We all have dates we don't like. Not the kind with the annoying person, but dates on the calendar with significance that bring us down, make us sad (or in some cases, glad).
My new least favorite date will be March 22.
On this day, one of my best friends will move away. I'm happy for her, for her new life, so needed, and the wonderful changes that are in store for her and her four girls. I know everything happens for a reason. But, good golly, it's going to suck. Summer in the pool will be missing four friends to splash with, and a mom for me to swish wine with. (Yeah, I'm crying now.)
On this day, too, my little boy has surgery scheduled. Nothing major, just helping finish what Mother Nature didn't. But, still... it's my baby boy.
Is it April yet?
Thursday, February 21
Wednesday, February 20
Won't You Be My Neighbor?
Yesterday was a birthday.
Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood turned 45.
Mr. Rogers Neighborhood Remix
I love Mr. Rogers. When I was little, I thought he was my dad. Or, rather, I thought my daddy was Mr. Rogers. I did! He looked just like him, my little four year old mind thought. Imagine the sadness when I realized he wasn't.
As I grew, I would always watch Mr. Rogers on TV when I stayed home sick from school. It was one of the perks. Even as I entered adulthood, and I took the occasional sick day, or mental health day, from work, I always made sure to watch Mr. Rogers. It was a comfort to me.
I was pregnant with my first when I learned that he had passed away. My husband told me, and then, later, my boss. My wonderful boss I had at the time allowed me a few minutes to cry in the comfort of his office. And I did! I always wanted to meet Mr. Rogers.
When my oldest was born, she and I would watch him on days that I was home with her. When I became a stay at home mom, I made sure to watch the show with my two, and then three, girls.
A few years ago, PBS stopped airing the syndicated reruns. I learned this just last year when looking to watch him and make him part of our day with baby girl number 4. So sad, was I.
Occasionally, we can rent videos from our local library. I'm going to make a point of doing so more often, fighting over the sparse few copies our library has in circulation with a friend.
So, go celebrate a little Make Believe, neighbor!
Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood turned 45.
Mr. Rogers Neighborhood Remix
I love Mr. Rogers. When I was little, I thought he was my dad. Or, rather, I thought my daddy was Mr. Rogers. I did! He looked just like him, my little four year old mind thought. Imagine the sadness when I realized he wasn't.
As I grew, I would always watch Mr. Rogers on TV when I stayed home sick from school. It was one of the perks. Even as I entered adulthood, and I took the occasional sick day, or mental health day, from work, I always made sure to watch Mr. Rogers. It was a comfort to me.
I was pregnant with my first when I learned that he had passed away. My husband told me, and then, later, my boss. My wonderful boss I had at the time allowed me a few minutes to cry in the comfort of his office. And I did! I always wanted to meet Mr. Rogers.
When my oldest was born, she and I would watch him on days that I was home with her. When I became a stay at home mom, I made sure to watch the show with my two, and then three, girls.
A few years ago, PBS stopped airing the syndicated reruns. I learned this just last year when looking to watch him and make him part of our day with baby girl number 4. So sad, was I.
Occasionally, we can rent videos from our local library. I'm going to make a point of doing so more often, fighting over the sparse few copies our library has in circulation with a friend.
So, go celebrate a little Make Believe, neighbor!
Tuesday, February 5
Police Prescence
For the last six weeks, policemen have been at my children's schools. Squad cars parked outside. Men inside. Dogs on patrol.
In one school, the police officer and principal stand at the end of the hallway during dismissal time, grim, serious looks on their faces. It's disheartening. It's frustrating.
I can no longer walk about the school to tend to my duties as PTO Treasurer without inconveniencing myself, my family, or the school staff. I can no longer peek my head into their classrooms, to see their blonde rimmed faces smile at me and wave from the in the middle of the pile of friends. I can no longer give my teacher friend a quick wave or hug of support during her sometimes long, long days.
My children's schools should not be this way. This does not make them safer. This does not make me feel more at ease.
All of the parents nod their head in support of this measure. "Something needs to be done," they say. But I know I am not alone in feeling that this is all more than needs to be done. I know this because I've talked to people, who, like me, have said "I feel this way, too, but I'm too scared to say it."
So I will say it.
