I'm not in jail. But the boy thought that I was.
SO. My spouse thought I was in jail. At least kinda sorta thought I was.
We've been running through a string of crummy luck, not the crummiest ever or even the crummiest locally (It's been rough driving around town, and I think I was detoured 4 times yesterday various places and times. Lot's of tough times for people here right now.) Still, it's been kinda lousy timing, and the old pocketbook has had many a hit.
Like I whined about before, we just shelled out $2000 a few weeks ago to repaint various cars and panels on both of our cars. Last week bit the big one, and I now I realized that I spoke too fast. While I was driving in torrential, hydroplaning rain to pick up a whole bunch of cow (which is a whole bunch of money, and one that I chose to spend, but still a whole bunch of mooooo-la, if you will...which I don't particularly want to spend at the moment), I got a call from the boy which began "Everyone is alright, but I need you to call me back right now. I got rear-ended." Well, I'm glad that the car was nice and re-painted for this little adventure. Ergo, another car issue. More money gone, alas, gone.
And then yesterday, I got boxed in while driving by the large parking lot where the city is collecting the mountains of trees that were blown down in the storms. I got stuck driving over a small-ish, 1-inch-ish in diameter, 5 feet-ish long tree limb, which went all ka-chunky on me. And that made this panel-thing on the underside of my car go all draggy-draggy on me. Money fleeing from my very balled-up-fisty hands.
One more before this story gets better: my kid needs to start allergy shtuff, which requires having an epi-pen on hand. Have you also been shaking your head at what you've been hearing about the cost of epi-pens? Yep. Can't wait to get my hands on one of those for hundreds of single dollars. There's nothing I want to do more than run some cost analysis on these things with various local pharmacies.
But here's where the birds started singing and the heavens rejoiced. I feel that the tides, they are a'turnin'. Epi-pen: FREE. My car: fixed & FREE. Combine this with g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s, temperate weather and no grading actively waiting on my attention and that's a recipe for a downright GOOD day. There's a bounce in my step and spring in my toes.
Oh wait, there's still the part where the boy thought I was in jail. He called to ask if I was the woman who was (supposedly) calling from the jail and who left a message on his phone presumably asking for some bail assistance. So naturally, naturally, he thought that it was me. And then called to confirm that it was not. Bless his incredulous heart.
The fates have not been particularly blessful lately, but they sent me a pleasant chuckle today. Sunshine and flower petals for all. I'm going to enjoy the day and not being in jail, at least for a few hours.
Friday, September 2, 2016
Friday, August 26, 2016
A week of weeks
Folks, it sure seems like this has been a week of weeks - long and gut wrenching, full of everything and a mental trudge. For that matter, it's been a month to expedite the grey hair and wrinkles. In a few decades, I'm very certain that I'll think back of my thirties as a time of heightened anxiety. Weeks like this, they are why.
Easy enough tasks take a sweet forever.
Overlooked responsibilities have to be completed 30 minutes ago.
Momentum is elusive; distractions are rife.
What works for everyone else just doesn't work for me.
Unexpected situations have to be attended to. Right now. Fast. Hurry. Quick.
Repercussions are headaches...working ahead yields wasted time and effort.
For many colleges/universities in the state, this is the week when classes resume for the fall. I've been working and working and planning and working on prepping for the adjusted schedule and new material for classes I've not taught before and dinners that I won't always have time to dither with. I'm good at planning, a necessary type-A kind of talent. And I've been listing and shopping and prepping and saving for 3 solid weeks now as I looked ahead to when I would take on 5 more classes. So I'm up to 6 right now, and friends, that's a full teaching load for a full-time faculty member.
And it's entirely feasible, but there are going to be moments when all of the stoplights need to be green, when I can't afford to waste time on peeling a carrot, and when I will be logging 2 hours in the car while staying entirely in town as I drop off-drop off-go to school-pick up-drop off-go to school-come home-pick up-drop off-go to school-come home.
A very definite part of me, the dominant driving influence, thrives on this - loves the busy, loves the planning, loves the shared effort. However, a loudish, snarly part of me won't let go of the burdensome anxiety that this produces. This week has been something of a perfect clash of forces, and it is wearisome.
I was supposed to have taught 8 classes this week - my normal load for right now. I taught 3.
First, Tuesday fell apart. Medication A has not been working for quite some time now. After waiting to talk with my doctor, we agree to switch to medication B. Both are fantastic, reliable, safe choices that work for "everyone." But medication A ran its course and medication B left me lying prone on the sidewalk in front of the boy's school, unable to move my face and my hands for a few minutes (though it felt like an eerie forever). Unable to move my face and my hands. It's still the scariest, most bizarre situation that I can't wrap my mind around. The subsequent vomiting was expected; the partial and temporary paralysis was not. And my kids saw it all, and it was scary for them. That whole episode went down as I was dropping them off with the boy. Thanks be that he was there. Thanks be that I drove safely enough. This happened when I should have been walking into my 4th class of the week to meet a new batch of fresh-faced child-adults.
