A Bookish Best Year

People: I'm watching a movie.  Not only that, it's the 2nd one in the space of a week.  I've now increased my movie watching for the year by 200%. 

So, I'm watching Footloose for the first time ever and THIS IS KIND OF A WEIRD MOVIE.  Why does high-schooler-Kevin-Bacon have professional gymnast moves and why are the parallel bars something high schoolers would be using in gym class?  Whoa...body doubles.  Why does he wear a tie on his first day at a new school?  Why does the insult that he flings back to the cowboy-hat-wearing Willard in the hallway make them become friends?  Why is Ariel such a jerk? 

Also, this is the first movie I have seen where there's a game of chicken being played out using John Deere's set to I Need a Hero (which Kevin Bacon wins because his shoelace gets stuck and he can't stop...???).  This contrasts directly with one of the final scenes on the other movie I just watched Danny (i.e. John Travolta) fills in at a drag race and wins...but in a cooler kind of grease-r way.

Also (again): product placement.  Did Coke pay a boatload of money at the people who made this movie? 

I'm also not entirely sure why Ren move to this no-dancing-uber-conservative-anti-Vonnegut-Midtown-city?  I'm (mostly) watching and am confused.

I'm getting all distracted.  I really wanted to talk about my G-O-O-D-B-O-O-K year.  This is the first year of my life where I've kept track of how many books I've read, not really with a particular goal in mind but wanting to get as close to 100 as possible.

I decided to include audio books in my tracking as well, and here's whatI learned about my reading life:

1.  I don't generally like audio books all that much.  The narrator really has to be compelling, which adds another elements to whether or not I like a book.

2.  I read more than I really thought that I would.

3.  I like mysteries a lot, and I can't keep going until I talk about a new devotion to Louise Penny and the Three Pines mysteries.  Oh, that there was this was a real town and I would take me to there.  Other than the alarmingly high rate of murder happening, this place is idyllic, which, frankly, makes for some compelling murdering to happen.  My favorite:  all of them that I've read so far (5) but you have to read them in order

4.  I read more books set in Australia than I ever have before.  So, that was unexpected.  I understand why Liane Moriarty is crazy popular, though she's not ever going to be close to a favorite for me.  Her chapters tend to end on cliffhangers.  A lot.  However, she makes up for a bunch with cleverness in the plot.  My favorite:  What Alice Forgot

5.  Tana French is another famous and wildly popular mystery writer that I'll explore more, I've no doubt, but right now I'm less of a fan.  Bonus:  You can read the Dublin murders in any order.

6.  I really appreciate a clever story, no matter the genre.  One of my favorites of the year that I wasn't expecting to want to read:  The Whisper Man (trigger warnings with this one)

7.  It's hard to write a clever non-fiction story.  I keep getting pulled into these non-fiction books that are often just...not.

8.  My favorite author of the year:  Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie -- Americanah, The Purple Hibiscus, Half of a Yellow Sun, "The Danger of a Single Story"

9.  I make time for reading at the beginning and end of every day.  This is imperative.  Be good to yourself.

10.  Frederick Backman, another favorite of the year:  A Man Called Ove, Britt-Marie Was Here, Beartown, Us Against You, and Things My Son Needs to Know about the World

Next year, I'm changing my tracking method and I'm teaching less, which means yes, I do believe I can reach that pure 100.

YEAR END TOTALS:  82 physical books (though I know I'll finish the 2 that I'm currently reading with an outside shot at finishing a 3rd before the end of the year) + 12 audio books

2 Things I learned This Thanksgiving

Folks, I've been feeding-myself-every-day-all-on-my-own-adulty for 15 years now.  In preparation of this shift from kinda-sorta-adulty to full-on-adulty, I went through a lot of my mom's recipes and copied out a bunch of my favorites.  This has been invaluable, of course, but also somewhat fruitless.  I've learned two things from that:

1. Even if I have Mom's recipes, my food still tastes like my food and her food still tastes like hers.  I don't entirely know how that works.
2. I've only ever needed a handful of those favorites because I virtually cycle through the same twenty over and over again.

