But it’s on the Calendar

The month of November brings all kinds of things around our house. Between increased school functions, elementary basketball practices, shorter hours of light with longer days of work, the highly anticipated (or dreaded) hunting season, and gearing up for the holidays, our family calendar located above the dryer in our laundry room has become the holy grail of organization. If there’s something not to be missed, it must be put on the calendar- simple as that. Otherwise, the endless to do list of everyday life will drown out any mentally planned activity.

For the past three years on the third weekend in November, I have had the opportunity to attend a writing conference here in town. The weekend of WriterFest Nashville has easily become my favorite weekend of the year. It just so happens to be founded by the fabulous Ami McConnell Abston- one of the very first, genuine cheerleaders of my art. The smartly curated, two-day conference is a creative gathering for aspiring writers, published authors, screenwriters, poets, and songwriters. It brings some of the most talented artists together to inspire, motivate, and reignite sparks of creativity with writing. For a busy, working mother like myself, I am lucky to escape for one day to immerse myself with fellow creatives who deeply love the written word. For me, it is heaven,

So, each January, I grab my new family calendar for the year and mark the special weekend dedicated to WriterFest and smile as I write it in the small, square spaces of the coming year. And there it sits, for the next eleven months waiting to make its debut…just like the highly anticipated (or dreaded) hunting season.

Now, as a woman born and raised in Mississippi, it is no surprise that when the weather turns cooler down here in the South, the men disappear. It’s just a part of life around these parts. I also knew when I married my husband exactly what I was getting into. Any wife of an avid outdoorsman with a lick of sense does. In fact, I often welcome the season. I notice my house tends to stay cleaner with one less body roaming around inside, and I can start getting ready for the busy Christmas season to come without any grinch like opinions. Besides, absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? Or as a much wiser and older woman raised in the Mississippi Delta once told me (in a drawl as thick as molasses), “If they’re out chasin deer or duck, you don’t have to eva worry about them being out chasin otha women.” I mean, she does have a point.

Let’s rewind back to around Tuesday-ish of this week. I was speaking on the phone with a dear friend of mine who casually asked, “So when are the guys going hunting?”

“I don’t know. What do you mean?”

“I mean they are all going hunting this weekend. Did Taylor not tell you?”

I thought to myself, doing a mental run through of my children’s weekend activities, including a double header basketball game and playdates galore. I knew late in the day Tuesday could be cutting it close with the number of sitters I would need to still make WriterFest. I quickly felt the stress of logistics and what-ifs bubbling up from my toes into my stomach and let my friend go as I need to sort things out.

The end of a long and extremely busy day came, and I finally got to speak to my husband in the kitchen around 7:30 at night. My mentally and physically exhausted working mother mind asked (with a twist of attitude), “Taylor, when were you going to tell me you had planned weekend of hosting your friends at the hunting camp?”

Taylor looked at me wide eyed- like a child who had just been busted stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when were you going to tell me you had planned a weekend of hosting your friends at the hunting camp? I have WriterFest this weekend!”

Still wide- eyed and dumbfounded he replied, “It’s on the calendar.”

I turned to walk into the laundry room and opened the door to look at the holy grail of organization- our family calendar. And there it was, in the most simplistic form of communication. Taylor had taken a green marker, drawn a tall rectangle around the first three weekends in November, and in small print, written the word “no” right over my WriterFest square.

My mind went blank. I began to see red as I glared at the green. I thought how nice it would be to even think for a second that it could be appropriate to draw a giant box around six weekend days and write “no” to anything life had to offer. “No” to all playdates, practices, meetings, school volunteer work, zoom calls, laundry, tantrums, homework, and life in general. “What the hell?” I whispered to myself.

I don’t exactly remember the rest. I think my mind blacked out as a mixture of anger, exhaustion, and frustration overtook my body. I do know that at some point, I put myself to bed to erase the day…without saying goodnight to the green rectangle creator.

It took a good solid two days with lots of meditating, deep breathing, and work distractions for me to cool off enough to even mutter full sentences to Taylor. My tribe stepped in by helping with babysitting and listening to me vent about the epic breakdown in communication. When I finally was able to speak, it was in the form of a very direct and simple answer to a question from my husband of ten years.

There we were, standing in the kitchen, yet again- after another day full of juggling schedules and navigating logistics of life over the oh-so glamorous dishwasher full of clean dishes. Taylor nervously asked, “Are you still mad at me?” The steam from the clean cycle washed over me like a warm, calming blanket.

“No,” I replied.

“You’re not?” he asked in a most skeptical way.

“Nope.” I reached for the glass highball tumbler as I placed it on the appropriate shelf. “I’m not mad at you anymore, and I’ll tell you why. I’m not mad at you because I used all of our Southwest points and booked a five-day vacation to the Florida Keys with my college girlfriends in February…on your birthday.” The clinking of glasses and plates was the mic drop to my statement. Also, let it be known that he is not much for birthdays before anyone starts feeling an ounce of pity there.

Taylor looked at me, nervous to say much, and simply replied, “Okay. Sounds fun. Glad we got past that one.”

As I placed the last glasses in the cabinet near the sink, I smiled to myself as I imagined my 2023 calendar. I thought about what color I would use. Maybe bright pink? Purple? Neon blue? Whatever I decide, I know it will look great…when I put a giant, bright rectangle around those five days in February with a simple little “no” in the corner.

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