12.31.11

It was October when I finally decided this little blog project would be put to rest come the end of the year. I'd tossed around continuing this segue of my journey, but I decided to make like Seinfeld and go out while people were still interested. There's more money in reruns anyway, right Jerry?


Things I hope you, dear reader, will take away from this project:


1. It doesn't take a major life event to grow and change. You do it every day. You do it every time you put two feet on the floor in the morning and hoist yourself up out of bed, because every day brings a new opportunity to grow and change--maybe it's your interaction with a new barista, or a quick text from a friend. It's your soul's path to seek out people and events that help you to become a better human being. Appreciate every smile and every tear--big and small--for pushing you to where you are today.
2. Along with that opportunity for growth, you have this phenomenal chance on a daily basis to shape your attitude. Sitting down at the end of the day and just reflecting on what was peaceful, or fun, or successful--it made me go to bed happier. Go to bed happy, wake up happy, grow happy...well, you see the cycle. If you are, in fact, a bright light (and you are), why would you dwell on things that make you dim? Shine.
3. The only person who can validate you is you. Love yourself first. Have faith in yourself. Believe in what you are doing. If you aren't currently in a position to see that you are awesome, change it.
4. This blog has been proof of this one: no matter how hard you intend and set forth and try, it doesn't always work out--but the effort you give is always enough. People won't judge you for it, and if they do, time for a life cleanse. It's not your job to "fix" people. Show them a path and let them choose. Don't be offended when they don't choose what you set forth. And then--let it go. Let it all go. Take your experience and evolve, grow, be. 
5. As you reflect on 2011 and look to 2012, and declare things to be the worst or the best, to anticipate and hope, please remember that there is no more beautiful moment than the moment that you are currently in. 


My keyboard will be silent for a bit as I await the arrival of my new blog site. It'll be pretty and fancy, and have buttons and bells and whistles. I'll be transferring all of this year's posts to that site, and once it's complete and ready to go, there will be a new place for us all to reflect and share. I hope that you will join me there when the time comes (I'm anticipating by the end of January).


I've timed this one perfectly. I hear Will stirring, and I think my New Year's dessert ingredients are thawed. With an enormous amount of gratitude and peace in my heart (and tears now stinging my eyes), thank you: for reading my words, for offering up encouragement, for being inspired and inspiring me, for sharing your intentions. 


Thank you for being a part of my journey. I look forward to continuing it with you in its new form in the new year.


At least...that's my intention.


Cheers.

12.30.11

Quel suprise...I found myself crying this morning.


Some silly little figure skater was on the Today Show twirling around the Rockefeller Center ice rink to Beyonce's I Was Here, and I excused myself from pinterest activities and family coffee time to escape to the shower to cry. 


Why was I crying--again--you ask? 


Because I've been fretting over my final blog post for the last week, and it all finally hit me that tomorrow is it.


When you sit down in the same chair (this one here)

for 364 evenings, save the ones where I was elsewhere in the world, and you ponder not only how you fulfilled your intention for the day, but what about the day would be even remotely interesting to the hundred or so people who tune in each evening, well, if it takes thirty days to break a habit, it's going to be February before I shake the emptiness of my evenings.


And it all made me cry. 


My intention was personal.


And it became so much more. 


I want to say I lived each day, until I dieAnd know that I meant something in, somebody's lifeThe hearts I have touched, will be the proof that I leaveThat I made a difference, and this world will seeI was hereI lived, I lovedI was hereI did, I've done, everything that I wantedAnd it was more that I thought it would be
Well, my evenings won't be empty--in this crazy household, they never could be! But come Sunday, I won't ever again plop in my chair and say, "Oh shoot, I gotta blog." In about two and a half months, there will be two pint-sized people to occupy my lap in place of my outdated MacBook. And memories will suddenly be savored for the sake of savoring--for my own eyes, and my own heart--and not shared every.single.time.
I'm at peace with the fact that the nightly therapy this blog has become will in fact end tomorrow. For those of you as sad as I am, fret not: I'm relaunching something new in 2012. :o) 
Tomorrow's post will conclude the year, with the most amazing of intentions.

12.29.11

I'm blogging tonight from my kitchen, click clacking away in the fifteen minutes I'm waiting for my brussels sprouts to finish roasting and my carrots to finish soaking up their sweet honey glaze.


