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Quaranscenes, part 1

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I'm sitting on my sofa at 11:47 on a Monday morning. It's not an altogether unusual occurrence: this is about when I make myself something for lunch and plop myself down between projects and chores. But today, I'm not alone in my house. Buzzing around me are three girls actively staving off boredom. One has claimed the kitchen as her domain today and the house smells of popped corn. The other two are shuttling various objects from the garage to a bedroom...gym mats, laundry baskets...a beach chair has now made the trip there and back. I've lost the ability to care when it will all go back to its rightful place. My bedroom has been transformed into a fully functioning office as Matt conducts his business at a folding table. As he spends his day on the phone with people concerned about their ability to retire, only a thin sliding glass door separates him from a never ending loop of Broadway music, Disney songs and FaceTime dates in the toy kitchen. With the exceptio...
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Goodbye, Big Mama

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Our oldest just celebrated her thirteenth birthday, which means that we just celebrated our thirteenth year of successful parenting. Yay, us! And if I'm being honest, which is kind of the point of writing through one's feelings, I'd like to hang up my parenting hat. I mean. Thirteen years is a long time to commit to something, right? I've never done ANYTHING consistently for thirteen years. I feel like we've got a pretty good product, she's doing fairly well for herself, I'm quite satisfied with a job well done. If only. Parents are really good about warning other parents about "what's next." Sometimes it's discouraging, and sometimes it's super helpful. Sometimes it's contradictory - Two is really hard, No wait til they're THREE - but everyone seems to be in agreement that Thirteen is one of the Seven Circles of Hell. So, right when you're feeling pretty good about getting the training wheels off and pushing this li...
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It's Time to Stop the Bleeding: A Manifesto on Friendship

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I'm gonna need some help, South Florida. We're losing the good ones. As a native South Floridian, which is kind of a novelty, there is one conversation I have with people all the time. It goes like this: Normal people: So do you ever get used to this heat? Me: Yes. Of course there's more to the story, but I know that generally people aren't really interested in how I, personally, deal with the oppressive weather. They just want to make the unique observation that I live in a place that can feel hotter than the surface of the sun. I assume it would be like living in New York City and getting asked if you see famous people all the time, but less glamorous. Maybe it's more like living in LA and being asked about the traffic. But there is another conversation that happens way too often, and it's one that breaks my heart, every time. Normal people: We're moving. (Other variations: Our 5-year-plan is to move away; We can't wait to get out of her...
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A New Stage

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I remember staring down at this little blonde headed girl as we were about to get the school day started and thinking, "I can't do this anymore." Her shining hair, always worn in two long braids, grabbed the sunlight and brought tears to my eyes as I faced the inevitable.  I was tired. Tired of getting places on time. Of meeting the demands of others. Of fighting this strong little being at the end of each day when she was worn out from performing her best for others all day long. We were going to have to home school. Maybe, at home, we'd have time to get to know each other better. She'd have time to do her thing, and somewhere in there we'd fit in some education. Maybe, at home, we'd get the best of each other. We made it five years. Now I stare into the face of this young woman who is tall enough to look me in the eye, and I tear up because once again, I'm tired. It is time for me to surrender my baby girls and turn the page on a new chapter,...
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Put me in, Coach! Or don't. That's cool too.

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Two posts ago, I wrote about being a recovering accomplisher, and how it felt okay to stop mid-project and say, effectively, "lesson learned...next?" It's a great post. I just re-read it and I really agree with myself on it. But it didn't stick. It never does. I must have written it expecting there to be a "next thing" right around the corner. OK, coach, got it! Yessir! Thanks for that lesson! I'm ready to play! But I haven't really been thrown in the game. Instead, for a few months, I've been feeling more like a ball girl...or sometimes even a fan without a ticket. One by one, the things that I've held onto, the contributions that I thought made me a valued team member - have been stripped away. Some through humbling physical trials, some through limitations brought on by this crazy life stage, some as gifts that just aren't working as well right now. They are all things that have me (or someone else) saying "not you, not ri...
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Our Other Family

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We call it "reentry," that period of time where you stumble back into reality after being on vacation for a few days.  For what feels like weeks prior to leaving, we make preparations to leave - we do wardrobe checks and shop around to fill in missing pieces. We print itineraries, gather necessary identification, make arrangements for the kids. We do loads and loads of laundry so there's less mess to come home to, we fold, we pack, we empty trash, we clean counters, we wipe floors, we eat through the food in the fridge, we give someone a spare key.  And then five minutes later, we're back, with dirty clothes and jet lag, or sea legs, or vacation colds, and an empty fridge and we sit for a minute surveying the mess we've been able to make in under an hour at home and we wonder... what just happened? We drown for a bit in the depths of real life - of appointments and homework and driving and cleaning and unpacking, but usually we surface again before long wit...
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Day - Who Knows? I quit.

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Well, I made it 8 of 31 days. And you know what? I am totally ok with that. I've written before about how I have a hard time sticking to personal goals. I don't even make New Year's resolutions. I know I won't make it past January 3. Diet plans. Exercise plans. Reading plans. School projects, charts to fill out, etc... I start them all. I just can't seem to be bothered with finishing them. Last year, I trained for and ran a half-marathon . It was a huge accomplishment. I collected a medal. I wrote about what it felt like to start and finish something for the first time in years. And then I spent months nursing a bum hip. Early this year, I signed up to do it again - to chase that feeling of accomplishment. But eventually it became obvious to me that ALL I was doing was chasing that feeling of accomplishment, and I was likely to do it at the expense of my physical health, so I bailed. I like walking. I'd like to be able to do it for a number of years hencef...
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