Then Wednesday happened. Wednesday was a day of catching up and trying to get back to normal. It was a day when the boy called during his lunch break because he was still shaken up from seeing me frozen the day before and day when I was trying to manipulate and maneuver through a new learning system while also trying to interact with students whom I don't know and who don't know me, making up for my absence and quelling their confusion. But Wednesday spawned tornadoes, and I had exactly 2 minutes of notice that there was severe weather in the area before the day fell apart and we were clustered together trying to find service to exchange frantic texts. The first tornado, the brutal one, came through right around 3 o'clock, right at school dismissal time. I had a window of opportunity of a few minutes to seek shelter immediately or to try to get to the Elder. I chose the latter, which was absolutely the better decision. We drove through what would be the path of an EF-3 tornado. We sheltered and held hands before driving home through an unfathomably different landscape. But then another one came, and another, and...another. I'm particularly aware of 4 significant tornadoes, 3 of which were within 3 miles of my house. The weather people say 8-9 confirmed tornadoes in the county. The first one, the dooziest of them, tore through the exact same path as a frighteningly bizarre and horrific tornado that touched down in November 2013. The same neighborhoods and apartments were decimated again. I can't fathom this. I've lived in this area for 11 years now, and there have been a small handful of touchdowns in all that time. The only two significant ones during that time took the exact same path through the city, about 1 mile north of my house. No class Wednesday night. No classes Thursday.
At supper tonight, the boy remarked that "everyone looks tired." True enough. Give us a couple of days off, and then let's get at it, week #2.
Easy enough tasks take a sweet forever.
Overlooked responsibilities have to be completed 30 minutes ago.
Momentum is elusive; distractions are rife.
What works for everyone else just doesn't work for me.
Unexpected situations have to be attended to. Right now. Fast. Hurry. Quick.
Repercussions are headaches...working ahead yields wasted time and effort.
For many colleges/universities in the state, this is the week when classes resume for the fall. I've been working and working and planning and working on prepping for the adjusted schedule and new material for classes I've not taught before and dinners that I won't always have time to dither with. I'm good at planning, a necessary type-A kind of talent. And I've been listing and shopping and prepping and saving for 3 solid weeks now as I looked ahead to when I would take on 5 more classes. So I'm up to 6 right now, and friends, that's a full teaching load for a full-time faculty member.
And it's entirely feasible, but there are going to be moments when all of the stoplights need to be green, when I can't afford to waste time on peeling a carrot, and when I will be logging 2 hours in the car while staying entirely in town as I drop off-drop off-go to school-pick up-drop off-go to school-come home-pick up-drop off-go to school-come home.
A very definite part of me, the dominant driving influence, thrives on this - loves the busy, loves the planning, loves the shared effort. However, a loudish, snarly part of me won't let go of the burdensome anxiety that this produces. This week has been something of a perfect clash of forces, and it is wearisome.
I was supposed to have taught 8 classes this week - my normal load for right now. I taught 3.
First, Tuesday fell apart. Medication A has not been working for quite some time now. After waiting to talk with my doctor, we agree to switch to medication B. Both are fantastic, reliable, safe choices that work for "everyone." But medication A ran its course and medication B left me lying prone on the sidewalk in front of the boy's school, unable to move my face and my hands for a few minutes (though it felt like an eerie forever). Unable to move my face and my hands. It's still the scariest, most bizarre situation that I can't wrap my mind around. The subsequent vomiting was expected; the partial and temporary paralysis was not. And my kids saw it all, and it was scary for them. That whole episode went down as I was dropping them off with the boy. Thanks be that he was there. Thanks be that I drove safely enough. This happened when I should have been walking into my 4th class of the week to meet a new batch of fresh-faced child-adults.
