I have determined that I am going to write something in this blog. There is a problem with my master plan. I have absolutely nothing in my head other than random snippets like the following:
I had a dream this morning that I was sitting poolside with the two h's and the n watching Pluto the dog balance on a boogie board with a video camera. (This thought is particularly disturbing since I had no such dream).
Why didn't the dh hook up the means for downloading pics from the camera, and where is the stupid part so that I can do it myself?
I really should write an open letter blog complaining about doctors.
How am I going to make dinner tomorrow night when I need to be picking N up from work exactly at the time I should be preparing it if we are to make it to football?
Will the urge to type become so overwhelming on our trip next week that I will sneak into my child's room after everyone is snoozing to borrow his laptop?
Will my brain actually spawn something resembling creative thought before all is said and done?
And as these thoughts churn around in my head, I suddenly have to shout, "Run away! Run away!" for staring down at me is a killer rabbit with big pointy teeth.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
37 degrees southeast
Change occurs daily. There are countless thousands of small decisions which slightly alter your path, changing who you are and who you will become by such slight degrees that their impact alone is not measurable. The cumulative effect, however, can be quite profound. There are other decisions which leave no doubt of their import on the blueprint of your life.
Twenty-two years ago, a young man and woman fell deeply, passionately, perhaps obsessively in love. They started off with all night sessions of talking – unable, either of them to say goodbye, and put an end to their time together, even for the few hours of night-black. It evolved over time into a relationship so joined, they often didn’t need to speak at all.
The time was marked with the intensity of soul-deep craving, but their relationship was far from perfect. There was much immaturity, many mistakes in the order of youth. Still, the uniting force was so strong, she could never see it being broken – she never noted the small, slight changes of direction.
They came to each other broken. He had been married before – at a very young age to an unfaithful wife. He had two children and had physically put an end to his childbearing years. She could handle that, or so she thought. Anything was alright as long as they were together.
She had wandered a fallen path – even having an abortion at age 17, though she was very much pro-life. He understood her failings and forgave her, even when she couldn’t forgive herself.
For many lifetimes in a moment, they walked the path together. Fireworks and dewdrops – earthquakes and molten lava - hot chocolate to the iciness of solitude – hot water scathing the rawness of new burnt skin.
Sometimes the biggest changes occur more from a lack of choice than from direct decision. It was only to be a few weeks’ separation. It turned into a bouncing ball with gaps of separation lasting longer with each rebound. It turned down a road where two souls symbiotically joined had lost the words to fill the empty space. It became easier to let it slide away without ever really saying goodbye.
Years later, she looks back from a vantage point almost diametrically opposed. Children call her mother. Temperance has taken the place of passion. Contentment has taken the place of joy. Irritation of desolation.
Still, sometimes she misses the person that was she before turning 37 degrees southeast.
Twenty-two years ago, a young man and woman fell deeply, passionately, perhaps obsessively in love. They started off with all night sessions of talking – unable, either of them to say goodbye, and put an end to their time together, even for the few hours of night-black. It evolved over time into a relationship so joined, they often didn’t need to speak at all.
The time was marked with the intensity of soul-deep craving, but their relationship was far from perfect. There was much immaturity, many mistakes in the order of youth. Still, the uniting force was so strong, she could never see it being broken – she never noted the small, slight changes of direction.
They came to each other broken. He had been married before – at a very young age to an unfaithful wife. He had two children and had physically put an end to his childbearing years. She could handle that, or so she thought. Anything was alright as long as they were together.
She had wandered a fallen path – even having an abortion at age 17, though she was very much pro-life. He understood her failings and forgave her, even when she couldn’t forgive herself.
For many lifetimes in a moment, they walked the path together. Fireworks and dewdrops – earthquakes and molten lava - hot chocolate to the iciness of solitude – hot water scathing the rawness of new burnt skin.
Sometimes the biggest changes occur more from a lack of choice than from direct decision. It was only to be a few weeks’ separation. It turned into a bouncing ball with gaps of separation lasting longer with each rebound. It turned down a road where two souls symbiotically joined had lost the words to fill the empty space. It became easier to let it slide away without ever really saying goodbye.
Years later, she looks back from a vantage point almost diametrically opposed. Children call her mother. Temperance has taken the place of passion. Contentment has taken the place of joy. Irritation of desolation.
