Writer's Constipation

Dedicated subscribers who enjoy hearing the tales of this misfit mom on the go have been wrongly denied my newsletter for about 3 weeks now. I have had an extreme form of writer’s block called writer’s constipation. The end result (this piece) may end up being crappy, pun intended. Disgustingly and fitting, I am finishing it up in the bathroom where my children and dog bother me less. Don’t judge. A woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do. Moving on.

My writing process is like grabbing hold of an ocean current and riding it until it becomes a four to six paragraph surfboard. The problem right now is that 10 different currents hit me at once and landed me in the Bermuda Triangle. A sampling of the currents are schools reopening, multigenerational house living, single parenting, homeschooling, hometeaching, pandemic politicizing, black v. blue lives mattering and us thinking we can solve that on Facebook by clicking share on our favorite memes. Ugh. Too many currents. Want to know what I think? I can’t think because all I can hear in my brain is the song “Shaddap You Face” by Joe Dolce; my favorite 45 as a kid and an earworm that is desperately trying to tell me and everyone else something we all need to hear. Shaddap. You. Face.

I’m a mother, I’m a daughter, I’m a teacher, and I’m a sinner—Steve Miller’s got nothing on me. My reality is one that has many layers when it comes to COVID. The worries in my brain have been plentiful and hearing the opinions of people who just want teachers to suck it up buttercup has really stymied my writing process. As a mother, I want to see my kids learning with their friends again. As a daughter living with octogenarian parents, I have no idea how I will handle my little germ vectors if they start school. As a teacher, I miss connecting with students and colleagues and think distance learning is a poor substitute for the real thing. Also as a teacher, I take on so many roles and I’m not sure being on the front lines of a pandemic is/should be one of them. As a sinner, I don’t know what I want but Wise Cheez Doodles will most definitely play a central role. Then I hop onto Facebook and read this and that opinion and all I can think is ahhhhhhh, shaddap you face!

The endless list of what ifs have put me in child’s pose on many a day, my go to anti-anxiety yoga move. It actually works, for me anyway. If we were to treat going back to school scientifically, I imagine that the amount of uncontrolled variables cancel out the validity and safety of this experiment. We cannot control Johnny’s parents who send him to school for 7 hours with what seems to be a cold and turns out to be COVID. Are our retiree substitutes willing to step in for a teacher that is out with COVID? What about the legality of it all? Should teachers sign a waiver to go back to school? I’m starting to sweat just writing about it. That and it’s 95 degrees today. 

One of my most recent Facebook posts was the following: “Current thought-I might need to buy a compound with an isolation ward that I can fill with all my favorite people for this next year to work. Yes, it will have an indoor pool and spa. Who’s in?” The amount of people who wanted in on this wasn’t surprising because we’re all bewildered. I’m at the point where that show Sister Wives makes a whole lot of sense as does King Ezekiel’s town on The Walking Dead. Anyone up for starting a cult? We can name it something benign like Stars Hollow so the authorities don’t get too suspicious. Come on! It’ll be fun and will have an open air bar. Let’s go!

This upcoming school year is going to take a whole lot of thinking outside the box, reevaluation of what kids need to/should learn, and a heavy dose of collaboration even when things get heated. I see in my own children many changes for the better since this pandemic began (alongside changes for the worse too but I’m going to go ahead and ignore that crap right now). This generation is growing up aware of their duty to the greater good. You just can’t teach that in school and maybe that’s the point. So, for now, I will continue to block my ears to the noise when need be, sing “Shaddap You Face” when some dumb post on Facebook pisses me off, plant a hosta garden under the shade of our maple tree at home, sit on the back deck just as fireflies start their nightly routine, and look forward to the meaningful moments I get to spend with the people I care deeply about. When all else fails, I will curl up into child’s pose next to the hosta garden. Again, save your judgment—I raised my freak flag a long time ago and rarely bring it down to half-mast for your comfort. So let’s move forward in as much peace as we can muster and let us pray that this writer’s constipation has finally passed. I am a far more productive and happier human when I can pass my writing onto you each week. Until next time...