Then Wednesday happened. Wednesday was a day of catching up and trying to get back to normal. It was a day when the boy called during his lunch break because he was still shaken up from seeing me frozen the day before and day when I was trying to manipulate and maneuver through a new learning system while also trying to interact with students whom I don't know and who don't know me, making up for my absence and quelling their confusion. But Wednesday spawned tornadoes, and I had exactly 2 minutes of notice that there was severe weather in the area before the day fell apart and we were clustered together trying to find service to exchange frantic texts. The first tornado, the brutal one, came through right around 3 o'clock, right at school dismissal time. I had a window of opportunity of a few minutes to seek shelter immediately or to try to get to the Elder. I chose the latter, which was absolutely the better decision. We drove through what would be the path of an EF-3 tornado. We sheltered and held hands before driving home through an unfathomably different landscape. But then another one came, and another, and...another. I'm particularly aware of 4 significant tornadoes, 3 of which were within 3 miles of my house. The weather people say 8-9 confirmed tornadoes in the county. The first one, the dooziest of them, tore through the exact same path as a frighteningly bizarre and horrific tornado that touched down in November 2013. The same neighborhoods and apartments were decimated again. I can't fathom this. I've lived in this area for 11 years now, and there have been a small handful of touchdowns in all that time. The only two significant ones during that time took the exact same path through the city, about 1 mile north of my house. No class Wednesday night. No classes Thursday.
At supper tonight, the boy remarked that "everyone looks tired." True enough. Give us a couple of days off, and then let's get at it, week #2.
Monday, August 1, 2016
Surprise, surprise, surprise
This seems like it might be a short post (which is not evidenced by this lengthy intro quote to say that it's going to be shorter) 'cause it's been another full-to-the-brim day and I have a night with no grading on the docket. So why spend it on here when I have 2 magazines calling mi nombre? But it's been a while, and I have a "this can only happen when you have a couple of young kids" kind of a story that I've been saving for just the right moment.
But first, I had a quick check-in about a spot on my collarbone that magically appeared sometime during the last fall/winter. And then a few months later when that spot was still there and I read a magazine story about a woman who found out she had cancer after getting a mystery spot checked out, I put "call the dermatologist" at the top of my list. I'm always good for a solid bout of worrying-spurring-me-to-action. When your office visit lasts a grand total of 2 minutes because the doctor walks in, calmly shakes your hand, says "Yep, that's a mole" shakes your hand again, and leaves, then it's a good day. A mole, my people...a mole. I just paid $30 to have a kind, motherly sort of doctor woman tell me that yes, moles can still magically materialize when you're in your 30s. As I was walking out and noticed that HGTV was still on in the lobby and noted that I did not have my children with me, I thought "Hmm...this isn't such a bad deal. Watch 15 minutes of TV, have a pleasant conversation, read a few pages of your magazine. If I were smart enough, I might figure out how to make this happen more often." It was a pleasant way to spend 30 minutes this afternoon (at about $1/minute, mind you).
That's not really my "Seriously...?!?" story, though. (How's that for some terrible hype?) A couple of weeks ago, I left the girls and boy for the day to go visit with a college friend at her new house. It meant that the boy and daughters were out the door before I was because they had cross country camp to go be present at and I had about 15 minutes to start a load of laundry and grab a bottle of water and a snack. I was digging around in the Younger's laundry basket, and there was something weird happening there. At the bottom of it, completely buried by clothing (i.e. WHO KNOWS HOW LONG THIS HAS BEEN HERE???) was a small blue bag, tied at the top. It had something in it. But if you don't know anything else as a parent, you know that you should not just go willy-nilly opening up tied bags in your kid's clothes basket with a good reason to do so.
So I called the boy.
Me: "What's in this blue bag?"
Boy: "I have no idea. Girls...what's in this blue bag?"
[pause]
Boy: "They shrugged. Oh, wait, [the Elder] says that they found something on the sidewalk in front of our house the other day."
Me: "Oh, GROSS" (immediately recognizing it for what it is).
See, wise mother that I am, did not unwittingly open up a tied bag of dog poo that someone had (kindly) left for my children to find and graciously deposit as a gift to all in the bottom of the Younger's laundry basket.
WHY IN THE WORLD? WHY? IN? THE? WORLD?
Who would possibly think "Oh, hmm...tied up blue baggie with something in it. I think that I'll take it inside about bury it where no one will find it underneath dirty clothes."
My kids are weird hoarders or something.
(I think that this story will be one of those family stories that will be re-told for years to come.)
But first, I had a quick check-in about a spot on my collarbone that magically appeared sometime during the last fall/winter. And then a few months later when that spot was still there and I read a magazine story about a woman who found out she had cancer after getting a mystery spot checked out, I put "call the dermatologist" at the top of my list. I'm always good for a solid bout of worrying-spurring-me-to-action. When your office visit lasts a grand total of 2 minutes because the doctor walks in, calmly shakes your hand, says "Yep, that's a mole" shakes your hand again, and leaves, then it's a good day. A mole, my people...a mole. I just paid $30 to have a kind, motherly sort of doctor woman tell me that yes, moles can still magically materialize when you're in your 30s. As I was walking out and noticed that HGTV was still on in the lobby and noted that I did not have my children with me, I thought "Hmm...this isn't such a bad deal. Watch 15 minutes of TV, have a pleasant conversation, read a few pages of your magazine. If I were smart enough, I might figure out how to make this happen more often." It was a pleasant way to spend 30 minutes this afternoon (at about $1/minute, mind you).
