I'm just about ready to chuck my laptop out of the house and defy any more efforts of grading. I'm so very, very over it. And do you know what I least want to do after hours of grading? Blogging. I've been a drag anyway, so there hasn't been much to share.
But today, I'm celebrating something in my month, here on the last day of September: I've caught up with it all. The sun did come out today (I'm part cat, you know...the sun is very important to me), I'm luxuriating in a second cup of chocolate velvet for no other reason than it's delicious, I figured out a good amount of a crossword puzzle, and I have a purring furball keeping me company. I need these kinds of days to happen upon occasion. I'm also foreshadowing what I'll be writing about when I'm old and stodgy, I'm sure.
So it turns out that turning 32 has also given me an idea of what middle age is all about for me. This includes sore calves after bouncing my nephew to sleep and whacky hormones. It turns out that I'm out of putting-a-baby-to-sleep shape. Or else I need to give up chatting while bouncing cause I was downright winded for a few minutes.
Don't be suggesting any silly ideas like "Oh, you obviously need another one." I will hand you a bar of soap to go wash that mouth out.
Maybe you just need to produce something for me to rock. And then I'll hand it back to you. That's what I call a symbiotic relationship, baby nurturing style.
I could be this woman.
I could not happily be this woman.
(Why yes, I did Google that. And why don't we talk more about the proliferation of nouns-turned-verbs in our common parlance today?)
My two are quite enough. And I have it on record that the Younger will never stop hugging and kissing me. She's promised me. Under duress. But still...a promise is a promise. (I haven't forced this admission out of the Elder yet, but I'm still working on her.)
So it turns out that life doesn't work out well for every kid. Sometimes little munchkins are stuck in unfortunate or problematic situations. And it also just so happens that I'm fully capable of helping some kid somewhere, somehow, some way. So I'm going through the process of becoming a court appointed advocate for children who have been abused and/or neglected in order to be a voice on their behalf. I know that I'm coming into this with some serious self-imposed blinders on. But I've been struggling with the need for change in my life for quite a while now. I feel as if I've been trying to do so, but I've not found my for this moment calling yet. I'm thinking pretty hard that this is it.
I don't think that I'll have the chance to rock anyone to sleep (it's one of my best auntie skills), but I'm downright positive that there's many a way we can provide comfort and security for a child who needs it. And need is so prevalent around us. I have some time and the desire to help; I need to use that energy on someone other than myself. So I figure, it's just like what the Younger told me this morning as we were crafting at story time: "A yittle bit goes a yong way."
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Friday, September 18, 2015
Nothing "new" around here
Folks-
I feel like the stars are aligning and singing some melodic version of Kumbaya to me about this topic I'm going to continue harping on. Following my "wildly successful" post a few days ago, I just came across this write-up and new blog. Even if I stay home all the live long day, I do not escape consumerism, what with the prevalence of online shopping (of which I am quite the fan when those magical words "free shipping" are whispered in my ear). I think that I have somewhere around 4 or 5 shops, whether brick and mortar or online exclusively, that bombard my inbox with "15% off everything that is gray, a size small or will be out of date in two months!" and "You don't want to miss this because you always need more jeans!" sales. You know how it goes: Buy one thing one time from a company and you immediately get put on their email onslaught list.
I stay on a handful of these email lists just because every now and again, I need to slap a new size of clothes on my kids. So most days (let's say 98% of the time, which both sounds about right and sounds pretty good), I delete these before opening. However, since 7: An experimental mutiny against excess has entered my mind, I can't shake it. Just in these few weeks, I've been trying to be even more conscious of not just how I'm spending my dollars but more importantly WHY I'm spending them.
Experience trumps stuff for me, always (other than a good bar of chocolate, which is always some stuff that I can demonstrate some genuine joy to receive). And when my daughter was lamenting the choices in her dresser drawer just the other day and said "There just needs to be more options!" we had what you might call a teachable moment right there (which we all know is called a lecture again in 6-year old parlance).
Right now, I don't really know how to wrap this up, and I have a sweet little something all warm and snuggly from her afternoon nap asking me to watch some Jake and the Neverland Pirates with her (which BEST THEME MUSIC OF ANY KID'S SHOW THAT WE WATCH), so I'm just going to drop this bunch of possibility in your lap and leave it there to chew on. Wrestle with it, perhaps. Think about how this may be not only a possibility but even more importantly a necessity in your life. Two hundred days is a big old length of time, but who's to say that 2 weeks isn't feasible? We never know until we try, right?