One of those essentials that I made sure I got was my mom's / grandmother's pie crust recipe because pie crust is death and I don't love me pie crust, generally, but this one works for me.  I've made at least one pie a year ever since this advent of adulting, and this is the only pie crust I have ever made.  So on the minimum, I've used this pie crust recipe at least fifteen times.  NEVER ONCE have I enjoyed making it.  NEVER ONCE have I felt confident in my pie crust making abilities.  MORE THAN ONCE I have owned my inability to do much with the pie realm.

And here we go...FIFTEEN YEARS LATER, I figured out what the hooey is the problem.  People: I copied the ding dang recipe wrong.  How, might we ask?  What, perchance did I copy incorrectly?  Well.  The recipe that I wrote down has 3 cups of flour, 1 bar of butter (cold, not melted), 1 egg, a pinch of salt, and 1 T of vinegar.  Where is the liquid, one might wonder.  It took me FIFTEEN YEARS to figure this out after grumbling my way through this recipe over and over and over.  So this Thanksgiving, I learned that I'm actually OK at making pie crust.  But I'm somewhat rubbish at copying recipes and absolutely dreadful at figuring out when there's a pretty obvious problem.  Oh.  My.  Word.

Also, what the what is it with my children and Thanksgiving / Christmas?  The Elder went through her first stomach bug on Christmas day when she was 2.  For a 3-year stretch, The Boy and I alternated with who missed each Christmas gathering at the parents' houses while staying home with a throw-uppy kiddo.  I first learned about the convenient marvel of "free shipping" and "online shopping" when a sick child was napping and the other half of the family was enjoying a holiday party elsewhere.  And the oddities continue.  Over the years, I've learned two things from this:

1. My children are weird about stomach bugs.
2. I can always use the quiet-at-home time with my child and never mind missing that slice of pie and chaos.

Yesterday, The Elder did it again, this time waiting until the day after Thanksgiving when we were staying overnight with my parents before leaving early the next morning for the other side of the family.  Gross story short, she made it to the bathroom and then I had to clean the whole thing shortly afterwards. 

Kids are maybe the hardest people to understand.  Or maybe I'm not the most sympathetic of mothers when my child says "Oh, my heard hurts a bit" and "Oh, I'm beyond exhausted."  It may be possible that I rolled my eyes (on the inside) and muttered "Ten year old..." (also on the inside).  On the outside, to my credit, she was cuddled all day long and was dosed with Tylenol twice. 

So, this Thanksgiving, I learned how to use a mop.  The conversation went something like this...
Me:  Mom, what do you want me to use to clean the floor?
Mom:  I have a mop and bucket.
Me:  Mom, can you teach me how to use a mop?  I don't own one.  I would use disinfecting wipes.
Mom:  (blinking at me) You make a lousy adult who keeps humans alive.  (She didn't actually say this.)
Me:  How much of this bright yellow cleaning solution do I dilute in some substantial amount of water? 
Mom:  (blinking at me)  You make a lousy adult who keeps humans alive.  (She also didn't actually say this but I have my doubts that she wasn't thinking this.)

Summarily, it has been a couple of days full of learning opportunities (growth mindset, y'all).  That's what happens when I step away from a day job to "relax" and "catch up on my reading" and "do nothing for a few days."  When we all get back at it on Monday and I get involved in those inevitable conversations about how the handful of days of went, I very well may raise an eyebrow and launch in with "Well, I learned 2 things..."   

A taste of the mid-life feels

I know that 60 or 70 years ago, my age (the big 3-6) would be solidly entering mid-life time.  I'm not at all sure where that distinction starts anymore, though I feel pretty sure that my mentality isn't there yet.  For Patricia's sake, I have a whole gaggle of high school and college friends who are still pushing out sweet, roly-poly babies, which is certainly the antithesis of middle-aged in my mind.

