DAY TWENTY-SEVEN - 27 November 2012
Today was a day at odds with itself, with so much good followed by so much not. It has taken a while to get beyond the negative of that day and really embrace that for which I am grateful and about which I am smiling.
It is amazing to realize just how heavy you've been once that weight has been lifted. Regardless of what is causing that weight, be it choices you've made or events beyond your control, I know there are many for whom the weight ceases to be an urgent concern and who instead begin to carry it without realizing it. The only sign of that weight is in the slight stoop in their gait, the downward curl of the corners of their mouth when no one is looking, the watery eyes when someone, in passing, references that which has been making them hurt. It is not until after that weight has been removed from our shoulders that we realize just how heavy it was and how relieved we now feel.
Today I had someone do some weight-lifting for me, as there was something weighing upon me that I alone could not bear. That weight, that burden, was lift not by strength of muscle and nerves of steel, but by one of the most powerful tools we have to help others lighten their loads- forgiveness.
I am not going to spoil or trivialize today by going into the details, as they are personal and do not need to be exploited. However, know that I am thankful today for the opportunity to shut the door on a weight that my heart has been carrying for too long...and thankful for the person who has given me this relief.
DAY TWENTY-EIGHT - 28 November 2012
I grew up in a home with cats and dogs. Most of my relatives and friends have had pets. As a young adult, out on my own, one of the first things I did was bring home a furry little guy of my own (...how I miss you, Garp...). What I am getting at here, folks, is that I have spent my life wiping pet hair off my pants, vacuuming pet hair off my couches, and sweeping up spilled pet food from the kitchen floor. Just like the people in my life, my animals alternately aggravate the hell out of me and make me smile with their mere presence. They drain my wallet and fill my hearts and now the hearts of my children, too.
I have known so many people who haven't had this joy, people who have never known what it was like to get muddy prints all over their clothes when their wet and dirty dog gave them a hug...or have cried into the backs of their warm, purring cat. I feel for these people- adult and child alike- because aside from the love of your infant child, there is no love as unabashed and unwavering as that of a pet.
We found out last night that our oldest dog, Aiko, is dying. It may not be this week, but it will be before Christmas unless we make the choice to have it happen sooner. The children are heartbroken. This is the seventh- yes, seventh!- pet we will have lost in the last 3 1/2 years. Aaron and I adopted our furballs long before we had kids and they are all reaching the end of the road, one right after another. Taidhgin told me that he can't handle it, all the hurting from losing them all. Eibhlin told me that she can't handle knowing that Aiko is hurting the way she is. Connlaodh told me he is okay right now because she is still here but won't be after she's gone. Uilleam told me he loved her- by climbing on top of her and giving her a big hug.
I hurt for my children but am grateful that they have had the chance with Aiko- and all of our pets - to know both the love a pet can give as well as the sorrow at their loss. I don't want my children suffering, but I do want them to know that their love for something or someone doesn't have to die just because that creature does. They love her- have loved them all- and will, always, not only because they had her in their worlds as a young and active pup, but because they are able to give her back so much love at a time when she needs it most.
Our animals can teach us some pretty amazing things about being honest and good and real. If you could have seen Aiko with Uilleam on top of her last night, knowing she just ached and ached but did nothing other than give him a lick of love, you'd see just a little slice of what it means to be right and whole. Thank you, Garp, Booyah, Dallas, Yabo, Plato, Ni, Aiko...for the love, the lessons, and the warmth you have shown all of us.
29 November 2012
26 November 2012
I Love My Job. (No, This is Not a Joke.)
DAY TWENTY-SIX - 26 November 2012
I hated high school. Hated the students, the environment, the rules, the work. I spent four very long years being terribly miserable as a given, occasionally happy, and often-times oblivious. There were a handful of teachers who provided me with lifelines, a handful of friends who weren't dragging me to hell, and a handful of family who forgave me enough to see past my self-imposed angst and to see instead who I was and what I could be.
One evening, in some long-ago manhandled journal, I tore into the page of the night with my pen, underlining, underscoring how one day I would be the adult working with kids like me- kids who didn't want to be worked with. I promised myself then and there that I would never forget what it was like to be the only quiet in the noisy sea of the hallway, what it was like to be the last seat at the cafeteria table and unfortunately surrounded by pom poms and big, feathered hair. I swore that I would some day give to some teenager that which no one seemed to be able to give to me; although at the time I was unsure of what that was, I am fairly certain now I know- rules, structure, motivation, and some room to be what I could be, not what I should be.
By no means am I sitting here patting myself on the back for what I do. I know I have erred in my classroom, sometimes more dramatically than others. I know there are students who have forgotten me, who have hated me, who have tried to hurt me, and who have threatened my very being. I also know that there are some for whom I was that adult they could trust, to whom I have been able to give what I never received, by whom I have been regarded as more of a mother than a teacher, with whom I have worked for hours to help them reach their highest goals, about whom I have cried when I realized that there was only so much I can do and, for a few, that just wasn't enough.
I don't love going to work, I don't love that alarm or the hours, and I sure don't love the paperwork, bureaucratic red tape, and political games that are played once I leave my classroom and head to the faculty lounge.
I do love, however, that I get to be a part of what is, for some of my students, the path of success today and in the future. Today I watched a student write a paper so carefully, so intelligently, that any outsider would look at him and at what he wrote and wonder how and why he was in my class at my school and not in an AP class at a traditional campus instead. His work is insightful, thought-provoking, and written on a level beyond that which I usually see in my freshman class. This is him today. Two years ago he barely wrote a word, said a word, read a word. He refused to put in any effort, make any gains, and, for all intent and purpose, presented himself as a complete and utter dunce.
I get to see this change, something that not the rest of the world doesn't always get to see. I get to smile inwardly as this student - the same one who would put his head down and sleep for days and then bitch about the fact that I woke him up - this student now questions what he reads, reads beyond the words, and asks for more so that he can truly understand. He is one of many who, over the years, I have had the good fortune to see embrace young adulthood and turn around for the better. He is one of the many who make my job worth the politics and bullsh*t, because the knowledge that he and the others like him will be okay is more than enough. I don't know if I have necessarily accomplished what those adamant pen-strokes intended back in the day, but I am glad to at least be able to say I am trying.
I hated high school. Hated the students, the environment, the rules, the work. I spent four very long years being terribly miserable as a given, occasionally happy, and often-times oblivious. There were a handful of teachers who provided me with lifelines, a handful of friends who weren't dragging me to hell, and a handful of family who forgave me enough to see past my self-imposed angst and to see instead who I was and what I could be.
One evening, in some long-ago manhandled journal, I tore into the page of the night with my pen, underlining, underscoring how one day I would be the adult working with kids like me- kids who didn't want to be worked with. I promised myself then and there that I would never forget what it was like to be the only quiet in the noisy sea of the hallway, what it was like to be the last seat at the cafeteria table and unfortunately surrounded by pom poms and big, feathered hair. I swore that I would some day give to some teenager that which no one seemed to be able to give to me; although at the time I was unsure of what that was, I am fairly certain now I know- rules, structure, motivation, and some room to be what I could be, not what I should be.
