Well, five days down, 175 to go. I am not quite back into the swing of things this school year and it shows in my mood. I woke up this morning the biggest grouch, despite the fact I am quite sure I was asleep before 10:30. In my head this week I would say, "This is the first Monday of the whole school year, this is the first Wednesday night I have to work of the whole school year, this is the first time I will clean the whole house by myself on the first Thursday of the whole school year." Thus begins the grind of...the school year. I think that is/was the source of my grouchiness...
Unlike many parents I know, I love school breaks. I love when my kids are home and we sleep in and don't get out of our jammies until 10. I love fixing lunch of macaroni and cheese. I love the evenings when there is freedom from homework, assignment notebook signage, rounding up the lost shoes, sorting papers from the backpacks and pulling out uneaten snacks that were smashed in the bottom. The hassle of Infinite Campus and trying to decipher exactly what is a "Who Am I" Frame that was missing and not being able to see or access 4 out of the seven classes on one of my kids is irritating to me. Why can't they just get the bugs worked out of that system and have all teachers use it and use it consistently?
I like no-school nights so that the kids can finish a movie or read late because they can sleep in--and I love knowing that when Tom kisses me good-bye in the morning I have the privilege of rolling over and dozing to the sound of "Good Morning America." Now, if I could just get him to make me coffee on those mornings...
The school year also brings an increase in the hassle of laundry...oh, my! Did you know that if you shut the door on your laundry room dirty laundry actually breeds? It is true! And now...spending the day in swim trunks is no longer an option! School clothes no longer exist...they are ALL football, kickball, lunch-stained, grass stained attire. It is all the same. Shorts and t-shirts are eventually exchanged for jeans and sweatshirts, thus doubling the size of the behind-closed-doors breeding. And I swear the makers of Shout are making a fortune on me! What is in grass and mud today? It is just not like it used to be. Miss a day in the laundry room, miss a lot. It takes forever to catch up and once you get behind, particularly on boxers, you never catch up. Oh, did I fail to mention that boxers and socks are exempt from the closed-door breeding policy? Well they are...Target and Kohls are right behind Shout in underwear/sock replacement costs. Sometimes I think my kids think that socks are disposable...like a kleenex, use once and toss out! One time we actually found 27 lost socks in the basement! My mom asked me a few years back, when I was telling her that yet another pair of jeans had holes and I needed to buy more, why I didn't make my kids change their clothes after school. ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? That would double my laundry...I would rather buy new jeans!
But this morning, as I was ironing my boys' church shirts God gently reminded me (and believe me, I didn't deserve gentle at all) that I could have no kids to iron for, do laundry for, help with math, cheer on at a football game, tear up over when one sings a beautiful choir solo, to invite a backyard of school friends for a football game. I could have no A+ papers to display on my fridge, no bookfairs to attend, no valentines to help write, no band concerts to attend, no field trips to chaperone, and never hearing the sound of "Pomp and Circumstance" at the end of 13 wonderful, laundry-filled, project-laiden, schedule juggling, backpack sorting years.
I am the luckiest launderess in the world!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
I Love Being a Woman
Today I decided to start a blog. If you read my first posting then you know why I am blogging. But, aside from my friend who encouraged me, I really decided to because of six women I don’t even know.
I was having brunch with a friend today and she left the table to use the restroom. I was facing a table of six women, all chatting happily and loudly with one another. Now, normally I would feel a bit of jealousy because I was not a part of a group...but how silly would that be since I didn’t even know them? But today, I smiled as I watched this group of women—one in a black tank top, one with a multi-colored designer purse, one with the color of blond hair I wish I had, one with a cell phone making arrangements to pick up her child from preschool. Each different but all sharing the same secrets of being a woman that no man will ever have the joy of knowing. And, oh, I loved what I saw and thought to myself how much I love being a woman! The psalmist says in Psalm 139:13 “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.” How awesome it is that God created me as a woman and that I would so enjoy everything about the feminine world!
I love being a woman. I have loved being a girl ever since I knew I was a girl--I mean, not a boy. I grew up in a home with two sisters, one older and one younger. My mom, of course, was a girl and I had a boy dad. That is just the way things were...there were no same-sex parent families (that I knew of and still actually don't) and each parent had a well-defined role. Mom was the caregiver...she bathed us, fed us, clothed us, told us when to take a nap, when to get up for school, decided when we needed new shoes, bought the birthday presents. Mom took us to doctor when we were sick, to apologize to the neighbor for picking her flowers without permission, to Vacation Bible school, to the grocery store to buy our first feminine hygiene products. She soothed an upset tummy, a broken heart, and tension between father and daughter after driving lessons. She taught us how to be a friend, a mommy, and a cook.
Daddy had a much different role. He was the provider of all. He went to work, fixed the car, roto-rootered the drains, paid the bills, and planted the garden. He is the one who ate the leftovers, cleaned the gutters, tin-foiled the bunny ears, and always, always ate bread and butter with supper. He also taught me math and how to drive, you know, those non-mom tasks.