But within the last handful of months, I've been faced with some seemingly incontrovertible evidence that the old bod is aging. 

1. I now take a daily vitamin-y / supplement-y pill for the pigmentation in my eyes.  I'm not a hundo percent sure what the deal is with my sub-par pigmentation other than I'm strongly encouraged to boost my numbers and these pills are supposed to help: $200/year for old-lady-eye-pills.
2. I had a normal dental cleaning this week, and my hygienist was updating my chart when she was done and we were waiting on the dentist to come in for his poke around the mouth region.  In basically talking to herself out loud, the hygienist made a comment about a couple of spots where my gums are receding: What. In. The. World.
3. I pulled out a yoga video that I've had for years and use every once in a while when I want to do something physical but also want to stay home.  The Older joined me, and while I can for certain promise you that my form was way better than hers, I can also promise you that I cramped my hamstrings so hard on a cool-down stretch that I can still feel it two days later:  What is going on with my legs?
4. In the spring, I went through a whole day where my arm was inexplicably sore:  I hurt myself while sleeping.
5. My hip pops when I run:  I sound like a percussive instrument every step I take.
6. I forgot my glasses on a recent 3-night trip, which didn't stop me from reading or doing the work I needed to do on my computer, but it did change the way I felt about my eyeballs:  I fully trust my eye doctor that she knows what my eyes need (refer to #1).
7. The only thing that helps my painfully dry hands as soon as the average temperature falls below 70 degrees is medicated lotion: old lady cream.

All of this just basically makes me want to stay at home, read a good book, and drink loads of warm things like tea.  I might want to eat bread, too.  It makes as good of sense as anything just to hunker down and embrace my middle aged-ness. 

Also, my girls have been entirely invested in baseball all season with me, even now when my / our team is no longer playing in the World Series.  I love them so much.

An introvert day

It's been a stretch of time whereupon I've been meaning to write on here again for literally weeks, since about the middle of September when this day happened.  But life and work are what they are.  (And also -- get this -- I have nothing that I have to grade tonight.)

Also, my boys lost last night so my season of soaring joy and crushing disappointment is over.  For that, I am overly sad, I admit.  But t turns out that I have a fellow baseball-crazed fan who works across the hall from me and we have much to say.  I need people like this person.

About a month ago, the days felt a bit bleak.  A bit weary.  A bit dull.  And I did something that I had never ever in the history of me done before: I took an introvert day.  

I fully intended to work at home.  And I did.

I fully intended to read and run.  And I did.

I fully intended to just BE.  And I did.

It was...nice.  For all that this word is bland and I would never encourage anyone to really use it, that's exactly what this day was.  NICE.  

There was beautiful sun.  There was a sunggly beasty beside me all day.  There was plenty to keep me busy but for which I ultimately felt productive rather than over worked.  I felt satisfied at the end of it.  And not just good-I-got-things-done satisfied, but fundamentally satisfied and quiet.  

I really needed that quiet.  The boy is on the downward slope of a busy coaching season on top of his day job and all-other-time-fatherhood job.  My students have been at times a bit cloying.  I always like them individually, but there are some collective personalities that are just a bit blergh for me this semester.  And truth be told, I really loved my last group of kiddos, who have now all flown the nest.  I miss them, though trying they were as well.  This year's class is really more "normal" for me, and after a year of "love," then "normal" is just a bit off.

So a day came when I could carve out an introvert day and recharge my internal batteries a bit.  In the past, I've always guarded my personal days because of inevitable times I need to use them for saving up days to use when on maternity leave, taking care of a sick child, or attending court for some volunteering that I do.  But now...no more maternity leave time needed, the boy and I try to split any necessary days off for a sick one (which last year = 1 day each I think), and I'm on hiatus from the court time.  Suffice it to say that I used a day on me and it was in September and yes, there's a whole bunch of the year still to come.  