That's not really my "Seriously...?!?" story, though. (How's that for some terrible hype?) A couple of weeks ago, I left the girls and boy for the day to go visit with a college friend at her new house. It meant that the boy and daughters were out the door before I was because they had cross country camp to go be present at and I had about 15 minutes to start a load of laundry and grab a bottle of water and a snack. I was digging around in the Younger's laundry basket, and there was something weird happening there. At the bottom of it, completely buried by clothing (i.e. WHO KNOWS HOW LONG THIS HAS BEEN HERE???) was a small blue bag, tied at the top. It had something in it. But if you don't know anything else as a parent, you know that you should not just go willy-nilly opening up tied bags in your kid's clothes basket with a good reason to do so.
So I called the boy.
Me: "What's in this blue bag?"
Boy: "I have no idea. Girls...what's in this blue bag?"
[pause]
Boy: "They shrugged. Oh, wait, [the Elder] says that they found something on the sidewalk in front of our house the other day."
Me: "Oh, GROSS" (immediately recognizing it for what it is).
See, wise mother that I am, did not unwittingly open up a tied bag of dog poo that someone had (kindly) left for my children to find and graciously deposit as a gift to all in the bottom of the Younger's laundry basket.
WHY IN THE WORLD? WHY? IN? THE? WORLD?
Who would possibly think "Oh, hmm...tied up blue baggie with something in it. I think that I'll take it inside about bury it where no one will find it underneath dirty clothes."
My kids are weird hoarders or something.
(I think that this story will be one of those family stories that will be re-told for years to come.)
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Roadies
Earlier this summer, we went camping with family over a 100-degree weather weekend. Right now, we're spending time in the Ozarks with the same family and my car has registered 104, 107 and 109 degrees at various points when we have gotten in it to please find a bit of relief. The air conditioner has been maxed out for a few days now, and my gas mileage has relatively plummeted between that and the up-and-down-and-up-and-down-ness. We've got the timing for finding those 100-degree days down to an art, it seems.
But the laughs have been abundant. We're all scattering back to our various parts of the country in just a few hours, so there's something to look forward to: hours upon hours of Boxcar Children audiobooks, numerous stops, and the inevitable "I have to go...it's an 'mergency." I don't enjoy a road trip on a good day, and then when you throw in some traffic jams for no reason and 10 cops in a 7-mile stretch of road (curses, Illinois), it gets tiresome. It seems like the rest of the family either loves a 14-hour car trip or else had a magical experience whereupon their children were quiet for 8 hours.
Friends, that was not our experience. We stopped 8 times, and our 8-hour trip took closer to 10 hours. Interminable. I quite literally forced myself to only check how many more miles were left on the GPS once we reached another exit rather than every 15 seconds.
But for the return, we feel like we have some things on our side - namely knowing which rest stop is inexplicably closed and which one has a playset, where the coffee stops can be and where we'll probably switch drivers.
I didn't grow up with a family that road tripped it regularly. the 3 1/2-hour trip to my grandparents' house felt like A BIG DEAL the 3 times a year we headed that way. I like the idea of a road trip, but I'm having a hard time buying in on the boy's sincere desire to just pack the kids up and take off for 2 weeks, wending our way across a handful of states while camping along the way. I feel like the romance of that just won't take me very far, maybe past the state line.
It's hard for me to suck it up to get past the never-endingness of the Midwest to get to the good stuff. The girls don't know it, but this trip is something of a test to see if we can handle a longer (in terms of driving hours) trip together next year. Perhaps it's just a way to ease me into the idea of getting over myself for the sake of adventuring with my family.
Then again, my daughter started moo-ing at me this afternoon when I was putting sunscreen on her in preparation of heading to the bathtub-warm pool. I asked her why, and she told me that I looked like a cow because "You have spots" (moles). There's nothing better than a kid to keep your vanity in check.
But the laughs have been abundant. We're all scattering back to our various parts of the country in just a few hours, so there's something to look forward to: hours upon hours of Boxcar Children audiobooks, numerous stops, and the inevitable "I have to go...it's an 'mergency." I don't enjoy a road trip on a good day, and then when you throw in some traffic jams for no reason and 10 cops in a 7-mile stretch of road (curses, Illinois), it gets tiresome. It seems like the rest of the family either loves a 14-hour car trip or else had a magical experience whereupon their children were quiet for 8 hours.
Friends, that was not our experience. We stopped 8 times, and our 8-hour trip took closer to 10 hours. Interminable. I quite literally forced myself to only check how many more miles were left on the GPS once we reached another exit rather than every 15 seconds.