I've immensely enjoyed cooking on this little winter vacation (which can't really be deemed "winter" given that it's 51 degrees outside, but the crackling fire Greg just built might persuade me otherwise), baking desserts and roasting this and that--there's something about filling your house with the scents of traditional holiday foods that can't help but make you feel festive and...fill you with a sense of peace that can only come with the aroma of nostalgia.


I've got one more "holiday" left to cook for, and that's New Year's Eve.


If Greg and I were big anniversary people, then we would be counting this New Year's Eve as our ninth anniversary of truly being "together," and it was probably the last New Year's Eve we spent out on the town. And by "probably," I mean it most definitely was. 


And this NYE you will find us doing the same thing we've done for the last eight: cooking, sitting by a fire, enjoying each other's company, and the peace that comes with knowing we don't have to spend a lot of money, find a designated driver, or be hungover the next day to ensure we've had a good time.


I'll wrap up the holiday cooking season that evening, maybe with my mom's traditional cabbage rolls, and we'll toast each other at 9:00, just before we turn off the light and fall asleep. 


There goes my timer. 


What are you doing to celebrate the end of 2011? I'm thinking a kid-friendly party is in our future one of these years. Maybe it'll become one of those traditions.


Cheers.

12.28.11

My kids can grow up and be whatever they want to be. 


And while I don't necessarily hope for a teacher to follow in my footsteps, I was warmed heart and soul tonight by the following interaction with Will. Oh yes, it's another mommy entry.


I took Will to the yoga studio before my class tonight so that we could dance and be goofy. We've been reading My Daddy Is A Pretzel a lot lately (Baron Baptiste), and he gets a kick out of the poses.


I turned on Laurie Berkner, and we danced around to songs about dinosaurs and buzzing bees and tobasco sauce on burritos. We sat on the meditation bolsters as though they were horses, and we had a race. Oh, and Will turned the OM night lights on and off. And then on. And then off. Again and again and again.


As the time drew nearer for Greg to come and pick him up, I unrolled my mat and walked away. 


"Mommy, come here!" 


I turned around to find him in up dog in the center of my mat.


"Wow buddy! Can you do down dog too?" 


He could.


And then he stood up, balanced on one leg with the opposite foot on his shin. He danced his hands in the air above his head and said, "Look mommy! I'm a tree!" 


Greg walked in, and Will sat down.


"Daddy, you do tree." 


Greg obliged. Will laughed.


"I teach yoga like mommy," he said.


It brought me a sense of peace knowing that my child doesn't just pick up on the fact that I say the word "No" eight hundred and eighty-seven times a day. 


He picks up on the good stuff, too.

12.27.11

I took on some yoga classes to sub the first three mornings this week, so Will has been bounced from family member to family member while I spend a couple hours spreading a little peace.


That doesn't take away from my mom guilt. After all, I'd rather be playing, cuddling, wrestling, and watching movies with him! 


And that's what I did this afternoon. He woke up from his nap, we painted for a little bit (ten minutes, to be exact), and then I popped some popcorn and put in Cars.


He sat on my lap. 


Fifteen minutes in, he stood up, wrapped his arms around my neck, and then backed away.


He threw his arms into the air.


"I so happy! I so happy! I so happy!" he shrieked.


I'm so happy, buddy. Me too.


Side note: Congrats to loyal blog reader Laura B. on the arrival of her second son Jack this morning! May you get a little peace and quiet the next couple of days before the real fun begins. :o)

12.26.11

Greg and I decided we weren't going to do Christmas presents this year--not even gummy bears or Sweet Tarts in our stockings--for a few reasons:
1. We are gifting ourselves--our family--a house we hope to love and live in for many years.
2. We realized, with a bit of nostalgic sadness, that Christmas isn't about us anymore.
3. We had another really big gift to give.


We were awake at five yesterday morning, and this time it wasn't the fault of Will. For me, I was purely excited about the gift for my mom and my stepdad. 


My three siblings and I decided to give them a Happy 60th Birthday/Happy 20th Wedding Anniversary present. After a few months of planning, many many text messages, and a very large secret, everything was revealed yesterday morning.


First, they unwrapped shovels.

We convinced them we'd purchased side-by-side grave sites, and they may need to start digging. Hahaha.


Next came the big box of sand. Now they really did have to dig.

They found the buried treasure...

...but had to unlock the chest...

