Where does the time go?

By:  Kristi Hartman


I've spent the last few days pouring over the thousands of pictures I have saved in iPhoto, working on a baby book for my daughter.  It is long overdue, by about oh, I don't know, eight years. Oops! Looks like time got away from me there.  

I don't know what is prompting this sudden urge to document and record my family history, but when I step away from the computer after staring at all those images, I blink my eyes for the first time in 2 hours and feel a mixed bag of emotions.
It's fun to look back on things that happened a few years ago, and see how much has changed.  But it's also confusing to the mind because you look at an event and think, "That happened five years ago?  It feels like it's only been a few months!"  

Where does the time go? 

With daylight savings time just recently tearing it's ruthless 60 minutes away from us, and throwing all of us Moms into a whack for a few days, all of this has got me thinking.
                     How do I hold onto something that was never mine to begin with?  
Time doesn't belong to me, or to any of us.  It's just out there, governing our days, and dictating when and for how long we live our lives.  The only thing we have any control over is how we choose to spend these precious minutes we are given each day.

When I look back on the pictures of my kids, sometimes my heart starts to mourn because I feel like things are changing too quickly for me.  The kids are growing and changing, and there's nothing I can do about it.  I wish I could grasp moments and hold onto them tightly, but I know that won't work.  It would be like trying to squeeze a fistful of sand in my palm.  It would all keep moving anyway.

In an effort to accept the lack of control I have over time and how quickly it gets away from us, I think it's important to remember how delicate it is, and how best to use it.  Those things we have been putting off for months or years, that we know need to get done, we should do them.  
Those things we know we should say to those we love, we should just say them.
That book that is constantly lurking under the surface of your creative consciousness, you should write it, and finish it.

 Time will pass anyway, so what do you have to lose?

Writing is Like Motherhood

by Mare Ball

The two things I'm most crazy about in life are: 

1.  Being a mom
2.  Writing
3.  Chocolate

OK, three things.

But, in the grand scheme of life, motherhood and writing really define me.  I knew from the time I was about eight I wanted to be a mom.  I discovered in junior high school I loved to write.  (I also discovered I did not have the legs for mini-skirts.)

My three children are now young adults, but I still squeeze them whenever I can and pray for them every day, that they will be constantly aware of how much God loves them and know that His plans for them will be more fulfilling than any harebrained ideas of their own.

My firstborn and me

I pray for my writing too - that my harebrained ideas will be filtered out so God can run the show there as well.  Writing is like mothering, in that I'm directing characters that sometimes have minds of their own. 

Motherhood and writing are both huge investments.  Long hours, sleepless nights, mistakes and do-overs.  Shaping character.  Big hopes and dreams.  Praying I get it right.

If I haven't talked to/seen my kids in a while, I get restless.  I just need to touch base, see if all is well.  Same thing with writing.  I have to transfer words to paper (or monitor) regularly, or I get cranky.  Life can spin so fast, sometimes I feel invisible.  Writing inserts a dowel into the bike spokes and halts everything.  It creates space in my head to think and reflect and imagine.

I remember feeding my children at three a.m. and feeling the same way.  Only the moon was up with me as I gently rocked my babies.  For half an hour, the world stopped, and I could think and remember and pray.   

Motherhood and writing have another thing in common: rejection.  We've all heard "I hate you!" from a wailing toddler.  Rejection letters feel the same way, even though they're on fancy letterhead.  The cut is deep, and we might just want to give up.  I don't know what I'm doing! I've thought more than once.  On both writing and motherhood.

Motherhood and writing are the same in my heart.  They are passionate, often tedious, rewarding, soul-searching endeavors.  They can make me cry and rejoice in the same day.

My desire for them is also the same:  I want the end product to honor God.

New Kid on the Block

Hello Mormons, Mommies and Writers!  And anyone else who pops in!

I'm happy to be joining the team here at MMW to share my thoughts twice a month, and I thank this group of talented women for welcoming me into the club.  I'm not Mormon (I'm a very ecumenical Catholic), but I am a mom and a writer, and I love to ruminate about family, writing, and faith. 

I have a good friend who is Mormon, and when she lived close by, we talked about faith often.  Doctrinal differences never mattered.  She attended a Catholic Mass once and said, "It was beautiful.  They didn't give me the biscuit, but that's OK."

I feel the same way.  People of faith don't have to be aligned on every point.  God reaches out to each of us where we are and with whatever "biscuit" facilitates a closer relationship with Him.  That's one reason He's so cool.

I discovered my love for writing in 9th grade when an English assignment required us to rewrite the ending of Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes.  I don't remember what ending I wrote, but I remember being intrigued by the possibilities, the freedom to craft characters and a story line that could take any path.  I do believe, in my ending, Charlie lived.

I've been writing since, some years more productively than others.  I have short stories and a novel I've not looked at in a while.  In 1997, while working for a crisis pregnancy center, I wrote a high school curriculum on character education.  With a team of educators, I taught that curriculum in our public school system for twelve years. 

In 2010, I started a blog - Adventures in the Ballpark.

Blogging is sometimes viewed as silly and self-absorbed, but I'm often both those things, so it works for me.   

