Going Back to the Start

Friday, May 20, 2011

One Last Ride on the Big Cheese

The Big Cheese rolled out of here this morning at 7:07 a.m. on its final journey of the school year. They were a little slower and a little more tired than they were when this week started, but they had smiles on their faces in anticipation of one more fun day followed by a summer break. Mind you, now, that the Big Cheese was short one Martin passenger, as Caitlyn finished up yesterday and was snoozing peacefully while I herded Chance and Maisy out the door one final time. We whined over shoes. We whined over clothes. We fell in heaps and cried over all kinds of things. Chance and Maisy were pretty dramatic as well.

A school year in its final days, as I have said before, is a painful thing to watch. The kids are tired. The teachers are tired. The parents are tired and, in most cases, financially strapped because they write one check after another to the school system. Field trips and field days, award ceremonies and class parties. CRCT and final exams. What’s left, after all the fun and stressful stuff is finally over, is a very tired child, a very tired teacher, and a sense of urgency to just get the thing over with already. The last few weeks of school, to me, are a testament to why year-round schooling is never a good idea.
So here I sit, two of my students home already and the last one hurtling toward the house on the big yellow bus just as fast as that driver can legally carry him. He’s the one, most of all, who is looking forward to a lazy summer. It’s sad, really, that he’s the final holdout.

Mrs. Langley, Chance's third grade teacher, doing what she did best...encouraging him!

Yes, here I sit, pondering the school year that is closing with mostly affection and good memories. The few bad ones that stand out are being vindicated through some staff changes, and that’s all I’m going to say about that. But the good ones…oh, the good ones! The fun of watching Chance and Dallas battle for AR points all year, the joy of seeing my tenth grader bond with some really good educators while holding her head high against the not-so-good one; the pride I felt at all three awards days watching my little people accept their hard-earned awards. There was the excitement of educating another group of young children on the wonders of the praying mantis, and the pride I felt when they remembered so much from last year. There was the pride of serving on the WJPS School Council and seeing the parents, educators and business partners working together for the benefit of our school. There was the excitement of participating in the Braselton-Hoschton Relay for Life, cheering on the WJPS and WJIS basketball teams in the benefit game, and hearing that game dedicated to a very special person to my heart and to the heart of my child.

Maisy and her kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Baker.

We are proud to have a copy of the first ever “Pandora’s Box,” the literary magazine of JCCHS, with our daughter Caitlyn listed as editor-in-chief. We enjoyed unprecedented wins with the Reading Bowl team, even having the opportunity to travel to south Georgia for the championship tournament. What a thrill seeing those kids hauling off that big trophy! We enjoyed a beautiful day in north Georgia watching Caitlyn participate in the Regional One Act Play competition, and enjoyed several performances of hers as Gloom in Cagebirds. It’s the knee, you know…it locks…rigid…
I am a lucky woman, and I know it. I have three children in school who love to learn and who seem to enjoy embracing their nerdy, eccentric, and even artistic sides. They are who they are, and for that I am very thankful. But I cannot close this entry without giving some credit where it is due. I didn’t think we could have as good a school year as we had last year. I didn’t think there would ever be anyone to fill the shoes of

Chance and his third grade teacher, Mrs. Langley

Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Langley, Mrs.Wilson and Ms. Chambers. And I was right…no one can fill their shoes. What I discovered, however, is that they were the beginning…the foundation that would hold my two younger students up for the rest of their lives, and that others along the way would add to that foundation and make them into the people they will become. Funny, artistic, musical Ms. Tinnell…with her violin and her books, her invention fair and her crazy, curly red hair. She’s not afraid to put on a grass skirt and tell me to shove another crumpet in Maisy’s mouth. The moment I met her and found out that she not only serenades the children on their birthdays with the violin, she has designs to be Manuelo the

Maisy and Ms. Tinnell

Playing Mantis for Halloween, I knew that Maisy had met a kindred spirit. And Mrs. Leitsch, with her smiling eyes and her obvious appreciation for the spirit of a young boy, encouraging and cheering Chance and his friend Dallas along the way in their reading war. Not afraid to tell my son when he’s being lazy, not afraid to push him just a little harder to be what she knows he can be. What a gem. I hope he’s made her proud.

