A Real Mother (revision) - Writers Forum

Wyndstar · 10-06-2005, 10:08 PM

This is something new for me--blame Chris

The revision is after all the comments. I left the original since so many folks liked it...

A REAL MOTHER

I came into motherhood later than most, but it was a carefully researched decision based on how long I’d be able to push out the scion of whatever love puppy I adopted without needing to rely on mad science or an act of God. I also felt I needed to rack up much life experience in order to raise such scion without having to dull my sanity with more than a case of very strong liquor every day for the rest of that scion’s life.

I had a very eventful life, full of exotic travel, exotic terrorists, exotic education and exotic sex up until I turned 36; I was diagnosed with tapeworm.

Nine months later, I was proudly carting that 6 pound, 6 ounce, blond haired, blue-eyed tapeworm around and calling her Lissa.

After five months of isolation because that tapeworm had severe colic and a surliness (which evolved into a bad ass attitude and a will that made Ghengis Khan seem wussy) unfit for public consumption, making me want to become a career alcoholic, my husband introduced me to Lavender.

Yes, her name was Lavender.

Lavender’s husband was someone who worked near my husband. I found him an unimpressive piece of bloated ego that reminded me of the genetic risks involved in having children. I couldn’t remember his name even during my friendship with his wife.

My husband Alex thought it was a good idea to cultivate a friendship between Lavender and I.

“She’s a real veteran.” He told me, trying to be convincing. “She’s been a stay at home for two years.”

“That’s funny.” I responded drolly “I sort of thought she was a POW and a casualty…”

Now, I have to make this perfectly clear; motherhood is a draining situation, and it’s necessary to have a strong center, a solid sense of self before you have that child. Especially in the unlikely event you’re unlucky enough that the birth of one child herald’s the arrival of TWO.

In such an endless ocean of responsibility, many women drown.

Lavender was a sharp, highly intelligent woman, though 10 years my junior. She possessed a sardonic, observant sort of humor that was subdued from visits to a therapist and the drugs he provided her.

“…She’ll help you adjust to a stay at home life, Roxy.” He went on, referencing my newly retired state from the military.

After a few days of Levy’s (I gave her a nickname because her name reminded me too much of frilly bathroom products) life of endless cleaning, dinner promptly on the table, trips to the playground, baking cookies, and entertaining whatever guests hubby chose to bring home at a moment’s notice without complaint, I could see why Alex saw her as a ‘vet’.

Did I mention she was seeing a therapist for depression?

“Fuck the housework, Levy.” I smirked and grabbed two car seats “On second thought, let’s hit the Pagan Pride Day festival. They’ve a few knights from last weeks RenFair that are WAY better suited.”

“But Roxy, my husband will be mad that I’m not home.”

“He’s only a senior airman.” I reminded her knowingly “Alex is a master sergeant and my husband, I’m still a tech sergeant. I outrank both. Let’s go.”

To be perfectly honest, this woman just shocked me. She had the soul of a bohemian, but she had no idea about the small art studios in the area, or the Female Spirituality Center. She was unaware of the coffee shops where poetry was read, where books were reviewed. And yet, when confronted with the reality of them, she soaked everything up like a sponge, and life just blazed in her eyes.

How was it possible that this woman, with so much potential, so full of life, wasn’t aware of the things her soul was so aligned to?

I got my answer during a St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

I was pregnant again, thanks to a defective condom and God’s quirky sense of humor. Morning sickness and constipation was giving the world a free glimpse of what I’d be like during full-blown menopause. So, when Levy’s husband tried making excuses, I told Alex to either get them to the parade, or I’d skip hormone treatments when that magic time actually came upon me.

We did fine, until the end of the parade when I got hungry, and so did Levy.

I shoved our little bundle of joy at Alex, and waited for Levy to do the same with her own fussy 2 year old.

Her husband made the two year old seem pleasant.

“It’s my day off.” He complained, snubbing both wife and son.

“Look pal, I’m hungry, I need help carrying the food back, and fighting a two year old will make the situation impossible.” I reasoned, very politely as Diana, one of the ladies who ran the spiritual center handed me a coffee in an effort to help appease my hunger.