I feel like the stars are aligning and singing some melodic version of Kumbaya to me about this topic I'm going to continue harping on. Following my "wildly successful" post a few days ago, I just came across this write-up and new blog. Even if I stay home all the live long day, I do not escape consumerism, what with the prevalence of online shopping (of which I am quite the fan when those magical words "free shipping" are whispered in my ear). I think that I have somewhere around 4 or 5 shops, whether brick and mortar or online exclusively, that bombard my inbox with "15% off everything that is gray, a size small or will be out of date in two months!" and "You don't want to miss this because you always need more jeans!" sales. You know how it goes: Buy one thing one time from a company and you immediately get put on their email onslaught list.
I stay on a handful of these email lists just because every now and again, I need to slap a new size of clothes on my kids. So most days (let's say 98% of the time, which both sounds about right and sounds pretty good), I delete these before opening. However, since 7: An experimental mutiny against excess has entered my mind, I can't shake it. Just in these few weeks, I've been trying to be even more conscious of not just how I'm spending my dollars but more importantly WHY I'm spending them.
Experience trumps stuff for me, always (other than a good bar of chocolate, which is always some stuff that I can demonstrate some genuine joy to receive). And when my daughter was lamenting the choices in her dresser drawer just the other day and said "There just needs to be more options!" we had what you might call a teachable moment right there (which we all know is called a lecture again in 6-year old parlance).
Right now, I don't really know how to wrap this up, and I have a sweet little something all warm and snuggly from her afternoon nap asking me to watch some Jake and the Neverland Pirates with her (which BEST THEME MUSIC OF ANY KID'S SHOW THAT WE WATCH), so I'm just going to drop this bunch of possibility in your lap and leave it there to chew on. Wrestle with it, perhaps. Think about how this may be not only a possibility but even more importantly a necessity in your life. Two hundred days is a big old length of time, but who's to say that 2 weeks isn't feasible? We never know until we try, right?
Monday, September 14, 2015
Thoughts on 7
Before I get all soap-boxy (hopefully not too much) and introspective with some thoughts about Jen Hatmaker's 7: An experimental mutiny against excess, here are a few things that I do know.
1. The weather is getting cooler. In the drop-off line this morning, I watched two elementary aged kids hop out of their mom's car wearing jeans, regular shoes, long sleeved shirts (maybe jackets), and gloves. The temperature gauge on my car said that we were enjoying some crisp, almost fall, and delightfully sunny 56-degree weather. I looked at those (obviously) smart girls and then watched my own knuckle-head skip around the front of my car wearing her standard fare: flip-flops and a skirt. The only concession to the cooler morning was a long-sleeved t-shirt. We need to move to a warmer climate, and it needs to happen NOW, if only so that I don't have to wrestle a reluctant 6-year old into clothing that touches her skin for the next 9 months.
2. That same 6-year old has been creating page after page of gems with a new set of metallic markers over this past weekend. She's branched out beyond her standard fare of suns, flowers, stick figures, and buildings. Friends, she has started to write poetry. This stuff is SO GOOD that I have share one with you (reproduced verbatim, though I can't figure out how to emulate the fancy squiggles & stars decorating the page).
LISN!!!
I Like
to LISN!
Lisn to me
Lisn to me
sis and [scribble scribble scribble]
and mom and
Dad I am a
Qeen!!!!!!!!!!!
That's some solid work for a kid who knows that she's the oldest. The good news: We still have a few years to work on that understanding of "self" versus "others." The better news: She's just the spittin' image of her father, from what I hear and witness myself; he's a pretty solid individual now, so we have high hopes that she's going to figure it out eventually.
3. The BMV isn't open on Mondays. That's another reason to loathe you, BMV.
And, now - 7: An experimental mutiny against excess. I came across this at the recommendation of one of my favorite bloggers (and since I read everything she writes, we're basically best buds), and oh, but I was not disappointed. So much of this idea mirrors that which I admire but don't often have the guts to go through with myself. 'Cause here's the thing, folks: Jen Hatmaker's premise of giving up things in our lives is the SUB-PLOT, the minor point throughout the narrative. What's really going on is her experiment with chucking all of that materialism and inward focus, which is what society (largely driven by advertising, naturally) tells us we SHOULD do. When's the last time we've questioned why we're buying from a certain store or what it means to feed ourselves (to excess) first before we moan and moan about feeding our neighbors? There's some amount of strength right there to challenge just about all of our daily habits in order to figure out the why of it all in order to understand the reality of consuming as we do.