But for the return, we feel like we have some things on our side - namely knowing which rest stop is inexplicably closed and which one has a playset, where the coffee stops can be and where we'll probably switch drivers.
I didn't grow up with a family that road tripped it regularly. the 3 1/2-hour trip to my grandparents' house felt like A BIG DEAL the 3 times a year we headed that way. I like the idea of a road trip, but I'm having a hard time buying in on the boy's sincere desire to just pack the kids up and take off for 2 weeks, wending our way across a handful of states while camping along the way. I feel like the romance of that just won't take me very far, maybe past the state line.
It's hard for me to suck it up to get past the never-endingness of the Midwest to get to the good stuff. The girls don't know it, but this trip is something of a test to see if we can handle a longer (in terms of driving hours) trip together next year. Perhaps it's just a way to ease me into the idea of getting over myself for the sake of adventuring with my family.
Then again, my daughter started moo-ing at me this afternoon when I was putting sunscreen on her in preparation of heading to the bathtub-warm pool. I asked her why, and she told me that I looked like a cow because "You have spots" (moles). There's nothing better than a kid to keep your vanity in check.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Just take me back
Good people of the interwebs. I've been floundering all around here for no other reason than the following:
1. I've been buying dozens upon dozens of eggs this past month because CLEARANCE and WE EAT THEM A LOT and CHEAP and BAKING. Using dozens and dozens (and dozens) of eggs takes time.
2. I'm teaching 3 classes right now, which one might think would keep one comfortably busy when one's spouse is able to take on a majority of one's child-rearing duties because summer. One would be wrong. One is sick and yea tired of grading. One feels that one is always trying to get through her list of things to grade. One is weary of life many an afternoon now.
3. We took a few days off to schlep the girls to a beach, which was f-a-b-u-l-o-u-s but there was then a whole slew of that grading hanging around when we got back. So life was pretty grand there for a stretch, and we've since been plotting on how to return and when and where. I'm a fan of just buying a nice vacation place up there. The boy does his best imitation of a sensible person and reminds me that we are not yet wealthy enough to just throw money around willy-nilly. This is a topic that we will return to again, I've no doubt. I'm now determined.
The girls, believe it or no, are just about the easiest part of this summer season. The boy and I, however, have been scrapping and scraping all the live long days what with conferences, classes, appointments, meetings, and responsibilities. The girls just have some swimming to do and maybe some reading every now and again. Otherwise, we just throw a few snacks at them every now and again, and they shriek amongst themselves all day long.
Coming into the summer, we were just forced to replace our cruddy range, which was visually pleasing but monetarily less so. But crunch time has come with the taste of that bitter pill still lingering. Our child rode her hand-me-down bicycle between our cars, which were parked in our snug garage. This bicycle doesn't have any rubber covering the ends of the handlebars anymore. She scraaattttccchhhed her way down both of our cars. I have never ever been so furious with life as when I discovered that boneheaded maneuver. You expect your child to break an occasional table lamp (been there) or stain some carpet. I never expected $2000+ in a new paint job on both of our cars because my kid was riding her bike. It's going to be upwards of 2G and about 5 or 6 days of being a 1-car household when the boy and I often need to be in different places at the same time given our work commitments. This one hurt, to say the least.
And the same day that the first estimate came in on these, I paid for new flooring to replace our beat up and well abused laminate flooring in our kitchen. That was a weepy, woe-is-me kind of day. But you know what would help make all of this feel better? A vacation house on a huge lake with lots of beach access. At least that's what I've been telling myself. Here's to more of this someday.
1. I've been buying dozens upon dozens of eggs this past month because CLEARANCE and WE EAT THEM A LOT and CHEAP and BAKING. Using dozens and dozens (and dozens) of eggs takes time.
2. I'm teaching 3 classes right now, which one might think would keep one comfortably busy when one's spouse is able to take on a majority of one's child-rearing duties because summer. One would be wrong. One is sick and yea tired of grading. One feels that one is always trying to get through her list of things to grade. One is weary of life many an afternoon now.
3. We took a few days off to schlep the girls to a beach, which was f-a-b-u-l-o-u-s but there was then a whole slew of that grading hanging around when we got back. So life was pretty grand there for a stretch, and we've since been plotting on how to return and when and where. I'm a fan of just buying a nice vacation place up there. The boy does his best imitation of a sensible person and reminds me that we are not yet wealthy enough to just throw money around willy-nilly. This is a topic that we will return to again, I've no doubt. I'm now determined.
