Pros and Cons time:

Pros – sense of adventure, listening to lots of books on CD in the car is fun, good to see my dad because who knows when I will see him next otherwise since he’s old and he lives in Florida full time now, the kids want to go, it’s beautiful there, I love seeing the birds and the beaches, I love going on adventures, there have I come full circle now with the adventure thing?

Cons – that’s a lot of driving, that’s a lot of gas, my car is old and am I risking its continued existence by doing such a thing? Should I call the Car Talk guys? We don’t have a great option for where to stay this time, other than the 3 of us can stay on the fold out couch in their living room. Which means we will be in the way or else have to get up early and clear up the bed every day. And at night, the damn TV will be on and on and on while Dad watching annoying cable TV and all of the damn annoying commercials, and in the early morning we’ll be in the way of the early bird Dad’s wife! And did I mention that’s a lot of driving?

This isn’t so good… the con’s paragraph is longer. But each thought inside each Pro or Con isn’t equally weighted. I think we need to assign some numbers here in order to make a quantitative decision.

Pros… Scale of 1 to 10, 1o being most important…

See Dad- 9 See Florida’s beauty- 6 Have adventures with kids- 7 It’s what the kids want- 8 Listening to books on CD is fun- 4… So that’s five items in favor of the trip, with a cumulative average of “7″ on the scale of 1 to 10 of “important”.

Cons… Scale of 1 to 10, 10 is most important

Lots of driving, 5; Lots of Gas (and thereby money), 5; Risk to Car, 2; Accomodations Minimal, 5; In step-mom’s way, 4; The fucking TV, 6; So that’s six objections… and their value on average… about 4.5 on the scale of “important” whatever that means.

So… if I can think of ONE more important reason in favor of going, I think I will have to go, just have to.

MEANWHILE… I am thinking about the niceness of growing things. I spent a lovely weekend yesterday and the day before really enjoying spring-like weather (in February! whoa, man!) I mucked out my compost bin and moved it to its previous location, and stirred up and was pleased to see LOTS of good soil/compost for spreading all around. I did a ton of raking of old leaves, which eventually will go into the compost bin with the kitchen scraps.

Now I have a pile of seeds that are talking to me… oh, not literally, do not worry I’m not actually insane.  Though the calculations above concerning Florida seem a little whackadoo, I will admit.

What my reader might envy about my life is the time that I have to do things at home. Like most humans, I squander my resources. I am sorry to say, that here I am at home, while the kids are at school and sometimes I really waste that time.

Sometimes, I use it industriously to do egregious tasks.

Sometimes, I squander it in personally enjoyable activities, such as reading or napping.

Sometimes, I decide I should memorize speeches from Hamlet. That’s one thing I did today.  I am trying to commit to memory the speech in which Hamlet describes his depression, how he really knows that the world, the air, mankind, etc., are amazing and all that, but his attitude sucks and he is Not Pleased.

To test my learning of it so far, I am going to try to write it out now.

I have of late, wherefore I know not , lost all my mirth.  … What a piece of work is  a man, how noble in reason. How infinite in faculty. In form and moving how admirable, in action.  How like an angel, in apprehension… How like a God!

It’s close, but not quite right. If you are a Shakespearean scholar, you’ll notice my funny punctuation.  A quick trip to Wikipedia and you may talk like a scholar, too, for there it explains how in different places where this brilliant speech is committed to paper, there are different punctuation marks. I don’t recall which is what, and why, but I did decide to memorize and say this speech to myself as it most made sense. So, I am saying that in apprehension, man is like an angel, rather than in action.  Daring, I know. That’s me.

I am writing on a derelict com’uter that has a broken letter p.  I can ty’e a p when I try really hard, and ‘ress down on it intentionally. But most of the time, I will be too lazy to accom’lish that.  Sorry in advance. The a’ostro’hes will go as well. Oo’sy.

Well if that didn’t scare away the reader, then maybe the rest of this entry will be just for you, that one special person for whom a hard press of the letter will be made.

