here. Do you write at home, in an office cubicle, the library or neighborhood coffee shop? or all of the above!

WHEN: More nuts and bolts. Do you write on a regular schedule? Do you find it necessary or important to sit down at the same time every day? Or does your life dictate that you write whenever and wherever you can find the time and inspiration?

WHY: The real knitty gritty question. Why write? The answer comes from the “who” you are as a writer, but also asks you to consider the importance of the written word in our world today and for the world tomorrow.

weekending

♥  Taking a page from  Bella's book, and linking up to the weekending series hosted by Amanda ♥

Working from home means that weekends can easily become just another work day, and Saturday was that for me.

But it's okay.

I spent the day writing about people who have a lot more problems than I do, and sometimes that perspective is good for the whiny soul.

Sunday we played -literally and figuratively. I played bells at a local Methodist church, filling in for someone who was on vacation in my friend's bell choir.  I feel like a circuit riding church musician - seems I’m always cantering off to some church or other (besides my own!) playing bells or piano.

It’s amusing.

Then we drove to St. Clair, Michigan, a small town about an hour northeast of here, that runs parallel with the St. Clair River. My husband’s choral group was singing in St. Mary’s Catholic Church, and while waiting for him to finish rehearsing I took a walk along the riverfront, sat on a sunny bench, read Web of Angels, and spent some time visiting with Merle and Barbara, an interesting elderly couple who were enjoying the spring sunshine.

The concert was wonderful (as always) and the acoustic in the church was a singers dream with a heavenly natural reverb that put the listener right up with the angels. There was an afterglow at a local restaurant (little meatballs, little crabcakes, big quesadillas, oh my!) and then we drove home in the twilight.

It was sublime.

And I appreciate that after some of the ridiculousness of late :)

How about you? What did you do this weekend?