And as soon as they realized we were taking a family vacation for the first time in fifteen years at our old family vacation standby spot (Myrtle Beach), they were all smiles...

...and then they clutched each other sobbing hysterically.

Knowing now what it feels like to have kids, and to love having them around, I completely understand their tears of joy. 


Something tells me their world will feel a little bit more complete--perhaps at peace--come August, when we're all digging in the sand and riding waves...together...once again.


P.S. Dad, if you're reading this, you know you turn 60 next year...watch out next Christmas! :o)

12.25.11

I find that on Christmas, my deepest sentiment is one of gratitude. 


And it is with a peaceful heart that I am thankful for my beautiful family, sharing their love, and being able to be with them, at this time of year, and all throughout. 


Love.

12.24.11

There is so much peace in light, isn't there? 


Maybe that's why I love the sunlight in the window thing so much. It's just serene, and beautiful.


Peace is beautiful.


I went to my mat this morning, for the first time in, well, that time period shall go unmentioned. I was seeking a bit of peace, and that was my intention I set while in child's pose.


The practice was beautiful. It was early, and I could watch the back door of the studio grow brighter as the sun rose to greet us on this Christmas Eve morning. 


At the end of class, the instructor read an excerpt from a blog posted last night on the yogahOMe website. It was written by an instructor (the beautiful Cole Imperi) who was raised both Jewish and Catholic, and in the post, she discusses light. 


I’m going to put my yogi hat on now and look at [light] in a different way. In yoga, we all have teachers. We all have someone that passed on a little ‘light’ to us. Whether that teacher is a friend, child or yoga instructor, light is passed from one person to another.



All of us, whether we’ve fallen away from our practice or never miss a class, are lights. Each and every one of us. Life is about keeping our own personal light as clear and pure as possible.

Judaism tells us that when our deepest self is challenged, our essence comes out and no force can extinguish our flame. We are all lights. Sure, we might have struggles, make a poor choice or end up in a little ‘darkness,’ but ultimately, our core is that of light and it’s just a matter of peeling the ‘darkness’ off.

The Christian Bible has a verse that illustrates this concept of light beautifully: “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light.” (1 John 2:10)

And this is what December is for me this year. A time to be light and a time to enjoy the light of others.

Go be light tonight. Shine brightly for those that have always seen it in you, and shine even brighter for those who have yet to cross your path. Be beautiful. Be peaceful. Illuminate and glow. Be radiant. And if you are having a hard time finding it, soak it up from those around you. We all have enough light to go around.  

12.23.11

We just pulled into our driveway, and through our neighbor's side door we could see her, asleep in her easy lift reclining chair, leopard Snuggie cuddled around her.


Family comes to visit every once in awhile. She's elderly, and since she had a stroke a few years ago, she struggles to move around. Occasionally the words won't form as she tells us about the squirrels she feeds. 


I made a yule log cake today. Tomorrow, I'll take her a few pieces. Maybe we will swing by Walgreen's for a new Snuggie. Maybe we will go in and visit for just a few minutes.


We all know someone like this, and it is usually this time of year that our hearts reach out, even though it should be all times of year.


Tomorrow, take just a moment to think about them. Wish for them a little bit of peace, and surely more than a little will be planted in their hearts. 

12.22.11

With only three prep days left until the big game, perhaps my readers are expecting a post about how amazing my first day off was, how much baking Will and I did together, how reflective I was about the peacefulness this time of year can bring, and then perhaps I should culminate it with a sweet Will and mom moment. 


I shall entertain you in other ways...


My first day off was, in fact, amazing (it was a day off, was it not?).


I spent the morning hours running at the gym and taking great delight in every person I passed...even if they were literally all 80 years old...and maybe one of them had a cane...but at just over six months pregnant, I get lapped like crazy in the evenings!


I then packed plenty of snacks and Will and I hit a few stores for last minute items. Ridiculous. There's a reason Will says "Jesus Christ" whenever he hears a horn, no matter the situation. His mom has a touch of road rage.


And then sweet William fell asleep nuzzled in my scarf as I read him off to dream land. I remember reading a mommy blog once, in which this mom beautifully described herself in the same situation, and her choice to leave all that needed to be done behind, close her eyes, and soak up the two hour nap cuddled with her child.


I thought about that post. I did. I even closed my eyes, took a sweet releasing sigh, soaked it all in.