“So what?” Levy’s husband shot back. “I only get two days off. I’m not going to baby sit.”

“And what about Levy?” I was curious to know “Doesn’t she get a day off?”

“From what? She stays home all day and does nothing but watch ‘Oprah’.” The man debated, being the callous bastard he is “Besides, the kid’s her responsibility. It's her job …”

This was a bad thing to say, and the man was very stupid.

I think I was very fair considering. After everyone backed away in abject fear, I gave him a few moments so that those actions could sink in, and he could consider why.

“…She’s a mother.”

But he went there anyway.

“Yes dear, your wife is a mother—“ I declared, looking and sounding as ominous as Mount St. Helens before she blew “But not the mother I AM…!”

And the man screamed.

"...I am the mother of all pain!"

I’m not sure what hurt him worse; the hot coffee I poured in his lap, or his pissy son, who kicked him moments after I dumped him there, too.

Though I won that battle, it was a war I couldn’t win, because I was the only one that saw any cause to.

Levy was already snagged by the undertow her husband had created, and she was so weakened that she couldn’t grab on to a lifeline, even when it was offered.

I lost her to the special assignment her husband signed up for two weeks later, and she just followed him without a word to the middle of nowhere; a place that lacked even a library, let alone art and beatnik cafés and a woman’s center.

It doesn’t take long, after a person has fought a current stronger than them, for them to go numb. After that, it only takes two inches worth to drown in. Lavender had that two inches; it was in the shallow end of the gene pool.

Lavender had her husband.

And sadly, in the end, he turned out the biggest mother of them all…

Rico · 10-06-2005, 10:16 PM

Quote:

I had a very eventful life, full of exotic travel, exotic terrorists, exotic education and exotic sex up until I turned 36; I was diagnosed with tapeworm.

Oh god what an amusing sentence I found that; all except for the tapeworm, that's me.

Aside from that...

I really enjoyed reading this. You made the emotion real, and I loathe that kind of man. I freely and willingly admit that I am an utter control freak, but to psychologically and physically enslave a woman like that...

...no grammar errors that I found, but then again, as a non-native speaker, I tend to miss them.

Good job Wyndstar.

Ilan Bouchard · 10-06-2005, 11:18 PM

How very amusing! The returning analogies of drowning and being in the army were always well done.

Your grammar was sound, though I found a missing comma, though I can't find it now. It was at the end of a piece of dialogue somewhere...

Anyways, I thought this was a good read; very clever. My only qualm was the "She's not a mother, I AM" line. I didn't quite understand it.

Cynicism may be annoying at times, but it certainly makes for more interesting narrative.

Finally, are you a woman? A mother?

Wyndstar · 10-07-2005, 12:11 AM

Ilan, you were right about the mother comment. It made sense when experienced in person, but doesn't translate quite as well written. I hope the change makes more sense.

Well, considering that I've given birth multiple times, that probably answers the gender question. I also qualify for both definitions of the word 'mother', the profane one many times before the biological one, but no less after becoming that, too.

Ilan Bouchard · 10-07-2005, 12:18 AM

Yes, it makes more sense, but it's still a bit confusing.

gohn67 · 10-07-2005, 12:29 AM

Hey Wyndstar,

Loved the part about Tapeworm. That was hilarious.

I really enjoyed this, your best yet in my opinion. Seems like a true story.

You did a good job of showing the effects of the husband's control over lavender.

A few things I noticed

I got confused on my first read who Levy was; that caused alot of confusion in my reading. On the first read.

But on the second I figured out that that was Lavanders nickname. And then everything made sense.

Quote:

I shoved our little bundle of joy at Alex, and waited for Levy to do the same with the fussy 2 year old.

I would change "the" fussy 2 year old to "her" fussy...
When you used "the" it confused me. Especially the first read. When you used "the" I wasn't sure who's kid it was. I thought it could been the protagonist's kid.

Quote:

Its her job

Wow, I found a grammar error in your writing!

eggo · 10-07-2005, 08:45 AM

Hey Wyndstar,

So we should blame Chris for making you write this remarkably funny, true-to-life story? It was amazingly dead on when it talks about parenting responsibility and how some people view them.