The girls, believe it or no, are just about the easiest part of this summer season. The boy and I, however, have been scrapping and scraping all the live long days what with conferences, classes, appointments, meetings, and responsibilities. The girls just have some swimming to do and maybe some reading every now and again. Otherwise, we just throw a few snacks at them every now and again, and they shriek amongst themselves all day long.
Coming into the summer, we were just forced to replace our cruddy range, which was visually pleasing but monetarily less so. But crunch time has come with the taste of that bitter pill still lingering. Our child rode her hand-me-down bicycle between our cars, which were parked in our snug garage. This bicycle doesn't have any rubber covering the ends of the handlebars anymore. She scraaattttccchhhed her way down both of our cars. I have never ever been so furious with life as when I discovered that boneheaded maneuver. You expect your child to break an occasional table lamp (been there) or stain some carpet. I never expected $2000+ in a new paint job on both of our cars because my kid was riding her bike. It's going to be upwards of 2G and about 5 or 6 days of being a 1-car household when the boy and I often need to be in different places at the same time given our work commitments. This one hurt, to say the least.
And the same day that the first estimate came in on these, I paid for new flooring to replace our beat up and well abused laminate flooring in our kitchen. That was a weepy, woe-is-me kind of day. But you know what would help make all of this feel better? A vacation house on a huge lake with lots of beach access. At least that's what I've been telling myself. Here's to more of this someday.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Vanya...don't worry 'bout it
This is a post full of both the remarkable and the absurd. Let's begin, though I'm very, very sure that my menial wording won't give the absurd part justice.
1. I just got back from running (nearly all) the loop around my neighborhood. I do believe that I could have even run more of it, but I wasn't wanting to push the possibility of my retching. I'm sure this feat of nature was possible because I'm wearing a newish pair of bright blue yoga/running/exercise-ish pants. And the weather is pretty perfect for just a few minutes here. You know what they say when it's 90 and humid all day - let's wait until 9 p.m., and then we'll consider running for the first time in a couple of years. Plus maybe people won't be watching by that point.
2. I bought 5 dozen eggs two days ago because when they're marked down to $1 and have a week of life yet in 'em, I've learned to snatch and run. I did remind the boy that the last time I bought such an obscene amount of eggs, our oven went kaput within days.
3. Remember way back when I brought home 20 bags of chocolate chips because they were dirt cheap? We have 2 1/2 bags of them left. It's been about 5 months.
4. We camped all of the past weekend in what was just a tick under 100 degrees from start to finish. I volunteered to take our newly minted 4-year old back to the tent for a nap (yep, she still naps fairly often, and this was one of those days), intending to use the box fan and relax with a book while she snoozed beside me. First, we nearly got into a shouting match because my child kept insisting on being covered with a blanket in what was nothing short of a sweat house. The child slept, and I grabbed a grubby t-shirt to wipe the sweat off of my entire head region every 2 minutes while I tried to read. Thanks be, the joint cooled off significantly by nighttime, and all was well. The box fan was a pointless waste of space; if it weren't so noisy, I wouldn't even have believed it was on.
5. The second night of our camping adventure, I was dwelling and anxious while the group of 8 or so teenager-y/college-age-y young people beside us were happy and laughy until about 1 AM. They weren't obnoxious, mind you, but they were obviously awake. And all of that means I was pretty obviously awake, too. But the boy was less obviously awake. In fact, not too long after we turned our flashlights off, he raised his left arm in the air and said .
the boy: Vanya! (then slowly lowered his arm)
me: What?
the boy: mutter mutter mutter
[crickets]
me: Are you awake?
the boy: ------ [rolls over]
me: What did you say?
the boy: ...don't worry 'bout it.
He has no recollection of this. There was that one time when he dreamed he was kicking a soccer ball and was instead kicking me, but he's never muttered at me in some Russian-y sounding way and then told me to get over myself all while asleep.
The next morning, when I relayed to him that weird exchange, he very forthrightly said something to the effect of "Yeah, Vanya is a form of Ivan. I read a lot of books with Russian characters."
Obviously.
But I'll accept his explanation, which is better than my first thought, which was (I kid you not) who is this girl "Vanya" that you're dreaming about? Because seriously, dream about her all you want, but let's not tell me to not worry about it. That's just unnecessary.
1. I just got back from running (nearly all) the loop around my neighborhood. I do believe that I could have even run more of it, but I wasn't wanting to push the possibility of my retching. I'm sure this feat of nature was possible because I'm wearing a newish pair of bright blue yoga/running/exercise-ish pants. And the weather is pretty perfect for just a few minutes here. You know what they say when it's 90 and humid all day - let's wait until 9 p.m., and then we'll consider running for the first time in a couple of years. Plus maybe people won't be watching by that point.