Although I have the deepest respect and love for both of my parents and the "things" they did for our family, I have never wanted to be male, the dad, the provider, the strong . I don't like plaid shirts, power tools, back-pocket wallets, driving the crappy car of the family, or getting the lawn chairs down from the top of the garage. I don't like opening the super-glue-stuck pickle jar or un-jamming the garbage disposer. I don't like deodorant soap, calf-high socks, or carrying my keys in my front pocket. I don’t like golf on TV, wing tips, or color choices narrowed to blue, black, and brown. And I don't like getting any bugs out of the house...which we all know, of course, is the man's job.
No, being female is so much more pleasant and gratifying. I love the colors and smells and choices of being female. I love having every choice of color and pattern in everything...shirts, shoes, furniture, checkbook covers. Floral, stripes, abstract, modern, traditional, bling, belted, scrunched, flouncy, casual. Pink, red, teal, green, and colors that sound like food like plumberry, bagel, cinnamon, pumpkin, lime (especially lime), and lasagna (just kidding!) I love perfumes and powders and lotions and candles and soft soap and bubble bath and body cream, mousse, butter, and balm. I love flip-flops, high heels, tennis shoes, flats, sandals, clogs, and boots. I love any kind of purse which also comes in any of the above combinations of patterns and colors...not to mention style--clutch, hobo, satchel, with or without a long strap, some with lights inside, some with zippers, magnet closings, flaps, and all with a cell phone place.
But more than the things I like about being female are, well, other kinds of things. I like the door opened for me and knowing that most men, no matter where you are, will always open a door for you as you enter a public place. I like the traditional American option of being the stay-at-home parent and that that is completely "normal." I love several conversations with lots women around a table all taking place at the same time and being able to keep an ear on all of them and being able jump in and out of any one of them and not lose a beat. I like that I am the one who gets to be pregnant and bring new life into this world. I like to cry when I need to and that that is OK. I like chick flicks, shopping all day, having morning coffee with a friend that lasts until after lunch, wearing a nightgown, getting flowers, writing thank you notes. I love being the one my child wants most in the world when they are sick or sad. I love the range of emotions that I have and knowing that my girlfriends have them too and we all "get it" when you are crushed your husband doesn't notice that the house is dirty when you need him to or your daughter didn't get invited to a birthday party.
Yes, I love being a woman. The colorful, multi-faceted, emotional, fragrant, life-giving thrill of being a woman!
I was having brunch with a friend today and she left the table to use the restroom. I was facing a table of six women, all chatting happily and loudly with one another. Now, normally I would feel a bit of jealousy because I was not a part of a group...but how silly would that be since I didn’t even know them? But today, I smiled as I watched this group of women—one in a black tank top, one with a multi-colored designer purse, one with the color of blond hair I wish I had, one with a cell phone making arrangements to pick up her child from preschool. Each different but all sharing the same secrets of being a woman that no man will ever have the joy of knowing. And, oh, I loved what I saw and thought to myself how much I love being a woman! The psalmist says in Psalm 139:13 “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.” How awesome it is that God created me as a woman and that I would so enjoy everything about the feminine world!
I love being a woman. I have loved being a girl ever since I knew I was a girl--I mean, not a boy. I grew up in a home with two sisters, one older and one younger. My mom, of course, was a girl and I had a boy dad. That is just the way things were...there were no same-sex parent families (that I knew of and still actually don't) and each parent had a well-defined role. Mom was the caregiver...she bathed us, fed us, clothed us, told us when to take a nap, when to get up for school, decided when we needed new shoes, bought the birthday presents. Mom took us to doctor when we were sick, to apologize to the neighbor for picking her flowers without permission, to Vacation Bible school, to the grocery store to buy our first feminine hygiene products. She soothed an upset tummy, a broken heart, and tension between father and daughter after driving lessons. She taught us how to be a friend, a mommy, and a cook.
Daddy had a much different role. He was the provider of all. He went to work, fixed the car, roto-rootered the drains, paid the bills, and planted the garden. He is the one who ate the leftovers, cleaned the gutters, tin-foiled the bunny ears, and always, always ate bread and butter with supper. He also taught me math and how to drive, you know, those non-mom tasks.
Although I have the deepest respect and love for both of my parents and the "things" they did for our family, I have never wanted to be male, the dad, the provider, the strong . I don't like plaid shirts, power tools, back-pocket wallets, driving the crappy car of the family, or getting the lawn chairs down from the top of the garage. I don't like opening the super-glue-stuck pickle jar or un-jamming the garbage disposer. I don't like deodorant soap, calf-high socks, or carrying my keys in my front pocket. I don’t like golf on TV, wing tips, or color choices narrowed to blue, black, and brown. And I don't like getting any bugs out of the house...which we all know, of course, is the man's job.