By no means am I sitting here patting myself on the back for what I do. I know I have erred in my classroom, sometimes more dramatically than others. I know there are students who have forgotten me, who have hated me, who have tried to hurt me, and who have threatened my very being. I also know that there are some for whom I was that adult they could trust, to whom I have been able to give what I never received, by whom I have been regarded as more of a mother than a teacher, with whom I have worked for hours to help them reach their highest goals, about whom I have cried when I realized that there was only so much I can do and, for a few, that just wasn't enough.
I don't love going to work, I don't love that alarm or the hours, and I sure don't love the paperwork, bureaucratic red tape, and political games that are played once I leave my classroom and head to the faculty lounge.
I do love, however, that I get to be a part of what is, for some of my students, the path of success today and in the future. Today I watched a student write a paper so carefully, so intelligently, that any outsider would look at him and at what he wrote and wonder how and why he was in my class at my school and not in an AP class at a traditional campus instead. His work is insightful, thought-provoking, and written on a level beyond that which I usually see in my freshman class. This is him today. Two years ago he barely wrote a word, said a word, read a word. He refused to put in any effort, make any gains, and, for all intent and purpose, presented himself as a complete and utter dunce.
I get to see this change, something that not the rest of the world doesn't always get to see. I get to smile inwardly as this student - the same one who would put his head down and sleep for days and then bitch about the fact that I woke him up - this student now questions what he reads, reads beyond the words, and asks for more so that he can truly understand. He is one of many who, over the years, I have had the good fortune to see embrace young adulthood and turn around for the better. He is one of the many who make my job worth the politics and bullsh*t, because the knowledge that he and the others like him will be okay is more than enough. I don't know if I have necessarily accomplished what those adamant pen-strokes intended back in the day, but I am glad to at least be able to say I am trying.
25 November 2012
Yes, Eibhlin, There is a Santa Claus.
DAY TWENTY-FIVE - 25 November 2012
There are so many ways in which my seven year old is a mini adult, it's scary. She thinks like one, analyzes like one, can synthesize like one, perceives the world like one, reads like one, has attitude like one, and then some. I know we've pushed her and expected more of her during her life because she is capable of so much, but I also know we've tried very hard to allow her to be a child instead of a very small 40 year old woman. In some ways we've been very successful; she has an 8 pm bedtime, sleeps with a nightlight, and cuddles with stuffed animals as she drifts off to sleep. In other areas, well, we haven't been able to keep that internal ancient from rearing its omnipotent head as she speaks. However, as any good adult does, Eibhlin has tried to convince herself of many things that are not real-- including Santa Claus.
As a first grader, she told me it was absolutely impossible for Santa to exist, that there is no such magic that would allow his annual travel to occur. She told me that there is no way Santa could be real, because if he was real, then all children would have presents under their tree each year and, well, that's not the case. She told me that reindeer are just caribou, that elves are imagined, and that surely it must be the parents who gave presents and ate the cookies left out with care. To this I replied, "Is that what you believe?", to which she answered, "Yes." I said, "Okay," she gave me a wise look and smiled, and that was the end of that.
As a second grader, she remained mute on the subject, silent in response to questions about Santa and what he would bring her. She remained a passive receiver of gifts under the tree and candy canes from the Santa at Cabela's. She made lists for us and for her grandparents-- but put nothing on one for Santa. Unconscious omission? Perhaps, though I think it more likely that she just wasn't making a scene about the fact that Santa was us, we are him, and really, we know what's on the list anyway.
As a third grader, Eibhlin has a renewed passion for Mr. Claus and his occupation. She has written several letters, none of which I have been allowed to read, and mailed them with great care and extra stamps. She wants to see him at Cabela's, leave for him some cookies, and she told me that she even asked in one of her letters if he preferred soy milk to cow's milk so that we could be sure to get which one he prefers. Today, she most adamantly said, " I DO BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS." She does believe. She does want to believe. And for this season, those two sentiments are one and the same.
I promised myself I would never lie to my children about Santa and I haven't yet. If they ask me point blank for the truth, I give it to them. However, if they walk the line, dabble in the gray area of hope versus reality, then who am I to kick them in the knees? There is plenty of time for our children to grow up and away from the hearts of childhood and the imagination of youth. If she needs to believe just this one last year- needs it so much that she is convincing herself day after day after day that he is real and he loves her and all of the other children in the world- then that is enough for me. I love that she is so much an adult that a part of her realizes that this belief in Saint Nick is one of the last strongholds in childhood, that after Santa goes then so does so much more.
I am thankful that she is wise enough to have rekindled her own hope and belief, that she wants it badly enough to work for it, that she isn't ready to give up her giggles and snuggles and littleness just yet. I am not sure how much longer she will allow herself to be so young and naive, but for the few more days or weeks or minutes that she is embracing her child-self, I will smile and thank her for being who she is, regardless of how old she feels that day.
There are so many ways in which my seven year old is a mini adult, it's scary. She thinks like one, analyzes like one, can synthesize like one, perceives the world like one, reads like one, has attitude like one, and then some. I know we've pushed her and expected more of her during her life because she is capable of so much, but I also know we've tried very hard to allow her to be a child instead of a very small 40 year old woman. In some ways we've been very successful; she has an 8 pm bedtime, sleeps with a nightlight, and cuddles with stuffed animals as she drifts off to sleep. In other areas, well, we haven't been able to keep that internal ancient from rearing its omnipotent head as she speaks. However, as any good adult does, Eibhlin has tried to convince herself of many things that are not real-- including Santa Claus.
As a first grader, she told me it was absolutely impossible for Santa to exist, that there is no such magic that would allow his annual travel to occur. She told me that there is no way Santa could be real, because if he was real, then all children would have presents under their tree each year and, well, that's not the case. She told me that reindeer are just caribou, that elves are imagined, and that surely it must be the parents who gave presents and ate the cookies left out with care. To this I replied, "Is that what you believe?", to which she answered, "Yes." I said, "Okay," she gave me a wise look and smiled, and that was the end of that.
As a second grader, she remained mute on the subject, silent in response to questions about Santa and what he would bring her. She remained a passive receiver of gifts under the tree and candy canes from the Santa at Cabela's. She made lists for us and for her grandparents-- but put nothing on one for Santa. Unconscious omission? Perhaps, though I think it more likely that she just wasn't making a scene about the fact that Santa was us, we are him, and really, we know what's on the list anyway.
As a third grader, Eibhlin has a renewed passion for Mr. Claus and his occupation. She has written several letters, none of which I have been allowed to read, and mailed them with great care and extra stamps. She wants to see him at Cabela's, leave for him some cookies, and she told me that she even asked in one of her letters if he preferred soy milk to cow's milk so that we could be sure to get which one he prefers. Today, she most adamantly said, " I DO BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS." She does believe. She does want to believe. And for this season, those two sentiments are one and the same.
