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Archive for Jeannie Ruesch

A Heart Full of Grateful

Friday, June 4th, 2010

As Kris mentioned in her post yesterday, MamaWriters (the blog) is coming to a close at the end of June and this will be my last post here, as well.  As I write that, it makes me sad and it’s making it so very difficult to decide on what to write.  My last post.  It seems like it should be philosophical, uplifting, poetic even.

I’m pretty sure it won’t cover any of those adjectives.  Mostly, all I feel I can do is express my absolute gratitude for those who’ve been on this journey with me.  The journeys of moms and writers are unique, it’s why this blog was started in the first place.   We understand in a way that no one else truly does the struggles of conquering a writing career at the same time you’re on laundry duty.  Trying to writing love scenes when you’ve been up all night with a crying, sick child.   The uniquely connected stellar wardrobe of the new mom and the writer at her typewriter.  (Who knew I could have sweats in so many colors…)

As a collective whole, we understand that joy is measured in small ways: the first smile on your infant’s face, the feeling at the end of a chapter that it actually won’t have to be rewritten (much).  We embrace rejection,  we praise each other when it’s personalized even.  We celebrate the moments so big,  our smiles can’t contain them:  new babies, new books, contracts, offers, and heck, even just checking things off the To Do list.

Being a MamaWriter, I’ve connected with friends who feel like they’ve been friends forever, and I believe will be friends forever. (eggplants!)   I’ve had the pleasure to meet so many fascinating women through our blog guests and our commenters.  I’ve discovered that my life is all at once unique to me and just like every other MamaWriter out there.  I’m a part of something.

I’m grateful.  For this. For you.  Thank you for sharing your world with us, even if it was just for a little while.

Categories : Jeannie Ruesch
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What Kids Really See On Your TV…

Monday, May 24th, 2010

Hello…again!  Yes, I did the schedule for MamaWriters this month and for some as-of-yet unrevealed reason, I scheduled myself with back to back dates.   So you’re stuck with me again. :)

I’m writing this at the very end of the day, after spending a wonderfully enjoyable afternoon with my family.  My sister in law brought her littlest kids over today and we had a full day of play – putting together what we’ve affectionately coined the “Toddler Brigade.”  (4 children at ages 5, 4 and 3. ) My son, being an only child, gets a full dose of what it’s like to have siblings, I get to spend time with my SIL (also one of my closest friends).   A win-win situation, all around.

And today, in discussing the things our kids have said and done since we last talked, dual stories popped up that made us stop, think and realize that our children are little adults in training.  They pick up so much more than we sometimes think they do, they form opinions — good or bad — based on their observations, and often times, the imagery and words they see are taken literally.  Very literally.

First story: A few weeks back, my told my husband and I that a friend of ours “didn’t like her husband.  She wouldn’t let him kiss her.”    And in fact, that week that he witnessed this exchange, she was rather irritated with her husband.   If you’ve been married anything longer than the honeymoon, you get irritated, it happens.  But what shocked us what what he saw (she wouldn’t let him kiss her) and how HE, as a four year old, translated that.  It meant, to him — “She doesn’t like him.”   There was no shade of gray for him, there was no “it’s complicated”, or “right now” or even, “just at this particular minute.”  It was an ending statement.

And if that wasn’t enough to make us truly consider how our words and actions could be construed, my SIL had a story to share, too.  Her daughter came to her the other day and said, “Steve Poizner is a liar.  And he drives cars off cliffs. He’s a bad man. He hurts people.”

Normally, I’m not one to ever mention politics on a blog and I’m not doing it now  (so please, no political opinion in the commentary ;) – I only mention his name because it was specifically an ad on television, in opposition to this man — who is running for California Governor.  This ad includes words such as “Mr. Poizner lied about” and “he lied about this…” and it showed imagery of a car being driven off a cliff, with words to match that state he will drive California over the cliff. (Or something to that affect, I’m not entirely sure of the ad content.)

But what my niece took from this?  He drives cars over cliffs. He hurts people.

I would venture to guess that’s exactly what the folks who created the ad wanted people to think.  But a five year old?   It amazed me that she pulled so much from a 30 or 60 second commercial, that she formed such a specific opinion from the images and words she saw.  And it reminded me to never, ever underestimate how much awareness children have in the room.  Just because they are little and might seem not to notice doesn’t mean they aren’t paying very close attention.

What about you?  What surprising things have your children noticed?

When is your comfort zone too comfortable?

