Old notes

Not sure if reading old letters is the best activity the night before a major holiday.  But, that was the path I chose for the evening.  The musty odor.  The yellowing pages.   The questionable handwriting. I reread the words, scouring over notes, letters, and cards collected years ago. I read courtships developing and love affairs crumbling. I was surprised with whom I kept correspondence so many years ago. I didn't recall exchanging letters with certain people, but the evidence is there  I was transported to my younger self: the one who had the whole world ahead of her, who was still emotionally fragile and unsure, and in whom, according to the words on several pages, people wanted to confide. 

What I learned from the exercise:
-I miss writing and receiving letters. All I receive in the mail now is bills.  Electronic communication is good, but it isn't the same.
-The males in my life have all had really poor handwriting.  Reading hieroglyphics would be easier at times.
-There's nothing wrong with holding on to scraps from the past.  Work that memory every now and again.
-I hope my children have friends like I've had throughout my life.  Or, if nothing else, they finally learn how to write a note.

I apologize for being so judgmental

I get it now.

The dead grass in the "yard".  Piles of trash in the corner of the lot.  The abandoned-looking car on the curb.  Piles of clutter.  Weeds taking over.  Paint peeling.  Shingles sliding off the roof.  Temporary solutions that have become permanent.  Rotting deck.  Baby books started when the child is 16.  Piles of dishes in the sink.

I get it now.

My house and yard have become what I once mocked.  I would think, "Why don't those people just mow their yard?"  "Can't they get a can of paint and fix that?"  The truth is: time, money, ability, access, know how.  All of those barriers to taking care of everything in the second paragraph.  Some of the uncompleted projects are missing all five aspects.  Lately, the first two have been missing.   Piles of large object that need to go to the dump are in my shed; my car isn't big enough to haul them and they are too trashed to donate.  The siding on the house is rotting away because I don't have the money to pay a contractor to fix it.  The deck is full of splinters and rotting wood because I don't have the time to repair it.  The garden is barren.  The weeds have thrived.  I don't even know where to start with the gutter drainage problem.

So, I get it now.  I will no longer condemn those whose homes look less than stellar.  I will no longer judge those whose to do lists are never completed.  I will forgive myself for not finishing everything I "need" to finish.  I could have spent the morning hacking back blackberry brambles.  Instead, I went on a long bike ride with my sons.  And in the end, isn't that what they are going to remember more?  Will they remember our yard being immaculate, or will they remember me taking some time to be with them?

Still technically not a baker

[I meant to post this a month ago, when we actually did this.  Such is life.]

I have made one pie in my life, and that one doesn't really count.  The crust was the frozen, ready-made kind, and the filling came from a can.  I decided, since it was a holiday weekend and I  (to my joy and surprise) had no work obligations, the boys and I would make a dessert together.  I brought down The Joy of Cooking.  The three of us huddled on the couch, flipping through the pages, rejecting all the fruit pies.  As much as those two love fruit, I thought surely they would want one.  Then the cream pies came along.  And there it was: chocolate mousse pie.

Yes, I used the good chocolate chips.

Every baking related dish was dirtied in this endeavor.  I finally used the kick-ass Kitchenmaid stand mixer I acquired when Maria passed. And may I say, that thing is AWESOME! 

Here's the mousse part, next to the important part of the fridge: booze.

 The crust was made of Oreo cookies, so made died for the greater good. 

The bowl of Oreo innards.  Yes, this was eaten eventually.

And the final product.  It took two days, but by golly, I did it, with some help from my children.

It looks better with whipped cream.  And on a fork.  And in my stomach.