Your writing was free and easy. It was simple to tell you felt very comfortable writing in this subject area. This allowed you to use your skills
to write a great peice.

Quote:

In such an endless ocean of responsibility, many women drown.

great line!

Quote:

Lavender was a sharp, highly intelligent woman, though 10 years my junior. She possessed a sardonic, observant sort of humor that was subdue from visits to a therapist and the drugs he provided her

subdued from her

Quote:

It doesn’t take long, after a person has fought a current stronger than them, for them to go numb. After that, it only takes two inches worth to drown in. Lavender had that two inches; it was in the shallow end of the gene pool.

Excellent passage.

Quote:

I declared, looking and sounding as about as evil as Vincent Price on a vengeful bende

Didn't quite work for me.

This is your best peice. By writing from experence your sardonic wit had me rolling off my chair in this very strong peice of prose .

Drags out creaky soap box, climbs up and claps.

Wyndstar · 10-07-2005, 09:17 AM

Oh Rico sweetheart, I wish I'd met you when I was in Spain and the surrounding areas--I would have shown you a good time in the nonjudgement way only a true sinner can provide.

Ilan--I fixed that for you

gohn and eggo--after I posted, I found three grammar errors (I posted while the three year old was using me as a jungle gym) had to leave, and then couldn't find them again. I spent all night looking--thanks for finding them.

Vincent Price- private joke. Used true to life descripts of my personality, but you're right eggo, that it was kind of ug---we'll see.

This story is going to set a bad precedent...

Chris Miller · 10-07-2005, 09:48 AM

I am happy to take some—you say “blame”, I say “credit”—here.

Read this last night.

This is a bit different for you: harder and more realistic, almost stark, and easy to follow for the most part.

You are a strong enough writer that a lot of the telling and judgmental bits are totally unnecessary. Your description of the antagonist is more than enough to paint his character. Actions and dialogue alone are enough to describe the narrator—and of course the narrative. I’ll point out what I feel is superfluous and weakening as I re-read. Hope you don’t mind. I am impressed with how quickly you wrote this.

I hope you don’t mind a bit of critique. I think you could make it even better—great actually.

The opening sentences are too complex and complete. Clever, yes, but they do not beg continuing.

"I had a very eventful life, full of exotic travel, exotic terrorists, exotic education and exotic sex…"

Hey, I’d kill for a little elaboration, a few specifics (instead) here! They would convert this from your narrator “bragging” into solid character development.

I wasn’t sure if you actually got tapeworm, or your pregnancy was misdiagnosed. It read like a funny non sequitur.

The first person is a difficult POV. Some magazines will not accept any work written in it (and I hate them). The danger of it is the same as the danger in talking about oneself. You have to be able to build your character without your character “telling” anything about himself. Others may venture opinions/observations about him/her. Action and dialogue may be used to develop the character, even cautious sharing of feelings and thoughts and memories. But the character should not say things like, “I had a very eventful life” or “I responded drolly” or “I think I was very fair considering” or “I declared, looking and sounding as about as evil as Vincent Price on a vengeful bender” or “Though I won that battle, it was a war I couldn’t win, because I was the only one that saw any cause to” or scream "...I am the mother of all pain!" You might get away omnisciently telling these kinds of things about a character in the third person, but in the first it is risky. You cannot (writing-wise) assume others see your character as your character sees him/herself.

"…between Lavender and I."
me

herald’s=heralds

“that was subdue from”
subdued

stay at home = stay-at-home

I smirked and grabbed two car seats
No period.

from last weeks RenFair
week’s

“He’s only a senior airman.” I reminded her knowingly “Alex is a…
airman,
knowingly.

Your quote punctuation is often incorrect. For example:
Wrong: “I am here.” Said Jack “Now I will leave.”
Right: “I am here,” said Jack. “Now I will leave.”

“This was a bad thing to say, and the man was very stupid.”
No need to tell this.

