So happy!

Tonight after class I stayed to talk to L, my teacher. She is awesome. I want to be her when I grow up! (Although I don't know how that would work since I'm 99% sure she is younger than me.)

The purpose of our meeting was for her to give me some feedback on the writing assignments we've handed in so far. She calls them Polished Writing Exercises and I'll be frank--some of the kids in my class don't write very polishedly (yes, I made that word up just now). Creatively speaking, they have good ideas, but their writing skills need some work. I'm not being mean or petty, but I will admit to a certain thrill when I realized that my writing, even before I talked with L, was of a higher caliber, skill-wise, then most of my classmates'.

[As an aside, I think that people who read voraciously make good writers. You see how published authors sell their books, you learn how stories are put together, your vocabulary evolves, and in my case, I think about how I might make something work better if it's awkward or hard to understand.]

So anyway, after not saying a word in class AGAIN, I walked up to L's desk (yet another shy thing I do--sit in the back of the class. This has more to do with the fact that I want to sweat in relative peace--after walking the 1/2 mile up the damned hill from the metered, dirt-and-gravel parking lot where I park my own car like a real grown-up, I am sweating profusely and want to do it in the back of the room where hopefully not many people will notice me fanning myself with a handy file folder containing the class syllabus and wiping the sweat off my face and neck) and she pinned me with her gaze. "We're meeting, yes?" I noticed that she has a teensy diamond nose ring!  I want one too! So dainty and sparkly and unexpected! I nodded enthusiastically (maybe too enthusiastically? Does she know I practically idolize her?) and we went outside.

The stale, baked-concrete-scented, hot outside.

I felt like I had just stopped sweating two minutes before class ended.

I began to sweat again. Not only because it was still warm  from the 90-degree day, but also because L was reading and critiquing and writing on my printed stories. AAAAAAGH!

And she looked up at me and said, "You write well. There's some good stuff here."

This from a published author (at least in literary journals--not sure if she's been published in books yet), a grad student who's presenting her own book-slash-dissertation in November, who's been writing for years and is earning a Doctorate in Creative Writing.  She said I write well!

She gave me some things to think about, and I understood immediately that they are all things I totally agree with, especially after reading the last couple chapters on characterization in our technique book and discussing the short stories she's assigned.

This is exactly why I'm in school. So I can evolve and learn and stay passionate about writing. I hope my professors are all as good as L is!

I have 16 children.*

I was behind a mini-van Thursday on my way to school. This van had the family stickers, you know where each person and pet is represented by a little character of some sort. This time it was the Disney ones with the Mickey Mouse ears. There were the mom and dad, and then five kids.

Five kids.

FIVE kids.

What is wrong with people today that they think five children are okay to bring into this world? One or two I get, maybe three, but five? Do you live on a farm and you need the extra hands? Are you Catholic and don't believe in birth control? Do you not know how getting pregnant happens?

Five?

You may think that because I have no children I am heartless, un-American, godless, selfish. I am none of those except maybe selfish--because one of the reasons I didn't have kids was because I didn't want to be someone's mother for the rest of my life. (For other reasons, scroll down--I have listed them towards the bottom.) I think my friends' kids are wonderful, adorable little people, who are creative and funny and super-cute. [As long as they're well-behaved.] I am all for people having children as long as it's not an "oops." As long as they plan for it and understand that their entire worlds are going to change and from then on, they're not going to have much extra money and their entire focuses (foci?) will be the kid(s). Sure, have one or two or maybe three!

Just don't expect me to baby-sit.

For people to be having that many kids today is simply wrong. The earth cannot support this many people for much longer. Not to mention it is freaking scary to think of how bad teenagers have it now. I admit, I was naive growing up and didn't realize that there were drugs in my high school, but think about how it is now with meth everywhere and movies like "Get Him to the Greek" saying that drugs are hilarious! (Don't think I'm preaching about drug use because drugs are cool--but you have to make up your own mind and know the risks before using them.Therefore, the people who should use drugs should be adults.)

So here are my reasons for not having children:

1. I didn't want to be somebody's mother for the rest of my life.
2. I didn't want to be poor.
3. I didn't want to chance passing on Crohn's Disease to another generation.
4. I didn't know if I'd be good at it.
5. With my medical history and all the drugs I'd been on (and used recreationally), I didn't know what that might do to my offspring.
6. I didn't know what a pregnancy would do to my 12-inch vertical tummy scar.
7. Pregnancy scares the shit out of me.
8. Giving birth is disgusting and scares the shit out of me.
9. My husband was on the fence and said it was okay either way.
10. My mother-in-law is a smothering person and I couldn't imagine having her around 24/7 after having a kid.
11. [This is perhaps the most important.] I wasn't sure if I wanted a kid.

That being said, I am a mother after all: to our *three dogs, one cat, rescued gecko, and eleven tarantulas. I am a care-giver to my husband and friends. I am nurturing, loving, encouraging, and giving. I love my life and job and friends.

I have sometimes wondered what it would have been like to have a baby. To have a life growing inside me that was a product of my love for my husband. To have a tiny person running around.

But those thoughts end really quickly when a kid screams in the grocery store or has a tantrum in a restaurant. Then I celebrate my childlessness and rejoice in the quiet solace of my life.

The silent treatment

I love my class. Let me just say that straight away.

I am not usually characterized as shy. I have taken an informal poll of my friends and everyone laughed when I asked them if they thought of me as shy. Then they realized I was serious and said "Hell to the no!"

But I cannot talk in my class. Even though I have the answer that L is looking for. Even though I have opinions that deserve to be heard. Even though I love my class, love learning my craft, and am not normally shy.

Each day, I psyche myself up on the drive to campus. The minute I walk through the classroom door (114!) I am rendered mute.

Tonight was the third class. I have yet to utter a word other than "Here" or make a sound besides giggling (and even that is uncharacteristically quiet). I marveled tonight at a girl who stood in the front of class and read her story out loud. She defended her writing against an informal critique by some of our classmates (but not me! I didn't say anything!). She and I walked the same way by chance after class, and I so badly wanted to tell her that I enjoyed her story. I got her first paragraph even when L said she was confused by it. I wanted to tell her that her intended point of view was not entirely what she'd thought it was, but something like that is easily fixed. So we walked together but apart and there was nothing but silence.