Chance, his fourth grade teacher Mrs. Leitsch, and Harry

I love the fact that it takes my children thirty minutes to just walk from the gym to the office, because they have to stop and hug every teacher along the way.

Maisy with two of her most favorite people...Mrs. Baker and Ms. Chambers

I love that fact that I found out late in this school year why my flowers were disappearing near the mailbox…Maisy was picking them every morning to take to last year’s parapro, Ms. Chambers. I love that fact that when we knocked on the door today to say goodbye to last year’s teachers, all the kids started yelling, “She’s here! That girl who comes by every day to hug you is here.” And I love the idea that once Maisy is in high school, she’ll probably have to leave home by 5 a.m. every morning in order to hit all the buildings and to give out all the hugs.

One more hug from Ms. Chambers before leaving today...look how Maisy has grown since last year!

Welcome summer. Although they are ready for the break, they are downstairs playing school. It’s good to know that when August rolls around, they won’t be out of practice.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Some days, it just all falls into place, in spite of everything...

Some days, it just all falls into place…
Last night, I had the pleasure of attending my first ever public Zumba class. I enjoy Zumba, but had never tried it outside my Wii game and the safety and privacy of my own living room. I wasn’t expecting to completely embarrass myself, but I wasn’t exactly expecting to come away with the huge amount of energy and the on-top-of-the-world feeling that I found. I enjoyed a place directly behind my friend Chris, who has been attending classes for a while, and by the time I left I was aware of two things. 1. I am not as rhythmically impaired as I originally thought, and 2. Even though I have panic disorder and regularly fear that I suffer from some cardiac malady, I clearly do not suffer from any cardiac maladies at all or else I would have surely not been able to do an hour of Zumba.
So, I came home with all kinds of energy and this led to not being able to sleep. I didn’t want to kill the healthy buzz I had going by indulging in Uncle Ben or Magic Hat, so I tossed and turned and thought of what color nail polish Kate Middleton would choose to wear for her wedding that was getting closer by the second and I intended to watch, even though I had had no sleep. For the record, I now know what color she chose but I’ll be darned if I’m telling any of you before I get a chance to run out and snag a bottle. It’s not even a color I would normally choose, but I must have it now.
Anyway, I finally fell asleep somewhere around midnight thirty, and woke up to get our Royal Wedding party going at 3 a.m. Charley had been kind enough to make cucumber sandwiches, crumpets and tea cakes, and had provided a nice assortment of English breakfast teas for the party. I had a wonderful time sitting on the sofa with my girlies, watching the Royal Wedding and eating tea and crumpets. Remember the crumpets…they’ll come back in this story later.
At 8 a.m., I needed to be at the church to commune with my friends over biscuits and to discuss secret, important topics that I will not discuss here, things like what might possibly happen in the Fantastic Four and what we should call the bathroom news. Unfortunately I had to cut my morning short to go meet with Mrs. Bell, the principal of the primary school, who thankfully I happen to adore. We discussed the end of year report that I must prepare and present, and discussed once again my vision of placing a Georgia habitat in the courtyard. Shortly after this is when it all began to go downhill. Mrs. Bell asked what was in the container. I told her it was a praying mantis. She quickly retreated to the other side of the room and looked at the container with caution. It was about this time that Ms. Tinnell, funny, patient, artistic Ms. Tinnell, happened to walk by the office. “I’m so excited about you bringing your mantids to our classroom. Maisy tells me you are going to wear the crown she made you.” OOPS. I have left the crown at home and I tell Ms. Tinnell that it is her duty to tell Maisy of this unfortunate turn of events.
Later she walks back by the office and I ask her about the crown, and if she has told Maisy that I forgot it. She says no. I tell her that she simply MUST tell her or I will be in trouble and the presentation will be ruined. She says Maisy is still high off her tea and crumpets and won’t notice. “Just stuff another crumpet in her mouth,” she advises me. I love this lady. She tells me that she wants to come live with us because we do fun things like raise praying mantids and serve tea and crumpets. I love this place. I love this school. I love being on this council where I can do things like place mantis eggs in the garden and actually have people appreciate it. Thank you Lord, for bringing me here. Thank you for letting me be in this beautiful place. Thank you for teachers that don’t think twice about saying, “stuff another crumpet in her mouth.” Thank you, so very much, for bringing these people into the lives of my children. There are no words. Just “thank you.”
I finished my day by presenting my final mantis show of the year to the first grade of West Jackson Primary School. I was astonished by how much they remembered from last year. They remembered all kinds of things like exoskeletons, metamorphosis and insect classifications. Finally one little boy had a question. “How long have you had the mantis tattoo?” When I told him I had had it for about five years, he said, “Man…you are the coolest ever.” Thanks little friend…you are pretty cool too.
Hello to my calling. You are getting much louder.
PS—the color is Essie’s “Allure.” I have it now!