Levy was already snagged by the undertow her husband had created, and she was so weakened that she couldn’t grab on to a lifeline, even when it was offered.

Nice, but still telling. To say, “I saw Levy as already snagged… as being so…” might be less telling and more sharing and character developing.

Quote:

I lost her to the special assignment her husband signed up for two weeks later, and she just followed him without a word to the middle of nowhere; a place that lacked even a library, let alone art and beatnik cafés and a woman’s center.

It doesn’t take long, after a person has fought a current stronger than them [she is], (strike: for them) to go numb. After that, it only takes two inches worth to drown in. Lavender had that two inches; it was in the shallow end of the gene pool.

Lavender had her husband.

Very nice ending. Especially love the 2nd last paragraph.

Wow! Sorry about the anal crit. But thanks for providing the opportunity. It helped me understand some of my own weaknesses. This was an ambitious story. Because you are not quite comfortable in this voice and genre (and the speed you wrote it), it may not be your best work writing-wise as it stands. But I think it has great potential and that you should polish and expand on it for serious submission.

semtecks · 10-07-2005, 02:07 PM

I really liked this piece. It was smooth, and funny. I read it from start to finish without pause and without complaint.

Well done.

quote:Nine months later, I was proudly carting that 6 pound, 6 ounce, blond haired, blue-eyed tapeworm around and calling her Lissa.

This made me laugh.

Wyndstar · 10-07-2005, 02:14 PM

This is the second version that I tried to make as close to how you described as I could, Chris. There was a bit I wasn't willing to change because I felt that would make it something anyone watching off the street could write, that, and I really am unused to writing like this...

A REAL MOTHER

I came into motherhood later than most, but it was a carefully thought out decision. I based it on how long I would retain the ability to give birth without needing to rely on mad science or an act of God. More importantly however, I needed a sense of self before I could help cultivate one in a child.

By the time I was done, I’d traveled all over the world, made friends with people who wore leather and used whips for a living, come face to face with terrorists, cavorted with witches, sorcerers and ghosts first hand, and survived a super typhoon and an earthquake that measured 8.2 on the Richter scale. I was still working on my sense of self until I turned 36; I was misdiagnosed with tapeworm.

Nine months later, I was proudly carting that 6 pound, 6 ounce, blond haired, blue-eyed tapeworm around and calling her Lissa.

After five months of isolation because that tapeworm had severe colic and a surliness (which evolved into a bad ass attitude and a will that made Ghengis Khan seem wussy) unfit for public consumption, making me want to become a career alcoholic, my husband introduced me to Lavender.

Lavender’s husband was someone who worked near my husband. I found him an unimpressive piece of bloated ego that reminded me of the genetic risks involved in having children. I couldn’t remember his name even during my friendship with his wife.

My husband Alex thought it was a good idea to cultivate a friendship between Lavender and me.

“She’s a real veteran.” He told me, trying to be convincing. “She’s been a stay-at-home for two years.”

“That’s funny. I sort of thought she was a POW and a casualty…”

Now, I have to make this perfectly clear; motherhood is a draining situation, and that is why it’s necessary to have a strong center, a solid sense of self before you have that child. Especially in the unlikely event you’re unlucky enough that the birth of one child heralds the arrival of TWO.

In such an endless ocean of responsibility, many women drown.

Lavender was a sharp, highly intelligent woman, though 10 years my junior. She possessed a sardonic, observant sort of humor that was subdued from visits to a therapist and the drugs he provided her.

“…She’ll help you adjust to a stay at home life, Roxy.” He went on, referencing my newly retired state from the military.

After a few days of Lavender’s life of endless cleaning, dinner promptly on the table, trips to the playground, baking cookies, and entertaining whatever guests hubby chose to bring home at a moment’s notice without complaint, I could see why Alex saw her as a ‘vet’.

Did I mention she was seeing a therapist for depression?

“Fuck the housework, Lavender.” I smirked and grabbed two car seats “On second thought, let’s hit the Pagan Pride Day festival. They’ve a few knights from last weeks RenFair that are WAY better suited.”

“But Roxy, my husband will be mad that I’m not home.”