Today Pann is thinking about the nature of the egregious task.  What on earth is that, you may ask? An egregious task, in this household, really, is any kind of task that simly must be done, and no matter how much whining one does, it all comes to the simle fact that it has to be done, so it is.  Usually involves something unleasant or stinky.  When you have two kids, three cats, and two guinea pigs, there’s a lot of unpleasant stuff to manage.

POOP.  Not to mention, there is plumbing to be managed. It is annoying how often the larger mammals around here clog up the toilets.

Funny, though you may at this oint be thinking that I am complaining, I actually feel pretty good and I don’t meant to complain at all.  I did several egregious tasks today and I don’t mind much.

The one I really didn’t like was plunging the toilet.  Because, YUCKY POOP! Stinks, you know.

I also scooped the cat boxes. But that was stinky but not as bad as plunging. I also cleaned up my younger daughter’s room, which was messy but not poopy or stinky.  That wasn’t bad, but it is an act of fierce futility.  I looked and even entered my older daughter’s room, but the level of chaos there defeated me anyway.  I don’t know how she feels about it, but oh my. Egregious state of affairs indeed, and not even poopy.

The letter p key seems to be sticking less. That is good.  What is the point of this particular little missive? The moral of the story is, if you have the time, go ahead and do the yucky stuff that has to be done. You’ll be glad you did.

And maybe just maybe you’ll be lucky to have your letter p get unstuck in the process.

Perhaps.

When I was first taking an anti-depressant drug, I think it was Lexapro, I was finding that my dreams were ultra vivid, and much like movies in my head.  They were fully visual, with complete colors, details, sounds, even smells.  They were very real.  I figured that my mind was simply responding to a stimulation due to an increase in serotonin from the medicine.

I actually stopped taking anti-depressants approximately 10 months ago, and dreams were the least of my concerns at this radical departure.  Because I’ve had a variety of symptoms of mental depression, the worst of which were the suicidal thoughts, I took anti-depressants for a few years.  But sometime last summer I came to a place in my life that felt safe, secure, happy, and I began to wonder if I really needed the anti-depressants anymore.

I decreased them, and eventually was off entirely. All was well. I’m still well, and have made it through most of winter, including the difficulties associated with the winter holidays.  I have weathered quite a bit of anxiety about our financial situation– and a big concern that our children would not only have stop going to private school next year, but be forced to stay home THIS YEAR as well, because we didn’t have enough money to pay up on our current tuition.

All of this uncertainty, anxiety and fear are real, and I feel so proud to have coped so far.  I still have uncertainty but things are looking up.

And I’m pleased to say, I still dream lot.  What is the meaning of our dreams? If they are merely the idle playtime of the brain, why do some dreams seem to guide us, others just seem to be there to please us, and yet others make us wake in fearful sweats, grasping for reality as much as the blankets bunched up at our feet?

I woke up this morning feeling sweet.  My dreams had been good, so very good. I didn’t seek reality in the morning light to try to figure out whether a feeling of well-being was really called for.  I just accepted my good mood and went on to make pancakes and coffee.

After dropping off the kids to school, I put away laundry, and made my bed.  Then I had the urge to write, and write and write. Could be the  coffee, but it could be the dreams, too.

Because my parking spot was taken.

I blew my top. I blew my horn.  I got out of the car and yelled at the empty street. I got into the car and sat there fuming. I used choice vocabulary.  All because of a parking space, you ask?  What the hell?

It was an emotional reaction, so there’s part of me that wants to say, hey look, I can’t really explain it.  I was just mad. Really mad.  I can tell you the rationalizations that I have for expressing so much rage.

It’s fairly simple to rationalize this reaction.  You have to know something about my geographic location:  I’m live in a neighborhood in the city of Philadelphia, in which day after day, our particular streets are usually pretty empty and there’s ample parking. This is not true of many neighborhoods in my city, but it is true here. Usually, if someone is in “my spot” I just park a few feet down from there.  However, it’s February, and our street is still extremely cluttered with a foot of snow that fell several weeks ago.  There are two spots on my side street, which are clear of snow, and which are MY SPOTS because I spent several hours clearing them.  Shoveling heavy snow and ice to make it possible to park there.

