Writer's Block

In my much younger years, I first heard the term 'writer's block.' I assumed that a writer's block was an implement used for writing, like a quill pen or an inkwell. Perhaps archaic and definitely not used currently (at least by anyone I knew), but certainly necessary for writing. It must be a rectangular object that sits on a desk and serves some purpose in the writing process. Or, my imagination surmised, it could be a special seat used for writing - a block that you sit upon. I wondered if I would ever get one. Unfortunately I have not yet acquired a physical 'writer's block,' but I certainly have lots of the conceptual kind.

I don't actually have writer's block, because I am not a writer.  That's right. I'm not a famous person with published novels who gets paid to write.  I don't even aspire to be someone like that. Those people are highly intelligent, supremely motivated, and generally brilliant. I'm just a silly girl who enjoys writing as a hobby. It's not my job. It's nothing serious. It's just a way to maintain my sanity in this crazy, ever changing world. I write to process my thoughts. To examine each event that has occurred in my life, compare it to past experiences, and seek the meaning behind it. I only started this blog because my handwriting is too awful for a paper diary,  . . . and because I do too much editing.

So as I sit here contemplating the half-dozen half finished blog posts I'm stuck on, I can't have writer's block. I'm just still working on them.  And when I realized that my best posts tend to be about what's on my mind, I also realized that what I'm actually thinking about is writing.  I know that's getting a little 'meta' for some people, but hey, you guys have stuck with me this far on my writing journey.  So I thought I'd take a minute to share a bit of the process.

The Idea
Most of my blog posts are born as in idea in my crazy mind. I ruminate on it for a few hours or a few days and mull over ideas and angles.  Then finally, it hits me!  I see the perfect way to approach a subject, or find the perfect quote to introduce a topic, or stumble across the perfect example to illustrate a concept.

The Draft
Then I dash for my computer and frantically commit my musings to text. It usually comes out in a burst and my husband often asks what I'm so excited about as I attack my keyboard. I may also ignore food, kids, pets, or nuclear explosions caused by a toddler in my living room when I am writing the first draft. My single focus is to get the 'meat' of the post onto the screen.

The Edits
While I write I pay attention to spelling and some grammar, but mostly it's about content. I never publish anything the day I write it. I have to get away, sleep on it, and seek other eyes before I consider it finished. As I re-read my posts, I edit for flow and clarity. I rarely need to massively re-write, but I often find myself filling in additional details or removing superfluous ones. I consider my audience (parents, Magic judges, friends) for each post and try to keep it relevant. Once I am comfortable with it, I ask someone else (usually my husband) to read it before I publish it. Another person's perspective can be difficult to hear sometimes, but it adds a lot to the final product.

The Finishout
My final steps before publication are to make it look the way I want it to look. I add formatting such as bold or italics. I add links to relevant content. I insert pictures if the post needs them. I preview the post to ensure that things came out the way I intended them to.  I add the tags that create the searchable categories for each post. Then, finally, I hit the 'publish' button. There's always a feeling of completeness that accompanies that button. As a completionist, it's the best part. My final step is to head over to facebook and add a post introducing the blog post, since most of my readers enter my blog that way.  (I do hope to skip that step at some point in the future, but for now, I'll go with what works.)

So it's funny, writing about writing. I started out frustrated because my ideas wouldn't come, and now I've filled up this page with passion and a post that I'm excited to share with you.  So you see I didn't have writer's block at all; I was just writing about the wrong stuff.

Apology Accepted

What are the most powerful words anyone has ever spoken to you?

Many years ago, I played a video game called World of Warcraft. I served as the leader of a group of 30-35 guys who played together in a pretty tight-knit group. In truth, I was the 'mom' figure to this bunch as well as the personnel manager.  I hand selected each member and handled all their concerns, complaints, and needs in terms of playing the game, as well as being a personal friend/confidant to many of them.  When it came to actual gameplay, I employed a Raid Leader (or dad figure) to bark the orders and get things done.  Our roles fit together nicely and while I wore the 'Guild Leader' tag, we led as a team.  All of our Guild Leader/Raid Leader discussions, disagreements, and flat out arguments privately never spilled over to the raid.  In front of the guys, we presented a unified front and stood behind one another's decisions. 