I promised myself I would never lie to my children about Santa and I haven't yet. If they ask me point blank for the truth, I give it to them. However, if they walk the line, dabble in the gray area of hope versus reality, then who am I to kick them in the knees? There is plenty of time for our children to grow up and away from the hearts of childhood and the imagination of youth. If she needs to believe just this one last year- needs it so much that she is convincing herself day after day after day that he is real and he loves her and all of the other children in the world- then that is enough for me. I love that she is so much an adult that a part of her realizes that this belief in Saint Nick is one of the last strongholds in childhood, that after Santa goes then so does so much more.
I am thankful that she is wise enough to have rekindled her own hope and belief, that she wants it badly enough to work for it, that she isn't ready to give up her giggles and snuggles and littleness just yet. I am not sure how much longer she will allow herself to be so young and naive, but for the few more days or weeks or minutes that she is embracing her child-self, I will smile and thank her for being who she is, regardless of how old she feels that day.
FLYING, RUNNING, FOOD, AND MORE FLYING.
DAY TWENTY - 20 November 2012
Tuesday was a busy day, even by our standards. We had work and school, packing to do, dogs to drop off, a house to close up, and an early flight to Boston to catch. The kids were running ragged, we were exhausted, and, as we sat in row 16 of our Jet Blue flight, we realized that we had four very long hours ahead of us during which we had to keep the children entertained.We had high hopes that Jet Blue's in-seat television setup would be all we need, but with the glitches and the lack of sound (who the hell forgot to pack the headsets?), that reprieve last about 10 minutes. Fortunately, the boys didn't really care and after a while they just stared at the screen, lost in their own inner dialogues. Uilleam kept himself busy by ripping apart magazines and climbing all over us. Eibhlin was a different story; she was bored, so bored, and was trying so hard to behave. Fortunately for her - and for us - her seatmate was a saint!
This young man, a freshman at TCU this year and self-proclaimed "Chatty Chris", was on his way home to Boston for the holidays and was just thrilled to make the acquaintance of one very verbose little 7 year old. They talked about the ocean and how sharks were scary, about TCU and Rice University and about how Eibhlin can't wait to be an owl, about "iCarly" and "Good Luck, Charlie" and a host of other tween shows. They talked birthdays and holidays, favorite colors and vacation destinations, and so much more. Eibhlin couldn't have been happier and this young man couldn't have been kinder. Thank you, Chris, not only for making our lives easier by keeping Eibhlin entertained, but more for making one little girl's evening just perfect...which we could tell it was, based on how red she turned when we mentioned your name later on.
DAY TWENTY-ONE - 21 November 2012
The day began with a run. I hate running. I really, really do. It is boring and miserable and painful and not at all the "freeing" sport people claim it is. Personally, I think those people have themselves completely deluded; I cannot see how anyone can consider running fun and exhilarating instead of what it really is -- insane. It does do amazing things for one's thighs and calves, but aside from that- blech. However, this morning's run in the 35-degree MA morning was sunny, relaxing, and worth every OMFG-what-am-I-doing minute of it. For a brief moment (or 29), my mind was clear and all I thought about was the next hill, the next turn, the next mile. A little bit of clarity is a good thing; it almost makes the running bullsh*t worthwhile...sometimes.
DAY TWENTY-TWO - 22 November 2012
Thanksgiving Day. I am thankful to again be able to sit back and take in all that the world has to offer, all that my head and my heart and my spirit can hold, all that is available to be seen and loved and appreciated and witnessed. Family, friends, warmth, love, forgiveness, rebirth - I am so fortunate to have the world that I have, the world in which I live, love, and am loved. I have more than I ever could have imagined in so many aspects of my life and for that and more, on this day, I am truly thankful.
DAY TWENTY-THREE - 23 November 2012
After a whirlwind week of food, family, fun, flying, etc., it is time to head back home to Arlington. I can't come up with a singular thing to be thankful for on this Black Friday. All I can think of is how wonderful it is that between Logan and Atlanta, everyone got a meal they liked and were willing to eat, full enough so that they all slept quietly for most of our trip home. Peace and quiet at last.
DAY TWENTY-FOUR - 24 November 2012
I am thankful for my family's willingness to take on a little adventure when I get a wild hair up my ass. I don't sit still well and so find myself coming up with little trips to take, projects to take on, groups to join, etc. all in an effort to quell the gypsy inside when she gets too loud (she is great and is the reason I have lived the life I have, but sometimes she moves around too much for my own sanity).
My family has graciously gone along with the vast majority of my schemes and plans, even the ones that involves hours on the road for minutes of amusement. They even came up with a motivating cheer, "What stops this family? NOTHING (except volcanoes, tornadoes, and maybe hurricanes)!" in support of my drive to go, go, go. I am so thankful for them and their thoughtful and smiling participation in all of my wild exploits. Without them, none of it would be anywhere near as much fun as it is.
Tuesday was a busy day, even by our standards. We had work and school, packing to do, dogs to drop off, a house to close up, and an early flight to Boston to catch. The kids were running ragged, we were exhausted, and, as we sat in row 16 of our Jet Blue flight, we realized that we had four very long hours ahead of us during which we had to keep the children entertained.We had high hopes that Jet Blue's in-seat television setup would be all we need, but with the glitches and the lack of sound (who the hell forgot to pack the headsets?), that reprieve last about 10 minutes. Fortunately, the boys didn't really care and after a while they just stared at the screen, lost in their own inner dialogues. Uilleam kept himself busy by ripping apart magazines and climbing all over us. Eibhlin was a different story; she was bored, so bored, and was trying so hard to behave. Fortunately for her - and for us - her seatmate was a saint!
This young man, a freshman at TCU this year and self-proclaimed "Chatty Chris", was on his way home to Boston for the holidays and was just thrilled to make the acquaintance of one very verbose little 7 year old. They talked about the ocean and how sharks were scary, about TCU and Rice University and about how Eibhlin can't wait to be an owl, about "iCarly" and "Good Luck, Charlie" and a host of other tween shows. They talked birthdays and holidays, favorite colors and vacation destinations, and so much more. Eibhlin couldn't have been happier and this young man couldn't have been kinder. Thank you, Chris, not only for making our lives easier by keeping Eibhlin entertained, but more for making one little girl's evening just perfect...which we could tell it was, based on how red she turned when we mentioned your name later on.
DAY TWENTY-ONE - 21 November 2012
The day began with a run. I hate running. I really, really do. It is boring and miserable and painful and not at all the "freeing" sport people claim it is. Personally, I think those people have themselves completely deluded; I cannot see how anyone can consider running fun and exhilarating instead of what it really is -- insane. It does do amazing things for one's thighs and calves, but aside from that- blech. However, this morning's run in the 35-degree MA morning was sunny, relaxing, and worth every OMFG-what-am-I-doing minute of it. For a brief moment (or 29), my mind was clear and all I thought about was the next hill, the next turn, the next mile. A little bit of clarity is a good thing; it almost makes the running bullsh*t worthwhile...sometimes.