2. I bought 5 dozen eggs two days ago because when they're marked down to $1 and have a week of life yet in 'em, I've learned to snatch and run. I did remind the boy that the last time I bought such an obscene amount of eggs, our oven went kaput within days.
3. Remember way back when I brought home 20 bags of chocolate chips because they were dirt cheap? We have 2 1/2 bags of them left. It's been about 5 months.
4. We camped all of the past weekend in what was just a tick under 100 degrees from start to finish. I volunteered to take our newly minted 4-year old back to the tent for a nap (yep, she still naps fairly often, and this was one of those days), intending to use the box fan and relax with a book while she snoozed beside me. First, we nearly got into a shouting match because my child kept insisting on being covered with a blanket in what was nothing short of a sweat house. The child slept, and I grabbed a grubby t-shirt to wipe the sweat off of my entire head region every 2 minutes while I tried to read. Thanks be, the joint cooled off significantly by nighttime, and all was well. The box fan was a pointless waste of space; if it weren't so noisy, I wouldn't even have believed it was on.
5. The second night of our camping adventure, I was dwelling and anxious while the group of 8 or so teenager-y/college-age-y young people beside us were happy and laughy until about 1 AM. They weren't obnoxious, mind you, but they were obviously awake. And all of that means I was pretty obviously awake, too. But the boy was less obviously awake. In fact, not too long after we turned our flashlights off, he raised his left arm in the air and said .
the boy: Vanya! (then slowly lowered his arm)
me: What?
the boy: mutter mutter mutter
[crickets]
me: Are you awake?
the boy: ------ [rolls over]
me: What did you say?
the boy: ...don't worry 'bout it.
He has no recollection of this. There was that one time when he dreamed he was kicking a soccer ball and was instead kicking me, but he's never muttered at me in some Russian-y sounding way and then told me to get over myself all while asleep.
The next morning, when I relayed to him that weird exchange, he very forthrightly said something to the effect of "Yeah, Vanya is a form of Ivan. I read a lot of books with Russian characters."
Obviously.
But I'll accept his explanation, which is better than my first thought, which was (I kid you not) who is this girl "Vanya" that you're dreaming about? Because seriously, dream about her all you want, but let's not tell me to not worry about it. That's just unnecessary.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Memoir-izing
As always, first things first - the girls. (I should just start every post with "FTF" since that's pretty much how I start.) Actually, today's FTF is "the kids."
1. The Elder is a brand spankin' new 7-year old, and don't all gasp loudly now, but that doesn't make me one bit sad. Nope. I'm a big fan for being happy with whatever stage of life you're in, and that means that I've no trouble being thankful for our spunky little kid as she is right now rather than the squishy little squish'um that she was. Plus, our siblings are still popping out their own babies off & on, which mean I love on 'em and hand 'em back with diapers fully loaded. Case in point: This weekend...1 game of chase with toddler nephew and 1 cuddle to sleep time with baby nephew. I lurve it being the aunt.
2. The Younger did what 3-year olds do and tripped on her own puppy feet while walking from point A to point B on the sidewalk, which resulted in some well-and-good skinned knees. After the first 5 minutes of the tears, I tried to pass her off to the boy so that I could continue doing what I needed to do, seeing as how she was going to live and all. And with sobby gasps, she wailed "NOOO! My legs will fall off!" Props to the boy who had to keep a straight face since she was looking at him.
3. While I'm sitting here, I'm watching a mama starling feed her two baby starlings some regurgitated what-have-you's. Those babies look happy, and I don't care how brown a bird you are, when you're all cuddling up with your mommy bird to slurp up some sludgy worminess, it's a pretty sweet moment to spy on.
***Wrap-up and transition to my main point today (I have nothing clever to take us there, so this'll do).***
I love memoirs. I love them. I have a couple of degrees in literature, and frankly, I don't really get into reading the never ending drivel and bad writing that gets published today. Snobbery, perhaps. But I'll stay within the parameters of the classical literature canon any day. Many a time, I have started [insert name of best seller book] only to slog through 20 pages and groan when I see there are 382 left. What the what, modern day authors? Do we no longer have any grace or art? Must we resort to never ending spare allusions? To saccharine and cloying description that is less clever than horrid in its attempt to be different? [Irony here? Should I take a closer look at my own writings here? Nah. I'm not trying to get you buy in on my rambling. And, no one's clambering to publish it. I shall carry on.]
I'm just not a fan of modern writing. Occasionally, I'll find a nugget that I happily mined out, and those I'm quite happy to pass along to anyone who wants to know what I've been enjoying lately. But it's been so long since that's happened that a few months ago, while scanning the stacks at ye olde library, I realized I had no desire to read any of it. But a good memoir sounded just right, and it has been a mainstay on my nightstand ever since.