I'm married to a very generous Air Force retiree who is now an operations manager for Home Depot.  We have three children, all young adults now, but they will always be my babies in my heart.

I'm currently helping my partially disabled parents (89 and 92) who live close by in an assisted living facility.  I thought I was a pretty capable cookie until my dad's stroke in 2007.  I've since learned I must rely on God's strength and direction every day.  Whatever I think I know about life, it will be challenged tomorrow.  As soon as I learn the new thing, that will be challenged next.   God certainly keeps me on my toes.  And on my knees.

I've lived in Indiana, Maryland, Michigan, Idaho, Italy, Sicily, and Germany.  I currently reside in the Sunshine state, where I can live on fresh salmon, mangoes, and the best oranges in the world.  If I could just get my sweet tooth yanked, Sandra Bullock and I could probably share clothes (hey, a girl can dream.)  

Thanks for reading!  I'll see ya' March 8!

My Daughter's Teacher Gave Me Homework

Only a writer/mom can walk into her 3rd grader's parent-teacher conference and come out with homework. 

 I admit that, for me, going to my youngest child's parent-teacher conferences is a bit of a guilty pleasure. Somehow, I gave birth to an angel and she lives among us. I hear things like "she's so sweet" or "I just love her" or "she gets along with everyone" and the like. A couple years ago she was the hit of her class because she befriended an Autistic boy and helped him with his work. But this was nothing to her. She made a friend--that was it. And she could help him, which is something she loves to do more than breathe. She loves to help.

 But I digress. We had particular fun this last conference because the teacher spent 5 min correcting a 91% in Spelling that should have been 100%. (really, 100.5%, but who's counting?) It just made me laugh that she knew my little girl so well that she looked at the 91 and thought "this is not right" and set about researching and fixing it. 

 Anyway, as he is wont to do, my husband informed the teacher that I'm a writer--and I have 3 published books. And, as my manager, he is going to spend the next few months getting me into schools for author visits and maybe line up some other speaking engagements.

 So Mrs. Smith got really excited, and suggested I come to the class and teach a series of mini classes on the different aspects of writing--outlining, plotting, story structure, hook, etc. As we gradually made our way to the door she kept talking about how great it would be to have a published author helping out her class. 

 Then she turned to me and said, "Why don't you write them a story? Just a short thing, about friendship (the classroom theme) and when you come you can read it to them."

Sure, I said. (why? no idea) So...I have homework. And she promised she wouldn't forget, so I have to have my assignment completed when she comes calling.

 And I just realized the perfect story for them. Would it be wrong to send it out to an editor first? I might get a better grade. :)

This is what Happens

When you have too many irons in the fire, so to speak.

I sat comfortably this morning, confident I had a post scheduled for today--only to finally check in and realize that I don't.

So...

Thursday was a day I set aside just to write. I planned it, announced it, and got all ready to go. My mind was swirling with ideas. I have a short story to edit, and wanted to get it done or mostly done Thursday.

That was the plan. The reality? Not so much.

At 3am my husband woke up to find we had no power AT ALL in the house. He checked the breakers and everything was fine, just no electricity. At 5:30 we both got up, partly because we were overly warm and uncomfortable in bed and partly because it was time to get my oldest up for seminary. Which he does online since we live 30 miles from the church. Ya, that wasn't about to happen. We got all the kids up for school and got ready by flashlight/candlelight. Hubby called the power company. A truck showed up around 7. Hubby went to work, the kids caught the bus to school, and the puppy and I waited. I finally returned to bed with a headache and listened to the power company truck in the alley.

Suddenly, the ceiling fan came on. The bathroom light. Yes! Power is restored. I waited a few more minutes to see if the guy would come to the door and tell us what had happened. Nothing. Not a peep from the dog, who barks incessantly if someone comes to our door. My headache and I drift off to sleep.

The next thing I know it's 11am. We have power, but I feel rotten. Bad sleep will do that to you. So I take some time to wake up and get going. Announce to FB that I'm signing off for the day to get some writing done. Sure, the kids will be home from school soon (it's now about 1pm) but I can still work. I can shut myself in the office while they do chores and stuff and get some done. I can even write later while they are in bed. My schedule is not completely derailed.

Then I get a call. Can I come in at 2pm for a meeting to discuss my benefits? Yes, because I need to. But I'd rather not. Sigh. I get ready to leave.

I'm sitting in the waiting room and my boss calls my cell phone. Can I come in to work at 3pm? Forget that I have a meeting. Forget that I have dough rising at home for cinnamon rolls (which, by the way, did not survive). Forget that I have edits to do. I have to spend the evening at work.

Rush through my meeting. Hurry home. Throw my work clothes in the dryer and put together dinner for the kids for later. Leave them a note begging apology and also begging them to get along.

In all of that, I did write a couple of heart wrenching scenes for The Lost Princess. So I guess the day wasn't an epic fail. Sometimes I feel like that's what I get for making writing plans. It's almost like going to the temple. I've got to keep it a secret, sneak up on it, if I want to actually accomplish anything.

Mama said there'd be days like this.