January 16, 2015

All The Feels In This Week

Nostalgia--Brian and I went to the Garth Brooks concert late Saturday night. So many of his songs were definitive of our lives. "The Dance?" Amidst our college years when we were ready to take the world on. "Two PiƱa Coladas?" We heard it twenty-hundred times on our honeymoon. "How Do I Live?" The first night we spent together ... On the concrete ... With a gazillion others waiting in line to buy Vince Gill tickets. So much nostalgia. 

Worry--Because the temps were so cold and the girls wanted to be grown up, we left them home alone (without having my mom stay over) while we hung with Garth and Trisha. The 10:30 concert didn't start until after midnight. We didn't get home until almost four. For all intents and purposes, the girls spent the night by themselves. Not only was I very anxious about this, Briley was as well: she stayed up until we got home because sometimes parents die and no one tells the kid. She watches too much Disney Channel. 

Devotion--I woke up at nine Sunday morning after getting to sleep at almost five. Brian's and I are leading our small group this session. I actually like leading small group a lot. 

Pain and Weariness--a middle of the night migraine Subday night left mr feeling achy and exhausted all day on Monday. 

Excitement--The official "welcome to high school, parents" letter came this week. I'm so excited to see my girl growing up and growing into her place in our world. I'm also a little bit panicked because when I look at her, she's a three year old with a huge vocabulary who's taller than I am. 

Amazement--Watching Briley pitch. Man. That girl's an athlete! My squirrley girl who cannot seem to remember that her shoes/socks/clothes don't belong in the middle of the living room, can throw that yellow ball with authority. 

Exhaustion--I found myself wearing down as the week did. There was snot moving into my body at an alarming rate. I was drooling on my own chin and didn't care because wiping off was too much of an effort. 

Defeated--Three weeks to the day after Briley was diagnosed with the flu, Hadley was diagnosed. We had become way too intimate with Lysol products; I was bummed that that seemed in vain. Also. Buy stock in Tamiflu. Whew! That stuff's made of gold. 

Bummed--originally, Hadley was supposed to help with the kid lock-in at church. Briley has her sleep over. Brian and I were going to have a kid-free night. Damn the flu. 

Content--Briley's at a sleepover; Brian's at a hotel hoping to miss the flu yet again; Hadley and I are home, Advil'ed up and watching Pretty Little Liars on Netflix. Aside from the germs battling for control of our immune systems, this is a great way to spend my Friday night. 

January 7, 2015

I Got Big Plans

In November, my girl, Rachel L. Hough, and I went to her lake house where I pounded out 15,000 words on my next book Life With Extra Cheese. Since that time, I've not added one single word on it. Not one.

I've met all of my deadlines. I've blogged (some), but as far as the book goes? I just haven't had the time or the energy. We'll blame the holidays. Also, we'll blame the fact that my life has seemed completely unorganized.

Last night as I lay in bed watching Orange Is The New Black, I was jealous of the fact the the girls (not the inmates...that's so rude) were putting together a newsletter. I ached wanting to write, but since it was well after midnight, I couldn't very well justify getting out of bed and writing. Plus, I was unorganized. What would I write anyway?

So, I looked at (lusted after) Erin Condren's Life Planners. Then I watched her video and learned about the coolness of her life planners. All of a sudden I'm a former meth head with my hands in the air shouting hallelujahs like Pennsatucky was bringing the word to the community room at Litchfield.

Then I bought one. I bought a life planner. It arrives in two weeks. I cannot wait to get myself organized.

'Cause, really, all I am missing from getting organized is a pretty life planner.

January 6, 2015

"What's This?"

Many of my more experienced mom friends tell of a time that our teenage children will all but stop communicating with us. They'll tell of a time that our teenagers will become so immersed in their own little world, that we will become spectators to their lives.

Fortunately for me, that hasn't happened with Hadley yet.

I have no words for this. 

Did I say fortunately? Pffft.

This morning as I was wrestling with my clothes, getting dressed (I do this more often now that I'm a stiff forty-something-year-old woman than I ever did as a young child learning to dress myself), Hadley came to my bedroom door and said, "What's this?"

My head, of course, was caught in my sleeve but I responded anyway, "I can't really see it."

"This, Momma. What is this?" she insisted.

I pulled my head through the proper hole and said, "Oh, socks."

She sighed so hard that my hair blew from my forehead. "No, Momma. This." Then she thrust a pair of socks at me.

"Slip on socks?" I answered, the question mark actually seemed audible.

"No," she said through gritted teeth, "THIS."

"I don't know, honey. They look like a pair of footies," note my use of a different word, "that one would wear with slip on shoes. Or at least that's the way I use them."

She rolled her eyes so hard into her head that I thought she was about to seize. "Geez, Momma. THIS." She spit the word out slowly and loudly as if she were speaking to a rude, elderly, foreigner who couldn't speak English.

I stared at her. I blinked. I didn't know any other way to say slip on socks.

With a lock of her knees, she explained herself. "This. This. This. This," each time shaking the (dare I say it) socks at me.

"Honey, I have no clue what you're talking about. I call those socks. Is that not right?" I confessed, possibly with a lump in my throat and a fleeting thought about early onset Alzheimer's. They say you can loose the simple vocabulary first.

She dropped her chin to her chest and roller her head between her shoulders, popping her neck as if she were gearing up for a prize fight or a Lincoln-Douglas Debate.

"THIS, Momma. THIS pad in the sock." Then she closed her eyes as if praying for the heavens to open and pour forth a bounty of patience as she dealt with the ignorance of the world.

"Oh," I stammered. "I think it's just a foot pad."

"Finally," she sighed as she took my padded socks with her and walked out of my room. "Was that so hard?"

Yes, child. Yes, it was hard. It was very hard.

When exactly do I get to be the observer?


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