I don't support having an armed police officer in my school. Not when my children are 5 years old. I will agree that some policies in the schools were lax, and needed review. But not with a gun, for my children to see every day, at the young age of 5.
They are far too young to grow up so quick. Their innocence will be gone before I know it. Their innocence should be allowed at school. Nurtured. Protected. But not this way.
In one school, the police officer and principal stand at the end of the hallway during dismissal time, grim, serious looks on their faces. It's disheartening. It's frustrating.
I can no longer walk about the school to tend to my duties as PTO Treasurer without inconveniencing myself, my family, or the school staff. I can no longer peek my head into their classrooms, to see their blonde rimmed faces smile at me and wave from the in the middle of the pile of friends. I can no longer give my teacher friend a quick wave or hug of support during her sometimes long, long days.
My children's schools should not be this way. This does not make them safer. This does not make me feel more at ease.
All of the parents nod their head in support of this measure. "Something needs to be done," they say. But I know I am not alone in feeling that this is all more than needs to be done. I know this because I've talked to people, who, like me, have said "I feel this way, too, but I'm too scared to say it."
So I will say it.
I know what happened six weeks ago, so very, very nearby. I know.
That is not the norm. The chances of that happening again are so infinitesimal.
I don't support having an armed police officer in my school. Not when my children are 5 years old. I will agree that some policies in the schools were lax, and needed review. But not with a gun, for my children to see every day, at the young age of 5.
They are far too young to grow up so quick. Their innocence will be gone before I know it. Their innocence should be allowed at school. Nurtured. Protected. But not this way.
Thursday, January 24
Why We Walked Away
Gossip. Mistrust.
It's no secret that we walked away from a few friendships in recent years. It's not due to who some of those friendships decided to keep or not keep in their lives. People are free to choose who they want in their world, whether or not we agree. People who had no need to speak of our little world knew details only a few people knew. Interesting. I remember sitting on a friend's sofa, having confided in her a great deal of pain, and listening to her tell me things she really probably shouldn't have been telling me. It really didn't dawn on me until a few months later, when I was feeling better, clearer, the weight of that conversation. My husband, in turn, had similar experiences.
It's due to a simple lack of trust. And this quote sums it up perfectly.
Sunday, January 20
Proud Momma
My daughter swam today. Not a usual day for swim practice or a meet. It was a special day, an opportunity seized. Three 2012 swim Olympians came to a clininc here in our little town. Granted, as my husband said, it was to the upscale private preparatory school two miles up the road, but nonetheless.
We tag teammed watching her today, my husband and I. He took her, and later I went to watch. I made it to the school pool during mock races with the medal winners. I was happy to see my daughter's capped, purple goggled head waiting in line for her heat. I hadn't missed her!
Imagine my surprise when I realized she was swimming in the lane right next to Adam Brown, an Olympian from Great Britain. Across the pool they swam. My daughter finished and lifted the goggles from her eyes. I could see her flash one of her dazzling smiles at the man, and that she was talking to him. Then she reached a little arm out to this big man, and completed the swim with a high five.
Tears in my eyes, this was one proud momma.
We tag teammed watching her today, my husband and I. He took her, and later I went to watch. I made it to the school pool during mock races with the medal winners. I was happy to see my daughter's capped, purple goggled head waiting in line for her heat. I hadn't missed her!
Imagine my surprise when I realized she was swimming in the lane right next to Adam Brown, an Olympian from Great Britain. Across the pool they swam. My daughter finished and lifted the goggles from her eyes. I could see her flash one of her dazzling smiles at the man, and that she was talking to him. Then she reached a little arm out to this big man, and completed the swim with a high five.
Tears in my eyes, this was one proud momma.
Friday, January 18
Dancing in the Kitchen
For Christmas, Santa Husband got me (and the fam) a home docking radio for the Sirius Radio receiver that I have in my truck. Sirius came as part of my last minivan, and I was hooked. We only listen to a handful of channels, but that's just how we roll.
Santa wanted me to be able to bring the radio in with me when we got home from our daily errands, library classes, toddler tumbling and PTO meetings. When I know I'll be home for a good stretch of time, I'll bring it in the house with me. Otherwise, I'll just forget it when we go back out, and have to listen to live radio (ugh). Or the silence -- which is sometimes nice.