Thursday, May 20th, 2010

Yesterday, I went to my favorite bookstore cafe to sit at my favorite table and do some work.  Only to discover that not only was my table taken, ALL of the tables near plug outlets were taken.  So I wandered, aimlessly, for about ten minutes hoping someone would leave. They didn’t, so I did.  All because, truth be told, I couldn’t have my table.

And after my cafe ride home, I came to realize that maybe I hadn’t grown up so much after all.  Just that morning, at the babysitter’s house, my son had thrown a mini tantrum because one of his friends had taken his train from his hands.  And while his tantrum was far more vocal than mine, walking out of the store  was my own little protest.  I couldn’t have what I wanted, so I left.   Not that they cared…they had a full cafe, after all.

I am, most decidedly, a creature of habit.  I order the same things at restaurants.  I sit in the same table at the same cafe when I want to escape the house. I get fixated on favorite snacks and can eat them for days. (Popcorn anyone? Best nighttime snack ever.)   And as a parent, routine is King in the household.   Meal times, nap time, bed time… much of the world revolves around the schedule of a child. (And as he gets older, I imagine it will become more so, just filled with other events like sports and activities.)

Before long, tomorrow looks just like today which looked just like yesterday.   If you aren’t careful, that comfort zone can become a little too comfortable.    It can be easy to get stuck in a rut, especially when routine is such a big part of your life. If I allow myself to get too settled within my current comfort zone — what I do each day, how I think about what I’m doing, then the things that will help me to grow as a person also become stifled.   The chances I take, the risks I allow become weighed by what fits inside my zone.

Our comfort zones connect directly to our dreams, to our goals.  To what we want in life.  In order to grow, to change with life, you have to move outside of your current world.   Your current comfort zone has to start to feel a little less comforting.  And ultimately, you have to be able to see what your dream looks like and what it will take to achieve that specific goal.  Just like we plot out the lines of our stories and the schedules of our children, we have to plot ourselves out of the familiar, as well.

So mama writer to mama writer, I ask you… what goal or dream do you have right now that would take you out of your comfort zone?  Is it getting a job? Quitting a job?  Finishing a book?  Maybe it’s just getting a pedicure once a month.  Or having a weekend trip with the girls.   It doesn’t have to big or small, it just has to meet your dream, for you.  Not for your children, your husband, your boss… Yours. Whatever it is, give yourself ten (or fifty) minutes to daydream about what it looks like.  Picture yourself in the middle of that dream.   And then figure out the steps from where you are now to that dream… make them baby steps if you need to, but plot out your goal.

Got it?  Now take a baby step.

I made the decision to do this in a few areas of my life recently… I’ve got my dreams, I’ve plotted out how to get there, and now I’m on the road.  It’s definitely not comfortable,  but it does feel absolutely right.   And I think tomorrow, when I go to my favorite bookstore cafe, I’ll sit in a different table.  (Baby steps.)

For The Love of. . .

Monday, April 26th, 2010

I’ll tell you something that I don’t talk about often.  As a child, I played the piano.  Seriously.  At the age of eight, I begged to have lessons.  By twelve, I was practicing anywhere from an hour to three hours a day, with a teacher who kept me focused on competitions and performances.  By the time I was fourteen, I could play, by memory, the same song a young pianist was playing in the Van Cliburn competition. I could play it well.

Piano was a passion.  I could sit down on the bench and the entire world would fade away until all that remained was me, the smooth, familiar keys under my fingers and the sound of the music. It was a love, pure and simple.

It never derailed my belief at the age of six that I would write books.  That was what I’d always wanted to “do.”  But piano?  It was a part of me.  Then I developed carpal tunnel syndrome in my teens and playing became painful.  In my twenties, I had to make a choice — keep playing the piano or make a living, since I work on computers.   I chose to make a living.  It’s been years since I’ve played on any regular basis.  My brothers often talk about watching me play years back, and my husband always looks on in curiousity — since he’s never seen it.  Sure I’ve played since then, but it’s not quite like riding a bike.  Getting back to the keyboard after years away isn’t so easy.  The muscles aren’t used to it, the ability to strike the right key without looking –gone.  And of course, the wrist pain.

However, when my toddler started pounding keys on our piano, I knew that I wanted to give him the opportunity to learn more if he wanted to.  I wanted him to see what it could do, so I sat down to play.  And when I did that,  when he sat down next to me to pound the keys above while I played the song, I realized that it never left me.  The love, the passion, the ability to sit and focus only on the music and nothing else was still very much inside of me.  And I think, for the most simple explanations, that’s what love is.  No matter how far away, how long since you’ve last checked in, love exists.  It doesn’t fade, even if you put it on the shelf and only dust it on occasion.  It doesn’t leave us.  Not the truest kind.