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Nearer, My God to Thee...oops, Cait's driving!

Every time I get in the car with Caitlyn, the radio plays a song about meeting Jesus face to face. Seriously. Every. Time. I wouldn't think this was all that funny except many years ago, when my father was teaching me to drive, he used to sit in the back seat and sing such songs as, "Nearer My God To Thee" and "There is a Fountain Filled with Blood." What comes around goes around.

My daughter is, unfortunately, not doing well in her Driver's Education class. This is not her fault. It is mine.

I used to be comfortable in the West Jackson Intermediate School parking lot. She could turn, she could signal, she could back up and not worry about oncoming traffic. This is before I realized that she needed to get out of a parking lot.

Thursday she came home and announced that Friday was a driving day in her class. I tried very hard to put my reservations aside. I secured babysitting for Harry. I put her behind the wheel. I said an extra prayer.

We left and headed down Jackson Trail Road, a road I never realized was as long as it was until I was in the passenger seat with a 15-year-old driver who wants to listen to whatver used to be 96 Rock. I think I prefer "You'll Meet Jesus Face to Face" to whatever they are playing on that station that sounds suspiciously like, "You'll kill your Mama in a minivan."

About three miles down the road, I had to pull over. The closest right turn happened to be a church. I didn't care. It could have been a tattoo parlor. It didn't really matter as long as the car was stopped and I was able to access Facebook and request the prayer of my friends while I was on this journey. Caitlyn asked me if I needed to be close to the Lord in the church parking lot and I assured her that I felt closer to the Lord in the last 15 minutes than I had in quite some time.

And yet she insisted in continuing on, through Jefferson and on up to Athens. There were only a few times I grabbed the steering wheel. Only a few times that I prayed out loud. Only a few times did I consider asking her to just put me out on the side of the road and I'd find a ride home, thank you very much.

We somehow made it down Hwy. 330 and past the "Dave Dodson" curve and on to Hwy. 53 and nearly into the driveway before I had to take over. Lord help us all.

She really is a good driver. What is the problem? I don't fear growing older. I don't fear big insects. I don't fear thunderstorms or earthquakes or volcanoes or all kinds of other things that make other people nervous. What I DO fear, however, is my daughter behind the wheel of my Dodge Caravan. She's a good girl. She makes good grades. She's a storyteller at Sunday School. She is editor in chief of the literary magazine. She is a Girl Scout volunteer and a supporter of veterans. What's my problem? At this rate, she'll never learn to drive. And no one seems willing to take over my position.

Would I have chosen to have four children if I had thought about teaching them how to drive? I'm taking serious applicants only. Please, someone, teach my daughter how to drive. I can' t pay a lot, but I can offer you some good supper and some good references and if you are old enough, a trip to Copper Creek to celebrate the passing of the drivers test, whenver that happens. Nearer My God to Thee, indeed.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Thank you for letting me be in this beautiful place...

One of my favorite books is "The Christmas Tree," by Julie Salamon. I first read it about nine years ago and since then, have made it a staple of my holiday routine. The book follows several years in the life of the chief "gardener" at Rockefeller Center and his friendship with a nun, Sister Anthony. One of my favorite parts of the story is a recollection by the nun of when she first came to the convent as a young orphan girl.

"I remember Sister Francis saying, 'You will say your prayers before you go to sleep, won't you?'