DAY TWENTY-TWO - 22 November 2012
Thanksgiving Day. I am thankful to again be able to sit back and take in all that the world has to offer, all that my head and my heart and my spirit can hold, all that is available to be seen and loved and appreciated and witnessed. Family, friends, warmth, love, forgiveness, rebirth - I am so fortunate to have the world that I have, the world in which I live, love, and am loved. I have more than I ever could have imagined in so many aspects of my life and for that and more, on this day, I am truly thankful.
DAY TWENTY-THREE - 23 November 2012
After a whirlwind week of food, family, fun, flying, etc., it is time to head back home to Arlington. I can't come up with a singular thing to be thankful for on this Black Friday. All I can think of is how wonderful it is that between Logan and Atlanta, everyone got a meal they liked and were willing to eat, full enough so that they all slept quietly for most of our trip home. Peace and quiet at last.
DAY TWENTY-FOUR - 24 November 2012
I am thankful for my family's willingness to take on a little adventure when I get a wild hair up my ass. I don't sit still well and so find myself coming up with little trips to take, projects to take on, groups to join, etc. all in an effort to quell the gypsy inside when she gets too loud (she is great and is the reason I have lived the life I have, but sometimes she moves around too much for my own sanity).
My family has graciously gone along with the vast majority of my schemes and plans, even the ones that involves hours on the road for minutes of amusement. They even came up with a motivating cheer, "What stops this family? NOTHING (except volcanoes, tornadoes, and maybe hurricanes)!" in support of my drive to go, go, go. I am so thankful for them and their thoughtful and smiling participation in all of my wild exploits. Without them, none of it would be anywhere near as much fun as it is.
20 November 2012
Youth-Tinted Glasses: Get Yourself a Pair.
DAY NINETEEN - 19 November 2012
I am so grateful for what my children help me to see. Through their eyes I get to experience so much I had forgotten about, ideas and thoughts that wasted away along with my childhood and early adulthood.
Do YOU remember how much fun it is to run around and play tag for hours, with kids you may not even know, screaming across the playground and school yard with reckless abandon?
Do YOU remember how nervous, exciting, exhilarating, nauseating, embarrassing, amazing it is/you are when you perform in front of your classmates and family?
Do YOU remember how awesome you feel when you have figured out that all of those letters make sounds, those sounds make words, those words make thoughts and now you- yes, you!- are among the inner circle who understand what goes on inside of books?
Do YOU remember how warm and comforting it is to sit down with your dog, scratch his belly and rub his ears, receive licks and give hugs, all without care for your clothes or your hair or anything else in the world?
Do YOU remember what it felt like to throw a ball with all your might, watch it fly through the air and bounce off the wall, the couch, the floor, your brother, whatever...then chase it and do it all over again?
Do YOU remember how exciting it was to pack your suitcase full of fun and books and toys and ideas, all to be used with complete joy at your destination?
Do you?
I can't imagine being my age now and not being asked to remember those feelings, those moments of utter peace and joy that children embrace every day. It's a lot to ask as adults that we spend our time being as carefree and wonderstruck as children, but it would be a shame to not at least try for a few moments of that, if only in what we see through the eyes of those far wiser than we.
I am so grateful for what my children help me to see. Through their eyes I get to experience so much I had forgotten about, ideas and thoughts that wasted away along with my childhood and early adulthood.
Do YOU remember how much fun it is to run around and play tag for hours, with kids you may not even know, screaming across the playground and school yard with reckless abandon?
Do YOU remember how nervous, exciting, exhilarating, nauseating, embarrassing, amazing it is/you are when you perform in front of your classmates and family?
Do YOU remember how awesome you feel when you have figured out that all of those letters make sounds, those sounds make words, those words make thoughts and now you- yes, you!- are among the inner circle who understand what goes on inside of books?
Do YOU remember how warm and comforting it is to sit down with your dog, scratch his belly and rub his ears, receive licks and give hugs, all without care for your clothes or your hair or anything else in the world?
Do YOU remember what it felt like to throw a ball with all your might, watch it fly through the air and bounce off the wall, the couch, the floor, your brother, whatever...then chase it and do it all over again?
Do YOU remember how exciting it was to pack your suitcase full of fun and books and toys and ideas, all to be used with complete joy at your destination?
Do you?
I can't imagine being my age now and not being asked to remember those feelings, those moments of utter peace and joy that children embrace every day. It's a lot to ask as adults that we spend our time being as carefree and wonderstruck as children, but it would be a shame to not at least try for a few moments of that, if only in what we see through the eyes of those far wiser than we.
18 November 2012
McDonalds. Books. Laundry. Zebras. Puppies.
DAY FOURTEEN - 14 November 2012
People talk about how lifestyle and food changes have saved their lives, right? Well let me be the first to say that McDonalds has saved my Wednesday night wallet. Not my ass or my cholesterol count, mind you, but definitely my wallet. Wednesday nights are, hands down, the most complicated nights we have- i.e. we don't even go home after school most weeks- so cooking at home is out of the question. We have taken to hitting up the local fast food chow stations (blech, I know), but they are ridiculous in terms of bang for my buck. All of them except for McDonalds.
I can feed the entire family for under $20 off the value menu. Yes, sir...our total yesterday evening came to a whopping $18.20. They still don't beat CiCi's pizza, where we can all eat for $15, but it's pretty damn close AND I can let them eat it in the car (unlike CiCi's...it's definitely easier to clean up a fry mess than a pie mess). I can even forgive the franchise its awful food, Happy Meals, dirty Playlands, and more...how could I not, given the McChicken and the $1 LARGE drinks? For those of you who also do the eat-in-the-car-because-we-have-overlapping-practices/classes-and-this-is-our-only-chance-to-eat routine, I know you can appreciate the sigh of relief from both myself and my purse as we drive away from the drive through checker, sated and not broke (yet).
DAY FIFTEEN - 15 November 2012
Good books. That's all there is to it. Yesterday I learned to appreciate again what it felt like to sit down and become totally immersed in a book. I drew a bath, filled it with bubbles, soaked my aching legs in the scalding hot water, and read until the water was turning my toe blue. I was not reading great literature, it was not a novel for the ages, but it was interesting and fast and filled with characters so close to the hearts of the kids I teach every day that it was all that I could do to put it down - finally - and save the rest for today. Movies are great, hanging out with friends is wonderful, being with your family is irreplaceable, but I am so thankful for that solitary time spent in the bubbles. Alone. With a book. No one yelling. No one talking. Just me. And my book. Alone. (Sorry, I just know it will be years before that happens again, so I need to keep repeating it for fear of forgetting that it actually happened.) With a good book. In a bath. Alone. Quiet....Alone...Reading...