“He’s only a senior airman,” I reminded her knowingly. “Alex is a master sergeant and my husband, I’m still a tech sergeant. I outrank both. Let’s go.”

To be perfectly honest, this woman just shocked me. She had the soul of a bohemian, but she had no idea about the small art studios in the area, or the Female Spirituality Center. She was unaware of the coffee shops where poetry was read, where books were reviewed. And yet, when confronted with the reality of them, she soaked everything up like a sponge, and life just blazed in her eyes.

How was it possible that this woman, with so much potential, so full of life, wasn’t aware of the things her soul was so aligned to?

I got my answer during a St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

I was pregnant again, thanks to a defective condom and God’s quirky sense of humor. Morning sickness and constipation was giving the world a free glimpse of what I’d be like during full-blown menopause. So, when Lavender’s husband tried making excuses, I told Alex to either get them to the parade, or I’d skip hormone treatments when that magic time actually came upon me.

We did fine, until the end of the parade when I got hungry, and so did Lavender.

I shoved our little bundle of joy at Alex, and waited for Lavender to do the same with her own fussy 2 year old.

Her husband made the two year old seem pleasant.

“It’s my day off.” He complained, snubbing both wife and son.

“Look pal, I’m hungry, I need help carrying the food back, and fighting a two year old will make the situation impossible.” I reasoned, very politely as Diana, one of the ladies who ran the spiritual center handed me a coffee in an effort to help appease my hunger.

“So what?” Lavender’s husband shot back. “I only get two days off. I’m not going to baby sit.”

“And what about Lavender?” I was curious to know “Doesn’t she get a day off?”

“From what? She stays home all day, does nothing but watch ‘Oprah’.” The man debated, with a coarse chuckle “Besides, the kid’s her responsibility. It's her job …”

After everyone backed away in abject fear, I gave him a few moments so that the significance of that action could sink in, and he could consider why.

“…She’s a mother.”

But he went there anyway.

“Yes, your wife is a mother,” I finally spoke “But she that doesn’t mean she has to be yours, too.”

I’m not sure what hurt him worse; the hot coffee I poured in his lap, or his pissy son, who kicked him moments after I dumped him there, too.

Though I won that battle, it was a war I couldn’t win, because I was the only one that saw any cause to.

I saw that Lavender was already snagged by the undertow that was her husband, and she was so weakened that she couldn’t grab on to a lifeline, even when it was offered.

I lost her to the special assignment her husband signed up for two weeks later, and she just followed him without a word to the middle of nowhere; a place that lacked even a library, let alone art and beatnik cafés and a woman’s center.

It didn’t take long, fighting a current stronger than she was, for it to make her go numb. After that, it only took two inches worth to drown in. Lavender had that two inches; it was in the shallow end of the gene pool.

Lavender had her husband.

He made her his mother after all…

Chris Miller · 10-07-2005, 03:42 PM

Hi Wyndstar,

This read cleaner and more understandable to my ear. The character of your narrator comes thru better for me too.

There are still a few minor grammaticals and such, but they don't effect the read much. Ambitious sentence structures such as you like to employ usually require a lot of work/rework/experimentation.

Now that you've explained the tapeworm thing, I re-read the original and can't see why I was confused. Probably was no need to use "misdiagnosed" afterall. I must be having a "stupid" day.

Quote:

There was a bit I wasn't willing to change because I felt that would make it something anyone watching off the street could write, that, and I really am unused to writing like this...

The author must ALWAYS have the final say. But I wouldn't worry about writing like just anyone. I'm glad you went against your grain and experimented here.

Because I like this piece, I still have a lot of ideas about how it could be refined and grown. You could, for example, develop Lavender's character much more, using dialogue and showing her actions/reactions instead of only telling (almost synopsizing) what she (and her life) is like (which does not have the effect of creating an emotional attachment to her).

But, as semtecks has said, it is fine as is. You are a brave writer to explore as you do.

Wyndstar · 10-07-2005, 03:59 PM

Well, I wouldn't have bothered if you didn't mention it would make a good idea, Chris. I'm not sure what its like for others, but I never saw occurences in my life interesting enough to write about, and didn't quite know how to write them without it all coming across as scattered as I remember them.

