I don't wanna! Can you hear the whining?

My husband, of all people, bought a shirt at a thrift store for my oldest son. It was way too big and he wore it for a sleeping shirt for a long time. Now his younger brother has outgrown it, and my great niece (almost 3)--aptly--owns it. The shirt is emerald green, with a kid's rendition of a face embroidered on it in black. The face is complete with eyes, nose, ears, but in place of the mouth there is a red embroidered tongue sticking out just as far as it will go. And there are two hands, fingers sprawled in fives, with the thumbs at the ears and they're wiggling. And of course the caption is "Don't Wanna!"

Why their father would ever buy my children such a shirt I'll never know. You have to know him. If either of them ever did that to him for real--boy howdy!

Of course the most beloved of vacation T-shirts will shrink to the size of Barbie clothes on first wash, or will develop holes faster than Swiss cheese. But this shirt--not a chance. It has a magic life because it is every parent's nightmare. I know it will never die.

I've come to learn that the same nightmare exists in other realms too. My muse loves to wear that shirt. Honestly. I don't have a little girl, but in my mind I see one with pale skin, smokey black hair and big eyes--and an incredibly long, red tongue--who taunts me about my desire to create. Especially when there's something I know I really need to get done and I'm too distracted or distraught to concentrate properly. I don't know if the "don't wanna" comes from being neglected and she's pouting, or if in some perverse way, my muse just wants to add to my misery.

So here I am coaxing her. Every so often the tongue goes back in her mouth and she grins at me and lets me lose myself in a word or two that comes out precisely wonderful. And then my fingers stop their wiggle-typing and the cursor blinks. I look up and she's there, and there goes that tongue again--Don't Wanna. Can't make me! follows closely behind.

But as the parent--as the older, wiser, more experienced being--I know she really wants to. She loves to play with me. She hates it when I have to leave her for an extended time. Sometimes she's so hungry to work with me that she tugs at me even when I'm doing other things and I have to stop momentarily and give her some attention. So I know we will work together. With some coaxing, understanding and love we'll get through this.

Like we did tonight.

***

~December 14, 2003

What inspires you? How might you arrange to take more advantage of that inspiration so that you can write more in 2004? Brainstorm for 10 minutes.

Things that inspire me:

My Creator's personality
Calm
Sunsets
Slashes of light from streetlights smeared on wet pavement
Gentle rains
Thunderstorms
Solitude
Children playing
conversations
Quiet
People I admire
Quotes
office supplies
candles
music
new stuff
stretching
breathing cool air that smells like rain
crocus before they bloom
the double hibiscus blooms on the plant the boys bought me
my son's sense of humor
strength of character
courage
well written books
great people who are humble
warm sand to wiggle my toes in
lighthouses
ocean waves
new pens
new notebooks
dictionaries
homemade cards from my children that they made when they were little
Snoopy, especially when he's dancing or typing
word games
old photos
rivers
frogs croaking
owls in trees at 3 in the morning
long and nourishing talks with friends
new snow as the sun comes up
trees coated in ice that sparkles
redbuds in spring
hiking
finally saying what needs to be said....