3 More Weeks

Spelling tests, homework, math sheets, agenda checks, cleaning out the cubby, turning in homework, taking back library books, standing in line, raising his hand.

E is over it. I'm over it, too.

He is past the point of being ready for summer break. This morning I had to drag that little doodle-head out of bed while he moaned, "I don't want to go to school. How many more days? Which ones are half days? When is Memorial Day?"

We're all pretty miserable about it, even the dog. He's tired of whining at the front door at 8 am when Tyler and E leave.

In the last week E has forgotten to do most of the things essential for success in school. His joy at seeing Mrs. Crawley and his classmates has dwindled, and we're at a low point. June 7 cannot come fast enough. I'm just thankful his school doesn't do EOG's for 2nd graders, or this week would be even more taxing, and his scores would reflect his underwhelmed feelings about school.

It's hard in moments like this to remember how much I love shopping for school supplies, fresh pencils, erasers, notebooks, and markers. I love school.

Today, I just need to dwell on these moments and remember all seasons are both hard and easy.

The Good Old Days

From canitbesaturdaynow.com

Do you ever stop and think, "These are the good old days."

It's true.

One day, you'll look back and remember only the good things that happened today, this week, this year. You'll say, "Remember when we used to be able to go out whenever we wanted; remember when gas was only $3.50/gallon; remember when people could still disconnect from their cell phones; remember when we didn't have to pay a mortgage, student loans, and our parents' nursing home bills; remember when we sat on our porch and ate brunch after our five-mile run; remember when we took that vacation to Florida and slept all week on the beach."

These are the golden years, no matter what anyone says about retirement, because my body doesn't hurt all of the time and most things in the adult world are still new and captivating. But there is always nostalgia attached to previous eras in life, though when life is actually happening, we rarely recognize it.

We grumble. We complain. We hope all of the things we are doing will make the next era of life better. I was reminded of this when I saw Chick-Fil-A's new salad slogan on their cups. They say, "Take Your Taste Buds to Greener Pastures." Of course I want to try their salads with that tag-line.

Sometimes our nostalgia for another era, these good old days, stems from being discontent in our current situation. There is nothing wrong with nostalgia, the kind that warms your heart and makes you smile to yourself especially if no one else is watching, but sometimes we long in desperation for those past days, forgetting that each season of life has its own difficulties and challenges.

Just the other day I was overwhelmed with being a wife, mother, teacher, writer, cleaner, friend, and any other odd role I assume. For a fleeting moment, I longed for grad school, when I was just a single mom and life was easier.

Grad school when I was a single mom and life was easier.

Who am I kidding? Grad school wasn't easier. Being a single mom wasn't easier. I didn't have to cook dinner every night or wash a 3rd person's clothes, but other than that, life was more difficult on all horizons. I am so thankful for Tyler, but in my moment of discontentment, I chose to focus on only the good during that time and the bad things in this moment instead of seeing the truth of my current and previous circumstances.

No matter what era of life you live today, these truly are the good old days. Happy Friday!

MWF Seeking BFF - Book Review

Check out mwfseekingbff.com

This was one of those books that plopped into my lap at the perfect time, and Tyler probably got overwhelmingly annoyed with how often I talked about it. Surprisingly, even with all of my monologues about the book, every time he looked at it he tried to come up with what MWF meant.

Macho Women's Front

Miserable Whales Forever

Mistaken Wart Frog

I actually made those up. His were probably more interesting and inappropriate.

This fun book is the memoir-ish story of Rachel Bertsche, a Chicago journalist, looking for a new BFF. In an attempt to give herself the best opportunity to need a new girl friend (after 2 years of living in the city with her man/husband), she goes on 52 friend-dates in one year. She also uses different methods of meeting friends from internet groups to even renting a friend, which was weird and awkward, but part of her research.

While I would never have the courage to attempt this feat, I was impressed with what Rachel (yes, I'm on a first-name basis with this character - the book left me feeling that close to her) learned about herself and friendship in her late 20's. I understand she also was working on this book as a research project to write a book and it was considered both work and play, but her husband was definitely a trooper to put up with the whole thing, especially since they hadn't been living together/married for a long time. All of those friend dates and reconnections took tons of time, but I guess it is a demanding job to research and write a book.