And then I got the heck up because every gift needed to be wrapped and there were things to be baked! Christmas isn't waiting, people! 


Bonus, Will slept for a record list-completing three hours, and I had time to read and laugh hysterically at this blog about the coveted elf on the shelf, which, for the record, hasn't moved from its original location, nor has it been noticed, asked about, or used as a threat since the day after Thanksgiving. 


Nope, person of the year I was not today. I did not have any kind of cutesy baking moments, or sweet reflections on my place in this world (I mean, I let myself be excited about lapping grandparents). 


And I have nothing to culminate this post with except for an exhausted, worn out, going to go collapse into bed now because being a holiday hurricane is hard work and maybe tomorrow I should seek more peace.


Peace out. 

12.21.11

Happy Winter Solstice.


Each season brings change--in weather, in color, in ourselves. The transition is ready to happen if you let it, if you coax it, if you just allow it to take place.


On the first day of school this year, I looked at both of my French I classes, chock full of the kids who are the "cream of the crop," and I told them, "Look at the people around you. You might think you are in a class full of losers, weirdos, and everyone in between, and the fact of the matter is, you will all be family by the end of the year." (I blogged about last year's family of students here.)


The looks on their faces told me they thought otherwise. The looks also said, "Who the heck are you to tell me who I'm gonna like?" followed by, "You are one crazy lady." 


I sort of believed their looks. This group seemed tougher that most. They all had thick cinder block walls built up, protecting their ideas of who was Miss Popular and who was Mr. Insecure. The cliques were going to be one of my greatest challenges yet if I were going to break them up.


It started small, as it usually does. Partner work, conversation activities, group projects. I let my guard down a bit, we joke and laugh at me, and that makes it okay to laugh at themselves. "Mrs. Kauffman doesn't care what we think of her. Why do I care what this kid next to me thinks about me?" You can almost see the process from month to month, week to week, day to day.


A few weeks ago we tackled the class family tree. After observing who flirts with who, and who needs a little push to get along better with someone, I make them all marry each other, be each other's kids and aunts and grandparents. One cinder block at a time, I chip away at their walls. 


So today, as we culminated this first part of the year with our annual caroling gig to all the classrooms, I shouldn't have been surprised at their enthusiasm, at their mutual support for each other as they sang this strange French version of Jingle Bells, having planned costumes together, choreographed movements together, laughing together, and having fun together.


And I wasn't surprised.


I was floored.


Their transition from stronghold forts of personality to vulnerable and accepting individuals truly came to fruition today, on the solstice.


I had so many doubts, and yet my heart is completely at peace tonight, because I know that I've succeeded, and these families I'm building are only going to get stronger as they continue to transition and change and, well, grow up...together.

12.20.11

When I was in 10th grade, we sang this "Star light, shine bright" song at our holiday concert. It had amazing harmonies with the men's chorus that gave me goose bumps every single time we rehearsed.


The closest thing I can find is the "Star of wonder, star of might," line in God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, specifically the Barenaked Ladies/Sarah McLachlan version. I crank that one in my car like it's Livin' On a Prayer (and thank goodness Bon Jovi lives!).


Maybe it's just stars that I love...


On our way back from Atlanta a few Thanksgivings ago, we saw a falling star. It seemed to sprinkle across the sky, as though it were just for us. Feeling like a kid again, I wished with all my might for something that came to fruition just a few weeks later.


I don't credit the falling star for my wish. Perhaps I just manifested it--pun intended, maybe it was written in the stars. 


I'm sure I appear to be a high maintenance kind of traveling gal. I do prefer a hotel to a tent, and since I shower twice a day, it's necessary to have running water at my disposal.


But my next US dream trip involves a cabin in Montana, miles from anywhere, and a wide open sky full of stars--stars I've never seen before, stars too numerous to count.


And I'll lay there, staring up at that peaceful sky, and I'll think, "Star light, shine bright." 


Goosebumps for sure. 


What a vast universe it certainly is. 

12.19.11

Let's see...six days to go before the big day, and I think my Christmas Grinch finally left.


It happened about ten minutes ago. I was scooping pre-made cookie dough onto the cookie tray for my homeroom kids tomorrow (door decorating contest and peanut butter cup cookies? Yes please!), and even though my kitchen counters weren't covered in flour and the floor wasn't slippery with sugar, I found myself humming "Deck the Halls" as I carefully portioned out those tablespoons of cookie dough.