I nodded, but I wasn't sure I could live up to my end of the bargain. I'd been living in an orphanage for about a year and had forgotten how. I tried to remember the bedtime prayer I used to say with my father, but I couldn't. Finally I simply said, 'thank you for letting me be in this beautiful place.'"

As usual, I read this book several times over the Christmas season, but this year, instead of packing it away with my decorations, I decided to leave it out and make a study of why the book means so much to me. I have nothing in common with the nun, except a love of plants and insects. I have nothing in common with the gardener, except maybe a too-hurried lifestyle that leads to cynical thoughts and behaviors. But taken chapter by chapter, I've started to realize why this book is so important. It is about finding something that was lost. It isn't about a tree at all, although "Tree," as he is known, played a big part in helping the little girl Anna find what she had lost...her home and her love of nature, and eventually her calling as a teacher and sister. When Anna loses her satchel and the sisters tell her to ask St. Anthony for help, she promises to repay him and never forget how he helped her. When she became a nun, she took his name, in the hopes that someday she could help someone find something they had lost. As the book progresses, she indeed helps the gardener, as he rediscovers his love of nature and his appreciation for life in general. In essence, she helps him rediscover his happiness and why he loves his work. The real surprise comes at the end of the book, when it is the gardener himself, through a strange twist of events, that brings everything full circle by helping Sister Anthony find something precious that she had lost, even when she didn't realize she had lost it.

I've thought about this book a lot lately. Sometimes a person is lost without knowing it. Sometimes, a person has lost "something" without knowing it is lost. I think this happens to us more often than we realize.

Take for example the 19 years that went by between my high school graduation and the beginning of planning for my 20-year high school reunion. I was happy. I had a family, a successful career and a good life. I didn't need to go back down any of those roads. But suddenly I found myself in a planning position, gathering addresses, finding people, and talking for the first time in nearly two decades. I didn't think I needed them, but I did. They were a part of me that was lost, and through the miracle of the internet and the healing power of 20 years, we are all friends again. We are on even ground. We are who we are, and we are happy to be back in each other's lives. I didn't know what I was missing. I didn't know what was lost.

I haven't asked him, but I think my father probably feels the same way about getting back in touch with his Air Force buddies from long ago. My father served in Misawa, Japan, in the late 1950s and served with a fantastic group of people. Again, through the miracle we call the internet, they have all reconnected and in the last several years, have met for a yearly reunion, one that my father is currently helping plan for this year. I don't think he knew what he was missing until it was found again. And now there it is...every day. Messages and emails and jokes from long ago. Sitting in a hospitality room drinking Japanese beer and trading stories, stories that get bigger and better with each reunion. Lost, now found.

There are my cats, and how I've rediscovered my passion for homeless animals. There's my writing, and how after nearly 20 years of brandishing the red pen, I remembered that I had a "voice" of my own. There's my science, and how I love to educate my children in what I like to call kitchen chemistry and my new plans for a backyard Georgia habitat in some unused space outside the primary school. And then there's this whole thing with church. While I don't think I ever truly lost my way spiritually, I certainly was in a holding pattern. People talk about finding Jesus, and others will say something like, "I didn't know He was lost." He wasn't lost, but maybe I was, and making my way back to Him and realizing He was there all along, waiting for me, in spite of my flaws, in spite of my crazy ways, makes my heart sing. Some days it sings a traditional hymn and other days it sings a rock and roll song, but these days my heart is singing and singing loud.

I could go on and on about how Sister Anthony and her gardener friend have spoken to me. I could list 100 things that have happened to me that have brought me back to the person I was supposed to be.

For years, I think I have been rediscovering lost things. I am not sorry most of them were lost, because the journey to finding them again was a valuable lesson in itself. I have rediscovered lost interests, lost friends, and lost plans. I have found these things again, and found them as a newer, more mature person ready to meet the challenges. But there is something magical about finding something you did not realize you had lost.