The premise of Jen's book is that she challenged herself primarily, though her family did participate quite a bit, to fast from seven different areas of consumption in their "normal," middle-class, suburban lifestyle. She fasted in regards to each category for one month at a time. Some of these areas really caused me to question my/our own levels of consumption, namely that which pertains to clothing, food, and spending habits.
Clothing: Jen chose just 7 articles of clothing out of the 300+ that she had in her closet to wear for one month. Would it shock us into truly considering our needs if we each counted every article of clothing (socks & underwear notwithstanding)? Would that cause us to adjust our consumption of clothes for the sake of having more/cuter/better clothes?
Food: Jen chose just 7 foods to eat for one month. Who among us would be able to withstand this choice for more than two or three days? Consider how variety has become such a necessity in our lives.
Spending habits: Jen's family chose just 7 places to spend money (with an emphasis on local) for one month. Honestly, I think that this would be the easiest of the three to contend with for an entire month. And, for that matter, I could spend at just five places for an entire month pretty happily. But if I were to adjust my spending to shop more locally, eschewing the box store in favor of spending power, then a pinch that would be.
The 7 fast corresponded with the timeline that Jen's family was living as they began an adoption process for two children from Ethiopia, so quite a bit of what Jen was learning about her family was contrasted against the changes that were coming for them, a diet of sorts before they were face-to-face with some of the physical reason for why Jen was feeling the disgust of the circumstances of her family's living.
Her work also has begun a thought process for me (and us as I've shared a lot of what was impressed upon me with the boy) about how do we give until it pinches? Should we do so? How can we do so? And, most importantly, why should we do so?
I feel the intense pressure to conform when sitting through a kid's birthday party, walking into the local Target for "one or two things" and even flipping through the newspaper. Consumerism drives our lives in sometimes unexpected ways. It is a jealous mistress and a controlling one. We don't have this all reckoned with yet for how we want our family to actually engage with consumerism, for how we should be consumers, but I think that we're working on it. We don't have to wholly fast (though I can truly believe that there's a whole lot of power in this act) in order to still understand ways that we an and should be more responsible and in control of our own consumption.
1. The weather is getting cooler. In the drop-off line this morning, I watched two elementary aged kids hop out of their mom's car wearing jeans, regular shoes, long sleeved shirts (maybe jackets), and gloves. The temperature gauge on my car said that we were enjoying some crisp, almost fall, and delightfully sunny 56-degree weather. I looked at those (obviously) smart girls and then watched my own knuckle-head skip around the front of my car wearing her standard fare: flip-flops and a skirt. The only concession to the cooler morning was a long-sleeved t-shirt. We need to move to a warmer climate, and it needs to happen NOW, if only so that I don't have to wrestle a reluctant 6-year old into clothing that touches her skin for the next 9 months.
2. That same 6-year old has been creating page after page of gems with a new set of metallic markers over this past weekend. She's branched out beyond her standard fare of suns, flowers, stick figures, and buildings. Friends, she has started to write poetry. This stuff is SO GOOD that I have share one with you (reproduced verbatim, though I can't figure out how to emulate the fancy squiggles & stars decorating the page).
LISN!!!
I Like
to LISN!
Lisn to me
Lisn to me
sis and [scribble scribble scribble]
and mom and
Dad I am a
Qeen!!!!!!!!!!!
That's some solid work for a kid who knows that she's the oldest. The good news: We still have a few years to work on that understanding of "self" versus "others." The better news: She's just the spittin' image of her father, from what I hear and witness myself; he's a pretty solid individual now, so we have high hopes that she's going to figure it out eventually.
3. The BMV isn't open on Mondays. That's another reason to loathe you, BMV.
And, now - 7: An experimental mutiny against excess. I came across this at the recommendation of one of my favorite bloggers (and since I read everything she writes, we're basically best buds), and oh, but I was not disappointed. So much of this idea mirrors that which I admire but don't often have the guts to go through with myself. 'Cause here's the thing, folks: Jen Hatmaker's premise of giving up things in our lives is the SUB-PLOT, the minor point throughout the narrative. What's really going on is her experiment with chucking all of that materialism and inward focus, which is what society (largely driven by advertising, naturally) tells us we SHOULD do. When's the last time we've questioned why we're buying from a certain store or what it means to feed ourselves (to excess) first before we moan and moan about feeding our neighbors? There's some amount of strength right there to challenge just about all of our daily habits in order to figure out the why of it all in order to understand the reality of consuming as we do.
The premise of Jen's book is that she challenged herself primarily, though her family did participate quite a bit, to fast from seven different areas of consumption in their "normal," middle-class, suburban lifestyle. She fasted in regards to each category for one month at a time. Some of these areas really caused me to question my/our own levels of consumption, namely that which pertains to clothing, food, and spending habits.