No, being female is so much more pleasant and gratifying. I love the colors and smells and choices of being female. I love having every choice of color and pattern in everything...shirts, shoes, furniture, checkbook covers. Floral, stripes, abstract, modern, traditional, bling, belted, scrunched, flouncy, casual. Pink, red, teal, green, and colors that sound like food like plumberry, bagel, cinnamon, pumpkin, lime (especially lime), and lasagna (just kidding!) I love perfumes and powders and lotions and candles and soft soap and bubble bath and body cream, mousse, butter, and balm. I love flip-flops, high heels, tennis shoes, flats, sandals, clogs, and boots. I love any kind of purse which also comes in any of the above combinations of patterns and colors...not to mention style--clutch, hobo, satchel, with or without a long strap, some with lights inside, some with zippers, magnet closings, flaps, and all with a cell phone place.
But more than the things I like about being female are, well, other kinds of things. I like the door opened for me and knowing that most men, no matter where you are, will always open a door for you as you enter a public place. I like the traditional American option of being the stay-at-home parent and that that is completely "normal." I love several conversations with lots women around a table all taking place at the same time and being able to keep an ear on all of them and being able jump in and out of any one of them and not lose a beat. I like that I am the one who gets to be pregnant and bring new life into this world. I like to cry when I need to and that that is OK. I like chick flicks, shopping all day, having morning coffee with a friend that lasts until after lunch, wearing a nightgown, getting flowers, writing thank you notes. I love being the one my child wants most in the world when they are sick or sad. I love the range of emotions that I have and knowing that my girlfriends have them too and we all "get it" when you are crushed your husband doesn't notice that the house is dirty when you need him to or your daughter didn't get invited to a birthday party.
Yes, I love being a woman. The colorful, multi-faceted, emotional, fragrant, life-giving thrill of being a woman!
Just Me: Here I Am
I have thought about writing for a long time. While I excelled in high school I wasn't that great in college the first time around and remember very clearly getting a poor grade on the first college paper I ever wrote. My dad was a good writer and so is my older sister. As I have aged, or rather matured, learned, grown, expanded in knowledge and experience life--however you want to put it--I find that the things that rattle inside my brain must, certainly and of course, be for others to hear...that is why I talk so much. You remember that commercial years back for a remote medical emergency response service that showed the old lady on the floor saying to the "voice" on the other end, "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up." Yeah, well, that is me only it is, "Help, I started talking and I can't shut up!" My mom pointed out a t-shirt once with that saying and told me to buy it and wear it. Unfortunately (not) most t-shirts don't fit me and look terrible on me so, darn it, I could get it.
Anyway...I was having an IM conversation on Facebook the other day (I will save my thoughts on Facebook for another time) and she was, while we were IM-ing, looking at some pictures of her daughter who is currently teaching in another country. Her daughter has a blog about her adventures and she was saying I should blog too. Well--as much as I like to talk and write I still thought, "Who the heck wants to read what I have to say." I tucked it in the back of my mind, however, never thinking I would do it. It seems a tad bit egotistical to just put my words out there as if what I think or say or feel or experience is even remotely interesting to other people. At least when it is written it becomes the reader's choice. (A personal revelation just took place as I wrote that--if I speak I take away others' choice. Makes me want to be more careful what I say.)
So here is the first posting of my blog...well, while it will appear first, it is not the first thing I wrote for my blog. My first writing for my blog follows this entry. I can tell you as you read you will see me, just me. That is why I named my blog "Just Me." I'm not fancy or exotic, pretending or masking, or anything super, awesome, or magnificent. This blog will be just who I am, and if what I say has a positive affect on you in any way, then the this blog's first purpose for existing has been fulfilled. The second is so I can write with purpose. Let me say one more thing...just read my next posting before deciding if you will follow this blog. Welcome to "Just Me."
Anyway...I was having an IM conversation on Facebook the other day (I will save my thoughts on Facebook for another time) and she was, while we were IM-ing, looking at some pictures of her daughter who is currently teaching in another country. Her daughter has a blog about her adventures and she was saying I should blog too. Well--as much as I like to talk and write I still thought, "Who the heck wants to read what I have to say." I tucked it in the back of my mind, however, never thinking I would do it. It seems a tad bit egotistical to just put my words out there as if what I think or say or feel or experience is even remotely interesting to other people. At least when it is written it becomes the reader's choice. (A personal revelation just took place as I wrote that--if I speak I take away others' choice. Makes me want to be more careful what I say.)
So here is the first posting of my blog...well, while it will appear first, it is not the first thing I wrote for my blog. My first writing for my blog follows this entry. I can tell you as you read you will see me, just me. That is why I named my blog "Just Me." I'm not fancy or exotic, pretending or masking, or anything super, awesome, or magnificent. This blog will be just who I am, and if what I say has a positive affect on you in any way, then the this blog's first purpose for existing has been fulfilled. The second is so I can write with purpose. Let me say one more thing...just read my next posting before deciding if you will follow this blog. Welcome to "Just Me."
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)