DAY SIXTEEN - 16 November 2012
Black & Decker's Digital Advantage Iron. This modern miracle cut my ironing time in half, didn't spit water, and made perfect creases in Connlaodh's uniform pants. Never would I have guess 20 years ago that I would be thankful for a new iron, but am I ever. I thank you, B & D, and my now neatly pressed oxford thanks you, as well.
DAY SEVENTEEN - 17 November 2012
Today was one of those days wherein it is easy to forget there's a reason we do what we do. The entire day was spent taking care of those items that "had" to be taken care of, i.e. groceries, cleaning, cooking, and errands. It was also one of those days where we did nothing else once the "must-dos" were done; we stayed home, stayed in, and spent the evening in PJ's watching bad movies and eating Chinese food. It was the kind of day that is easy to forget, to shut your eyes on that night without a second thought, to gloss over when someone asks what you did this weekend. This makes it all the easier to forget - on a day such as this one - that each day is worth being thankful for, even the ones that seem so benign and ill-equipped to make a mark on our memory. To find something on a day like this to hold tight and dear can be nearly impossible but, if one looks very hard, even today there was a moment for which to be truly grateful. Zebra cakes. Not the Little Debbie kind, but the kind you make with white and chocolate cake batter, overlapping in the dish, and baking into a zebra pattern. They are delicious and cool to look at, yes, but the moment I think of as that moment was the one in which Connlaodh decorated said cake--- with a little bit of icing and a whole lot of sprinkles. The cake was/is ugly, but the pure joy on his face as he decorated that cake and the leftover-batter's cupcakes was worth the dreary, dull day that lead up to that point. Thank you, yummy zebra cakes, for the slice of brightness that ended my day.
DAY EIGHTEEN - 18 November 2012
Phantom is our youngest dog. He is just over a year old and is ALL puppy. Nine days out of every ten, I am plotting a way to get rid of this creature. He jumps over everything, climbs on the counters, knocks people over, and pees when he's nervous. He has eaten at least six bluetooth headsets, two cell phones, five wired headsets, two pairs of slippers, and numerous shoes, keychains, and bags. He is a runner and thinks it's funny to haul ass out the front door and down the street. He is adorable and sweet, but a freaking menace. He is also, however, more or less Uilleam's litter mate and definitely one of "the boys". Tonight I watched Phantom wrestle with Connlaodh and Uilleam - and by wrestle, I truly do mean flips, head locks, and more- and though aggressive and offensive, nary a hair on the head of either boy was disturbed. Despite bared teeth and spit-covered growls in good fun, that dog knew- just KNEW!- he was playing with his "brothers" and that it was all a good time, a laugh, worth lots of fun and plenty of licks. I don't know who had more fun tonight, the boys or the dog. Either way, just when I think I am ready to leave the damn door open so this beast can escape, he goes and loves on my boys the way he did tonight. With a bit of a grimace--one more like a smirk-- I shut the front door and scratched his head good- night.
People talk about how lifestyle and food changes have saved their lives, right? Well let me be the first to say that McDonalds has saved my Wednesday night wallet. Not my ass or my cholesterol count, mind you, but definitely my wallet. Wednesday nights are, hands down, the most complicated nights we have- i.e. we don't even go home after school most weeks- so cooking at home is out of the question. We have taken to hitting up the local fast food chow stations (blech, I know), but they are ridiculous in terms of bang for my buck. All of them except for McDonalds.
I can feed the entire family for under $20 off the value menu. Yes, sir...our total yesterday evening came to a whopping $18.20. They still don't beat CiCi's pizza, where we can all eat for $15, but it's pretty damn close AND I can let them eat it in the car (unlike CiCi's...it's definitely easier to clean up a fry mess than a pie mess). I can even forgive the franchise its awful food, Happy Meals, dirty Playlands, and more...how could I not, given the McChicken and the $1 LARGE drinks? For those of you who also do the eat-in-the-car-because-we-have-overlapping-practices/classes-and-this-is-our-only-chance-to-eat routine, I know you can appreciate the sigh of relief from both myself and my purse as we drive away from the drive through checker, sated and not broke (yet).
DAY FIFTEEN - 15 November 2012
Good books. That's all there is to it. Yesterday I learned to appreciate again what it felt like to sit down and become totally immersed in a book. I drew a bath, filled it with bubbles, soaked my aching legs in the scalding hot water, and read until the water was turning my toe blue. I was not reading great literature, it was not a novel for the ages, but it was interesting and fast and filled with characters so close to the hearts of the kids I teach every day that it was all that I could do to put it down - finally - and save the rest for today. Movies are great, hanging out with friends is wonderful, being with your family is irreplaceable, but I am so thankful for that solitary time spent in the bubbles. Alone. With a book. No one yelling. No one talking. Just me. And my book. Alone. (Sorry, I just know it will be years before that happens again, so I need to keep repeating it for fear of forgetting that it actually happened.) With a good book. In a bath. Alone. Quiet....Alone...Reading...
DAY SIXTEEN - 16 November 2012
Black & Decker's Digital Advantage Iron. This modern miracle cut my ironing time in half, didn't spit water, and made perfect creases in Connlaodh's uniform pants. Never would I have guess 20 years ago that I would be thankful for a new iron, but am I ever. I thank you, B & D, and my now neatly pressed oxford thanks you, as well.
DAY SEVENTEEN - 17 November 2012
Today was one of those days wherein it is easy to forget there's a reason we do what we do. The entire day was spent taking care of those items that "had" to be taken care of, i.e. groceries, cleaning, cooking, and errands. It was also one of those days where we did nothing else once the "must-dos" were done; we stayed home, stayed in, and spent the evening in PJ's watching bad movies and eating Chinese food. It was the kind of day that is easy to forget, to shut your eyes on that night without a second thought, to gloss over when someone asks what you did this weekend. This makes it all the easier to forget - on a day such as this one - that each day is worth being thankful for, even the ones that seem so benign and ill-equipped to make a mark on our memory. To find something on a day like this to hold tight and dear can be nearly impossible but, if one looks very hard, even today there was a moment for which to be truly grateful. Zebra cakes. Not the Little Debbie kind, but the kind you make with white and chocolate cake batter, overlapping in the dish, and baking into a zebra pattern. They are delicious and cool to look at, yes, but the moment I think of as that moment was the one in which Connlaodh decorated said cake--- with a little bit of icing and a whole lot of sprinkles. The cake was/is ugly, but the pure joy on his face as he decorated that cake and the leftover-batter's cupcakes was worth the dreary, dull day that lead up to that point. Thank you, yummy zebra cakes, for the slice of brightness that ended my day.