I think I'm beginning to find it. I'm not even sure what it is, but it is becoming more clear every day. Every single day, I see circumstances and meet people that I feel were put here to lead me along the way. It is a wonderful thing to go from "existing" to "living." For quite some time, I feel like I have been existing...cleaning the house, paying the bills, working, doing what I was supposed to do and saying what I was supposed to say...and simply existing. But I wanted to LIVE, not just exist. And it is happening now, just like I wanted. Every day. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the possibilities, and other times I am overwhelmed by the thoughts that I almost didn't see it, that I could have chosen a different path, or stayed the course on a path that was not leading me anywhere.

I rarely show much emotion. Sure, I get worked up over American Idol (not this year, since I gave it up when Simon left) or sniff at a sad song, but I am rarely OVERCOME with emotion. I often don't know how to express, in a proper way, thanks or gratitude. But a few days ago, during a normal, routine day, I was overcome with this one thought.

"Thank you for letting me be in this beautiful place."

I think, simple as it is, that says it all.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Let it thaw, let it thaw, let it thaw...

Good evening, friends...I write you from my perch inside my office, back turned to the offending window. The window that overlooks the yard. The yard that is buried under two inches of solid ice. The yard that I currently despise.

I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Those who know me quite well already know this which I am about to reveal. I do not like snow. There. I said it. I have never liked snow. I am a Southern born and raised woman who does not sit around praying for snow the moment Ken Cook dons his red vest and starts dancing around in front of the green screen and yelling about a winter wonderland. I do not like snow. I am not exactly sure when I began to feel this way, but I think it had something to do with being in college and sitting in a 3-hour economics class that started at 7:50 and the cancellation of school came at 8:00, stepping out and seeing a wasteland with no food and no transportation, and trying to walk the two miles back to my apartment in a pair of really inappropriate shoes only to end up in the Gilbert Health Center with a torn achilles heel and referral to some foot doctor I couldn't possibly reach because of snow on the ground. Or maybe it was later that weekend, when I realized I couldn't even get a tray from the dining hall because everyone else already stolen them for sleds while I was waiting for someone to examine my foot. Perhaps it was on Sunday of that weekend, when the dining hall closed and Joy and I had nothing to eat except Pop Tarts, and they weren't even frosted. Or perhaps it all goes back to my first year working a real job, when I was forced to stay and meet a deadline and ship something via Fed Ex even though I was fully aware that not only was Fed Ex not going to make it, but neither was I since I lived an hour away.

Regardless of how I got here, this is where I am. I have not liked snow for at least 20 years. Yet here I sit, surrounded by it, and surrounded by garbage that is piling up because the garbage company can't possibly get down this road. After a whopping three days back at school after Christmas break, the kids are now facing their fifth day of what will for all practical purposes amount to Spring Break. They are getting kind of crazy. So am I.

The first day, Monday, I decided we needed to rearrange our bedroom furniture. It looks good and the new arrangement really shows off the chair I stole from my children because they were abusing it. I wanted that chair anyway. Then I decided having Maisy downstairs was not working out, so we emptied the study altogether (they aren't using it anyway since we've entered a permanent ice age and they'll probably never return to school again) and moved her into the study, princesses and all.

Wednesday morning I decided I needed to walk to Publix. Yes, I am well aware that Publix is three miles from this house. I did not care. I love my family, but I wanted some Dr. Pepper, and I was willing to make a run for it. Caitlyn and I set out at about 12:30 with backpacks and good intentions. At 1:15, we were at the front of our neighborhood, cowering in a ditch because we had to take refuge from the slipping, sliding mail truck that was headed straight for us. That mail truck didn't even have my Amazon package.

Later that afternoon, we went outside to see about shoveling the driveway, which was by then completely frozen under two inches of ice. Four of the six of us went outside and worked on the driveway, during which time I heard, and said, many interesting things, which I will document for you here now...

"Don't use the snow shovel! Something like 50 percent of people that shovel snow have a heart attack and die."

"Why did the mail truck even bother nearly running us over when they didn't even bring my Amazon package?"

"I'm gonna bust us outta here." (that was Harry with his Tonka bulldozer)

"Why is the neighbor building an igloo?"

"Here comes Shirtless Man!"

(For those of you that don't know, Shirtless Man is our neighbor. We don't know his real name, nor do we know if he actually owns any shirts. I have never seen him wear one. He likes to rip up and down the road shirtless, sometimes on a bicycle, sometimes, like now, on his riding lawnmower. It's an expensive lawnmower, too...maybe he used all his shirt money buying that fancy lawnmower.)