One of my Raid Leaders was a guy who went by the name Zygore.  He was a funny redhead from Kansas City who had served as Guild Leader in the past, but real life had taken him away for a time and then he returned as my Raid Leader. We worked together well, and we played 'good cop/bad cop' exceptionally. Most of the time we were on the same page seamlessly, but when we weren't . . .  well, there were fireworks. 

After one particularly bad explosion, I offered him an apology. Now that's pretty hard to do in the first place, swallow your pride and say "I'm sorry." Additionally, a true apology includes an admission of guilt, a request for forgiveness, and a promise that it won't happen again. I expected him to really let me have it at that point (and I would have deserved it), but instead he simply said, "Apology accepted."  Then he moved the conversation on to the next topic we needed to discuss. While the opportunity to bring up my mistake presented itself multiple times, he never did. NEVER. He never again brought up that issue. Never made me feel guilty. Never chided me about that mistake. Never reminded me not to do it again. It's as if it vanished. We both moved on with cool heads and clear hearts. I also never forgot that moment. Funny thing, I can't remember what I apologized for, but I will never forget the feeling of that forgiveness. 

Not too long later he made a mistake - a big one. He breached the integrity of the game in a way that was counter to our guild's values. And he did it in front of everyone and then laughed it off. I felt (understandably) furious. I debated kicking him out of the group. Later that night, I unloaded on him. (Not my finest moment.) He started to defend his unconscionable action, but then stopped, and apologized. He outlined a plan to make things right that included a public explanation and apology to the guild. A part of me wanted to nail him to the wall, but luckily I recognized the opportunity to offer forgiveness.  "Apology accepted." Accepting that apology did not change the plan to right the wrong or the consequence that came with his action. And he willingly accepted that consequence.  What it did do was allow us to move on without malice between us. I later marveled at the freedom I felt in not holding a grudge or being mad at him. 

It's been at least 6 years since that conversation, but those words still heal. When I struggled with forgiving my first husband for issues in our marriage, that same model of forgiveness and acceptance helped me recover and move on with my life. When things at work went insanely bad, I learned to let go and not hold grudges. 

This week, someone close to me hurt me. I'll not go into detail because the details aren't relevant.  He would never intentionally hurt me in any way.  He made a decision that I ultimately agreed with, but the result didn't turn out the way either of us had hoped. When I expressed my frustration over the situation, the temptation to blame him danced in my head.  I refrained. And later, he apologized. A simple, sincere apology.  "Apology accepted."  The relief washed over me.  I let go of my anger, my hurt, and my frustration.  Those words turned what could have be an angry fight into an opportunity for us to share our feelings and work through the situation together.  Skipping the blame and the pain freed us to spend our time healing the hurt rather than dwelling on it.  That painful experience has brought us closer together.

So I'd like to share a challenge with you, my readers. The next time someone apologizes to you, try accepting their apology. Not with questions. Not while demanding an explanation. Not if you are secretly planning to get them back for it later.  Really, truly, accept their apology and let yourself release the pain and the hurt. Instead focus on the steps to rectify the situation and move on from the incident together. I hope you'll find it as powerful as I have.

"Apology accepted."
The most powerful words

Migraine

Pain. Pain.

My head is in pain.

Stabbing right behind my right eye.

Run to the bathroom . . . again.  Sick.

Bloated, achey. Pain.

Curl up in bed. With an icepack on my face. Can't move. don't move. Moving hurts.

Relief starts to wash over me as I drift off to  . . .

Baby cries. Pain. Noise. Pain. Movement. Pain.

Husband gets baby.

Settle down again. Pull covers up. Pain.

Try to relax.

Not . . . going . . . to  . . . be  . . . sick.
Willpower.
Stay in bed.
Not going to be sick.
Pain.

Start to drift off.
Cat meows.
Cat won't shut up.
Husband quiets cat.

Pain.  Stabbing in my eye. Move icepack.

Finally escape to sleep.

Not a real sleep. Not a restful sleep.
A state of unconscious blackness. A deep, dark place. It swallows me whole and consumes me. Never want to leave.

Baby crying. Nap is over.