DAY EIGHTEEN - 18 November 2012
Phantom is our youngest dog. He is just over a year old and is ALL puppy. Nine days out of every ten, I am plotting a way to get rid of this creature. He jumps over everything, climbs on the counters, knocks people over, and pees when he's nervous. He has eaten at least six bluetooth headsets, two cell phones, five wired headsets, two pairs of slippers, and numerous shoes, keychains, and bags. He is a runner and thinks it's funny to haul ass out the front door and down the street. He is adorable and sweet, but a freaking menace. He is also, however, more or less Uilleam's litter mate and definitely one of "the boys". Tonight I watched Phantom wrestle with Connlaodh and Uilleam - and by wrestle, I truly do mean flips, head locks, and more- and though aggressive and offensive, nary a hair on the head of either boy was disturbed. Despite bared teeth and spit-covered growls in good fun, that dog knew- just KNEW!- he was playing with his "brothers" and that it was all a good time, a laugh, worth lots of fun and plenty of licks. I don't know who had more fun tonight, the boys or the dog. Either way, just when I think I am ready to leave the damn door open so this beast can escape, he goes and loves on my boys the way he did tonight. With a bit of a grimace--one more like a smirk-- I shut the front door and scratched his head good- night.
13 November 2012
FOUR DAYS. (A Top Ten List for Each.)
I am thankful for my litter of kiddos today and every day. I thought I was whole before I had them; it wasn't until they became a part of my life that I realized just how many cracks and holes needed to be filled. I cannot begin to tell you just how quickly those gaps and cracks were filled with my love for these awesome little creatures.
DAY TEN - 10 November 2012
DAY TEN - 10 November 2012
Taidhgin, the little poet.
Ten things I love:
Ten things I love:
- His totally unabashed giggle.
- The way he tries to make his hair "shake" from side to side.
- The way that he naturally speaks quietly and is soft around babies.
- How he, at nine, still likes to snuggle and say, "I love you."
- He is so willing to see the good inside of even the darkest person.
- He can admit when he's wrong.
- He hurts more for other than he does for himself.
- He can see the humor in himself and laughs about it.
- He doesn't hide anything.
- I get to love him.
DAY ELEVEN - 11 November 2012
Eibhlin, beautiful/precious joy.
Ten things I love:
- The way that she gets peanut butter on her face when she eats fluffer-nutters.
- She loves diamonds, nail polish, stuffed animals, and farts.
- She is so damn smart.
- She never lets me forget anything, but she forgives me everything.
- She can giggle in one breath and kick you in the head in the next.
- She loves reading, and writing, and words in general...and uses them well.
- She likes to go with me to Sam's ... just for the samples. :-)
- Her room is filled with stories and songs and math problems that she makes up for herself to keep herself busy.
- When she calls me while I am out running errands just to chat and say hello.
- I get to love her.
DAY TWELVE - 12 November 2012
Connlaodh, chaste fire.
Ten things I love:
- Every emotion he has is right there for the world to see.
- He doesn't play games- he is who he is.
- Everything he does, he LOVES...until he doesn't like it anymore.
- He thinks I am the best cook ever- especially when I order pizza. :-)
- He is an amazing big brother.
- He is incredible at damn near every sport - and just rolls with it, loving the sports for what they are, not for what he looks like playing.
- He wants to fish every weekend.
- He thinks math is fun.
- When he talks, he uses his eyes for emphasis...those big, black eyes speak volumes.
- I get to love him.
DAY THIRTEEN - 13 November 2012
Uilleam, inner strength and protector.
Ten things I love:
Ten things I love:
- He is a terrorist and a love and a wild-eyed giggle monster who thinks he's five.
- He loves to bite the dogs' ears.
- He can fake tears and then laugh about it.
- He runs to me and gives me "big hugs".
- He loves karate and has an incredible kiai.
- His curls!
- His ability to outsmart every obstacle intended to keep him from the stairs, the sink, the toilet, the hall, the outside, the outlets, i.e. everywhere he shouldn't be.
- When he gives me a zerbert on my belly and then belly laughs about it until he falls over.
- He loves his brothers and sisters so much that he cries when they leave him for class.
- I get to love him.
09 November 2012
Oppan Gangnam Style.
DAY NINE - 9 November 2012
My car on the way home sounds like a (really bad) high school musical audition.
First there is my five year old singing, in his deepest, most bad-ass voice, "Oppan gangnam style! Eh- sexy lady!" I don't think there is anything funnier right now than listening to him. Really, you have to trust me on this. It's freaking hilarious.
Almost as entertaining is my seven year old singing, "I could be your Buzz Lightyear, fly across the globe" (lyrics courtesy of that musical genius, the Bieb).
Heartwarming and touching is my one year old singing, "Tinka tinka up up up," which loosely translates to "Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder what you are."
Above this lyrical cacophony is the uplifting tune of "Hot Cross Buns," being played at top screech on his beloved recorder by the nine year old in the back seat.
I nurse my migraines with both wine and ibuprofen. I rub my temples because honestly, without naming names, some of my children couldn't carry a tune if I crazy-glued it to their palms. I get teary-eyed, patiently waiting for the musical chaos to cease. I grind my teeth, hoping to ease the auditory pain by replacing it with a nice little case of TMJ. At this point, I am sure you are right there with me, wondering where in the hell this is going and how it could possibly end on a note of gratitude. Believe me, I ask myself the same thing as each day's music lesson begins and I, for the first time each day, am thankful for the slight hearing loss I have due to too many concerts in the days of yore.
There is, at the end of it all, a moment where the screeching, screaming, tra-la-la-ing ends and there is a pause; though I am thankful for that pause, that is not where my gratitude lies. It is in that, regardless of how good they are or how much room there is to improve, my children LOVE music. They love listening to it, singing it, dancing to it, making it, reading it, playing it, living it. They want to play instruments, be in the choir, dance across the room, and sing everything at the top of their lungs as if the whole world needed to hear (and, need it or not, they do!). So, once the ibuprofen kicks in, I smile at their love of and passion for any sound that resonates not just within the frame of the car, but inside themselves, as well.
My car on the way home sounds like a (really bad) high school musical audition.
First there is my five year old singing, in his deepest, most bad-ass voice, "Oppan gangnam style! Eh- sexy lady!" I don't think there is anything funnier right now than listening to him. Really, you have to trust me on this. It's freaking hilarious.
Almost as entertaining is my seven year old singing, "I could be your Buzz Lightyear, fly across the globe" (lyrics courtesy of that musical genius, the Bieb).
Heartwarming and touching is my one year old singing, "Tinka tinka up up up," which loosely translates to "Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder what you are."
Above this lyrical cacophony is the uplifting tune of "Hot Cross Buns," being played at top screech on his beloved recorder by the nine year old in the back seat.
I nurse my migraines with both wine and ibuprofen. I rub my temples because honestly, without naming names, some of my children couldn't carry a tune if I crazy-glued it to their palms. I get teary-eyed, patiently waiting for the musical chaos to cease. I grind my teeth, hoping to ease the auditory pain by replacing it with a nice little case of TMJ. At this point, I am sure you are right there with me, wondering where in the hell this is going and how it could possibly end on a note of gratitude. Believe me, I ask myself the same thing as each day's music lesson begins and I, for the first time each day, am thankful for the slight hearing loss I have due to too many concerts in the days of yore.