Now that I see that this works, I'll add a bit more to Lavender (not right now though) concerning her reaction to the things that happened in the story, which is what I wanted to do initially but didn't want to put too much out at once.

When I get more than the usual 20 minutes in the bathroom a day (which is where I usually write this stuff) and then the 10 to type it (it takes me about 30 seconds to type what I just have), maybe I'll actually start improving

--I really appreciate the critique btw. Didn't understand why you considered it anal (I'm retired military, remember?).

gohn67 · 10-08-2005, 03:24 PM

Hi Wyndstar,
Read it again, and I still think this is your best piece.

Quote:

I'm not sure what its like for others, but I never saw occurences in my life interesting enough to write about, and didn't quite know how to write them without it all coming across as scattered as I remember them.

I'm having the same problem right now. I have a non-fiction workshop this semester, and I can't think of anything to write about.

Wyndstar · 10-08-2005, 06:36 PM

gohn, thank you. And ya know--I'll bet you have a lot of stuff in your life - revelations, moments of silliness, goof ups - that are worthy of the page. I kow its really hard, but don't take as long as I have to realize that. This part of my life went over well, and I didn't have to worry about censored like so much eles I did!

Oh, and Chris, I did this dialog. Apparently I was more descriptive in my journals than I remembered...

A REAL MOTHER

I came into motherhood later than most, but it was a carefully thought out decision. I based it on how long I would retain the ability to give birth without needing to rely on mad science or an act of God. More importantly however, I needed a sense of self before I could help cultivate one in a child.

By the time I was done, I’d traveled all over the world, made friends with people who wore leather and used whips for a living, come face to face with terrorists, cavorted with witches, sorcerers and ghosts first hand, and survived a super typhoon and an earthquake that measured 8.2 on the Richter scale. I was still working on my sense of self until I turned 36; I was misdiagnosed with tapeworm.

Nine months later, I was proudly carting that 6 pound, 6 ounce, blond haired, blue-eyed tapeworm around and calling her Lissa.

After five months of isolation because that tapeworm had severe colic and a surliness (which evolved into a bad ass attitude and a will that made Ghengis Khan seem wussy) unfit for public consumption, making me want to become a career alcoholic, my husband introduced me to Lavender.

Lavender’s husband was someone who worked near my husband. I found him an unimpressive piece of bloated ego that reminded me of the genetic risks involved in having children. I couldn’t remember his name even during my friendship with his wife.

My husband Alex thought it was a good idea to cultivate a friendship between Lavender and me.

“She’s a real veteran.” He told me, trying to be convincing. “She’s been a stay-at-home for two years.”

“That’s funny. I sort of thought she was a POW and a casualty…”

Now, I have to make this perfectly clear; motherhood is a draining situation, and that is why it’s necessary to have that strong center, that solid sense of self before you have that child. Especially in the unlikely event you’re unlucky enough that the birth of one child heralds the arrival of TWO.

In such an endless ocean of responsibility, many women drown.

Lavender was a sharp, highly intelligent woman, though 10 years my junior. She possessed a sardonic, observant sort of humor that was subdued from visits to a therapist and the drugs he provided her.

“…She’ll help you adjust to a stay at home life, Roxy.” He went on, referencing my newly retired state from the military.

After a few days of Lavender’s life of endless cleaning, dinner promptly on the table, trips to the playground, baking cookies, and entertaining whatever guests hubby chose to bring home at a moment’s notice without complaint, I could see why Alex saw her as a ‘vet’.

Did I mention she was seeing a therapist for depression?

“Fuck the housework, Lavender.” I smirked and grabbed two car seats “On second thought, let’s hit the Pagan Pride Day festival. They’ve a few knights from last weeks RenFair that are WAY better suited.”

“But Roxy, my husband will be mad that I’m not home.”

She was so nervous; her hands shook and there was a tremor to her voice that was very much like that of a wounded child.

“He’s only a senior airman,” I reminded her knowingly. “Alex is a master sergeant and my husband, I’m still a tech sergeant. I outrank both. Let’s go.”

