Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't...

In the middle of our walk between art galleries today at a local museum, the kiddo stopped and turned and stood in awe for several moments.  “Do you know these two?” he finally asked quietly.

Maybe I did.  Maybe I didn’t.  What I knew didn’t matter at the moment.  “Why don’t you tell me about them,” I replied instead of answering.

“This is King George III and his wife, Queen Charlotte of Mecklenburg,” he began, and our discussion didn’t end until sometime after I’d learned more about European history and art than I thought I’d ever know and our lunch had moved into dessert and coffee nearly two hours later. 

These are the days he gets to be the tour guide and I get to hang back and soak in all he’s learning.  These are the days I get to listen and stand in awe of all he’s becoming.  These are the days I want to remember.  

What I really meant to say...

I'm a bit of a weepy mess this afternoon but before you feel bad for me, I'm giving you permission to laugh at me.  I know it sounds ridiculous.  I've said the words out loud about a dozen times now, wondering if they’d somehow mean more or less if I heard them in my tone of voice rather than in my head.  I only have two more days to drive carpool and while this should make me jump for joy, I know my life will never be the same.

So let me back up and bring you in on where all of this began.  I've been wondering how to break it to my son that I want to drive him to school on the first day in August.  Do I have a good reason? Not really.  He’ll have his license.  He has a car.  He’ll have driven nine thousand miles over the summer in various lighting and weather conditions because we’re going to live in his car until I feel confident he knows enough to pull out of the driveway on his own.  But I have a few bits of mom logic bouncing around my brain that I’m prepared to toss about when I plead my case. The first day is always frenetic and I’ve been in the high school parking lot on enough day ones to know the student parking area looks like a toddler took a warehouse full of matchbox cars and threw them everywhere.

The view from the from of the line.

So I got brave yesterday and floated this notion by the kiddo.  There I stood, fully anchored in reality yet hopeful, as he grinned at me from ear to ear.  “Mom. No way. I'm looking forward to driving myself.”

I know this.  The kiddo and I are close and we talk about things like this.  I know he's excited.  So I joked and laughed and played it cool and said typical mom things that came to mind like who will hold your coffee while you're getting all of your stuff out of the car and you can’t eat and drive so you’re going to have to add ten minutes to your morning routine.  I have jobs in the morning.  I'm the breakfast maker and the coffee holder so I thought these were valid talking points. But what I really meant to say were heart things like who will tell you to do great and have a great day and that they love you before you head into the fray?  Who will be waiting with a smile to pick you up and listen as you download your day?  I ended up going with the simple truth.  “I’ll miss running through our checklist.”

You see, my kiddo is an Aspie.  And while his Aspie is extremely mild, like a dash of pepper on a beautifully frosted slice of cake, routine runs the game.  I never knew when he was diagnosed at the tender of age of five, when we learned that his routines were a God-wired part of him and not just learned behavior, that these same routines I often loathed would become so ingrained in me that I would have a harder time breaking some of them than he would.

It was then my son said the sweetest, most heartbreaking thing I've ever heard leave his lips.  “I know, mom.  Haven't you noticed I've been giving you less and less information during our afternoon run down? I didn't want to hurt your feelings but I know I have to start doing the rundown for myself so I've been trying to keep my conversations with you fairly brief.

Oh sweetheart, I wanted to shout.  I’ve noticed.  Of course I have.  The logical part of me has known what he was doing since he changed up our routine shortly after spring break but my heart didn't want to admit it.

“So what if I just ride with you?” I asked.  No, I’m not above a backdoor approach to getting my way.

“Sure,” he offers quickly.  He’s been driving me around town for months so this isn’t anything new.  But then he catches me.  “Wait a minute,” he smiles.  “If you ride with me that means you either take my car and come back after school or you sit in the parking lot for seven hours.  Nice try, but no deal, mom.”

So the kiddo is on to me.  Okay.  That’s fine.  I get it.  I’ve seriously got to up my game.

The B's have it...

If you know me well (or if you've been to my home office), you know I have a fascination with the letter B. My office is covered with B's and that's how I like it. In fact, many special people in my life have given me B's over the years and every time I look around my space, I smile.  

I even had a B coaster on my desk. Until today.  