Sit up to get baby. Pain. Tears roll down my face.

Stand up. Wobble. Hold nightstand.

Toddle to bathroom. Stomach heaves.

Wash face.

Trudge upstairs to get baby.

His sweet face makes everything worthwhile.
Smile. Coo. Change diaper. Try to pretend I'm ok.
Tears stream. Baby doesn't know.

Take baby downstairs. Make bottle. Load car.

Thank husband.
(Without him I would never survive these days.)

Pain stabs my every move.

Drive to preschool. Pick up 4 kids. Smile at teachers. Make small talk. Load kids, and lunches, and backpacks.

Drive to loud, brightly lit, obnoxious hair salon. Wish for a spa. Remember promise to kids regarding hair salon. Drag self from car. Unload baby. Unload kids. More pain. More tears. Manage to keep it together to go inside.

Kids have a blast. I try to survive the experience. Wish for an out of body experience.

Finally leave.

Load kids. Load baby. Get in car and cry. Pain, nausea, exhaustion, overwhelmed.

Explain to 4 year old why I am crying. "Mommy doesn't feel good."  She suggests that we go to the doctor. Thank 4 year old for her concern.

Drive to botanic garden for preschool class.  Pain.

Spend an hour outside in brightly lit noisy place with large group of preschoolers. Try to make small talk with other moms. Feed baby bottle. Baby does not want to be put down. Thank nice garden club ladies for doing crafts with my kids. Receive live crickets to take home.

Pain. Take kids to restroom. Go in stall alone to be sick.

Recapture escaped cricket.

Make it to car. Pain. Collect crickets to hold until we get home.

Take niece and nephew home. Hang out with kids and brother-in-law while kids eat suckers I forgot I promised them.

Release crickets in garden.

Make it home. Husband is there with open arms. And dinner. Husband is the best.

Husband puts kids to bed.
Husband tells me to go to bed.
Husband washes bottles and cleans kitchen.

Husband is the best.

Wake up sick at 1am.

Husband gets fresh ice pack.

Cry myself back to sleep trying to escape the pain.
It won't leave.
Can't sleep.

Write blog post.

If you've never experienced a migraine, please understand that is has been miscategorized as a headache.  It is not an "ache in the head." It is an all consuming full body pain. It includes the feeling of being stabbed in the eye repeatedly. And the forehead. And the neck. And the aches of the flu. And bloating, gas, nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, and heartburn. It comes with a level of hormone/emotional disturbance that makes you cranky, and weepy, and irritable, and confused. The visual disturbances are scary. The level of exhaustion compares to what I assume you feel after running a marathon then taking a sedative - you can't snap out of it. And it sometimes lasts for days. The pain comes in waves, with periods so intense that moving is out of the question and periods that it might be just a headache, but it never really leaves. There is no relief until it runs its course.

If it weren't for the love and support of my family, I'd never get through these days. From my children's sweet compassion to the purring cat in my lap, almost everyone who knows me has been touched by my migraines.  I fear 'migraine days.' I never know what they will ruin.

My husband deserves better. He deserves a wife who can keep up with her chores. Who can take care of the kids. Who doesn't fall apart emotionally. Who isn't constantly being sick. He didn't sign up for this. He signed up for a wife who could hold her end of the bargain. Who could cover his weaknesses with her strength. Who could help make him a better man.

LOVE. He loves me. Even when my speech comes in bursts and pieces because the pain makes it too hard to think of the words. He's there for me. His strong arms wrap around me and he tells me that it will be ok. I apologize - he shushes me. He says that this is the 'for worse' part. I never knew what love meant until I had a husband and migraines. 

Life isn't always pretty, but being able to celebrate the good and the bad, and share all those moments with the ones you love is what's truly important in life. So let go of the 'perfect life' images and enjoy all of what life has to offer. You will find good in the bad and bad in the good, so celebrate it all - together with those who mean the most to you. 

Mr Conditioner

Meet Mr Conditioner!