Also tomorrow? The annual French 1 yule log cakes. This year marks year number nine, and I am totally excited to see what they bring in. And eat them.


And Wednesday? The eighth year for French 1 holiday caroling. I so look forward to posting the video--the kids are really something creative this year. 


Aaah, holiday peace in my heart, welcome back!


I sit here, re-reading this post and thinking, "How is it possible that of all things, my students helped me find this holiday cheer?" 


No answer. Just lucky.

12.18.11

Today was a beautiful day. 


The bright sunshine and not-too-cold temperatures made it ideal weather for coming out of the house to walk or run, to finish shopping, to just enjoy.


My apologies to my readers who have never been pregnant, although if you've ever experienced depression of any kind, surely you can relate.


I've talked about how this pregnancy has been filled with the ol' Baby Blues. One reader related so much, that she sent me a thank you note, for making it less of a shameful, at times ridiculous, thing. 


And really, on a beautiful day like today, with no real complaints (unlike yesterday), I found myself sad sad sad. And ashamed that I was wasting such a day. (And I type this post with hesitation, not afraid of being too honest, but facing silent judgment.)


So as I lay in bed, Baby Blues crying outburst almost over, husband attentively and lovingly and patiently by my side, my greatest teacher walked to the window.


The plantation shutters were closed. 


"It's dark mama. Too dark," Will said.


In the next breath, he threw them open, as though he were performing the best magic trick in the world, as if to say, "Abracadabra! Darkness be gone!" 


Instead, he said, "And now it's not dark mama. It's bright. And sunny." 


I smiled. 


Simplistic logic from my greatest teacher.


Dark veil lifted. Magic trick a success. Peace returned to heart and mind. Baby Blues outburst finished as quickly as it began, as they so often are.


I dried my tears, and we went on with this beautiful day.

12.17.11

When my brother was in high school, he had a band called Disturbance of Peace. 


Tonight's blog is a disturbance of the usual peaceful cheerful posts I make. 


I'm sitting here laughing at what today was, because after you go through the gamut of emotions, laughter is where I usually end up. 


We just got home from our second trip to Target, where we picked up A Sesame Street Christmas Carol. We ended up with that because they were sold out of The Polar Express. Sad, sad day.


Why'd we go to Target for a second time on a spectacular holiday evening? We had to cancel our Christmas party plans because of a tot that may or may not have hand, foot, and mouth disease.


After spending the morning cleaning and scouring (really, this is the last time), we had our first house showing today, and we piled all three dogs and Will into the Volvo and away we went. To the park? Too cold, feverish kid. Let's drive by the lot we picked out, we decide.


We make it to Milford and Will sticks the finger in his mouth too far down his throat. 


Vomit all over my car. 


Bonus to having the dogs along? They helped clean up. Until Cooper got nervous and leaked fluids from his bum onto the seat. 


Cue pregnant lady gagging.


A package of baby wipes and one stripped down kid later, we headed to Target for the first time in the day, to buy Will a new pair of pants.


All the way home, Fisher the biggest dog laid on top of Cooper the old man dog, and with each Cooper cough, I'd turn around on edge waiting to clean up more, well, vomit. 


And each time I'd turn around, Will would whine in his sick voice that makes me sad, "Mommy hold me?" 


Upon our arrival home, our realtor is finishing up our photos and says that the couple loved our house...but it was out of their price range.


And then right before dinner I watched the first 15 minutes of Up and found the emotional release I seemed to have been teetering on the edge of since 9:00 this morning. 


Oh why can't I have a glass an entire bottle of wine? 


So while my holiday shopping isn't finished, and it hasn't snowed enough to consider it seasonal, and the bite from this Bah Hum Bug seems to be growing bigger instead of healing, I am forced to look on the bright side...there's always a bright side, right? 


I have my health. I have my family. I have plenty of love to go around. I have food, and shelter, and a job, and heat, and friends and a car.


And the smell will eventually dissipate from that car.


And, most importantly, I have the ability at the end of the day to not dwell in its events, to move on. Tomorrow is a new day.

12.16.11

A couple of hours ago, Greg and I put a feverish, chilled, and shivering little guy to bed.


He curled up into a ball, but requested that Greg read "the Christmas train book" (The Polar Express).


Now all three of us were cuddled into his twin bed. Will curled up into a ball between us, and Greg began reading.


