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A
Mother Writes...
by Kim
Ripley
Long
into the wee hours I can be found at my computer diligently working
on improving my craft. Do I get much sleep? I don’t usually. Many
folks ask why I don’t choose to write at a more reasonable time
of day. My answer to that? I would love to. However a subtle reality
check reminds me that I am not only a writer. I also hold the
title of wife and mother of five children.
My husband, truly supportive of my passion, loves to watch me
write. He’ll stand behind me at a proximity that allows me to
discern without doubt the ingredients of his latest snack. He’ll
stand, watching, and begin rocking back and forth on size thirteen
feet, jingling the change in the depths of his pockets. I try
to politely continue writing. He rocks faster. I type rapidly.
He jingles louder, both pockets now. Finally I turn around and
ask in my calmest voice, “Is there something I can do for you?”
He usually gets the hint that I don’t like him hovering over me,
so he’ll make an excuse to leave. Then I feel guilty.
My kids think it’s pretty cool their mother’s a writer. So cool,
in fact, they bring droves of friends home with them, pull out
my files and exhibit my latest work. Then they’ll proudly tell
their friends that I know how to write funny little stories or
poems about each one of them…while they wait. Sense of humor sustaining,
I comply, all the while gritting my teeth about some research
I should be doing or a deadline I’m pressed to meet.
Then there’s always the phone. I know the rule of thumb is to
let the answering machine pick up while I’m working. Sometimes
that’s awfully hard to do. I hear the first ring. It rings again.
I become like a magnet to steel previewing the call with caller
I.D. Then I stand by the machine and listen to the first few seconds
of the message. After all this I usually end up picking up the
receiver and taking the darned call anyway.
So I write at night. My husband’s snoring down the hall guarantees
no additional refrains of Jingle Pants. The stillness of the refrigerator
door represents slumbering teenagers. The little ones are long
since tucked in bed, and if I’m truly having a lucky night the
phone won’t ring past midnight.
I live in a zoo, you must think. Yes, sometimes. But it’s also
a happy, healthy home where relationships, education, respect,
and creativity prevail. Is it profitable? Yes, indeed it is. Even
more important that financial profit…which occasionally is a great
plus…is the satisfaction of doing what I love to do. The example
that sets for my children goes beyond profitable. It instills
a sense of working hard for what you want, no matter what time
of day or night you have to work.
How long do I plan on continuing this nocturnal solitude? That’s
a tough one to answer. The kids will grow up, go to college, move
into homes of their own. But as long as I continue writing, my
husband’s pockets will stay full of change, and I’ll win the refrigerator
war with the teens. You make a guess!
Copyright 2003 Kim Ripley. All Rights Reserved.
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