The truth is, I never really liked the coaster because it's not quite my style. Actually, it's not my font. The day I bought it I remember bemoaning the fact that the other 25 letters of the alphabet had fun fonts like Papyrus and Georgia and Bradley Handwriting while B got Comic Sans, outlined and italicized. Oh, the horror! But still, I didn't have a B coaster so home it came. But I broke rank today when I saw this...

I have so much to be thankful for I don't know where to begin but I'm never above being reminded.

Cotton Management...

If you know me at all, you've likely heard my description of our laundry room.  At any given moment it looks like Tommy Bahama and Ralph Lauren are having an affair with the Brooks Brothers!  The men in this house don't understand the meaning of wash and wear.  It much more closely resembles wash on delicate for 33 minutes and dry for 13 minutes before hanging for 4 hours then drying for 13 more minutes to wrinkle release around here.  My guys have great taste in clothing and while they always look good, I'm beginning to think I need an advanced degree in cotton management just to wash their clothes!  Couple that with the fact that if you've taken a trip to the mall recently, you know mens clothing isn't cheap.  Words like sale and clearance don't translate across the mens aisles like they do for women.  

A few weeks ago I added a small dry erase board near the dryer to remind me how many items need to be removed at the damp dry buzzer (lest they shrink, fade, wrinkle, get too hot--the list is endless)! And this is the note that met me mid week when I least expected it, smack dab in the middle of the ordinariness of motherhood. 

The best job I've ever had is also the hardest, most challenging, often frustrating, highly rewarding, extremely thought provoking, utterly overwhelming, at times disappointing, extremely nerve racking, most heart pounding job I've ever had. There are days I want to scream. There are days I cry. There are days I laugh. Then this shows up and reminds me there are days I kn

ow to my core why I do what I do, and why I love it so much...

I think it's the trees...

There are many misconceptions about the type A personality.  Take me for instance.  I'm a hard charging type A but I'm far more introverted than people realize.  I can turn it “on” and go almost indefinitely.  Until I stop.  And then it's like my husband always jokes; I have two speeds--sixth gear and off.  No idle.  No second gear.  No moderation.

The end of the school year always brings out the extremes in my personality, this brakes/gas thing I have going as my family likes to say.  My calendar is in maximum overdrive and I'm good with that until I'm not.  Sometimes I’m blessed with a warning light when my tank is running low.  Today was one of those days.

As I was standing at the office supply store watching thirty five pounds of paper I purged from my life bite it at the hands of the cross cutter, it dawned on me that I'm tired.  It's been a long week and I've had multiple things vying for my attention every day. Between that and the rain crashing into the windows at night making me think someone is throwing marbles against the glass and the lightning putting on a laser show that wreaks havoc on my photo sensitivity, I haven't been sleeping well.  Poor sleep is a wicked tonic to throw in to the too busy cocktail.  So this afternoon I tossed my schedule to the wind and drove to the spot where I go when I need to let the world disappear.

My spot isn't far from home but it's incredibly special.  It's a place I’ve found myself at various points when I need to cry, laugh, celebrate, pray, mourn, or just stand in awe.  One time I even went for the sole purpose of screaming out loud.  Today I just wanted to sit and be quiet and my spot is perfect for that.  My world has been so noisy as of late sometimes I honestly can’t hear myself think.  Today I needed time to not worry about anything or feel anxious about anything or wonder about my calendar or the laundry or the grocery list or AP finals or the schedule for junior year or my time commitments or even the type of person I've let myself become over the last year.  I’m constantly checking a list and analyzing my scorecard and for a few minutes today I needed to not think.  To not grade myself as a wife, and a mom, and a daughter, and a sister.  As a friend, a coworker, an artist, a boss, a student, or even as a volunteer.

While it would be easy to look at my spot and think it has something to do with nature, that’s not it.  While I’m aware of the birds and the squirrels and the creek when I let myself pay attention to those things, I'm also able to tune all of that out and just be when I step off the path.  The truth is, I think it’s the trees.  There are times I need to get out of my habitat and in to someone else's.  Not being able to see the trees for the forest slows me down.

I was only off the clock for eight minutes today but they were a quality eight minutes and it was just what I needed to reset myself for a busy afternoon and evening.