The custom around these parts is not to park in people’s spots. It’s just considered bad manners.  People will put out chairs, or other obstacles to make this clear, most of the time.  I had recycling bins out to mark our spots.  It turns out that my husband hadn’t put them on the street, however, when he had gone to work, so someone had parked a big pickup truck right in the middle of my hard-earned parking places.

What particularly made me angry was the fact that a driver of such a large, rugged truck with its large, rugged wheels really should not have had much trouble parking on the un-claimed, poorly cleared, icy areas on the other side of the main street.  He or she did not need to park on my clear, dry, parking spots. Yes, spots. For this truck had not only taken up ONE space, no indeed. He or she had parked in such a way as to block BOTH of them. It made me unreasonably angry.

I had my tantrum in front of my two girls. My girls rarely see me angry.  Sure, there’s the occasional spat with my husband.  Or I get peeved about politics or other idiocy. But they hardly ever see an example of my on a full-on, furious, demon-like rampage.  I was beyond agitated. I was loud, and outrageous. I wrote a nasty note, which my seven year old read over my shoulder.  She commented that she wouldn’t say the note out loud as it evidently contained a word which she’s not supposed to know, let alone use.

Smart kid.

But now, it’s quite a few days since my tantrum, and I’m thinking it all over, trying to see what part of the human condition is illuminated by all that noise and bluster. I simply didn’t need to make such a big deal over having to park somewhere else. There was another place to park, after all, even though it was trickier, further from home and covered with a dangerous, slippery, pile of ice.  But I did, because I just felt like I had to, express that rage.

I’ve gone through a range of emotions while processing my own “bad” behavior.   I was self-righteous at first, because I am a hard worker and I shouldn’t have had to work for some jerk to take away my hard-earned prize. I was embarrassed, after a bit, because of making such a fuss.  But now I’ve come to the new rationalization, that I did myself some good that evening.  I let myself and my kids know that when I feel, really feel mad, that I can express that emotion.

I can let it out, and then let it go. Let it out, people.  And then let it go.  That’s is the moral of this blog post.

The truth is, we had severe weather. I think that is preferable in some ways to the usual blah and super cold, or the usual wet rainy miserable bitter cold which can happen. I think it is weird how we all seem able to connect and talk about weather. The outside world matters to me, even on days when I stay in my pajamas all day. Like today. I am still clad in blue flannel PJs, with white snowflakes on them. 

My work of course involves being outside with kids. Rainy cold weather is no fun, and we’re all cooped up and miserable. Unfortunately, I hear the forecast for Monday and Tuesday involves much rainy dreariness. I am not thrilled with that, but have you ever thought how lucky you are to know what is coming? I mean really, we had over two feet of snow and I knew it was coming. I bought a lot of groceries.

Which also makes me feel lucky and grateful. We had enough money for groceries. And we had heat. And still are doing fine. 

My kids and their peers at school did a fundraiser for Haiti and gathered more than one thousand dollars to be sent to Haiti in the form of aid for the earthquake survivors. I am so proud of the kids for making a difference. 

So we have one more week of February. Why is February the shortest month of the year? So we can survive it, of course, or so I’ve always figured. March can come blow down the door and spill our soup upon the floor. We’ll lap it up and roar for more. 

Random selection of pictures and one valentine.

You know, I really can be distracted rather easily sometimes. I know I opened up this website so I could write about something that was in my mind. Then I saw the TITLE area and lost my train of thought. I started to write: Beautiful Summer, and Life in the Slow Lane, and Birthday Blues, and… well then I thought all of those were fairly nice titles but have nothing to do with what I wanted to write about.

Which was?