Still, sometimes she misses the person that was she before turning 37 degrees southeast.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
shadow puppets and bubblegum
So I am preparing my lesson plan overview for the coming school year. We are starting a bit late this year due to a family trip next week. I will do the standardized testing this coming week, but wait for the "real" start of school until we get back.
The fact that I am only now getting around to the lesson plans might give you the hint that "procrastination" is more than just the title of my last entry. Have I mentioned before that my kids are raising two ADD parents? It's not just a tangent, trust me.
N's first lesson for his creative writing class has to do with paying attention to body communication. It discusses the fact that the body movements of children do not tend to match what they are saying or doing. Biting nails, fidgeting legs, picking scabs, staring into space - these are all things a child might be doing when they are supposed to be sitting still. N is supposed to observe the difference in body motions from children to adults. It mentions that adults usually have good control over their movements and are capable of sitting still for relatively long stretches.
Hmmmm.
In church this morning, you would have caught me passing notes. You see, my dear husband was purposefully instigating his children to try to make them fidget more so they would get in trouble. Cracking knuckles, scratching his fingernails loudly across the back of the seats, rustling the paper insert to the altoids as loudly as possible - these are a few of his favorite things.
I gave S a note which said, "Tell your father to behave himself."
Instead of saying it, he passed the note over.
The dh read the note then looked at me with mock seriousness and mouthed, "He's dead. My father's dead."
It's a good thing I am N's teacher, and I can grade the poor boy on a sliding scale.
The fact that I am only now getting around to the lesson plans might give you the hint that "procrastination" is more than just the title of my last entry. Have I mentioned before that my kids are raising two ADD parents? It's not just a tangent, trust me.
N's first lesson for his creative writing class has to do with paying attention to body communication. It discusses the fact that the body movements of children do not tend to match what they are saying or doing. Biting nails, fidgeting legs, picking scabs, staring into space - these are all things a child might be doing when they are supposed to be sitting still. N is supposed to observe the difference in body motions from children to adults. It mentions that adults usually have good control over their movements and are capable of sitting still for relatively long stretches.
Hmmmm.
In church this morning, you would have caught me passing notes. You see, my dear husband was purposefully instigating his children to try to make them fidget more so they would get in trouble. Cracking knuckles, scratching his fingernails loudly across the back of the seats, rustling the paper insert to the altoids as loudly as possible - these are a few of his favorite things.
I gave S a note which said, "Tell your father to behave himself."
Instead of saying it, he passed the note over.
The dh read the note then looked at me with mock seriousness and mouthed, "He's dead. My father's dead."
It's a good thing I am N's teacher, and I can grade the poor boy on a sliding scale.
procrastination
I have the potential for a big old post brewing in me that may or may not make its way out, but for now, I am tired, my ankle is swollen, and I have just finished celebrating my 17th wedding anniversary. So let me just say this:
Laughter still comes easily.
Children can break your heart and mend it in a second (a.k.a. talking to your three year old on the phone from the movie theater).
Yes, Virginia, someone else CAN administer the dog's seizure pills.
Lumpy couches with familiar soft spots are sometimes a heck of a lot more comfortable than the top-of-the line new model (which philosophy goes well with 17 year marriages too).
If you forget to call your mother and tell her that football is cancelled until an hour before the game, and she is so disappointed about missing a movie with her friends because you called so late that she forgets it is your anniversary, you have six kids, and it might have been wise for her to call you (since you are forgetful); then going out to the very movie she missed can be both extremely pleasing in a sadistic way, and horribly guilt inducing. {gotta love the grammar in that one}
Those little gadgets for the top of two-liter soda bottles called the "pump and pour" really do keep the dang thing from going flat.
Not having to cook once for an entire day is possibly the best anniversary present I have ever been given.
Having band-aids on the index finger and removing the backing from label stickers do not go well together.
I still like walking in the rain.
Laughter still comes easily.
Children can break your heart and mend it in a second (a.k.a. talking to your three year old on the phone from the movie theater).
Yes, Virginia, someone else CAN administer the dog's seizure pills.
Lumpy couches with familiar soft spots are sometimes a heck of a lot more comfortable than the top-of-the line new model (which philosophy goes well with 17 year marriages too).