Rarely am I really inspired by a book. That is a complete lie. I'm typically inspired by books. But this one caused me to be more intentional about the time I spend with other women. I'm the hole-up in my house with my dog and emerge only to do things by myself kind of person, and all of my best friends live in a different state. But I'm taking initiative now to build new friendships here in Charlotte.

MWF Seeking BFF: My yearlong search for a new best friend is definitely worth reading, even if you're one of those people with tons of friends. It helps give insight into what the new girl is thinking, not to mention it's crazy hilarious.

The Eternal Silver Screen

Picture Link

This was my favorite chapter from Letter to My Daughter by Maya Angelou. It's insightful and wise. I love how Angelou reflects on experience and her response to a situation that seems to honor her. So much of our past affects us in so many ways no matter how much we pretend it does not.

Many years have passed since the American Film Institute gave a tribute to William Wyler, one of Hollywood's most prolific and prestigious directors. I, as a member of the Board of Trustees, was asked to participate in the ceremony. I was to make a simple introduction. Of course I was flattered by the invitation and I accepted.

The affair, held at the posh Century Plaza Hotel, was attended by the most glamorous and famous actors and actresses of the day. Fred Astaire was there, as well as Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. Walter Pidgeon, Greer Garson, Henry Fonda, and Charlton Heston sparkled in the audience. I sad trembling at a table and looked around the room. These were some of the faces which formed my ideas of romance, dignity, and justice. These people on the silver screen had shown grace, morality and beauty, chivalry and courage. Then the picture of the segregated movie house in my small town in Arkansas floated into my consciousness.

Each time my brother and I had gone to a picture show, we had to brave the hostile stares of white adults, and once gaining the box office, we paid our money and were rudely thumbed toward a rickety outdoor staircase which led to the balcony (called a buzzard's roost) restricted to black customers.

There we sat, knees to chin, in the cramped space, our feet crunching discarded candy wrappers and other debris on the floor. We perched there and studied how to act when we grew up and became beautiful and rich and white.

Years had passed and now I sat in the hotel's glittery ballroom and watched as movie star after movie star rose to pay tribute to Mr. Wyler. Old memories had taken me back to days of southern humiliation.  When my name was called, every word of my carefully memorized introduction fled from my mind, and I stood at the microphone looking into the famous faces, furious that they had been, even unwittingly, the agents of my old embarrassments. Anger thickened my tongue and slowed my brain. Only be exercising phenomenal control did I restrain myself from shouting, "I hate you. I hate you all. I hate you for your power and fame, and healthy and money, and acceptance." I think I was afraid that, if I opened my mouth I would blurt out the truth "I love you because I love everything you've got and everything you are." I stood mute before the famed audience. After a few attempts to speak I mumbled a few words and walked out of the room.

There was a rumor which was untrue that drugs had made me blank out. Upon later reflection of the painful incident, I am remembering what Arkansas gave me. I came to understand that I can never forget where I came from. My soul should always look back and wonder at the mountains I had climbed and the rivers I had forged and the challenges which still await down the road. I am strengthened by that knowledge.

Angelou, Maya. Letter to My Daughter. New York: Random House, 2008. Print.

Letter to My Daughter - Book Review

I'm part of this book club with some church ladies, but I've never been. I'm probably the slackest member of that group as in they may not even know I exist. I have, however, looked at the book list and read a few of the books. The last book of the season is Letter to My Daughter by Maya Angelou. I don't know what I expected, but it's a quick, impressive read. I told Tyler he should read it, though he's not a daughter, because it is so easy. The chapters are short and to the point, and an ADD reader could get through it zippy quick.

That isn't to say it doesn't have content though. Angelou's short chapters each come with a punch in them. If you aren't careful, you'll find yourself captivated and emotionally involved in the saga.

I love how Angelou combines philosophy, stories, poetry, and history into her book. Each chapter reminded me of a little antidote you may hear from an older, wiser individual. This would make sense considering Angelou's history growing up in Arkansas and then San Francisco in the 30's and 40's.

Letter to My Daughter encapsulates so many of the hard lessons Angelou has learned in a world of hate, crime, discrimination, and love. I loved it.

Favorite Quotes -

"The epitome of sophistication is utter simplicity."

"Since life is our most precious gift,/ And since it is given to use to live but once,/ Let us so live that we will not regret/ Years of uselessness and inertia."