Looking back, I see how I have leaned toward memoir-fiction writing through classes and papers and final thesis writing. And since I've started reading memoir exclusively, I have
1. read several memoirs about topics of which I have no knowledge (dogs, a botanist, and living in Tuscany/Italy/Provence).
2. not been unsatisfied even once.
3. re-visited ideas that began when I was an undergraduate about the connection between memoir and healing.
4. pondered writing an article for publication.
5. considered how it relates to educational theory as well as practical applications for the classroom.
In the meantime, I've jotted some notes down, started exploring some databases, and considered how I'm going to integrate more of this approach in my upcoming classes. If you have any thoughts on memoir, please share! That's why we memoir-ize seemingly everything.
But right now, I'm turning this off to attack a 550-piece puzzle because this may be the summer-of-the memoir for me, but I'm declaring this to be the summer-of-the-puzzle for all of us. And it starts today. First up - Lucky the cat canoodling with Coco the cockatoo. It's a lovely way to spend some downtime with the girls, no sugar or devices involved.
However, the light of reading still shines bright in my early inevitably, memoir has interest and (almost certainly) a lack of lame dialogue.
1. The Elder is a brand spankin' new 7-year old, and don't all gasp loudly now, but that doesn't make me one bit sad. Nope. I'm a big fan for being happy with whatever stage of life you're in, and that means that I've no trouble being thankful for our spunky little kid as she is right now rather than the squishy little squish'um that she was. Plus, our siblings are still popping out their own babies off & on, which mean I love on 'em and hand 'em back with diapers fully loaded. Case in point: This weekend...1 game of chase with toddler nephew and 1 cuddle to sleep time with baby nephew. I lurve it being the aunt.
2. The Younger did what 3-year olds do and tripped on her own puppy feet while walking from point A to point B on the sidewalk, which resulted in some well-and-good skinned knees. After the first 5 minutes of the tears, I tried to pass her off to the boy so that I could continue doing what I needed to do, seeing as how she was going to live and all. And with sobby gasps, she wailed "NOOO! My legs will fall off!" Props to the boy who had to keep a straight face since she was looking at him.
3. While I'm sitting here, I'm watching a mama starling feed her two baby starlings some regurgitated what-have-you's. Those babies look happy, and I don't care how brown a bird you are, when you're all cuddling up with your mommy bird to slurp up some sludgy worminess, it's a pretty sweet moment to spy on.
***Wrap-up and transition to my main point today (I have nothing clever to take us there, so this'll do).***
I love memoirs. I love them. I have a couple of degrees in literature, and frankly, I don't really get into reading the never ending drivel and bad writing that gets published today. Snobbery, perhaps. But I'll stay within the parameters of the classical literature canon any day. Many a time, I have started [insert name of best seller book] only to slog through 20 pages and groan when I see there are 382 left. What the what, modern day authors? Do we no longer have any grace or art? Must we resort to never ending spare allusions? To saccharine and cloying description that is less clever than horrid in its attempt to be different? [Irony here? Should I take a closer look at my own writings here? Nah. I'm not trying to get you buy in on my rambling. And, no one's clambering to publish it. I shall carry on.]
I'm just not a fan of modern writing. Occasionally, I'll find a nugget that I happily mined out, and those I'm quite happy to pass along to anyone who wants to know what I've been enjoying lately. But it's been so long since that's happened that a few months ago, while scanning the stacks at ye olde library, I realized I had no desire to read any of it. But a good memoir sounded just right, and it has been a mainstay on my nightstand ever since.
Looking back, I see how I have leaned toward memoir-fiction writing through classes and papers and final thesis writing. And since I've started reading memoir exclusively, I have
1. read several memoirs about topics of which I have no knowledge (dogs, a botanist, and living in Tuscany/Italy/Provence).
2. not been unsatisfied even once.
3. re-visited ideas that began when I was an undergraduate about the connection between memoir and healing.
4. pondered writing an article for publication.
5. considered how it relates to educational theory as well as practical applications for the classroom.
In the meantime, I've jotted some notes down, started exploring some databases, and considered how I'm going to integrate more of this approach in my upcoming classes. If you have any thoughts on memoir, please share! That's why we memoir-ize seemingly everything.
But right now, I'm turning this off to attack a 550-piece puzzle because this may be the summer-of-the memoir for me, but I'm declaring this to be the summer-of-the-puzzle for all of us. And it starts today. First up - Lucky the cat canoodling with Coco the cockatoo. It's a lovely way to spend some downtime with the girls, no sugar or devices involved.
However, the light of reading still shines bright in my early inevitably, memoir has interest and (almost certainly) a lack of lame dialogue.
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