Clothing: Jen chose just 7 articles of clothing out of the 300+ that she had in her closet to wear for one month. Would it shock us into truly considering our needs if we each counted every article of clothing (socks & underwear notwithstanding)? Would that cause us to adjust our consumption of clothes for the sake of having more/cuter/better clothes?
Food: Jen chose just 7 foods to eat for one month. Who among us would be able to withstand this choice for more than two or three days? Consider how variety has become such a necessity in our lives.
Spending habits: Jen's family chose just 7 places to spend money (with an emphasis on local) for one month. Honestly, I think that this would be the easiest of the three to contend with for an entire month. And, for that matter, I could spend at just five places for an entire month pretty happily. But if I were to adjust my spending to shop more locally, eschewing the box store in favor of spending power, then a pinch that would be.
The 7 fast corresponded with the timeline that Jen's family was living as they began an adoption process for two children from Ethiopia, so quite a bit of what Jen was learning about her family was contrasted against the changes that were coming for them, a diet of sorts before they were face-to-face with some of the physical reason for why Jen was feeling the disgust of the circumstances of her family's living.
Her work also has begun a thought process for me (and us as I've shared a lot of what was impressed upon me with the boy) about how do we give until it pinches? Should we do so? How can we do so? And, most importantly, why should we do so?
I feel the intense pressure to conform when sitting through a kid's birthday party, walking into the local Target for "one or two things" and even flipping through the newspaper. Consumerism drives our lives in sometimes unexpected ways. It is a jealous mistress and a controlling one. We don't have this all reckoned with yet for how we want our family to actually engage with consumerism, for how we should be consumers, but I think that we're working on it. We don't have to wholly fast (though I can truly believe that there's a whole lot of power in this act) in order to still understand ways that we an and should be more responsible and in control of our own consumption.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Crawling out from under my rock
Well the last couple of weeks have not been my favorite ones ever. My ear finally decided to cooperate and return to normal, thankyouverymuchfornothingear. My boys of summer finally pulled out of a 12-game losing streak, whichbitthebigoneeverynight. And, I've been fighting the "we're heading toward fall and therefore toward winter and we're still here here here here and we're never going to leave woe is me" pity party, andthatmakesmelessthanhappytobearoundoflate.
So I've decided that you can be perfectly content with life in general while also feeling wretched wretched wretched about a specific part of your life. And that's confusing for me. It's not hard to put on a smile and talk with friends and generally enjoy moments out of my day, but then I can fall into an abyss quicker than I've ever thought possible just by thinking about what I'm most dreadfully failing at (and we're going on a few years worth of failing...it gets old).
One minute I'm diving into somthing gooey and chocolatey, all warm and fuzzy inside. And the next minute, I remember "Hold on there, girl. No one wants you." And just like that, I'm snivveling into Les Miserables, which, yes, irony (if only in title).
By the way, I'm reading Les Miserables for the first time ever, and it's as if A Tale of Two Cities turned French and about three times longer. I'm also readily admitting that I just glossed over about 8 chapters detailing the battle of Waterloo last night. At this point, that information was expendable. But otherwise, it's a worthwhile read.
Also by the way, do do do do read 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess by Jen Hatmaker. I forsee throwing down some thoughts about this soon. This is a book that should leave a lasting impression, unless you're bound and determined to live under your little consumerism-driven rock. And if so, then carry on. (But please reconsider. Thankyousomuch.)
And as a period on this rambling blabbing, I'm packing up two 3-year olds for our weekly gymanstics/tumbling trip. I go with crossword puzzle in hand; it is very much one of my favorite times of the whole widey week. I get a front-row view of 3-year olds tumbling around the gym like little nutballs, and I work to counteract the early-onset Alzheimer's that I feel plagues me at times.
I may have left my purse, keys and iPad at my parents' over the weekend. I was a solid hour down the road before I thought of them. That spells winner.
So I've decided that you can be perfectly content with life in general while also feeling wretched wretched wretched about a specific part of your life. And that's confusing for me. It's not hard to put on a smile and talk with friends and generally enjoy moments out of my day, but then I can fall into an abyss quicker than I've ever thought possible just by thinking about what I'm most dreadfully failing at (and we're going on a few years worth of failing...it gets old).
One minute I'm diving into somthing gooey and chocolatey, all warm and fuzzy inside. And the next minute, I remember "Hold on there, girl. No one wants you." And just like that, I'm snivveling into Les Miserables, which, yes, irony (if only in title).