I fully trust in mental health days and support my colleagues who use them.  It's hard(er) I think when it comes to your own choice to engage in some rest.  For me, these days that I am allowed to use each year are not by definition "mental health days," and my type-A personality is a go-by-the-book and ask-permission-first type of person.  But I allowed myself some time for deep breaths and, most importantly, silence, which I have learned is a need rather than a want.  

And right now, the washing machine is running, the refrigerator is humming, and it is otherwise SILENT.  In fact, it's quiet enough that I hear a book calling my name from the other side of the house.  

May we all engage in recuperative silence on purpose and with deep, calming breaths.  

Daughters...BLESS

Sometimes, we have to take care of each other.  Sometimes, it’s hard knowing what to do.

My job forces me to practice empathy each and every day.  I’m glad it does – keeps me human.  As frustrating as it can be when you just don’t believe someone’s sob story, I still need to care for and about the individual.  That person still has a story.  I almost never feel taken advantage of and appreciate having avenues to understand individuals for who they are and what they bring.

I inherently get it that people need compassion and need a community.  I always want to be part of that conversation, no matter what.  And…yet.

I have this thing about being “that parent.”  I don’t want to be “that parent.”  It takes me 15 minutes to write a few sentences to a teacher to give a heads up about my kid feeling her feels because it feels like an imposition to the teacher who I KNOW has ever so much to keep track of. 

My child deserves it.  Absolutely.  My child’s teacher needs to hear about those few times when the feelings are big and when I know that a quick check-in would do loads of good for her ability to trust her adult and to focus. 

Yet…hmm.  It’s a weird feeling for me to be on the other side of the conversation.  I doubt I’ll ever be quite right in that head space, but I’ll still speak up when I would appreciate having the communication shared with me were I in that other teacher’s place. 

People.  Parents who are teachers are generally either the worst or entirely silent.  I don’t want to be either, so this Type A extroverted introvert will just have to keep at it. 

Bless.

Meanwhile, there's been loads of fun baseball in my day-to-day life and some fun books.  I'm f-u-l-l-y onboard the Louise Penny Three Pines mysteries train.  Inspector Gamache is my book crush right now.  AND THEY ARE ALWAYS EATING DELICIOUS FRENCH FOOD.  It makes me want to visit Montreal post haste and eat and read books in a cafe while eating French food in Montreal.  (Read them in order, good interwebby people.)   

I ended last week with an afternoon coffee shop date with the Elder, a card game, and a French soda.  I know there's more of this coming, but I need her to talk with me and if that means we get the whipped cream and pass a drink back and forth, then it shall be so.  Gamache would approve.

Also, there is a small frog clinging to the window right now.  They are adorable and show up in squished places occasionally.  Our previous house had slugs; I choose this.

I know...another camping story

I am happy to report that when your children are exhausted while camping, they sleep through raging neighbors and raging thunderstorms.

Ask me how I know.  (Actually, I'll just tell you.)

Also ask me how well I slept.  (Not well.)

Another week, another camping trip.  The foam pad + self-inflating camping mat are working like a charm even for this side sleeper; I may have sleeping woes, but these aren't part of 'em.  On the other hand, I loathe sleeping bags.  They're restrictive and almost always too hot for camping in the summer.  

We joined some extended family for a few days in Wisconsin and ran into both the hottest/muggiest/grossest weather + loudest/intensest/grossest storms of the summer all in a matter of a couple of days.  

But the bugs weren't terrible. 

The food wasn't terrible, either.  This family knows how to eat.

But the heat was relentless, which really puts the kibosh on family-bonding-hiking time.  I mean, we still went hiking, but the experience was something of a challenge, especially for The Elder, who has a happy temperature zone of 71-74 degrees with low humidity, mostly sunny, no bugs, and almost no humidity.  Given those conditions, she's a smiley child who is a joy and a delight; she will explore new places and marvel at nature.  Outside of those conditions, she has easily notched the 20 or so worst days of her life.  (She'll tell us so because each time, "This is the worst day ever."  We continue to find new ways to ruin her life experience, it seems.) . Her broodiness is prone to infecting others of her age set, so there's no doubt that this kid is a leader.  In other words, we had a few grumpy kids among our hiking group.  