Yeah, I’m easily distracted. This is something of a running joke in our household. Which one of us has the ADD, again? The one thing I keep coming back to which makes me deny having ADD (or ADHD, if you prefer) is that I made it all the way through college and grad school without any medication or treatment for ADD. That was six long years of being educated— lots of papers all handed in on time, lots of exams prepared for and taken, no incompletes, no withdrawing from classes… So, that makes me think there’s no way I could really have this disorder and still get by. And with a 4.0 GPA in grad school– and a 3.7 GPA in college.

Or maybe I just do well at school stuff. Is the single-minded structure of go-to-class, do-your-homework enough structure to make me succeed? I don’t know, really, but I am proud that I was so good at school.

My attitude fluctuates greatly. My default setting is “I can do anything I set my mind to.” Of course, I know that’s not exactly true. There are some things I probably cannot accomplish, but that would probably also be the fact that I don’t WANT to put my mind to them.

Today I want to put my mind to putting down some adhesive tiles in my children’s bathroom. I’m going to cover over the old tiles that are there, because they are cracked and incomplete, with sections of the floor that is just kinda grungy cement. I would take a before and after picture, but yesterday Carla and I managed to break my digital camera. Maybe I can borrow a camera from someone else, though.

I asked Drob if he was okay with me putting down these adhesive tiles over the floor in there, because they aren’t exactly high quality. They are pretty, though. I figure it’ll make an improvement, maybe last a couple of years. Maybe by then, we’ll have enough money to really fix up the bathroom for real.

He said, “Hmm… you might find it difficult.”

“Meh!” was my response. Difficult? Pshaw. I don’t think so!

What’s difficult is getting organized, getting a shower, finding all the things I need to do it, cleaning the floor before applying the tiles, finding a good cutting tool to trim them to the right size. Once I do all that, I’m gold. It’s gonna be a cinch.

Carla is turning nine on Saturday. We’re going to have one of my favorite kinds of birthday parties: Low key, low tech, getting down with nature at a park with a creek nearby. We’ll wade in the creek, eat watermelon and cake, hang out and chat, maybe do a pinyata. And that’s all. Easy.

I like easy stuff.

Easy stuff? Okay, now I know what to title this entry, incoherent though it may have been.

That sentence is not a healthy one — hang on a minute while I take it out back and shoot it to put it out of its misery.

There.

Starting again now.

I have had the chance to spend some nice long chunks of time with each of my girls. Carla and I went shopping together, and doing other errands in a leisurely way on Sunday. Then on Monday, Carla was at camp, so Annie and I got to cuddle and watch a movie together. By evening, Annie and I were on our way to New York to visit my mom, and in preparation for going to the funeral this morning. On the drive up to NY, Annie suddenly said pensively, “I hate what we’re doing right now.”

Alarmed, I replied, “What, just sitting in the car waiting for the time to pass so we can get to Nonna’s house?” I figured she was probably just getting bored stiff.

“No, not that,” she answered. “I just hate that our car is polluting as we go.”

I’m back home now. I missed my big girl (Carla) but I really did enjoy getting some time just with Annie. Annie is so ridiculously chatty and sunny, her personality is shiny and bright as a new copper penny. She bursts with song, stories, and creativity. It can be a little daunting, I guess, for the uninitiated.

But luckily I am her Mommy. So I’m prepared to appreciate her endless prattle (oops, I mean, fabulous gift of the gab), as well as her harmonica playing (don’t knock it till you’ve heard it!), and she is quite the singer / songwriter. Said Annie, “Ok, Mom, I’m going to play you some harmonica songs now, and you’re going to have to listen, cause you’re my Mommy!” Can you say CAPTIVE AUDIENCE?

It was really fun actually, riding home from NY today in the car, with her in the backseat. We hit some rather heavy rain, and she decided that was because of Mother Nature crying her heart out over global warming, harmful pollution, and the passing of my Aunt Aileen.