If you forget to call your mother and tell her that football is cancelled until an hour before the game, and she is so disappointed about missing a movie with her friends because you called so late that she forgets it is your anniversary, you have six kids, and it might have been wise for her to call you (since you are forgetful); then going out to the very movie she missed can be both extremely pleasing in a sadistic way, and horribly guilt inducing. {gotta love the grammar in that one}
Those little gadgets for the top of two-liter soda bottles called the "pump and pour" really do keep the dang thing from going flat.
Not having to cook once for an entire day is possibly the best anniversary present I have ever been given.
Having band-aids on the index finger and removing the backing from label stickers do not go well together.
I still like walking in the rain.
Friday, September 01, 2006
blessed rain
It's chilly. Here it is the first day of September, and the temperature is not even supposed to hit 70 today. This is unusual. For now, I am enjoying the snuggly comfort of slippers and sweatshirt as I watch slight patches of green slip back into my yard. It is raining. That is something which hasn't happened enough here this summer. A gentle steady rain is caressing the world around me. Later today, torrents might be pounding the earth, and the beneficial water might turn into a curse, but for now, it is a blessed relief.
Parenting is like that. In difficult spots, when the trials have been searing down like the hot August sun, when all the mother's soul is parched from the scorching heat of battle, a sudden smile or act of love sends sweet drops of moisture to re-invigorate the troubled landscape.
God is good.
Parenting is like that. In difficult spots, when the trials have been searing down like the hot August sun, when all the mother's soul is parched from the scorching heat of battle, a sudden smile or act of love sends sweet drops of moisture to re-invigorate the troubled landscape.
God is good.
cowering from evil lint balls
There are times in which I am perfectly aware that my reaction to a series of circumstances is completely out of proportion to the situation at hand. My mind, you see, is very analytical. Unfortunately, the violent passions are just as strong with me, though I often hide them behind facts, figures, busyness or jocularity. Why am I so willing to listen to the self-defeating voice? Why do I allow myself to get caught in the trap of logically knowing something is affecting me more than it should, but since it is bothering me anyway, thinking I must really be screwed up?
I ask this on a day when I am not feeling strongly in that direction. If my feelings were that raw today, I wouldn't dare ask the question. My goodness, when I get like that, the mere fact that someone neglected to say, "Hi," might set me off on a five hour self-search to identify what horrible thing I did to offend them. I can entertain so many possibilities.
I will analyze everything I say and do - understand that many of the things I say in an effort to relate end up turning a conversation back to myself - end up making me sound selfish. Is that what I have done? That's not what I mean. I know that many times when you present something, I will talk it through from several other points of view. It's who I am. But, in so doing, am I making you feel that I think you are wrong? That's not what I mean. Many times I respond with sarcasm that is oozing with affection. Am I conveying the affection? Is it coming out meaner than I ever intended? That's not what I mean. Am I shooting barbs at you with my words when I simply want to touch souls? That's not what I mean. Did I unintentionally strike out toward you because I was frustrated or busy or hurt? That's not what I mean.
But why am I always so ready to believe that something must be wrong with me? And why was yesterday one of those days?
and why am I so good at hiding it?
I ask this on a day when I am not feeling strongly in that direction. If my feelings were that raw today, I wouldn't dare ask the question. My goodness, when I get like that, the mere fact that someone neglected to say, "Hi," might set me off on a five hour self-search to identify what horrible thing I did to offend them. I can entertain so many possibilities.
I will analyze everything I say and do - understand that many of the things I say in an effort to relate end up turning a conversation back to myself - end up making me sound selfish. Is that what I have done? That's not what I mean. I know that many times when you present something, I will talk it through from several other points of view. It's who I am. But, in so doing, am I making you feel that I think you are wrong? That's not what I mean. Many times I respond with sarcasm that is oozing with affection. Am I conveying the affection? Is it coming out meaner than I ever intended? That's not what I mean. Am I shooting barbs at you with my words when I simply want to touch souls? That's not what I mean. Did I unintentionally strike out toward you because I was frustrated or busy or hurt? That's not what I mean.
But why am I always so ready to believe that something must be wrong with me? And why was yesterday one of those days?
and why am I so good at hiding it?
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