What have you done for yourself today?  Do you have a spot or a thing you do to help yourself reset?  If not, you're missing out and you might want to brainstorm this a bit.  I hear a lot of people say their spot is the ocean or a beach or the lake or mountains and while those places are wonderful for a big getaway, a far off location can't be the quick respite our souls so desperately need.  Think of it like this--you need a place nearby when the warning lights go off.

  

You deserve to give yourself a minute to reset in the middle of this manic, overloaded, fast lane life you're living.  In fact, push the limit and take eight.  And yes, it was really eight. I'm a type A.  I counted.

The Best Grandma Ever...

When I was 15 the cold war was still alive and well and it seems like everywhere I turned for a time, someone was talking about mutual assured destruction and the red menace and Russia, Russia, Russia! Maybe some of you 70’s and 80’s babies can relate…

Fast-forward 32 years and here we are again. War. Nuclear tests. Countermeasures. North Korea. MOAB. Everywhere we turn it seems war or talk of war surrounds us and I know first hand when you’re 15 that can be a tricky thing to process. Such is the way with the kiddo. He’s a history nerd to the max which means he knows more about history than some of us have forgotten and he’s a crack debater which means he’s up to the minute on current affairs. Ugh. These are dark days we find ourselves in. So where do the words of comfort come from? 

For me it was my grandma, the queen of the world. When I was shaky or confused about anything, including good ole Gorbachev back in the day, my grandma would sit with me and we’d talk it through. She always had just the right words to share; a little history, a little hope, a lot of faith.

And so it goes with me when the kiddo wants to talk about current events these days. I do my best to remember back to the times I sat with my grandma and listened to her gentle words of assurance. And I’m sure to mix in a little history, a little hope, and a lot of faith, with a big hug or two thrown in for good measure.  #BestGrandmaEVER

Huffing and Growling...

People are disruptive...

I heard this phrase a couple of weeks ago and I have to tell you, it strikes a cord with me.  As it applies in my life, it’s true--people can be hideously disruptive. I would have said I do a bang-up job of grumbling under my breath when I’m interrupted and hiding the fact that I’m not the world’s most flexible person.  But alas, it’s been brought to my attention by a few people who love me most that I don’t always hide my emotions very well when I’m interrupted.  Could that be true of me?

If you know me, you know I’m an overachieving type A that craves deadlines and organization and you also probably know I’m pretty insightful, especially when it comes to knowing myself.  For example, I know I don’t have the gift of hospitality.  Have you ever been to my house for dinner?  See?  Not a speck of hospitality in sight.  Why is this, you ask?  1. I don’t like to cook.  2. I don’t want my house to get messed up.  Which is to say yes, I'm aware I’m a neat freak who trends toward pretty strong OCD tendencies.  Feel free to laugh when I say that one of the things I enjoy most is engaging in conversation and strengthening friendships over a good meal.  Out.  In a restaurant.  When you call me you might be planning a cookout but when I call you, you can bet we’re eating out!

So how does all of this relate to people?  I would have said my scorecard on friendship earned high marks.  I pride myself on quickly responding to emails and texts when anyone in my inner circle needs a hand, an ear, a ride, a dollar, a friend or when they just want to chat or vent.  I try to make myself available at any hour to those I’m blessed to share my life with and thankfully, they gladly do the same for me.  But I had no idea I was sometimes doing so with such a huff in my tone.  With all of this insight I pride myself on having, how could I have missed that?

I was clueless that I huffed when my mom called last week to ask my opinion on something and politely asked what I was doing.  “Working!” She recalls me saying in a rush.  I also had no idea that I threw my hand out and growled over the weekend when the hubster interrupted a block of creative writing time I’d set aside.  Yep.  He said the actual quote was “I need five more minutes to wrap up before I can help you.”  Wow!  Where’s that application for Wife-of-the-Year?  Will someone grab it for me, please?

To me, friendship shows up first and foremost by offering the gift of time to the people I adore and the last thing I want to do is offer that time with a scowl on my face and a growl lacing my voice.  That isn’t a reflection of my heart and it’s not the kind of person I want to be.

This month I’m embracing the truth about myself.  I huff and I growl a lot and I’m determined to stop.