He's a super cool guy that visits my kids during bathtime.  He does silly things like dances on the showerhead, then falls off and gets wet. He talks in a deep voice with an odd accent. He enjoys making a "bloop" noise while dispensing conditioner into children's hands. He likes to play peek-a-boo from behind the shower curtain. He also inspects children's cleanliness before allowing them to do their hair. He is generally delightfully funny and makes bathtime more pleasant for all involved. His conception was a moment of parental boredom, and he now holds a prominent place in our nightly routine.

Last night my 4 year old asked, "Mommy, how does Mr Conditioner talk?"  I kinda laughed it off, so she continued, "Mommy, how does Mr Conditioner talk and move? Is it really you?"

I was floored. I have made no secret of what I am doing. My arm is clearly attached while he dances and does flips. She can see my face while I am talking in my 'My Conditioner voice.' I thought this was extremely obvious to all involved.

Furthermore, my 4 year old is a precocious child in many ways. She recently declared that she wanted to get her ears pierced. When I started in on my spiel, she cut me off with, "Mommy, I know that it will hurt for a minute, but I won't fuss, so can you please drive me to the ear piercing place?"  I could come up with no better response than to grab my car keys. She got her ears pierced (one at a time!) with no fussing and cleaned them twice a day for 6 weeks with no prompting. She also cleans her own room, enjoys cooking, and can read. This child can competently order a meal in a restaurant, pay with a credit card, and give our phone number for the rewards program. We have discussed birth, death, girls marrying other girls (she wanted to marry her widowed great-grandmother), life being unfair, and many other difficult topics. She's basically a really short adult most of the time.

So did she really not know that I am Mr Conditioner?  She looked disappointed when I told her that it was really me. 

This incident made me really think about the line between fantasy and reality, or perceived reality.  

If you know me, you know that we don't do Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, or any other such people. When we see a costumed character, my kids know that it's a person in a costume for fun. And yes, they still think it's fun. We also don't do TV, so my kids have little experience with most characters. We do read a lot, so my kids have seen talking animals and such, but we discuss that it's all pretend.

I have read that kids have trouble understanding the difference between real and pretend.  I never understood that statement until last night.  

It makes me question why we live in a society that fills kids heads with nonsense about princesses, Santa Claus, and talking cars.  Why do we work to make our kids believe all this?  I have seen parents go to great lengths such as letters from the Tooth Fairy, or having 'Santa' on speed dial on their phone to call when their child misbehaves.   It seems that many parents use such things as a way to control their child.  Parents say it's for their child, or for fun, but really is calling 'Santa' because your kid was rude at dinner really any fun?  Maybe we need to redefine fun?

I've also seen way too many kids who are devastated when they realize that their parents have been lying to them the whole time.  It seems to me that that type of behavior destroys our parental credibility.  So you lied about the Easter Bunny huh?  Did you also lie about drugs being bad for you?

So while this conversation had definitely provoked some serious thought, Mr conditioner/mommy being silly will be back tonight for my kids' bath.  I'll just make sure that they know that Mommy has as much fun being Mr Conditioner as they have giving him high fives.

Passed

Since you already know the backstory (if not read Failed!), and I'm sure you guessed the result by the title of this post, I'll skip the announcement and cut right to the fun part.  The story of how it came about. The truth is, it was a group effort. I could not have passed that test without the support of a bunch of L2s, so here it is, a list of the most important things they said to me.

Jason Daniels: Our job is to make sure players play legally, not to make sure they play well.
As I contemplated preparing to be a Magic judge, I believed that I would first need to become an accomplished player.  I thought that I would need to be able to educate players on the proper plays in various situations and serve as a sort of 'coach' to new players. Since I was a new player myself, I had a long way to go towards that end. However, Jason explained that our role as judges is to ensure that players make legal choices and follow the rules. That makes the game fair and fun for everyone. Our job is not to help them actually play; their own skill will be needed for that. We serve as neutral arbitrators to help players with difficult situations and provide them a resource for resolving problems.
Thanks Jason for taking the time to chat with me at that GPT and open the door for me to become a judge.