She decided that the only way to calm Mother Nature’s nerves was to sing to her. So we sang. And we sang, and we sang some more. Singing in the Rain, Raindrops keep Fallin’ On my Head, Robin in the Rain, Yellow Submarine, Red Red Robin, Bushel and a Peck, Michael Row Your Boat Ashore, Her Majesty, Clementine, You are My Sunshine…. and more. I was so pleased to be able to remember the words, or most of them!

I actually really love singing in the car. (When Carla is in the car with me, she tells me to be quiet, that I give her a headache. Annie, by contrast, eggs me on, and sings along when she knows the words.)

Anyway, when we finally had passed through the cloud burst and out the other side, Mother Nature rewarded us mightily with a beautiful rainbow. The huge wonderful kind that any happy child colors over and over and over again in their notebooks. We sang our hearts out even more after that. It was really stunning. I kept having to make myself focus on the driving. So we sang even more. Rainbow Connection, Somewhere over the Rainbow, and LOTS of renditions of You Are My Sunshine.

Annie is really sensitive, in a lot of ways, but she’s also a pretty happy kid. Carla is more of a mystery to me, and keeps a lot of her thoughts to herself. When the three of us are together, the two of them interact MUCH more with each other than with me directly. I butt in to their little arguments when they get out of hand, or get on my nerves a bit much.

And so, it’s very nice to have had these individual times with each of them. I look forward to figuring out more ways to work individual attention time into our schedules. I feel much closer to each child, as a result of the time we spent together. This should not come as a surprise to me, but yet it does. It is really eye-opening to think that these children, as vital to me as they are, haven’t gotten much special Mom Time all year long, even though they are with me for hours. The poor dears have to share me, not only with each other, but also with a dozen or more of their peers.

I really must think about ways to make this better for them next year. Sigh.

She lays down in bed, and takes the squishy thing into her arms and pulls it close to her. She squeezes it, and hugs it in a cozy and loving manner. This is what she calls “clinging” to the pillow. Sure, sometimes she takes the stuffed animal of her choice to bed with her, bestowing upon “Calico” (a cat), or “Cloe” (a bear), or
“Sammy” (penguin), or even sometimes “Steel” (a labrador puppy), her good graces and unmitigated kid love. But the hot pink pillow remains a constant in her bedtime clinging routine.

The other constant is wanting snuggles. From me, or if that’s not an option, Drob is another acceptable snuggler. Tonight she waited up for me to come give her snuggles. It was late; with my work schedule and such this week, we didn’t eat dinner until well after 8 PM, perhaps even after 9. We gorged ourselves on this fantastic rhubarb cobbler and Drob read from the chapter book we are currently engrossed in (Peter and the Star Catchers).

So it was quite late when bedtime came, about 10:15PM. I was bustling around (I’m in a really really good mood, though I can’t really say why) and I didn’t want to go snuggle right away. I figured that with how late it was, and what a long busy day, that her eyes would shut and she’d be out cold before her head even hit the pillow. Or at least as soon as she started to cling to her pink pillow.

She called out to me, from her room, however, asking for snuggles. I bustled five more minutes, wanting to get the most out of my unusually high energy level. Walking down the hall to put away some stuff in the linen closet, she heard my footsteps and called out to me again.

“I’m WAITing here, you know!”

I was very surprised that she was still awake. I finished putting away the sheets and towels and walked over to her room.

I laid down on her bed, and drew her into my arms. She was clinging her pillow, and I was enveloping her into my arms. She told me, “Ah! You’re clinging me!” I was, too, I was holding her in a tight kind of snuggle, all wrapped up safe and close in my arms. She had her pink pillow in her arms, cozy and secure. I realized that for her, the clinging she does to her pillow is a kind of replica of the kind of snuggles she wants from me.

“Mommies are better for clinging than pillows, I guess,” I told her. She answered, “yeah and they smell better than pillows, too.” This is not surprising, especially since her cling-pillow is one which doesn’t have a pillow case to keep it fresh!

