TRDC - The World Shifted

Red Writing Hood - The World Shifted
This week's prompt asked you to begin your piece with the words, "I could never have imagined" and end it with "Then the whole world shifted."

 I could never have imagined what that one phone call would mean, which seems like a crazy claim considering I had been imagining it my whole life. As long as I could remember the writer inside me had constructed every possible sane and slightly insane outcome. The dreamer inside me had accepted each of those outcomes in a dramatic fashion reserved for future red carpet appearances. Yet with all those years of careful study under my belt, I stared at the phone ringing and felt ill prepared for whatever was about to happen. A mere 24 hours earlier my search for my birth family had been completed. Years of wondering about what really happened, whose eyes did I share, who could I blame for the premature gray in my hair; it was all down to answering the ringing phone.

A random stab in the dark at a library archive had given me the answer that calling government offices never did. Finding information on a closed adoption in the 70s had proved more difficult than the whole "was there a second shooter on the grassy knoll" question. Add to that a stack of paperwork with blacked out names and locations and I might as well walked up to NASA with a snorkle and fins and announced my intention to board the next shuttle for the moon. Paperwork that contained facts that couldn't be right. In handwriting and type it detailed a sad story of twin girls that were born to a family and then shut away because we cried a lot. Cried for food. Cried because our diapers needed to changed. Cried for love. Cried for someone to listen. Nobody did for months.

My mind had decided that this story had to be one of those "Choose Your Own Adventure". Somebody had written it wrong. I called the librarian of the very small town I was born in and asked if there had been a birth announcement printed back then for twins. I can almost imagine the little old librarian adjusting her glasses and racing to the exciting task of a mystery buried in her beloved papers. Within an hour she called me back with their names. I had my birth last name and it was so unusual that with a little googling I had tracked down an aunt, my grandmother and an unknown sister. I had talked in length to these three people who were preparing me to talk to the fourth. My birth mother. The one who had listened to the cries and done nothing.

The phone was ringing and to answer it was sending a knife of betrayal through my heart, but I had to answer it. I had to confirm or deny the stories I had heard. I kept picturing my adopted family in front of me. Every one of my cries had been answered by them. Ever since my adoption I had never cried alone. I had been warned by the people who really knew her, that she was crazy. She was never a mother. As my finger hovered over the button that would accept and connect the call, I could have never prepared myself for the sound of her voice. I didn't just push the button, I stabbed it on in a desperate act of courage.

"H...He...Hello?"

"This is your birth mother (outrageous uncalled for laughter) They all lied to you. You know that right? You'll listen to me, right?"

As the sound of her laughter faded into an echo, I realized that upon hearing her voice that I felt nothing. I had no desire to hear another word and I needed no explanations anymore. It was that moment when I realized that I no longer cared. I felt that I could live my own life even without a past. It was then the whole world shifted.

I almost quit

First thing...see that new button over there to the right? The one that is about your child talking? I am thrilled to announce a website/blog/resource by a wonderful woman all about speech and your child!

Secondly, I am in a funk. DEEEEEEEEEP funk. It's probably the weather, the being stuck in the house, the being stuck in the house with kids, the being stuck in the house with little kids with BIG attitudes. A couple of nights ago I was sitting in front of this screen waiting for bloggy inspiration.

Waiting. Waiting. Nothing.

I was signed into Tweetdeck watching fascinating conversations going on and had nothing to contribute.

Waiting. Waiting. Nothing.

I made a decision. I slammed the screen of the laptop down and screamed at the ceiling. "I QUIT! I quit this stupid blog. I quit stupid Twitter. I quit, I quit, I quit." I may or may not have even stomped my feet like a 2 year old and then consumed a bag of peanut M&Ms.

The whole next day I grumbled about the stupid blog. I turned off Twitter. Why should I blog? Who is really reading? What does it matter if I do or I don't? I'll never be the writer that so-and-so is with their 100 comments per post. I'll never get the super great job that so-and-so did with her writing even though I've been doing it so much longer. I. Am. Unimportant.

My voice was silenced.

Then my family came over for a while. I had recently written the post "We Not The Same" about my oldest daughter and some of the struggles that she had faced. It was a hard post to write but it was one that I was proud of. My brother-in-law came to me and hugged me for that post. Told me about how it made him cry because it reminded him of his brother that passed away last year that had the same struggles. It touched him. His words have stayed with me these past few days. His words are what prompted me to not delete the blog forever but start writing again.

This blogging thing is not as easy as you think. There are so many days where you feel like your voice isn't heard, your point not made and your passion is not understood. When I sit down to write, I do it to touch someone, to make them laugh, to have them reconsider a point in their life or to just not feel so alone. I got so caught up in the lack of comments that I didn't realize that I had done what I sat down to do. I touched one person. His hug, his words...that's why I write.

If you are a blogger, a reader or a lurker. Take the time today to find that one blogger whose words have stuck with you, a story that still makes you laugh or a time that their words helped you through a difficult time and TELL THEM. Let them know that their voice matters.

I won't quit again...I won't silence my voice.

Firing Squad Momma

For about 3 weeks now we have been battling some sort of dark evil. At first I thought it must be a cold, but the way this entity lurks and resurfaces; it must be pure evil. I have learned that evil is immune to Lysol. After spending the night imagining that I was on the beach lying among a herd of seals barking, I loaded up The Scribblers and took them on into the doctor.

To the lady in the waiting room that was obsessively rubbing large amounts of hand sanitizer on her poor toddler's hands..."THAT WILL DO YOU NO GOOD IF HE CONTINUES TO LICK THE FISH AQUARIUM THAT 15 KIDS HAVE SNEEZED ON IN THE PAST 5 MINUTES!"....Just sayin'

After the annoying and ineffective game of "let me shine the light in your ear and look for an elephant" in equally annoying and ineffective baby talk (cringe) I finally convinced the nurse that my kids are way smarter than believing she is going on African safari in their heads and just get it done already. By the end of the exam it was discovered that bronchitis, strep throat and croup are our newest residents.

The doctor came in a merrily announced that she was writing three Rx for antibiotics and steroids. Visions of holding down The Scribbler for 7 full days or until all medicine had been spilled in the floor filled my head and I asked the wisest question a mom can ask..."Doesn't that come in a one time shot"

Horror filled The Scribblers eyes as they heard their mother just order in the firing squad. Oh yes...I went there.

Nurses filed in ready to hold The Scribblers down to receive their shots. Yes, I said nurses, as in plural. My kids have a past record of being fighters, biters and brawlers when it comes to medicine of any kind. Within 5 minutes shots had been dispensed and the howls of The Scribblers filled the clinic terrifying every child in the waiting room including the little aquarium licker. To try and silence the shrieks the nurses promised suckers as soon as we left and then they ran from the room.

Once pants were pulled up and kisses delivered, we went towards "Checkout" to collect on the sucker promise. As I stared at the empty basket I could have punched those nurses. There were no suckers. How on earth does a pediatrician office plan to run on no suckers? Maybe that's why that little kid was licking the aquarium glass. Sucker withdrawal.

Now we are home and hopefully on the mend. I really can't spend another night on the beach with barking seals. The kids are pretty peeved at me for ordering the firing squad, but one day they will be wrestling their own child trying to get down the thick pink liquid and spilling half the dose...they'll understand.