Turning 41

April was a brutal month: three weeks of camps, multiple parties and events, all-school field trips.  The month finally won, and I've been sick for the past week.  Thankfully, the weekend was lovely, and a great way to start my 41st year.  The morning started with present giving.  I got the LEGO Mini Cooper set, complete with a brick picnic set and red and white checkered blanket.  (Someday, I will have a life-sized Mini. I'm working my way up to it.)  Flynn gave me a present, too.  He boxed up Stitches, his teddy bear and lovey he has had forever.  He said he didn't use it any more and he wanted me to have him.  Of course, I cried.  Such a sweet gesture.  Tim and Drake had a work event most of the day (Saturday).  Flynn and I were able to have some quality time together, complete with a carb-filled lunch and a trip to the bookstore.  (I even bought him a new book: How to Speak Cat.  I figure, if he is going to act like a cat, he might as well be fluent in the language.)  Sunday, Drake completed his First Communion.  About a half hour before going to church, he mentioned that his stomach was upset.  Based on our conversation, I thought it was just nerves.  Sadly, this was not the case.  Partway through mass, he had to quickly excuse himself to throw up.  He was able to complete the sacrament incident-free, but was very pale and shaky.  We already had plans to go to brunch after mass with the family.  He was able to go along, but disappointed he couldn't eat anything.  "I've been looking forward to this all week," he told me with tears in his eyes.  Brunch was filled with carbs and shrimp and mimosas.  So fabulous.  Drake and I napped together after returning home.  The four of us settled in on the couch and watched "E.T."  Drake went into his room about 1/4 of the way in and fell asleep with a 100-degree fever.  Flynn enjoyed the film, worried about E.T. and excited at the chase in the end.

Tomorrow, I need to go back to reality and back to being a business owner and mother to a sick child.  As for now, I am basking in the love of family and friends, and will close out the weekend with the Mother of Dragons.  Bring on Game of Thrones.

Number of blog posts

2010- 152
2011- 56
2012- 43
2013- 23
2014- 18
2015- 3


Am I running out of things to say, or am I forgetting to say those things?  Am I still a writer if I don't write?  Am I OK with letting go of the title of "writer" and choose to refer to myself as a "occasional writing hobbyist"?

Challenging day

Today was not my best day, as a teacher and a business owner.   I yelled during class.  I never yell during class.  Then again, I have never had a class like this.  Even in my most challenging classes, I have been able to get through a lesson plan.  Not this class; not this group of kids.  There's always "that kid", the one who throws off the class dynamic.  This class had three.  One stopped coming.  The other two: no one wanted to partner with them.  These kids were mean to each other, wouldn't stop talking when I tried to teach, and flat out refused to do what was asked of them.  And then, two started chasing each other around the narrow room.  The only way to stop any more forward momentum was to yell to stop.  So I yelled.  I felt so helpless and so unprofessional in that moment. 

But, through all the chaos and the meanness and disrespectfulness of the class, I must have done something right.  I received this thank you card from one of the quieter students.

Waiting is the hardest part

I don't think I'm cut out for being the big boss or high pressure situations.  We are in a situation where we need to hire a teacher.  Two left in December, and all of our schools are up and running this month.  We interviewed two candidates this week.  One was perfect: past teaching experience, training in classroom management, wanted to become a teacher.  The other has the dynamic personality, but we have reservations about his classroom management ability.  I sent an offer over to the former this morning.  I haven't heard anything from her yet.  I fear we will not be enough for her.  That's the pisser of it all: the best candidates are already working and teaching. The rest have been marginal, at best. I could barely understand three applicants.  Several more never returned my calls.  And more still had zero skills related to what we do and were just applying to anything and everything.  I want this candidate to accept.  Every second that passes is adding to my worry and stress levels.

On the upside, I have been ridiculously productive today, trying not to think about how much time as passed without a response.  I guess there is a silver lining in all situations.

New year, same me

The Christmas decorations are down and packed in their boxes.  The living room is back to its proper configuration.  The boys are snuggled in their beds, reading by lamp light.  They will probably stay up too late reading, yet again.  I predict some grouchiness tomorrow.

The news feeds are full of ways to make this year the most organized and bucket-list-crossing-off year it could possibly be.  Friends have posted stated their intentions for improvement during this year.  Many gave a hearty middle finger to 2014, glad to be rid of a year full of, well, whatever the year was full of.  I applaud those who will keep these resolutions.  Resolutions are great in theory.  We should all want to improve, to learn, to grow.  Why is this reserved for the first of the year?  Why can't we change at any time?

As for me, I am fully aware of my shortcomings.  I want to learn new skills and have new experiences.  But, because I know my shortcomings, this year is about finishing. I start, but I lack follow through.  I can't begin anything new until I have finished what I have started/abandoned.  The craft projects have piled up over the past nine years in this house.  The home improvements that are half done.  The tasks that have been gathering dust on the to-do lists.  The books stacked in the corner, leaning precariously, and filling the Kindle memory.  How can we really expect to improve and grow and move on while we schlep so much baggage from the past?  All of these undone tasks have definitely exceeded that maximum weight restriction.

That is my plan for the year.  I am looking forward to crossing off each and every item on the overdue to-do list.