I know there are some saying, well, if love didn’t leave, no one would get divorced. No one would break up.  But is that really true?  I don’t think so.  I can’t count how many times I’ve heard divorced or separated couples say, “I will always love him, but…” It isn’t the LOVE the faded. It’s everything else that complicates it.  The JOY from that love may be shadowed, but the love always seems to stick around in some form.   I didn’t stop playing piano for lack of loving it.  Other things shadowed the joy, and I had to make a choice.  And I started playing again now- – albiet with the extremely easy versions of the sheet music — for love of my son.

At one point in my life, I stopped writing, too.  For a number of years, in fact.  It wasn’t that I didn’t love it.  It was a lot of other things that got in the way.  And life is like that — as mamas, we know that.  But I will say that sitting down to that piano reminded me of a feeling I missed.  And I get even more joy out of it the second time around — watching my son giggle as he pounds the keys, watching him pull sheet music out and “play” it.  I don’t care if he plays for twenty years or twenty minutes — right now, it’s the sweetest music there is.

Is there a love you’ve picked up again because of your children? Or perhaps just for yourself?

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Before Mama Was Mama . . .

Tuesday, April 6th, 2010

Sorry for the delay in posting this morning.  After being up with a child who apparently had too much popcorn at our movie yesterday and decided it shouldn’t stay in his stomach, I’m running a bit behind.  :)

We talk a lot on this blog about what we write …and the inevitable day when our children will fully comprehend what that is.  Not just that Mama is sitting at her computer, typing on the keyboard — thankfully I am still in that stage with my four year old.  But the other day, I was listening to the radio (country music fan here) and heard the song ‘Before She Was Momma’ by Clay Walker.   Some of the song lyrics:

‘Bout ten years old, hide and seek
I found me in the closet
Ready or not I stumbled on
And opened up that box of
Yearbooks, letters, black and whites
A hundred, maybe more
Next thing I know my brothers and me
Got ‘em scattered on the floor (Yeah)

There was one of her, flippin’ the bird
Sittin’ on a Harley
And a few with some hairy hippie dude
Turns out his name was Charlie
Her hair, her clothes, her drinkin’ smokin’
Had us boys confused
I’ll never forget the day us nosey kids got introduced

To Mama, ‘fore she was Mama

I’m certain that ALL of us Mamas here have fond memories of the years before we were Mama and I thought that could be a fun way to spend today.   Before we were wives, before we were anything else but single, footloose and fancy free… what was your life like? How different from your life today?

My life today is completely different from what it was in the “Before Mama” years. (And yes, there are albums and pictures that I would be inclined to lock up so my son never sees them.)  In the “Before Wife” years, my best girlfriend and I were inseparable. (At one point in our lives, we were roommates who commuted to our respective jobs that were five minutes apart, who went to lunch together AND often when out five nights a week together.)  It’s amazing we never tired of each other or ran out of things to talk about…

But in my Before Mama, carefree years, we were constantly on the go.  Usually five nights a week, we were hanging out with friends, out to dinner, out dancing at our favorite spots.  We had the freedom to do what we wanted, when and go wherever the winds took us.  And we often did.   And the one constant, I think, from then to now, is that I was and remain a creature of habit.  When I find something I like or enjoy, I tend to stick with it.  When my hubby and I were in the “Pre-Child” days, we went out usually once or twice a week to a karaoke bar (love to sing, I admit it)… We knew everyone there, we went there for years…and even today, on the rare times we get out of the house, that’s usually our first choice for the evening.  There is something comforting about being somewhere where “everyone knows your name.”

That was often what my BFF and I did, as well.  We had a handful of places that we went to on a regular basis.  We knew the people who worked there, the people who hung out there, and we felt comfortable.  We felt safe. And on occasion, we did really stupid things.  That’s part of growing up, I think.  And today, when I have a chance for a girl’s night, sometimes we go dancing, sometimes we sit at home and watch a movie, and other times we go out to dinner and talk for hours.  Inevitably, we pull out the memory books in our heads and reminisce about those years.

And when we pull those memories out to think of “the good ol’ days”, I can look at them wistfully and still realize that the best years are now.  There are trade-offs in having children — you put a large part of yourself on hold, a large portion of your life on hold in order to be there and raise your little ones.  There will come a day soon enough when he stops wanting to spend time with us, so for now, I choose to cherish every single minute I have.  Things are definitely different in the “Mama” years than they were, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

What were your Before Mama years like? How were they different? How were they the same?

Categories : Jeannie Ruesch, MamaHood
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