David Carroll: I think it's fair to say I liked you from the start.
I played my first game of Legacy ever with a deck David let me borrow.  I also got my first penalty ever with a decklist David gave me.  Afterwards he taught me an important lesson: always verify your own decklist.  While he did apologize, he did not take responsibility. And he's right.  My deck and decklist are my responsibility, and I tried to take the lazy road and turn in the one he handed me sight unseen.  In every interaction with David, he has pushed me to be a little bit better.  Correcting my terminology in Slack, providing feedback on my cover letter, pointing out the 1 question I missed as room for improvement. David liked me enough to never let me settle for less than top tier.
Thanks David for holding me to the highest standards.

Jim Shuman: When are you taking your L1 test?
Jim walked up to me in the middle of a match at the Hunter Burton Memorial Magic Open and asked me that. I struggled to figure out how to play while having that conversation.  Ok, I struggled to play anyway, but trying to talk and play . . . almost impossible.  But when Jim walked away, my opponent looked at me in semi-awe and said, "You're a judge?"  I had wanted to judge that exact event, but couldn't because I failed my certification test. Playing in the event while my friends judged made that stand out to me even more. Jim helped me realize that while I'm not actually a certified judge yet, I am a member of the judge community and have the support of other judges.
Thanks Jim for giving me that boost of acceptance and encouragement when my frustration level was the highest.

Antonio Zanutto: You can't do math while running from a lion.
The night before my L1 test, coincidentally also the day I met Antonio, he was helping me study.  We stayed up late going over scenarios and I expressed my nervousness.  He explained that I would need to relax enough to think clearly while taking the test.  His poignant way of stating such a pragmatic fact really struck a chord with me and made me smile during the actual test.
Thanks Antonio for the last minute advice that made all the difference.

Josh McCurley: You ARE a judge. 
I don't think either Josh or I want to count the exact number of times he made that statement to me. After I failed my first L1 exam I fought the urge to give up.  Magic is a complicated game and maybe learning the rules was too much for me. I was also frustrated that my plans for judging upcoming events had been changed.  That I had learned some things wrong and needed to re-learn them.  That I'm a girl in a man's world of judging. That my husband was better than me - lots better.  Josh was there to talk me off that ledge-several times.  He offered me a listening ear, late night jokes, and answers to all of my million questions. No matter how upset I got, he was the level-headed one who reminded me that even at L0, I was a judge. He showed me a multitude of ways to get involved in the program and offered his name as a reference, and little by little, I stepped out of my box and into my new role.
Thanks Josh for all the good conversations and for never letting me lose sight of my goal.

Brian Leonard: I'm proud of you baby.
My husband, the L2. While it was a roller coaster of a ride, sometimes filled with frustration, jealousy, tears, or long study sessions, there is no one I would have rather been with than you.  You were the first person to support my goal, and you put up with me through the good times and the bad. You shared your knowledge while still allowing me to chart my own (albeit rocky) path. You never gave in to my fits of frustration, and you never let me win unless I was right.  The night I won my first rules debate against you was a turning point for me and since then you have let me build up a belief in myself.
Thanks baby for loving me, supporting me, and sharing this journey with me!


I'd also like to add a few quick "thank yous":
 . . . to Chris as Area 51 for letting me help with some FNMs.
 . . . to L2 Preston May, the guy who saw me fail and saw me pass, and encouraged me both times.
 . . . to Jessica Livingston, Mitchell Nitz, Trevor Nunez, Steve Wise, and all of the #trainingroom crew.

You read my blog

You read my blog.
(Please pronounce read as "red" not "reed.")

You are a friend.
You are a former co-worker.
You are the parent of a student I taught 5 years ago.
You are a judge.
You are a friend of a friend who saw it on facebook.
You stumbled around on the internet and found it.

I was surprised.
I never really expected you, or anyone, to read it.

For years people told me I should start a blog. Or write a book.
I've always enjoyed writing, even when I was in school.  I tried journaling, writing for my high school's literary magazine, and posting funny vignettes on facebook.  I actually wrote the introduction to my senior yearbook.

I write for me.
I write to process the events of my life and better understand myself. It helps me make sense of the chaos in the world. It helps me to find new perspectives. It helps me to see what is important.

Last week, a friend said, "You put it on the internet, so you must want someone to read it."

Wow!
Time stopped for a moment.
Did I really want people to read it? The obvious logic says yes since I did in fact make it public.  But I guess I just never thought anyone actually would.