By page three, I noticed Will had fallen asleep. 


Greg and I looked at each other.


"But I want to remember how it ends," Greg said.


I had no argument. I like it that much, too. 


So while Will slept peacefully, Greg and I relived a little bit of our own childhood. 


It took three consecutive years of pleading letters to Santa, "Please, Santa, I'll be extra good if I can just have a bell from your sleigh. It doesn't even need to be one the reindeer wear. Just a rusty old bell you don't use anymore." The Polar Express made me believe with all my might that I would forever hear that bell ring. 


My wish was finally granted. The bell is tucked safely...on the back of the tree, so that Will can't take it down, throw it, roll it, play toss with the dogs, and eventually let it end up in a toy box somewhere, lost until June.


I don't recall my Santa belief ending traumatically. There was disappointment, for sure, but no tears or shrieks of agony. 


A lady I work with told me that her parents always said Santa represented generosity and goodness. And love. And Santa was present in everyone. The letdown for her didn't exist, because she always believed in that goodness.


It is my hope that I am successful in convincing my own children this is true. Even if the belief begins with a suit, a beard, and a ringing bell.


I'm thinking The Polar Express is going to be in our book rotation for quite some time.

12.15.11

The opposite of peace is...


...scrubbing the front of your house in the dark--but comfortable-for-December-fifty-degree-weather--while your son takes the screens from the windows and pretends they are surfboards.


...doing dishes while your two-year-old--unbeknownst to you--is flinging vegetable soup onto your kitchen cabinets.


...finding shredded dirty diapers in the dining room, the bedrooms, and the playroom, thanks to a few dogs who are feeling the neglect that is prepping the house.


...the sound of the nail gun, the cement grinder, the shop vac, and a trowel smearing grout on tile, all within about fifteen minutes of each other.


But peace is...


...spending time with a friend in the afternoon, sharing laughs and woes and updates.


...the incredible quiet that fills a room when Bing Crosby croons "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire."


...snuggled in a truck-and-plaid themed twin bed, sharing The Polar Express for the first time with the soup-wielding toddler, completely attentive and engrossed in the same story that filled you with giddy glee that just maybe Santa really does exist.

12.14.11

I have several friends going through a healing process--one that is visual, and audible, and palpable.

Heck, we are all healing, to some degree. There is always an emotional wound that keeps resurfacing, keeps breaking open again, like when you keep biting your lip in the same damned spot.

Buddha said (although I'm not sure who was writing down Buddha's quotes back in the day), "Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without."

You have to heal yourself first. You have to forgive. You have to cry. You have to be angry. You have to say things or not say things, vent and sweat and shed. You have to accept everything about it. 

Sometimes, you have to be a psychologist's boat payment to get to those places. 

You can't pretend to be healed. You can't fake peace. Well, you can. But it's transparent and unbelievable. 

Healing doesn't happen overnight. It doesn't happen in a month, or a year, or a decade. It is a process. 

Maybe we spend our whole lives healing. 

But that peace will come. It's one raindrop at first, a sense of "Whoa this feels amazing," and soon it's followed by the great flood, a rushing sense of "I'm going to be okay." 

Allow yourself to feel what you feel. Don't hold back. Eventually peace pokes its way through, and it's the emotion that you welcome to stay. You memorize how it got there so that if it ever goes away, you know how to get it back. 

Heal yourself.

12.13.11

Sometimes priorities aren't the items on our to-do list.


They aren't sweeping the floors or cleaning the bathroom; they aren't grading papers or finishing documents; they aren't another coat of paint or changing out the last light switch (huge gigantic thank you to my dad for coming over today and painting the basement--seriously, he rocks); they aren't sending the email that can wait until tomorrow; they aren't putting up holiday lights, or dropping off a kid somewhere, or squeezing in a workout.


Sometimes the priority starts with throwing the to-do list away.


And then you leave the paint brushes where they are, and you close the laptop, and you walk away from your desk, and put your car keys on the hook, and you sit in your favorite chair, maybe with a cup of tea, or cocoa, or wine. Maybe you decide to watch one DVR'd episode of your favorite show that hasn't been a priority. Maybe you pull out a book, or you catch up on the stack of magazines and catalogs that have been flooding your mailbox since Labor Day.