The fun thing about the docking station is that it works best in the rear of the house, in the kitchen. Which is good, because I spend a lot of time in there. It ends up being where we dance. Earlier this week I taught my girls how to walk like an Egyptian, and explained just how exactly video killed the radio star. I love being silly and dancing and seeing their smiling faces at me. We dance daily now, even if just for a minute. My favorite dance partner right now is my baby boy. It's just another way I get to memorize his scent, dancing with his warm, droolly cheek pressed up against mine.
Because, as the sign in my daughter's room says, there's always a reason to dance.
Santa wanted me to be able to bring the radio in with me when we got home from our daily errands, library classes, toddler tumbling and PTO meetings. When I know I'll be home for a good stretch of time, I'll bring it in the house with me. Otherwise, I'll just forget it when we go back out, and have to listen to live radio (ugh). Or the silence -- which is sometimes nice.
The fun thing about the docking station is that it works best in the rear of the house, in the kitchen. Which is good, because I spend a lot of time in there. It ends up being where we dance. Earlier this week I taught my girls how to walk like an Egyptian, and explained just how exactly video killed the radio star. I love being silly and dancing and seeing their smiling faces at me. We dance daily now, even if just for a minute. My favorite dance partner right now is my baby boy. It's just another way I get to memorize his scent, dancing with his warm, droolly cheek pressed up against mine.
Because, as the sign in my daughter's room says, there's always a reason to dance.
Friday, January 11
Critiqued
Earlier this week, the littlest two of my children and I visited my husband at work. We feel like rock stars when we go, as everyone fawns over the babies and oohs and ahhs and can't seem to get enough. Sometimes we make the rounds to different offices, for this very reason.
Our visit this time was relatively brief. We packed up to leave and headed toward the door. As I walked past one cubicle, the copy editor inside called me over and told me how much she enjoyed my piece, and that I should consider publishing it. Then she said I was a good writer. She should know, right? I mean, she is one.
I was perplexed. My husband had shared my writing.
And it is publishable?
It's been mentioned to me on more than one occasion that perhaps, somewhere down the road, I could write a book. On experiences, what I learned, how to mother (laughable, to me), how to have a big family and seem to do it with ease. Write the next great novel. All nice ideas to think about, but nothing I ever thought about seriously.
Now, someone "in the business" is telling me that I should. I'm looking at what I write differently.
At any given time I have a half dozen drafts of pieces written for this blog. Some I finish, some I don't. The piece she mentioned I wrote in approximately four minutes. No revisions. No changes. And it's good enough to publish? I wrote my best papers in college this way, at 2 AM the night before it was due, pulling the words out from who knows where, putting it all down, and being done.
It's put a different spin on everything I think about now, everything I write. And, maybe, maybe, I will look into it. With everything I've wanted to put after my name, sign to my self as my accomplishments in the world, I've thought about it, but never really thought seriously enough. Now I will.
Our visit this time was relatively brief. We packed up to leave and headed toward the door. As I walked past one cubicle, the copy editor inside called me over and told me how much she enjoyed my piece, and that I should consider publishing it. Then she said I was a good writer. She should know, right? I mean, she is one.
I was perplexed. My husband had shared my writing.
And it is publishable?
It's been mentioned to me on more than one occasion that perhaps, somewhere down the road, I could write a book. On experiences, what I learned, how to mother (laughable, to me), how to have a big family and seem to do it with ease. Write the next great novel. All nice ideas to think about, but nothing I ever thought about seriously.
Now, someone "in the business" is telling me that I should. I'm looking at what I write differently.
At any given time I have a half dozen drafts of pieces written for this blog. Some I finish, some I don't. The piece she mentioned I wrote in approximately four minutes. No revisions. No changes. And it's good enough to publish? I wrote my best papers in college this way, at 2 AM the night before it was due, pulling the words out from who knows where, putting it all down, and being done.
It's put a different spin on everything I think about now, everything I write. And, maybe, maybe, I will look into it. With everything I've wanted to put after my name, sign to my self as my accomplishments in the world, I've thought about it, but never really thought seriously enough. Now I will.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)