By the way, I'm reading Les Miserables for the first time ever, and it's as if A Tale of Two Cities turned French and about three times longer. I'm also readily admitting that I just glossed over about 8 chapters detailing the battle of Waterloo last night. At this point, that information was expendable. But otherwise, it's a worthwhile read.
Also by the way, do do do do read 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess by Jen Hatmaker. I forsee throwing down some thoughts about this soon. This is a book that should leave a lasting impression, unless you're bound and determined to live under your little consumerism-driven rock. And if so, then carry on. (But please reconsider. Thankyousomuch.)
And as a period on this rambling blabbing, I'm packing up two 3-year olds for our weekly gymanstics/tumbling trip. I go with crossword puzzle in hand; it is very much one of my favorite times of the whole widey week. I get a front-row view of 3-year olds tumbling around the gym like little nutballs, and I work to counteract the early-onset Alzheimer's that I feel plagues me at times.
I may have left my purse, keys and iPad at my parents' over the weekend. I was a solid hour down the road before I thought of them. That spells winner.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
An adult sized ear infection
I have an ear infection.
I'm well into my 30s, and this is the second ear infection of my adult life.
This is the antithesis of good luck. This bites BIG TIME.
So I used to have this misconception that ear infections were a childhood malady. Now, I'm all grown up and I know better. And here's where I add my public service announcement: Ear infections HURT and it's no wonder that children are grumpy. Bless their little hearts, all of them. Those kids can still play. My kids often don't even tell me that anything is amiss, and then you feel like the ever living parent of the year when you take them in cause their sniffles or cough just won't go away and the doctor looks at you sideways and says "Well, both ears are bright red." I don't know how they do it.
I'm not kidding here, but I was fighting big fat tears in the pharmacy parking lot yesterday and have been on the verge of calling my mother multiple times if for no other reason than it huuurrrrttttsss.
I'm wandering into whiney-ville, so I'm going to reign that in a little and talk about "the trip to the walk-in clinic" that happened.
After waiting an interminable amount of time, somewhere around the time it takes me to read a thick magazine (long enough for the Ibuprofen to wear off...color me a grumpy bear), I finally got my 3 minute check-in so I could get me some MEDS PLEASE!
Me: I have an ear infection in my left ear. I've had one before. I know what it is.
Dr: Have you been swimming?
Me: No. I don't like swimming.
Dr: Do you have a sore throat?
Me: No. I don't have a cold. I have an ear infection.
Dr: Do you have a cough?
Me: No...
Dr: Have you been swimming?
Me: ...no...
Dr: Does your chest hurt?
Me: !!! n-o...
Dr: Which ear?
Me: left
Dr: Have you been swimming?
Me: Are you sure that you're not taking some meds?
Dr: Oh! Your ear is swollen! [pulling on my left ear] Oh, did that hurt?
Me: Hand over the meds, lady!!!
That's about how the conversation went.
But I'm not joking about getting asked if I've been swimming three times.
And here are a few things I've discovered can actually be quite excruciating:
*yawning
*talking
*saying "ahhhhhh"
*chewinng
*flossing
*basically just opening your mouth at all
*sleeping
*turning your head
*holding your child, who inevitably bumps you in some terrible way
*washing your hair
*waiting another hour until you can take more Tylanol
*head banging (I jest)
I'm home alone today cause the family decided to ditch me/leave me to whiny misery and go visit with family members who are infinitely more amusing and amiable than I am. Last night I told the boy that ear infections are hands-down worse than any labor I have ever experienced (of which neither were more than moderately painful), to which he responded "I understand." Oh really, boy. I appreciate the sentiment coming from the person who's not experienced either. That was an admirable effort to say something where there was nothing really to say.
I caught up on some work, and now I've got my non-chewable pudding and a crossword puzzle. All things considered, that's a pretty good way to fight off an ear infection.
I'm well into my 30s, and this is the second ear infection of my adult life.
This is the antithesis of good luck. This bites BIG TIME.
So I used to have this misconception that ear infections were a childhood malady. Now, I'm all grown up and I know better. And here's where I add my public service announcement: Ear infections HURT and it's no wonder that children are grumpy. Bless their little hearts, all of them. Those kids can still play. My kids often don't even tell me that anything is amiss, and then you feel like the ever living parent of the year when you take them in cause their sniffles or cough just won't go away and the doctor looks at you sideways and says "Well, both ears are bright red." I don't know how they do it.
I'm not kidding here, but I was fighting big fat tears in the pharmacy parking lot yesterday and have been on the verge of calling my mother multiple times if for no other reason than it huuurrrrttttsss.