"Harry! Stop it!"

"Why?"

"Because you'll fall and bust your head and never get to see Mr. Anthony again." So now we've resorted to threatening Harry with never seeing his Sunday school teacher again if he even thinks about climbing the stairs. Nice.

We love each other. We really do. We are a family that relishes time together and uses any excuse to grill out and have a party on the deck. We even celebrated the birthday of Charley's car 2 weeks ago. We know how to have a good time. We even took our telescope out on the deck last night and used the clear evening to observe Jupiter. But we've got to get out of here. Tomorrow isn't looking very good. I'll miss a meeting, Charley will miss a third day of work and his meeting. Yet another day will pass without me being able to make the video I promised to have ready for church on Sunday. Target's sale on fitness dvds is almost over, not that I'll need it after shoveling ice for two hours. P90X has has nothing on the snow shovel. Nothing.

My baby mantids are looking at me kind of funny, like they know their fruit fly supply is dwindling. I am almost positive one of them was sizing me up for his next meal.

I don't like snow. I never have. I never will. I love all kinds of things that no one else does, though, like insects, volcanoes, diagramming sentences, housework, and 1990s boy bands. Does that pardon me for my negativity about snow, or am I just a Southern anomaly? Everyone around me seems to love it, or else they did. If Facebook updates are any indication, I may have converted some people over to my side. If not, the next time Ken Cook starts prancing around in the red vest, sleeves rolled up and shouting about a winter wonderland, you all need to remember the way you are feeling right now...trapped, anxious, and something like Jack Torrance from The Shining.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go brush off the grill and get ready to grill some hamburgers, set off some sparklers, ride my aerobic step down the hill and make some snow cream with what is left of my egg nog stash. See? I'm not that big of a downer. I know how to have fun. But, I'm a lot more fun when Ken isn't wearing the red vest.

Friday, December 31, 2010

Attraversiamo!

New Year's Eve! In many ways, this is my favorite day of the year. There is something so promising about the last day of the year. I love making plans, cleaning out the last of the Christmas decorations, getting my house ready, and embracing a new year.
One thing I do not like about the last day of the year is the laundry. My mother is quite superstitious, and she believes, and taught me, that carrying over dirty clothes into a new year is bad luck, and even worse luck will come if you dare to wash clothes on New Year's Day. This is hard to do in a family of six. So, as I type, my washer and dryer are humming along in their busiest day of the year. They get tomorrow off.
A good friend reminded me this morning that TODAY, December 31, 2010, is actually, and without doubt, the final day of this decade. This is a fact. I like to tell everyone I have a Millennium Baby, which I do if you agree that 2000 was the LAST year of the last millennium, but the fact remains that the first year of the new decade was actually 2001, and the final year is 2010. So because of that undeniable (but often disputed) chronological fact, today is the end of a decade. So, I'd like to dedicate this post to a reflection of the past decade.