This led to several days of profound introspection.  I sought the answer to 'why I put something so personal on the internet.'  In some ways, I'm still seeking it, but I'll give it a try.

I want to be real.  I want to celebrate openness and honesty. I want to be able to share the truth.  If you've read Ender's Game, think of a Speaker for the Dead. I want to be able to share things the way they really are without having to hide behind what I am "supposed to" do/say/think/feel.

I think that's why you read it - because it rings true.  Because you like it unfiltered. Because you want to share in my emotions - joy, pain, love, exhilaration, loss. And maybe because despite my flaws, you accept me anyway.

So thank you.  Thank you for reading. But more importantly, thank you for sharing in a piece of my life.

She was real to me

Today would have been her 1st birthday.

Her name was Cynthia Geraldean Leonard.
She was due April 5, 2015.
I miscarried her in August of 2014.

It was early.  We hadn't told many people. I wasn't showing. Hadn't been to the doctor.

I was sick, as I was with every pregnancy.  I knew for a few days.  I bought a test.  It was confirmed.  I was excited.  I told Brian.  We were excited.

Terrified, but excited.  After thinking we were done after our second child, we had decided to try for a third (and planned on a fourth after that). Getting pregnant was easy, and after 2 uncomplicated pregnancies, we expected the best. I started to pull out my few remaining baby items.  I had actually gotten rid of most things after our second, but a few items remained.

We had a boy's name picked out.  In fact, we had it before our first child was born . . . it just took us a while to get to use it.  For a girl . . . well, since our first daughter's name starts with A, and our second starts with B . . . yeah.  We both love names with family ties, so we chose Cynthia after my aunt Cindy who died when I was in college. My aunt Cindy was a beautiful, creative woman with a heart for others and a gift for hospitality.  She was active in her church, involved in charity work, and hosted amazing family gatherings. She could cook the most delicious treats and she always made me feel grown-up and special. We selected Geraldean as a middle name after Brian's grandmother Gerry. She is the sweetest woman and full of energy and smiles. She loves on our children, encourages me as a wife and mother, and cherishes all things family. These two amazing women embodied the things we hoped our daughter's future would hold.

(Note: I miscarried before we knew the child's actual gender.  I choose to remember her as a girl.)

As my excitement built, we told Brian's parents, and mine.  I preferred to keep quiet for a while because about some things I'm just a private person, but Brian loves to share, so share we did. And our families shared in our joy.

While I'll skip the details of the actual miscarriage, suffice it to say that it's an emotionally traumatic moment, with a very anticlimactic physical manifestation. If you have experienced the death of a loved one, you may know the exact feeling of which I speak.  A life leaves, silently, slowly, and you are left feeling empty and alone, but when you look around, everything looks the same as it did before.

I told Brian the next morning.  We cried together.  We grieved together. After a few days, he told our families.  A few consoling comments aside, no one ever mentioned her again.

It does not make me feel any better to forget about her. It does not help when you pretend she never happened. And it really hurts when you say things like, "at least it was early" or "well, good thing you already have 2 healthy kids."

When I got pregnant with our son later that year, I even heard a few comments implying that he replaced her or some how erased her loss.  I disagree. I am delighted to have him, but he is not a replacement or a consolation prize.  Each child is unique and wonderful in his or her own way, and I prefer not to compare them.

Last year her due date fell on Easter Sunday.  A day to celebrate life and resurrection. A day of hope. It was a hard day. Seeing families with babies in Easter dresses, watching my daughters play and laugh, feeling my son kick in my belly - all those joys juxtaposed with the sense of loss made for an emotional roller coaster.  While new life was all around me, the life that would never be was still deep inside me.

As time passes, the loss is less acute, but the questions still cross my mind.  What would she look like? Would she like bananas? What word would she say first? Would she love the outdoors? Could she sing like a lark?

A mom's heart never forgets.  And so today, on what would be her 1st birthday, I choose to remember her by sharing her with you, whomever chooses to read this.  And I ask a favor of you: if you know a mom who is grieving the loss of a child, speak up.  Don't say nothing for fear of making her sad.  The saddest thing to a mother is that no one remembers her child.  So share the memories, the tears, and the lost dreams, and grieve together with her.