To be perfectly honest, this woman just shocked me. She had the soul of a bohemian, but she had no idea about the small art studios in the area, or the Female Spirituality Center. She was unaware of the coffee shops where poetry was read, where books were reviewed. And yet, when confronted with the reality of them, she soaked everything up like a sponge, and life just blazed in her eyes.

“…Oh wow!” Lavender stared at a painting done by one of the more outspoken artists from the local college. It was done in oil, a cross between japanime and the Blues.

“Look at these strokes—he has so much confidence.” She assessed thoughtfully “And the combination of styles give the subject such depth and credibility.”

“Here are the rough sketches to that piece over here.” I pointed to the side bar of the display “He did them in blue ball point—the lines are so elegant, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I know.” Lavender agreed whole-heartedly “God, I’d love to meet the artist.”

“Ladies, your wish.” Ryan, the young artist whom I was already familiar with, had come up beside us when he noticed Lavender examining his work.

“You know him? Really?”

“Yes, I know him.”

“So, can I have him too?”

We both chuckled, and agreed to share him over a bottle of wine at the local pub, as my mind reeled during this interlude, and many days after wards.

How was it possible that this woman, with so much potential, so full of life, wasn’t aware of the things her soul was so aligned to?

I got my answer during a St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

I was pregnant again, thanks to a defective condom and God’s quirky sense of humor. Morning sickness and constipation was giving the world a free glimpse of what I’d be like during full-blown menopause. So, when Lavender’s husband tried making excuses, I told Alex to either get them to the parade, or I’d skip hormone treatments when that magic time actually came upon me.

We did fine, until the end of the parade when I got hungry, and so did Lavender.

I shoved our little bundle of joy at Alex, and waited for Lavender to do the same with her own fussy 2 year old.

Her husband made the two year old seem pleasant.

“It’s my day off.” He complained, snubbing both wife and son.

“Look pal, I’m hungry, I need help carrying the food back, and fighting a two year old will make the situation impossible.” I reasoned, very politely as Diana, one of the ladies who ran the spiritual center handed me a coffee in an effort to help appease my hunger.

“So what?” Lavender’s husband shot back. “I only get two days off. I’m not going to baby sit.”

“And what about Lavender?” I was curious to know “Doesn’t she get a day off?”

“From what? She stays home all day, does nothing but watch ‘Oprah’.” The man debated, with a coarse chuckle “Besides, the kid’s her responsibility. It's her job …”

After everyone backed away in abject fear, I gave him a few moments so that the significance of that action could sink in, and he could consider why.

“…She’s a mother.”

But he went there anyway.

“Yes, your wife is a mother,” I finally spoke “But she that doesn’t mean she has to be yours, too.”

I’m not sure what hurt him worse; the hot coffee I poured in his lap, or his pissy son, who kicked him moments after I dumped him there, too.

“You’re right you know.” Lavender admitted, after we’d walked to the deli in a sort of miserable silence “It makes me feel bad. I can’t define where it makes me feel bad, or when it started. I can’t trace the source in order to turn it off. I’m not even sure if it’s not me the one causing it.”

“Then why not back away for a while, from him, your marriage? Just long enough to clear your head ”

Yes, in the tug over Lavender, I won that battle, but it was the war I couldn’t win, because I was the only one that saw any cause to.

“I can’t do that,” she answered with a sort of solemn reverence of one who had been taught from rote “For a man who is an excellent father deserves an excellent wife. And an excellent wife doesn’t walk away…”

I saw that Lavender was already snagged by the undertow that was her husband, and she was so weakened that she couldn’t grab on to a lifeline, even when it was offered.

I lost her to the special assignment her husband signed up for two weeks later, and she just followed him without a word to the middle of nowhere; a place that lacked even a library, let alone art and beatnik cafés and a woman’s center.

It didn’t take long, fighting a current stronger than she was, for it to make her go numb. After that, it only took two inches worth to drown in. Lavender had that two inches; it was in the shallow end of the gene pool.

Lavender had her husband.

He made her his mother after all…