A joy.  And a delight.

At least nature was surrounding us with craggy views and gorgeous lakes.

The kid did have a bit of a point, though: We ended up walking/hiking/plodding almost 3.5 miles with some significant changes in elevation and general rock clambering.  It was also about 2.5 miles longer than I anticipated, so imagine The Elder's delight when my promise at the beginning that "It will be short and easy...no one wants to go on a long, difficult hike in this heat" turned out to be 1000% false.  She was basically expressing all of the frustration that I, too, was feeling toward the 60-year olds who chose the trail.  Who knew that these people felt like tapping into their mountain goat younger selves when the heat index was hovering around 100 degrees and it was s.o. h.u.m.i.d?  

I'll repeat:  At least nature was surrounding us with craggy views and gorgeous lakes for these are the times that try men's souls.

Ah, one tiny detail that I cannot forget:  I had around 2 1/2 hours of sleep from the night before.  The boy had around 3 hours.  BECAUSE OUR NEIGHBORS WERE LUDICROUS AND THE STORMS NEVER STOPPED THE NIGHT BEFORE.  

I mean.  It's hard to start your day with a fortifying gulp and thoughts of doom & gloom.  

The 2 camp sites across from ours had EIGHT tents of people and the children were still crazy hellions at 1 AM when the park ranger finally drove by and said "Hey, friends, this has probably gone on long enough.  FOR THE LOVE."  Even The Boy couldn't sleep, which is telling of their ludicrosity.  We did enjoy a generous 15 minutes of silence then before the first round of storms came.

SO LOUD.  Rain is quite thunderous on a tent.  Searing lightening + bone crunching thunder = no sleep gonna happen.  And these were crazy storms with at least 3 sustained rounds rolling through right on top of each other: one round starts to taper off, the next round rolls in just as fiercely.  I did drift off for about 30 minutes around 2:45 AM before waking back up for a bit and then finally getting to some deeper REM sleep after 3:45 AM.  The Younger, who slept through all of everything, did wake up at 4:30 AM and decide she needed to snuggle (of course she did).  Fortunately, we got to doze for a bit after that.   

My sleep schedule is just to let you know that it was a slog.  And while we have 1 more camping trip planned for the year, I'm ready for a break.  It's just too extra right now.  If you find us vacationing in some fancy schmancy resort in Aruba next year, this could be why.  

Camping whip lash -- a bit of yin to this year's yang.

A 2-week countdown

Interweb people:

I am 2-weeks-from-tomorrow back to my full-time gig and I still have a pile of 12 books waiting to be read.  Because I added 3 more to it today.  That might be possible for some and that "some" is not me.  I've been chugging along at a brisk-ish pace, though, and it has been a good stretch of reading that I'm all in for. 

I do believe that I'll miss that the most of all come 60-work weeks on top of keeping 2 humans alive.  And I'll miss my top-knot-bun thing I've been living with all summer.  Deep layers of sadness and sorrow happened to my hair when my normal hair dresser was at a conference (in somewhere Norway/Sweden/Denmark-y, none the less) and I told the sub, "I usually tell Hannah to just do whatever as long as I can still pull it up in a ponytail."  DEEP layers of sorrow and sadness.  And my hair is fine, slippery stuff, which means that you can tell me all you want that "You can pull this into a ponytail, no problem," but those deeeeeep layers defy your foolish words. 

I've been managing my sorrow, but just barely, as you can tell. 

Also, my kids were about pushing me over a gentle cliff with their anxious we're-waiting-to-leave-the-house-ness, and then they both sat down with books.  My word, that is what dreams are made of (which is also while I'm here for a minute -- when in Rome...).

I had other things to say but am currently beyond irritated at my computer/printer combination.

Also, I am going to eat an ice cream bar today, I believe.

I must go read.