There is, at the end of it all, a moment where the screeching, screaming, tra-la-la-ing ends and there is a pause; though I am thankful for that pause, that is not where my gratitude lies. It is in that, regardless of how good they are or how much room there is to improve, my children LOVE music. They love listening to it, singing it, dancing to it, making it, reading it, playing it, living it. They want to play instruments, be in the choir, dance across the room, and sing everything at the top of their lungs as if the whole world needed to hear (and, need it or not, they do!). So, once the ibuprofen kicks in, I smile at their love of and passion for any sound that resonates not just within the frame of the car, but inside themselves, as well.
Mr. Chatterbox.
DAY EIGHT - 8 November 2012 (on 9 November 2012....one day I will get back on top of this)
HE CAN TALK. That's right, folks, Uilleam can talk. It's not much, it's not clear, it's not always, but it's there. It happens, even in the right context! "Bye bye", "ball", "Aiko", "hello", "puppy", "Momma", "Taidhgin", "hay" (don't ask), "belly", "cup", "Daddy", and a handful more...not a lot, I know. I get it. I have one of my own who could speak in complete sentences at 18 months, so I know that Uilleam's handful of words is not impressive by most people's standards.
But -
for a kid who was so early in his birth, so delayed in his speech and in his hearing, and so used to having three other children talk for him, this is TOTALLY AWESOME.
Thank you for your words, sweet boy. Momma loves you.
HE CAN TALK. That's right, folks, Uilleam can talk. It's not much, it's not clear, it's not always, but it's there. It happens, even in the right context! "Bye bye", "ball", "Aiko", "hello", "puppy", "Momma", "Taidhgin", "hay" (don't ask), "belly", "cup", "Daddy", and a handful more...not a lot, I know. I get it. I have one of my own who could speak in complete sentences at 18 months, so I know that Uilleam's handful of words is not impressive by most people's standards.
But -
for a kid who was so early in his birth, so delayed in his speech and in his hearing, and so used to having three other children talk for him, this is TOTALLY AWESOME.
Thank you for your words, sweet boy. Momma loves you.
08 November 2012
Where Are My Shoes?
DAY SEVEN - 7 November 2012
Well, well, well...couldn't even make it a week before I fell off the wagon. It's a wonder I actually remember to put on shoes in the morning these days, let alone take some time at night to give thanks. Yet somehow I do remember my shoes...and not the blog. Priorities. Tsk, tsk.
Before Day Eight starts to wrap up, I wanted to make sure that I had taken a moment or two to reflect on Day Seven. Of course, I am reflecting on Day Eight, so it's really your call as to how you would like this post applied. In my mind, however, I am still thinking back to yesterday, having had my thoughts last evening cut unfairly short by my body's need for sleep (i.e. I passed out cold).
Yesterday was a long day, literally and figuratively. Much of my day was spent traveling between schools and dojos and classes and work and home...with time spent each place reviewing homework and grading papers and watching classes and buying dinner and maintaining a loose grasp on my functional capabilities. With the whirlwind that is our lives, I often take for granted that the whirlwind itself- 99% awesome and 1% hell (ok, maybe it's more a 60/40 split some days) is something that, in and of itself, I am so privileged to have. There are so many people- and many in our lives- for whom the number of activities and events and things they do is not an option not because they don't want to, but because they truly cannot afford to, financially or otherwise. There are days when I wish we didn't have as much going on as we do; I know there are even more days when other people wish they did.
So, for as tired as I am, as full as my calendar is, and as much I would love a whole week to myself, I cannot continue without at least acknowledging that what we have and what can have is more than enough...and for that I am so very, very thankful.
Well, well, well...couldn't even make it a week before I fell off the wagon. It's a wonder I actually remember to put on shoes in the morning these days, let alone take some time at night to give thanks. Yet somehow I do remember my shoes...and not the blog. Priorities. Tsk, tsk.
Before Day Eight starts to wrap up, I wanted to make sure that I had taken a moment or two to reflect on Day Seven. Of course, I am reflecting on Day Eight, so it's really your call as to how you would like this post applied. In my mind, however, I am still thinking back to yesterday, having had my thoughts last evening cut unfairly short by my body's need for sleep (i.e. I passed out cold).
Yesterday was a long day, literally and figuratively. Much of my day was spent traveling between schools and dojos and classes and work and home...with time spent each place reviewing homework and grading papers and watching classes and buying dinner and maintaining a loose grasp on my functional capabilities. With the whirlwind that is our lives, I often take for granted that the whirlwind itself- 99% awesome and 1% hell (ok, maybe it's more a 60/40 split some days) is something that, in and of itself, I am so privileged to have. There are so many people- and many in our lives- for whom the number of activities and events and things they do is not an option not because they don't want to, but because they truly cannot afford to, financially or otherwise. There are days when I wish we didn't have as much going on as we do; I know there are even more days when other people wish they did.
So, for as tired as I am, as full as my calendar is, and as much I would love a whole week to myself, I cannot continue without at least acknowledging that what we have and what can have is more than enough...and for that I am so very, very thankful.
06 November 2012
Gandhi Was Right.
DAY SIX - Tuesday, 6 November 2012
(I want to make sure this is posted before the last polls close for fear that some folks out there might perceive a results-bias in my comment this evening. So please note, those who judge, that there are still almost four hours before the last polls close in Alaska. Close is still where this race is at. With that being said...)
I am so glad there there are people in my life (and in the lives of my children) who, regardless of political slant or religious tenets, refuse to spread hate and hurt and instead spread tolerance and acceptance. Gandhi once said that "honest disagreement is often a good sign of progress." The benefit of being "us" and "U.S." is that we are encouraged to have discourse and discussion that views and debates all sides (please notice the use of the word all; it seems we have forgotten there are more than two sides to every coin). While there are many friends and family with whom I share common beliefs and values, there are just as many with whom I don't...and that is good.
What isn't good is that so many on both sides of the fence have resorted to sounding very much like my adolescent students in not only their argument but in their inability to listen to anyone besides their own sophomoric selves. The hate, the name-calling, the nasty comments about the mental capacity of those who disagree- these are the tactics used by the drama mamas, mean girls, and immature bullies who appall and enrage the adults about whom I speak.
And so tonight, thank you to those who remember to practice the tolerance, acceptance, compassion, honesty, loyalty, strength, etc. that they preach, from whatever pulpit they are preaching- be it liberal, Catholic, Mormon, centrist, Democrat, Republican, straight, gay, whatever- because it is one's true colors (not the one next to the name you selected on your ballot) that will still be seen long after today's results are tallied...and some of them are not nice to look at at all.
(I want to make sure this is posted before the last polls close for fear that some folks out there might perceive a results-bias in my comment this evening. So please note, those who judge, that there are still almost four hours before the last polls close in Alaska. Close is still where this race is at. With that being said...)