I'm wandering into whiney-ville, so I'm going to reign that in a little and talk about "the trip to the walk-in clinic" that happened.
After waiting an interminable amount of time, somewhere around the time it takes me to read a thick magazine (long enough for the Ibuprofen to wear off...color me a grumpy bear), I finally got my 3 minute check-in so I could get me some MEDS PLEASE!
Me: I have an ear infection in my left ear. I've had one before. I know what it is.
Dr: Have you been swimming?
Me: No. I don't like swimming.
Dr: Do you have a sore throat?
Me: No. I don't have a cold. I have an ear infection.
Dr: Do you have a cough?
Me: No...
Dr: Have you been swimming?
Me: ...no...
Dr: Does your chest hurt?
Me: !!! n-o...
Dr: Which ear?
Me: left
Dr: Have you been swimming?
Me: Are you sure that you're not taking some meds?
Dr: Oh! Your ear is swollen! [pulling on my left ear] Oh, did that hurt?
Me: Hand over the meds, lady!!!
That's about how the conversation went.
But I'm not joking about getting asked if I've been swimming three times.
And here are a few things I've discovered can actually be quite excruciating:
*yawning
*talking
*saying "ahhhhhh"
*chewinng
*flossing
*basically just opening your mouth at all
*sleeping
*turning your head
*holding your child, who inevitably bumps you in some terrible way
*washing your hair
*waiting another hour until you can take more Tylanol
*head banging (I jest)
I'm home alone today cause the family decided to ditch me/leave me to whiny misery and go visit with family members who are infinitely more amusing and amiable than I am. Last night I told the boy that ear infections are hands-down worse than any labor I have ever experienced (of which neither were more than moderately painful), to which he responded "I understand." Oh really, boy. I appreciate the sentiment coming from the person who's not experienced either. That was an admirable effort to say something where there was nothing really to say.
I caught up on some work, and now I've got my non-chewable pudding and a crossword puzzle. All things considered, that's a pretty good way to fight off an ear infection.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
A day and a week, it has been
I just got an email from one of my daily deal companies with the subject "Romantic Getaway in Ohio Country." Surely, OH SURELY, I'm not the only one who thinks "Well, nothing says 'romantic' like 'Amish Country'." AmIright?
Yes, but those Amish have big families. Maybe there really is something in that idea...
I've got not much of anything to report, talk about, or generally mush about other than I'm full into three classes, and life is still life-ing along. That's a pretty vague statement. It can refer to finding a disgustingly bloody Kleenex in my bathroom's trash can first thing in the morning (and there's nothing better than "Wake up and start your day!" than blood in any variation). It can mean that my child has obliterated three pairs of sunglasses in less than a month (and we're ever so serious about our eye protection around this house). It can even mean how I'm up to my gills in spreadsheets and searches and blobbity blob blobbiness (blergh).
I snuck outside pre-dinner when the girls were happy and healthy inside by themselves. Mind you, "snuck outside" literally means walking about 6 feet outside the door with all of the windows and the screen door open. I found those creepy little grey oblong bugs that frequent my zucchini (and apparently gourd) plants scurrying about with their creepy little progeny and was instantly inspired to rip the whole lot of vines up and out cause OH, the CREEPINESS.
When I walked outside, the Elder was decked out in a Cleopatra Halloween costume with the wristlets from the One-Eyed-One-Horned-Flying-Purple-People-Eater costume for good measure. The Younger was wearing just her undies as she was doodling away with markers.
I absolutely wasn't outside more than 10-15 minutes. (Foreshadowing, people.)
When I came back inside, the Elder was "reading" The Three Billy Goats Gruff to the Younger using her copy of the New Testament. She had stripped down, taken off her regular clothes, and re-dressed in the Cleopatra garb. The Younger was snuggled down under my covers and schmoozing on my pillow with the Elder sitting on top of the bed beside her. There was blue and green marker evidence on the Younger's tongue and lips. And, we spent a frantic couple of minute trying to find a plastic cap from one of those little bubble containers that you bring home from a wedding that had been put up on a high shelf as I was pretty well convinced that the Younger had swallowed it given the cumulative inability to really tell me where it was. The bubbles were absolutely dumped somewhere, and for right now, the girls have gotten away with that given the scare about the cap. Update: I found the cap; the kid's innards weren't compromised by that, though the "non-toxic" marker is a different issue.
Why does my 3-year old persist in putting all sorts of random bits in her mouth?
And so, it's been a day and another week is almost in the books. I, for one, need a snack.
