Everyday Observations

Still reeling from a totally fun and exhausting weekend. We celebrated Carson’s dance recital, Campbell’s third birthday, and Mother’s Day. Good stuff…

I decided on Saturday that there must be some statute like Dance Law No. 405: Thou shalt have at least one class dance “Rock Around the Clock” in pink poodle shirts at each year-end recital. Failure to comply with said ordinance may result in revocation of license. Too funny. I took dancing well over twenty years ago, and I’m happy to say that very little has changed in the world of dance recitals: the dancers are still not as synchronized and precise as you might prefer, many of the same songs are still playing, and the costumes are still bright and fun (I love dance costumes! And my girls do too). So I’m thankful that in 2008 in Flotown my dancin’ queen can dance to “I Feel Good” and “Best of Friends” without somebody tryin’ to dress her up like a tramp and make her dance to songs that are totally inappropriate. That ticks me off…

So my Carson did her thing. During the year, she’s not all that jazzed about dancing each week, but she loves to perform. She’s not terribly outgoing, but she can light up a stage. I think she dances well, but I am totally drawn to her smile. Her joy illuminates her little body, and I cannot think of any other thing that induces that smile. It is when she is dancing on stage that I most see myself in her; I remember feeling what I see on her face. I feel it again as I watch her, and as her mom I actually lose my breath as her audience. The pride swells in me so as to fill every inch, forcing the air from my lungs to make more room, and I am totally taken by her…

When I get a taste in my mouth, I am not easily pacified with anything else. Like when I am salivating for Town House on a Saturday (closed), Chick-fil-A on a Sunday (closed) or Starfire on a Monday (closed). That doesn’t sit well with me. Woe is me…

Well, I’ve got a hankerin‘ now, but it isn’t of the culinary variety. I am hankering (is that an ol‘ timey word?) for Summer Break. I have been either a student or a teacher for most of my life, so Summer Break is programmed into my biological clock. My body, my brain, my shred of sanity expects Summer Break. But this year is the most anticipated one ever…

No, there won’t be any short-lived summer romances or eventful weeks at camp like in my younger days. But I am stoked (maybe that’s a little more current word choice) about alarmless mornings, pajama days, day trips, volleyball evenings, and late nights. We have nowhere we have to be for two months. No schedule. We will take a short break from living by the clock, and I rejoice!!!

This has been Carson’s first year in big girl school, and I genuinely had no idea it would change our lives as drastically as it has. I am not lying when I say I didn’t fully awaken until December. I was so tired from early rising, late night preparing, and endless shuttling that I wondered about the sudden onset of narcolepsy. No more business trips to Charleston, no more spur of the moment overnights at Grammie’s, no more frivolous reasons to play hooky. This is serious business…

I’m bringing back frivolity! I’m ready for a little summer adventure or two or three. Anybody feelin‘ me?

What are you stoked about?

WARNING: I am such a structured, routine-driven freak somebody will need to slap me around mid-July when I am bemoaning the purposelessness of my life, standing in a puddle of sweat induced by the 742 degree temperature. Just so you know in advance…

We don’t really have much use for it from other people, do we? Like, I really don’t want people to tell me that my hair looks awful as I am letting it grow out (it does, I know, and there are imminent plans to cut it off! I’m a short hair girl). But there is this one girl at the gym who faithfully does just that; she does not like my hair like this and she tells me. She is one of those people who casts honesty wherever she is; I expect to get that from her, and I even appreciate it in a very weird way. There’s just something pure about a person shooting straight with you. Not in a hurtful inappropriate way, but in a way that totally bunks polite fibbin‘. And I can take it from her because she loves my hair short. She would often gush about my short locks, so I know where she’s coming from.

A friend and I are kinda hashing through some hurt that has happened in our friendship, and we are doing it with love and candor. It’s uncomfortable and unsettling. I wince at hearing some of her feelings, but she is totally sharing out of her care for me and her desire to reconcile our relationship. I can dig that. I can respond to that. There’s something that makes me feel very alive to peel away all the layers of superficial interaction, to put aside all the polite fibbin‘ and really communicate on a heart level with someone else. Neither of us knows what this may look like in the end, but at this point I feel that we are approaching it in the right way. So, we’ll see…

I think somewhere in the closets of our hearts we do appreciate (in a very weird way) somebody speaking truth into our lives, BUT resist the urge to open up a can of candor with me about the five pounds I gained while Chris was out of town. I know already, but thanks the same…

This whole blogging world is so fascinating to me, especially now that I blog. It allows us to creep into somebody’s day, brain, or heart and hear things we ordinarily wouldn’t. Erika is one of my closest friends, and I see and speak with her several times in a week, but I read her blog every night to see what she’s up to and to gauge how she’s doing. But what does it mean when a blogger doesn’t blog?

Several times Chris has said to me, “Billy Joe Bob hasn’t blogged in a few days. I hope everything is going okay.” Or while he’s out of town he reads my blog and comments, “I saw you didn’t blog last night.” As if to say, “What’s really going on at home?”

It may mean any number of things. She’s incredibly swamped. He’s out of town. She’s under the weather. He’s totally stressed about work. She’s melting down. He’s exhausted. She’s feeling very overwhelmed. He’s blank on creativity.

Last week I took a blogging sabbatical to write three articles for She (I was incredibly swamped). Last night I didn’t blog because I honestly sat in a chair in the living room for thirty minutes trying to think of something to write (I was blank on creativity). Nothing came. I just think it’s an interesting new measure on those we keep up with – even if we don’t know them personally. My bet is that if someone doesn’t blog for a few days he or she could use some prayer. Just an observation from my own short blogging history, so let’s step up to bat in our prayer lives for those whose absence of words may speak louder than the ones they type.

And if I’m wrong, there’s never any harm in going to the Father on behalf of a friend.