I laid there, and held her as she fell asleep. In the dim light coming from the hallway, I could see her sweet features up close. Her eyes, closed, I could see her black eye lashes resting on her soft pink cheeks. I could see the tenderness of her clinging to her pillow, and watched as she slipped deeper into sleep. Her grip on the pillow relaxed– she was clearly getting some good rest.

How much longer will I be able to hold her and watch her fall asleep, content and safe in my arms? I am a little sad that I don’t still do this with Carla, her older sister. I think I still would snuggle Carla to sleep if only a) she didn’t have a loft bed or b) if she didn’t wet the bed. Carla is a kid who seems to want extra physical affection. She still loves to sit on my lap and get lots of hugs, and piggy back rides. I make a point of giving her the opportunity for physical closeness, because I know that eventually she’ll want more distance as she becomes more of a tween.

The tenderness of holding your child as she falls asleep is wonderful. I adore both of my girls tremendously, and I swell with pride at their many acheivements. It’s no wonder that the simple joy of watching them sleep still fills me with happiness.

It is the last day of school today, and dismissal is at noon. Unfortunately, I have to start After School at noon, and will have some kids for a while. Maybe even some until close to 6 PM. Tonight there is an end-of-year celebration at a classmate of Annie’s house. It starts 5:30 PM. I hope I am able to leave school before 6 PM tonight. Next year’s academic calendar indicates that there will not be after school provided on the last day of school. This is good for me, but of course, not so good for working parents whose jobs don’t give a hoot that it’s the last day of school!

We don’t live in a very family friendly country. I think it may be getting a little bit better, though. Some things seem to be shifting, and certainly some companies are trying to do right by the parents they employ. It always seems to me that the people who need each dollar the most are the ones who are most penalized by the system. Poor folk. People working by the hour, and not much per hour at that, really get screwed when they have to get their kids from school earlier than usual. I wish it weren’t so.

So, I have about a bit more than one hour before I head back to the school. This weather sucks, because we’ll be all couped up indoors. I should think of something fabulous to do with the kids, but right now I’m thinking we’ll watch a movie. Some kids will be fine with that, others will complain — and rightly so– because we did that yesterday.

I am looking back on my first full year of being an after school teacher. I think I did pretty well, considering the various challenges I had. I would like to do better next year. Specifically, I would like to increase and improve my communication to parents. I never started the email list that I meant to, and that’s just dumb. It would have been really helpful, so why didn’t I make one? I don’t know. I think I just got swept up in all the other things I do.

Next year, I’d also like to find additional ways of getting my own kids to be elsewhere during after school. I think they are too exhausted by the current system, even if they mostly like after school very much. Drob has been very dedicated, and he is a wonderful father. He has been making himself available to pick up the girls, or sometimes just Carla, early from after school once a week. I hope we can do that again. Their grandpa also has picked up the kids sometimes, so hopefully that can happen again next year. I wonder if Cammy can get them sometimes next year? I don’t know what she’ll be doing.

Yes, gentle readers (all, what, four of you?), Cammy still lives with us. Things are quite different now, though. She kind of quit being our nanny last summer, and got a full time job doing something else. This left me without back up during the school year. Unfortunately, her job ended, and she’s looking for work again. I wish I could offer her the kind of work she wants, but there is no way I can get her health insurance, or anything like full time pay. Not sure if she’s ever going to go back to school. Even though she does technically live here, I see her only about once a week, maybe twice. And briefly. She comes, changes her clothes, and leaves. Obviously, this is not the peachy situation it once was, back when she was helping with the kids on a regular basis. She does still babysit from time to time, but that doesn’t really constitute the type of support I was looking for when I invited her to live with us.

My depression being what it currently is, I haven’t really made any efforts to discuss this situation with her. One problem I’m having is that I seem to be withdrawing from people around me, though not the children. I feel like it’s hard to communicate. I hope that after I finish my teaching work (in two weeks), that I can work on my emotional health. I am just not feeling like myself, and it’s a problem. I believe this will pass, but may be a bit rocky for a while.

One good thing, though… the rain is good for my garden. So that’s looking on the bright side!