Happier at Home - Book Review

So, here is the deal on Happier at Home by Gretchen Rubin. It cultivated a contemplative mentality about my attitude in life. I really enjoyed this aspect of the book. I liked all of the active things she did. She would come up with specific, detailed directions to help her in her search for happiness, especially related to her home life.

I think my favorite aspect was about possessions and time. I liked that she felt items should only be in a home if they are beautiful or useful. I need to follow this rule pronto. She also suggested that there is no time like the present, which I agree with in theory but rarely enact on a daily basis. It's true - "these are the good old days."

A good quote
"Also, I suffered from the persistent delusion that once I got through the next three or four months, things would slow down. "I'll have more time during the holidays - or after the holidays - or once the summer's here." I'd promised myself, over and over. But things never slowed down. If I wanted a feeling of unhurriedness, I would have to create it now." - pg. 133

So here is the rub. I felt like her arguments and ideas lacked absolute-ism. I know the book is an example of what she did to seemingly make herself happy and technically I should create my own happiness project, but most of the things she did I probably wouldn't do. So while I enjoyed reading it, there were moments where the description went on too long because I wasn't interested in that particular topic. Most of the things she did wouldn't make me feel happy, and while she argues it's not about feeling happy, I wouldn't enjoy a miniature art project hidden in my kitchen cabinet. I have too many dishes for that.

And it's not just that I wasn't always enraptured by her words, but I also don't feel like she was truly happy either. Very often she would admit her failure to carry out her ideals. She would get behind, get discouraged, and while I'm glad she was honest about it, I also think she is seeking to "feel" happy ultimately without actually being happy. She encourages the reader to find their own happiness, but really I didn't feel like her example led to lifelong happiness, but just to keep creating and fulfilling more goals, an endless cycle that can never be completed.

She has some great points. You cannot make anyone else happy. True.

I don't agree with all her points. I don't believe we alone can make ourselves happy and that focusing on ourselves makes us happy. She says, "we all have to find happiness for ourselves," but I don't think that's within the human realm. We aren't self-sufficient in anything. Sometimes we even need help blowing our noses. We are that needy. She also suggests that a feeling of control is a very important aspect of happiness. A feeling of control can be very misleading. Very often, we may feel in control, but not actually be in control at all. So that false feeling makes us happy? This seems like a nice idea, but none one chose which family to be born in to, none of us chose as to whether or not our boss would hire us or if the stock market would crash. We aren't really in control. So even if I feel like I am, that sense of happiness is a delusion and not something I can put my faith and hope in.

Don't get me wrong, being motivated to be proactive and accomplish goals is positive. But as for it leading to eternal happiness? I'm not convinced.

Just so I'm not a complete Debbie Downer, here are a couple of practical to-do's, which I enjoy and hope to accomplish.
- A door or drawer should be easy to close
- Replace a lightbulb or toilet paper roll right away
- Someplace, keep an empty shelf; someplace, keep a junk drawer

Check out the online Book Club I'm participating in thanks to My Pretty Pennies.

Lately.

It's been a few weeks. I won't apologize. It's not that I haven't been thinking about what to blog and when to blog it. I have, but the posts just haven't materialized.

I'll be honest. I've been struggling with stress and anxiety. It's starting to take a physical toll on my body, too. I've started clenching and grinding my teeth, which I think I did before, but now I'm waking up with a sore jaw. Also, my hair has started falling out, and I have a bald spot (No, I will not show it to you). The hair issue started in Fall '11, but has continued to get worse over time.

It sounds awful, I get married and suddenly I'm stressed and my hair is falling out. But, it's not Tyler's fault. It's mine.

Instead of dealing with any of the stress of the last 10 years, I've compartmentalized it. It's all still jumping around in rooms in my brain, waiting for the door to be opened the slightest amount, and then all of the events and circumstances come flooding back. I find myself an angry person.

My only response emotion is anger. I rarely am excited or surprised by anything. If I'm responding to someone else, I typically feel anger. Don't get me wrong, I still love going to do fun things but my emotions are more diminished than they should be/could be.

Poor Tyler.

Since I've finally realized it, it's time for me to work through everything. It's time for me to embrace pain, loneliness, grief, and fear. Hopefully then, I can move through it and past it.

I'm ready.

Also, this is my favorite picture lately. I love these two guys and their relationship together. Just recently, during E's spring break, my dad taught him to whittle, to drive the tractor on his own, and to take apart a carburetor.