Yes, but those Amish have big families. Maybe there really is something in that idea...
I've got not much of anything to report, talk about, or generally mush about other than I'm full into three classes, and life is still life-ing along. That's a pretty vague statement. It can refer to finding a disgustingly bloody Kleenex in my bathroom's trash can first thing in the morning (and there's nothing better than "Wake up and start your day!" than blood in any variation). It can mean that my child has obliterated three pairs of sunglasses in less than a month (and we're ever so serious about our eye protection around this house). It can even mean how I'm up to my gills in spreadsheets and searches and blobbity blob blobbiness (blergh).
I snuck outside pre-dinner when the girls were happy and healthy inside by themselves. Mind you, "snuck outside" literally means walking about 6 feet outside the door with all of the windows and the screen door open. I found those creepy little grey oblong bugs that frequent my zucchini (and apparently gourd) plants scurrying about with their creepy little progeny and was instantly inspired to rip the whole lot of vines up and out cause OH, the CREEPINESS.
When I walked outside, the Elder was decked out in a Cleopatra Halloween costume with the wristlets from the One-Eyed-One-Horned-Flying-Purple-People-Eater costume for good measure. The Younger was wearing just her undies as she was doodling away with markers.
I absolutely wasn't outside more than 10-15 minutes. (Foreshadowing, people.)
When I came back inside, the Elder was "reading" The Three Billy Goats Gruff to the Younger using her copy of the New Testament. She had stripped down, taken off her regular clothes, and re-dressed in the Cleopatra garb. The Younger was snuggled down under my covers and schmoozing on my pillow with the Elder sitting on top of the bed beside her. There was blue and green marker evidence on the Younger's tongue and lips. And, we spent a frantic couple of minute trying to find a plastic cap from one of those little bubble containers that you bring home from a wedding that had been put up on a high shelf as I was pretty well convinced that the Younger had swallowed it given the cumulative inability to really tell me where it was. The bubbles were absolutely dumped somewhere, and for right now, the girls have gotten away with that given the scare about the cap. Update: I found the cap; the kid's innards weren't compromised by that, though the "non-toxic" marker is a different issue.
Why does my 3-year old persist in putting all sorts of random bits in her mouth?
And so, it's been a day and another week is almost in the books. I, for one, need a snack.
Thursday, August 20, 2015
I organize because I anxietize
It's been whirlwind-ish around here, people. This is and has always been my preferred level of energy. There's no time to dwell in a funky state of being, and a perfect cup of coffee feels like a zen-like moment of Ahhh, which is how it should be.
The full-on semester is sneaking up on me, which it always seem to do. I teach two different lengths of courses, and one of them follows no traditional schedule, so I nearly always have a class going or on the horizon. This also means that while I'm working my way through the requisite coursework with one group of students, I need to prep for another variety and group of students, and I rather enjoy the variability of that. Yesterday was my HOLY GUACAMOLE, I NEED TO GET A MOVE ON! moment for the new courses beginning next week. And, it turns out that the gods of academia have a lovely sense of humor because they blessed me with t-h-i-r-t-y students in one course that I have never ever ever ever taught before. I counted last night, and supposing that every student turns in every assignment (which, obviously, won't happen...but let's pretend), there is around 500 individual assignments to be graded. That's a bunch, friends. That's a bunch.
So I have all of my natural anxieties of course preparation ramping up at the same time that I've been spiraling back down into my we-have-no-money-and-pretty-soon-we're-going-to-just-have-to-sell-everything-and-begin-again moments. These finances, I tell ya - they have their ups and downs. I'm fully entrenched in one of those downs that smells suspiciously of new car and a re-financed mortgage.
But, good news good news good news, the author of one of my very most favoritest books of recent memory (the last several years at least) recently released a new book, We Never Asked for Wings, and oh but my I am looking forward to reading this one. However, I'm about 200 pages into the 1,200 or so of Les Miserables, which I have never read though I have owned a copy for several years (about 10-15) now. It's always been one of those that I've wanted to read but have never carved out the time for. After the mad crush of summer reading ended a few weeks ago, I decided to dedicate roughly the next 6 months to this one given how slowly I'm working through it.
I'm pretty sure that this is how long it will take me at about 15 pages a night before I feel the whooziness of sleep a'comin'.
There's nothing like a good bit of misery to both take your mind off of the craziness of new courses as well as lull you to sleep.
