Amy Writes

Rubbed the wrong way. Bad first impression. Not off to a great start. Weird feeling. We all have people or relationships that fall into those categories, right? It's easy to classify or write people off with our gut instinct. But what if you're the one being written off? I ask, because whenever I visit the library, I am exceedingly aware that I rub the children's librarian the wrong way. For some reason, around her, I am not me. Maybe it's because I find her loud and kind of scary, and I internally question her "expertise" in early childhood development. Maybe it's because the girls also find her kind of loud and scary, so we shrink toward the back of the room and become observers rather than participants during story times. I know that when I am in her presence, I come across as haughty. Non-committal. No fun. Sometimes I want to sit her down and say, "look! I'm really fun!" as the girls and I dance around and march in our own parade and hav...

***Addendum/Disclaimer/Clarification*** I am told this could be interpreted as me saying I don't have any friends. Not at all what I was saying!! God has blessed me with many wonderful, wonderful friends. I have friends who I know would do anything for me, and friends I can talk to on the phone for a really long time every night, and friends I can talk to every six months and still consider among my closest allies. I LOVE my friends. This post was just an observation that I seem to operate best with each of those friends, one at a time . On the rare occasions that I get to go out for a girls' night - the "girls" are not a given, whereas if I had a Group, one wouldn't have to ask with whom I spent the girls' night. It would be obvious: I was with my Group. I managed to learn a few things in middle school. For instance, I learned that adults liked me more than kids did. I learned that girls could be really, truly mean, but that I still really, really wanted to b...

We were JUST talking about this. Picture if you will: a dozen or so brightly colored rubbery plastic ponies of varying sizes. All with shimmery hair and cutesy tattoos on their hindquarters, scattered throughout the main thoroughfare between kitchen and family room. They have been subjects of a game called "Stuff the Ponies in the Barbie Volkswagens," so the site actually looks like Godzilla's trophy wife went all DWI on the Miniature Pony Farm and left the scene. The command had been given to stable the ponies and impound the cars, but the cleanup crew was distracted by the salty, cheesy goodness of snacktime. I let it slide, as there were no new toys being added to the disaster. A second command was issued when it looked like snacktime was over, but I was informed that we were still eating and again, I let it slide. Then, visiting baby #3 woke up. She has a new game called "Zero to 130 in .3 seconds," or "I Have Been Awake For .5 Seconds It Must Be Time T...

My flight to New York left at 9:50 Friday morning. I wasn't on it. Without going into too much detail, I will say this: it was either a shining moment in our (almost) 8 year marriage, or one of those you'd like to forget. Don't know yet. :) What I do know is that instead of gallivanting through the Big Apple with my girlfriends, bundled and shivering while waiting for a cab, developing blisters from my new shoes and pinching pennies ordering only appetizers and salads, I was relaxing in flip flops with my family in North Central Florida. Instead of circling the Central Park Reservoir, I traipsed through the woods with my girls to hunt alligators in Lake Alice. I traded Serendipity for Harry's and SoHo for Newberry. We hit the Oaks Mall instead of 5th Ave. and watched movies made in New York instead of waving fanatically at cameras in Rockefeller Center. Another opportunity will come soon (it has to - I have an airline credit that has to be used in a year!) but the moral...

Ultimate Goal: Be a contestant on Jeopardy! One method: Visit the Brain Bus at a local racetrack. Spend all morning alone in a group of a thousand members of the Jeopardy! fan club, jockeying for a 10-question pre-test that qualifies you for...I don't know what. Optional: Bring kids and husband for company and added distraction. Bonus: Maybe get to meet the Clue Crew. Preferred (and chosen) method: In a moment of Brain Bus despair, check Jeopardy! website. Discover the announcement of rare online contestant search test. Determine that this is MUCH closer to the real thing than the Brain Bus. Register immediately. So, update your calendars, folks. Amy takes the Jeopardy! online exam at 8 pm on January 29. Stay tuned!

Today is Tuesday, my least favorite day of the week. I think it's because it's the one day I actually work, and the work right now is less than satisfying. If you don't know, I am a piano teacher. Sort of. I sit at a piano for four hours on Tuesday afternoon while four precious girls come and sit in front of me, trying to convince me that they've exerted any effort whatsoever during the week. Teaching a skill that requires as much discipline and focus as learning the piano is an uphill battle with anyone, far more so with privileged South Florida kids who are sandwiching lessons and practicing between soccer, dance, karate, birthday parties and 4 hours of private school homework a night. I love music. Music speaks to me in ways that words can't. Playing provides a release, the first thing I want to do when I am at my wit's end. I love my students. LOVE them. I want them around all the time because I think they are the greatest kids ever. And I want them to love ...

Over the last year, I have realized that I am not made for the life I am living. Not that I am living the wrong life, but I am just not cut out for this. What hit me one day was that I was cleaning the high chair tray for the 3rd time, and that it would need to be done one more time before turning in for the night. 4 times a day, for the last year, and likely the next one. I clean that thing 4 times a day. As I was brushing the crumbs into the trash can and wiping it down for the 3rd time today, I had this incredible urge to throw it through the window. Not in anger, but more out of curiosity - like, "I wonder how far into the backyard I could get this thing?" I'd also swept and wet-mopped the family room that day, after embarking on a very messy glitter project with my daughter. The result was so unsatisfying and the feeling of the glitter and goldfish crumbs left by the baby while I was busy sweeping and wet-mopping was so disgusting that I donned my spa flip flops so t...

For what I want to do, I do not do... ...but what I do not want to do, THAT I do.