I am so glad there there are people in my life (and in the lives of my children) who, regardless of political slant or religious tenets, refuse to spread hate and hurt and instead spread tolerance and acceptance. Gandhi once said that "honest disagreement is often a good sign of progress." The benefit of being "us" and "U.S." is that we are encouraged to have discourse and discussion that views and debates all sides (please notice the use of the word all; it seems we have forgotten there are more than two sides to every coin). While there are many friends and family with whom I share common beliefs and values, there are just as many with whom I don't...and that is good.
What isn't good is that so many on both sides of the fence have resorted to sounding very much like my adolescent students in not only their argument but in their inability to listen to anyone besides their own sophomoric selves. The hate, the name-calling, the nasty comments about the mental capacity of those who disagree- these are the tactics used by the drama mamas, mean girls, and immature bullies who appall and enrage the adults about whom I speak.
And so tonight, thank you to those who remember to practice the tolerance, acceptance, compassion, honesty, loyalty, strength, etc. that they preach, from whatever pulpit they are preaching- be it liberal, Catholic, Mormon, centrist, Democrat, Republican, straight, gay, whatever- because it is one's true colors (not the one next to the name you selected on your ballot) that will still be seen long after today's results are tallied...and some of them are not nice to look at at all.
05 November 2012
Toot Toot, Chugga Chugga.
DAY FIVE - Monday, 5 November 2012
Tonight I am thankful for YouTube...and full length videos by the Wiggles and Baby Einstein.
5 pm: Taidhgin, Eibhlin, and Connlaodh went to art class at Art Smart.
5:05 pm: Mom and Uilleam went to the resale shop..
5:18 pm: Mom and Uilleam left the resale shop because Uilleam decided it was more fun to pull clothes off the rack than it was to be in the provided play area.
What to do with 42 minutes left to kill? Let's head back to art class so Uilleam can color and play with blocks! Woohoo!
5:25 pm: Uilleam decided the blocks belonged in the plants and the crayon belonged on the walls.
What was a mother (who was trying to pretend she was a good one) to do? I know! Let's YouTube painfully bubbly children's music videos...and so we did. And so all was good. And so for the next 35 minutes, Uilleam was thoroughly engaged and entertained by a selection of hideously colorful videos of Greg, Anthony, Jeff, and that other guy as well as Baby Macdonald, courtesy of someone who stole the video from Baby Einstein.
Thank you, YouTube...my sanity and Art Smart thank you, too.
PS- Just as a side note, I am also thankful today for Connlaodh and his love for Uilleam. This morning Connlaodh was to take to school a picture of someone or something for which he was thankful.
His picture?
One of him holding Uilleam that I took last week when I brought Uilleam to school to have lunch with his big brother.
How sweet is that?
Tonight I am thankful for YouTube...and full length videos by the Wiggles and Baby Einstein.
5 pm: Taidhgin, Eibhlin, and Connlaodh went to art class at Art Smart.
5:05 pm: Mom and Uilleam went to the resale shop..
5:18 pm: Mom and Uilleam left the resale shop because Uilleam decided it was more fun to pull clothes off the rack than it was to be in the provided play area.
What to do with 42 minutes left to kill? Let's head back to art class so Uilleam can color and play with blocks! Woohoo!
5:25 pm: Uilleam decided the blocks belonged in the plants and the crayon belonged on the walls.
What was a mother (who was trying to pretend she was a good one) to do? I know! Let's YouTube painfully bubbly children's music videos...and so we did. And so all was good. And so for the next 35 minutes, Uilleam was thoroughly engaged and entertained by a selection of hideously colorful videos of Greg, Anthony, Jeff, and that other guy as well as Baby Macdonald, courtesy of someone who stole the video from Baby Einstein.
Thank you, YouTube...my sanity and Art Smart thank you, too.
PS- Just as a side note, I am also thankful today for Connlaodh and his love for Uilleam. This morning Connlaodh was to take to school a picture of someone or something for which he was thankful.
His picture?
One of him holding Uilleam that I took last week when I brought Uilleam to school to have lunch with his big brother.
How sweet is that?
04 November 2012
Basic Color Theory
DAY FOUR - Sunday, 4 November 2012
There are few things more awesome than the colors of the world on a day like today. The vivid sky the blue of promise, the bright sun the yellow-orange-white of passion and newness, the reaching grass the green of serenity and strength, the welcoming lake the deep cerulean of endless days and laughter. Every minute out in that world, every moment to breathe in the colors of life...for these I am thankful.
Apparently I am not the only one who subscribes to the Basic Color Theory:
There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice.
John Calvin
I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.
Alice Walker
I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way - things I had no words for.
Georgia O'Keeffe
There are few things more awesome than the colors of the world on a day like today. The vivid sky the blue of promise, the bright sun the yellow-orange-white of passion and newness, the reaching grass the green of serenity and strength, the welcoming lake the deep cerulean of endless days and laughter. Every minute out in that world, every moment to breathe in the colors of life...for these I am thankful.
Apparently I am not the only one who subscribes to the Basic Color Theory:
There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice.
John Calvin
I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.
Alice Walker
I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way - things I had no words for.
Georgia O'Keeffe
03 November 2012
Being Late is the New On Time. I Swear.
I have to admit that I have been looking forward to writing my 30 days of thanks for a while now. It seems like this time last year was the only time I was actually to make myself sit down and think, as well as to write a few lines about that for which I was most grateful each day. I have a lot in my life to be thankful for- probably more than I deserve- and I relish the opportunity to tell the world (or at least the three of you who read this).
And then life got in the way and now we're on day three. Two days gone, one fading fast, and I am going to have to adjust the "write your thanks blog'" alarm on my phone, because it obviously isn't working.
DAY ONE - Thursday, 1 November 2012
I am so thankful that so few of our friends and family back East were tragically impacted by Sandy. I know there are inconveniences for many of them, some very trying, but most everyone managed to come through with their homes, their health, and the majority of their sanity.
DAY TWO - Friday, 2 November 2012
I LOVE THOSE DITTO DASHERS! I know some of you will recall how excited I was last year to be a part of the Ditto Dashers Track Club. This year I get to help out AGAIN!- and so again I get to see those little guys run with all of their hearts and with big, toothy grins on their faces. They moved track club to the morning instead of after school- a move I was sure would make it nowhere near as fun- and that was the best decision ever. Now I get to start each Friday with all of those hopeful little people, people who laugh and love and cry and smile at 100%, people who run run run run run as fast as their legs can - just because they can, people who come straight to me for their lap mark, so proud of how many they've done. I can't think of a better way to start my day than with those contagious smiles.
DAY THREE - Saturday, 3 November 2012
I am thankful for friends for whom distance is not an issue. You know, the ones you can see once a year, once every couple of years, once a whenever, and yet every time you pick right up from where you left off? I am so lucky to have several people like that in my life, scattered from coast to coast. I have said good-bye so many times over the years, left homes and apartments and states without looking back, and easily could have lost those friendships in the moves. However, unlike my black jeans (which are STILL somewhere in a box in the garage even after having moved in here 7 months ago), these people are still accessible in my world, still fit so well in my life, and for that I am grateful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)