I'm having flashbacks to a previous life this week: working from home, taking care of Ainsley all day, and the two of us walking to pick HF up from school.
Ainsley has chicken pox. Not the kind of chicken pox that involves oatmeal baths and pink polka dots of Calamine lotion covering her body. The kind that happens after you've already been immunized and are exposed to someone with chicken pox. She has about 10 or so pox that don't seem to itch a bit, though 1 of those 10 is on her throat, so she's not really pleased about that. She has a fever and is tired. TV is our main form of entertainment, though we have squeezed in some make-up sessions, pedicures, and dancing to High School Musical and Avril Lavine. She talked me into taking the double jog stroller to pick Hawthorne up from school yesterday. It's a 3-mile round trip with lots of hills. Fine until I have to push all 81 pounds of them up one of the big hills. It didn't help that the stroller tires were flat. It was a fun bit of nostalgia though, and the weather was beautiful. She tried to talk me into it again today, but I wasn't falling for it. I offered a wagon ride when we got home instead. That gave me more control over which hills to tackle! Who knew Florida had so many hills. Turns out, Tallahassee is much more like Georgia than the rest of Florida. so we get our hills, trees, and beaches too. But I digress.
Also this week, I was "elected" to the PTO board. The use of quotes is because everyone is congratulating me as if I won some great honor, but I didn't have an opponent! It has been nice to hear everyone tell me how excited they are about me being on the board. But then I started thinking about what exactly they're expecting from me and I got a little scared. I think they're hoping I'll stand up to the principal, though I'm not sure what they need me to stand up to her on. Our school rocks. I have loved Hawthorne's teachers. It may be that my plan totally contradicts my constituents plan. I want to cozy up to the principal so that if there are ever any issues with say my younger child, I'll be working with someone who owes me.
So now I'm running out to the store to buy a big wall calendar to keep all the meetings, games, performances... straight. Carter says my solution to a "crisis" is always to buy something. Well, yeah. Duh. It will be so cute and organized looking. Problem solved. Because of course it's not that I actually ever miss any of those events, I just feel scattered trying to remember it all. Now I can maybe at least give the impression (to myself and others) that I've got it together. Room Mother Barbie, watch out.
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Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Avoiding the rocks.
I find myself at a loss for words these days. The kids provide plenty of stories to tell and funny events to relay, but I don't have it in me. I lack inspiration. I'm in a funk. I regularly have these moments in my life when I can see the potential in everything, but I can also see the walls that prevent me from reaching that potential, and it's so frustrating and demoralizing that it consumes me. There are times when I really just can't see past all the knobby trees with misshapen branches to appreciate the true beauty of the forest. And once I get started critiquing one tree, it just snowballs until I'm frustrated with every little limb that is out of place.
My dean is pissing me off because he just is. It's a long story of him doing a lot of things kind of well and relying on the rest of us to pick up all the balls he's dropping but forgetting to tell any of us which ball we're supposed to watch and catch. He doesn't deal well with personnel issues; he'd rather look the other way than address systemic problems; he lets grudges consume him to the point where he looses touch with the realities of the situation. He has plenty of strengths, but his weaknesses are winning out right now. So I start with that, then I get irritated with my inability to stick with a diet and exercise plan, then the house starts bugging me--so many incomplete projects and so much room for improvement, then nagging little health issues distract me, and pretty soon, I'm overwhelmed by all that I need to fix or all that I can't fix for the various elements of my life to reach their full potential.
There are moments when I'm able to take a deep breath and see the forest. To appreciate how special my family is and to focus on them. But then the other things creep in and leave me tired again. I look at the clock and think I could either get my butt in gear and run errands or go exercise, or I could just crawl back under the covers and go back to sleep. The pull of the bed is really a siren's call. It seems inviting, but it will lead me to feel that even more is left undone. But the siren's call is such a beautiful song. And since when have I ever had an ounce of power to resist the beautiful songs, even when I know they don't have a happy ending.
.
My dean is pissing me off because he just is. It's a long story of him doing a lot of things kind of well and relying on the rest of us to pick up all the balls he's dropping but forgetting to tell any of us which ball we're supposed to watch and catch. He doesn't deal well with personnel issues; he'd rather look the other way than address systemic problems; he lets grudges consume him to the point where he looses touch with the realities of the situation. He has plenty of strengths, but his weaknesses are winning out right now. So I start with that, then I get irritated with my inability to stick with a diet and exercise plan, then the house starts bugging me--so many incomplete projects and so much room for improvement, then nagging little health issues distract me, and pretty soon, I'm overwhelmed by all that I need to fix or all that I can't fix for the various elements of my life to reach their full potential.
There are moments when I'm able to take a deep breath and see the forest. To appreciate how special my family is and to focus on them. But then the other things creep in and leave me tired again. I look at the clock and think I could either get my butt in gear and run errands or go exercise, or I could just crawl back under the covers and go back to sleep. The pull of the bed is really a siren's call. It seems inviting, but it will lead me to feel that even more is left undone. But the siren's call is such a beautiful song. And since when have I ever had an ounce of power to resist the beautiful songs, even when I know they don't have a happy ending.
.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
A lost son.
We had to put our kitty Coleman to sleep last night. He had advanced lung cancer and several broken ribs and was struggling to breath. It was hard to let him go because he was purring to the end. His mother, Mama Kitty, is trying to tell us that he's missing. She meows and leads me to their room, sits on her bed, and looks at me, like "See, he's not here. Where is he? Go find him." It breaks my heart. We got to say goodbye. She didn't.
We explained everything to the kids except the "putting to sleep" part. They knew he was sick and that he wasn't going to live much longer. They understand the idea that at some point, our bodies just won't work anymore. They think we should get another cat to keep Mama Kitty company. Nice sentiment except that Mama Kitty doesn't really play well with others. Coleman was the lover. Mama is the fighter.
Colman was 15 years old. He loved his people and his furry friends. He adored Kizzy and has quickly bonded to Gumbo. They often slept fur to fur. They lounged in the sun together and took comfort in each others company. He lived in all three states with us, and seemed to take to the Pullman snow more quickly than the rest of us. He was a fat cat, weighing in at 15 pounds, and he had a meow that would make your hair stand up on your neck. When he was meowing at the vet yesterday, the tech asked me if that was what I meant by "breathing weird." I said, "No, that's just his normal meow." And he looked at me like I had lost my mind.
"He's a cool cat," the vet said after spending some time examining him. "Yes," I said, "tolerant, loving, and clearly very tough. We'll miss him."
And we do.
We explained everything to the kids except the "putting to sleep" part. They knew he was sick and that he wasn't going to live much longer. They understand the idea that at some point, our bodies just won't work anymore. They think we should get another cat to keep Mama Kitty company. Nice sentiment except that Mama Kitty doesn't really play well with others. Coleman was the lover. Mama is the fighter.
Colman was 15 years old. He loved his people and his furry friends. He adored Kizzy and has quickly bonded to Gumbo. They often slept fur to fur. They lounged in the sun together and took comfort in each others company. He lived in all three states with us, and seemed to take to the Pullman snow more quickly than the rest of us. He was a fat cat, weighing in at 15 pounds, and he had a meow that would make your hair stand up on your neck. When he was meowing at the vet yesterday, the tech asked me if that was what I meant by "breathing weird." I said, "No, that's just his normal meow." And he looked at me like I had lost my mind.
"He's a cool cat," the vet said after spending some time examining him. "Yes," I said, "tolerant, loving, and clearly very tough. We'll miss him."
And we do.
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