Ten years ago today I was on the final days of my maternity leave, celebrating the fact that I had a bouncing baby boy but lonely as could be in the damp Pacific Northwest. I had some good friends, I had a decent job that I dreaded returning to, and I had a view of Mt. Hood from my window. I had a 50 minute drive to Timberline Lodge and a 50 minute drive to the Pacific Ocean. But I didn't have my parents, and I didn't have my parents-in-law, and I didn't have fried chicken and grits and Joy, Susan, or Jenny. So I started to plot and plan, and things fell into place. My company was sold in April of the next year, giving me enough severance pay to orchestrate a move back home.
Since I set foot once again on Georgia soil, and vowed to never leave it again, I have seen my beloved Buford Wolves win seven state championships, I have given birth to two more babies, I have planned a class reunion, I have bought a house, I have hauled my arguing father to the hospital with a stroke, I have watched his amazing recovery, I have lost my Uncle Nolan, my Uncle Buddy, and my precious friend Bjorn. I have reconnected with my old friends, and I have lost touch with some special ones. I have become a panther. I have become a Methodist. I have lost the greatest and most unusual cat in the world, only to be led to her clone 8 years later in a strange twist of events. I gained 90 pounds, and I have lost 70 of those again. I have struggled with financial security and been led to financial peace and back again, and back again, and back again. I discovered what was really important when my son was born too early and was in NICU, and I was led to peace and tranquility by a praying mantis. I learned that there are some people, no matter how many years pass, that are always there, and I unfortunately learned that there are some others, even if they appear to be in your corner, who are certainly not. I have gone from working 50 hours a week and commuting 20 hours a week to staying at home with my children and working when I have the opportunity. I have made some great new friends and I have also made some people very angry. I think I'm finding my place. This is me. This is who I am. This is who I am becoming.
Here's the deal, folks...I've spent the last decade going from being a 29-year-old lost soul on the other side of the country to a 39-year-old with a purpose, and I have savored the journey. I'm finding my purpose every day, and I'm finding it in the most unexpected of places. I'm finding it in the homes of old friends, the company of new friends, in a den full of Webelos and in a room full of Daisies. I'm finding it in a high school auditorium, at a keyboard, in a car, in a game, at breakfast, at a festival, and at a big, beautiful church I drove by every day but never thought to stop until one Sunday when the calling was too loud to ignore.

2011 is going to be special...I have no doubt. The class of 1989 is turning 40, and I intend to embrace that birthday at my happiest and fittest. I have the tools. I have the drive, and now I have it published so there's no going back. I'm ready. I'm willing. I'm not looking back.
Since I'm back to studying Italian, I'll leave you with this one phrase...
Attraversiamo. Let's cross over.

Happy New Year, friends.

Monday, October 11, 2010

A Lost Holiay

Today my children were out of school for Columbus Day, fall holiday, whatever you want to call it. It has been an interesting day that is going to end very soon with me sitting on the deck reading Cosmopolitan and eating an entire chocolate pie.

To work off yesterday's pumpkin cakes, I decided I would hit the exercise hard today. I did what should have amounted to 60 minutes of exercise, but it took me all day. This is why...

"Can I have another Band Aid?" Maisy must have asked this question 500 times. She knows there is a new box of Littlest Pet Shop Band Aids in the cabinet, and she is determined to injure herself just enough to use them all in one day.

"Columbus didn't discover America. There were many before him." Yes, Caitlyn, I know you are in a self-righteous, holier-than-thou phase in your life, but I didn't really see you turning down the chance to sleep late, now did I?

"There's a big scary man in the yard!" This one always manages to bring me from whatever I am doing, and as usual, it was Jackson EMC. It always is, or else someone equally harmless like the water man, the garbage man, or even a Boy Scout selling popcorn.

"Can I have another Band Aid?"

"Can I play with your iPhone?" No, no, and no. You might see my grocery list and decide to add a couple hundred dollars worth of snacks to it.

"There's a dead praying mantis on your desk." I was afraid of this this morning when I retrieved Big Fat Greenie from her container. She wasn't looking well, and I thought I'd put her on my desk for a while and see if she would recover. She didn't, so I had to stop my yoga session to conduct a funeral.

"Can I have another Band Aid?"

"How much longer do I have to read?" Well, Chance...you have to read until you finish that book you promised you'd finish before your break is over. Yes, I know the book is 400 pages long. No, I really don't have any sympathy. For the record, he did finish it and is now playing Wii and subjecting me to untold amounts of sports trivia that sounds something like this...

"Mama, did you know that the 2009 Philadelphia Flyers BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH..."

"Can I have a snack?" At last glance, none of my children were starving. I remind them of this fact when I take note that it has only been 27 minutes since the lunch dishes were cleared.

"Can I play with your iPhone?"

"I want to be Bubble Fat (Boba Fett) for Halloween." I admit, this was pretty cute, but if I don't finish this workout sometime today I am going to be Bubble Fat for Halloween, and every other day, too.

Today is going to go down as a loss, I'm afraid. I didn't really have a plan for today and I have paid dearly for that lack of plan. They got the upper hand early today and kept it.

Maybe I need a Band Aid. Nah...just the biggest drink Starbucks offers...that, and a chocolate pie.