Meantime, back in the daytime world, I made a simple change to our meal planning this month and craziness but it's made such a big change. (This might or might not be all that fascinating. I understand. Read at your own peril.) I have been and always will be the meal planner and preparer. It is definitely more my skill than that of anyone else in this house. Typically, I have spent a laborious hour or two on a Thursday thinking ahead to the next week, putting together a list, and all that jazz. For some reason that was just a much a surprise to me as it might be to anyone else, I printed off a standard blank calendar page for August at the end of July and filled in an entire month of meals in one sitting. And glory be but this has made a world of difference. It's been much easier putting together a shopping list; I've thought about what we already have in the freezer and whatnot so much better; and I have yet (20 days into the month) gotten stuck in that 4:30 p.m., good-gravy-what-am-I-making-for-dinner-tonight?, funk. And this has also helped tremendously on those nights when dinner is a wonky or rushed affair, like when I'm teaching. You know what makes facing a class full of new faces armed with a whole slew of first-day-of-the-new-semester instructions feel relaxing? Leaving the house right after dealing with picking up one child, unloading end-of-the-day things, refereeing/overseeing/playing with two rowdies, reviewing your own class notes, making dinner, eating dinner, and getting ready for class all before dropping that hot mess in the lap of the boy who just walked in the door before scooting out of it yourself.
I do enjoy me some good organization in my life.
I also love me some days that are gorgeously sunny with relatively low humidity. Like today. Let's enjoy this one, mates.
The full-on semester is sneaking up on me, which it always seem to do. I teach two different lengths of courses, and one of them follows no traditional schedule, so I nearly always have a class going or on the horizon. This also means that while I'm working my way through the requisite coursework with one group of students, I need to prep for another variety and group of students, and I rather enjoy the variability of that. Yesterday was my HOLY GUACAMOLE, I NEED TO GET A MOVE ON! moment for the new courses beginning next week. And, it turns out that the gods of academia have a lovely sense of humor because they blessed me with t-h-i-r-t-y students in one course that I have never ever ever ever taught before. I counted last night, and supposing that every student turns in every assignment (which, obviously, won't happen...but let's pretend), there is around 500 individual assignments to be graded. That's a bunch, friends. That's a bunch.
So I have all of my natural anxieties of course preparation ramping up at the same time that I've been spiraling back down into my we-have-no-money-and-pretty-soon-we're-going-to-just-have-to-sell-everything-and-begin-again moments. These finances, I tell ya - they have their ups and downs. I'm fully entrenched in one of those downs that smells suspiciously of new car and a re-financed mortgage.
But, good news good news good news, the author of one of my very most favoritest books of recent memory (the last several years at least) recently released a new book, We Never Asked for Wings, and oh but my I am looking forward to reading this one. However, I'm about 200 pages into the 1,200 or so of Les Miserables, which I have never read though I have owned a copy for several years (about 10-15) now. It's always been one of those that I've wanted to read but have never carved out the time for. After the mad crush of summer reading ended a few weeks ago, I decided to dedicate roughly the next 6 months to this one given how slowly I'm working through it.
I'm pretty sure that this is how long it will take me at about 15 pages a night before I feel the whooziness of sleep a'comin'.
There's nothing like a good bit of misery to both take your mind off of the craziness of new courses as well as lull you to sleep.
Meantime, back in the daytime world, I made a simple change to our meal planning this month and craziness but it's made such a big change. (This might or might not be all that fascinating. I understand. Read at your own peril.) I have been and always will be the meal planner and preparer. It is definitely more my skill than that of anyone else in this house. Typically, I have spent a laborious hour or two on a Thursday thinking ahead to the next week, putting together a list, and all that jazz. For some reason that was just a much a surprise to me as it might be to anyone else, I printed off a standard blank calendar page for August at the end of July and filled in an entire month of meals in one sitting. And glory be but this has made a world of difference. It's been much easier putting together a shopping list; I've thought about what we already have in the freezer and whatnot so much better; and I have yet (20 days into the month) gotten stuck in that 4:30 p.m., good-gravy-what-am-I-making-for-dinner-tonight?, funk. And this has also helped tremendously on those nights when dinner is a wonky or rushed affair, like when I'm teaching. You know what makes facing a class full of new faces armed with a whole slew of first-day-of-the-new-semester instructions feel relaxing? Leaving the house right after dealing with picking up one child, unloading end-of-the-day things, refereeing/overseeing/playing with two rowdies, reviewing your own class notes, making dinner, eating dinner, and getting ready for class all before dropping that hot mess in the lap of the boy who just walked in the door before scooting out of it yourself.
I do enjoy me some good organization in my life.
I also love me some days that are gorgeously sunny with relatively low humidity. Like today. Let's enjoy this one, mates.
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