For us tonight, we raced off to the gym, desperate to not look at paint brushes or patched cracks in the basement. We pulled into the parking spot, looked at each other and said, "What are we doing?" We ran a quick mile, vented our days, scooped up Will and bolted home as fast as we could. Paninis on the sandwich press, dinner as a family, and while Will gets his bath, I'm pounding out the blog so that I can close my laptop, curl up in my chair, and just sit. Maybe with Will. Maybe with Glee. Maybe with a quiet mind.


And for the first night in a couple of weeks, this house will be peaceful. 


That's the priority.

12.12.11

Dear Snarky Co-Worker, 
Your comments today aren't going to stay with me. At all.


Dear Dogs who spilled a quart of bright red paint all over the laundry room,
Nah, not even that is going to bring me down.


Dear Doctor's office who forgot I had checked in and forgot to call me back,
I can live with that little disruption.


Dear Basement walls who need one last coat of primer,
You and I have a date in about five minutes.


Dear Will & _____,
None of this bothers me, and my heart is completely at peace, because we got to do this tonight. 

Fill my heart with song and let me sing forever more.
You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.
In other words, please be true.
In other words, I love you.


(Thanks to Greg for capturing this one on film.)

12.11.11

We are Sunday grocery people.


For the last month, we've been Sunday morning grocery people. 


This morning, this was our view as we drove to Kroger.

The moon was even still bright.

There were probably more employees than there were customers. They were stocking shelves, fixing holiday decor, taking inventory.


You could say it is a rather peaceful time to grocery shop.


Will gets his little cart, Greg and I get coffee, I sneak cinnamon rolls into the cart for our arrival home, and off we go. 


Traditions don't have to be big only at the holidays. This is a little one that we enjoy all year long.

12.10.11

I am on my second box of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers.


I went for a few more quarts of paint today. 


My right hand is cramped, my thumb only able to open to a certain degree.


There's a Glade Plug-in in the laundry room now, to help with the eau de chien we have going on in there.


I'm going to need a Tylenol and my foam roller tonight, to help with back pain from nearly nine hours of painting. And cleaning. And painting. And oh yes...painting.


Our house isn't on the market yet, but we have a showing tomorrow, and our punch list still has several things left that aren't quite crossed off (and a few things that are half finished but I still crossed off anyway, just so I feel like we've made headway in all rooms).


I'm going to crawl into bed tonight (with our new Euro shams purchased a few hours ago at B, B & B, from the pillows the TV show gave us sans shams), and my peace of mind is going to be that my to-do list for tomorrow--that pink post-it waiting for me by the coffee maker--has only seven items on it, and they can all be completed in an hour or less. 


Amen to that. 

12.9.11

Banana pancakes for dinner.

Wiggles Christmas DVD ready to play.

Tickle fights and laughter and family room wrestling.

It's not peaceful, but there's a sense of complete peace. And perfectness. 

12.8.11

My alarm went off this morning and I rolled over and went back to sleep.


I shuffled out of bed around six. Still in my PJs, I grabbed my favorite mug and poured a cup of coffee.


The sitter/teacher called yesterday in a panic that the entire daycare/preschool had come down with hand, foot, and mouth disease. When I picked up Will, she showed me the beginning spots. She convinced me he'd wake up this morning looking like a leopard, so I went ahead and arranged for a sub. 


When Will woke up completely spotless around seven, I couldn't deny him the excitement of a "mommy day," so I let him cozy up to me as we watched Curious George.


Around nine, I looked toward the front of the house. For the first time in probably a week, sun light was streaming in through the big windows. While Will worked on a puzzle, I grabbed my mug, went for a caffeine refill, and shuffled toward the warmth.


"It feels like winter, finally," I thought. I've been waiting for that transition to take root within me. The rooftops and grass were silver with frost, and steam was pouring from the rooftop vent of the house across the street. 


I closed my eyes and brought the mug to my lips. I inhaled. Greg calls these moments my Folger's commercial moments, and I love them so. Nothing in the world could disturb this moment of respite, of peace. It's like I've plugged in to a battery charger, warming up head to toe, inside and out. 


I've blogged before about how much I love sunlight pouring into windows and moving on the walls, creating warm spots where it lands. And with the way the wheels are spinning on this whole moving thing, I don't know how much longer I have to watch it through these windows. 


So I snapped this photo--a tiny memento. 

My favorite mug reads peace. it doesn't mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. it means to be in the midst of those things, and still be calm in your heart. -unknown