I could write about how stretched to the limit I am.  Like…

How a day of benchmark testing students is never an easy day, regardless of my suppositions.

How my timing is off once again, requiring students to turn in a critical piece of writing just days before quarterly grades are due.

How I’ve over-committed myself AGAIN to activities both work and home related.

How I’ve just heard some of my favorite people are moving to a new school in the fall.

How I really want to eat a pound or two of chocolate but it’s spring and since my fat clothes are getting tight, I imagine what it’s going to be like getting into shorts.  Yuck.

How the rest of the world isn’t cooperating with my plans.  And even though I’ve learned in the past not to pin my hopes on the actions of others, it seems like I’ll never learn, will I?

How sending a package to my son at college will bring me joy instead of a headache due to all the minutia of packing up: the box not being the right size, the crappy tape, the smell of a sharpee, finding stuffing and finally having to stop at the post office before finally making it home to lie on the couch for a few minutes before someone needs me.

How I feel like I disappointed my spouse because I asked him to delay his birthday for a day because I was exhausted from the weekend with houseguests, and then ended up being really crabby the next day anyway (maybe more so?).  And I forgot my credit card and he ended up paying for his own birthday dinner (even though the money all comes from the same place).

How I had to find a lifeguarding recertification class IN NEW YORK instead of Virginia for my 19 year old because he starts his summer job the day after he comes home from college.

How looking for stencils and borders for some ugly white cabinets as an alternative to new ones will be exciting and creative, instead finding WAY too many choices and becoming  too overwhelmed to even care.

How much time I’ve wasted looking for things I don’t need instead of taking care of the time-sensitive things that need to be done (for example, grades).

How every time that damn loudspeaker comes on I jump out of my chair and want to scream and commit hari-kari.

How soon I will own three houses and have no business owning three houses.  And how I’ll be in debt up to my eyeballs.

How my knees and hands hurt.  Aging sucks.

How exhausting it is to have houseguests, even if they’re family and you love them more than anything.  It’s just that there’ll be someone in my space who wants to talk after work and all I want to do is stare at a blank wall for a while.

How I seem to be the glue in most areas of my life: home, classroom, family.  What happened to my devil-may-care life?

But I won’t write about those things today.





Too loud?

We are the loud family.
Relentlessly noisy.
Music.  Voices.
Crashing.  Clinking.
Clashing.  Sniping.
Barking.  Yelling.
Chatter.  Sarcasm.
And above all, laughter.
Our family heals when laughing.

You know you are adult
when you can laugh
about your childhood.
The dysfunction.
The greatest generation.
Their cocktails.
Their approach to child “rearing”
and manners.
Much of it was too much.
And some of it is not enough today.

All of this going on
around me makes
my head spin.
It’s exhausting.
And I wouldn’t want it
any other way.

Too loud?

Reality Break

Every once in a while, I find myself in a situation where I pretend I’m in a scene of a movie.  It’s unpredictable when this will occur and it happens in bits and pieces.  Today this happened.  It goes something like this…

I’m sitting in a library waiting for someone.  I have my headphones on and a very dramatic lone piano is playing a melancholy tune. There are expansive windows in front of me with tinted glass, making twilight even more pronounced—the blues bluer and the yellows yellower.  I look around and the patrons are in their own little world. There’s a sad little man who is making the rounds with a surplus of bags hanging off his arms and shoulders, passing me again.   Everything slows done and I begin to perspire.  I gaze out the window a bit more.  What am I thinking about? Am I pleased with my life or depressed that I haven’t become what I had hoped? I forlornly stare into the distance, pensive.

Scene break.  My husband draws me back into reality with a hand on my shoulder and it’s time to go home, walk the dogs, figure out dinner and catch up on the Walking Dead.  Back to my extraordinary ordinary life.  How I love these strange, unexpected brain vacations.

Reality Break



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On my beach I find

smooth petrified bone

fragments of shells in perfect color schemes

perfectly white marbled pebbles

skate jaw pieces (at least that’s what I heard)

gold stones whose pallor changes when dry

occasional sea glass not quite ripe yet

flotsam and jetsam that masquerades as something else

all while looking for shark teeth

not so big but just big enough for today.






My coffee pot is gurgling

I’m killing time

(what an awful, perfect expression)

before that glorious first sip

of liquid heaven

I look out the window

the neighborhood fox

is on patrol

bouncing down the lane

stealthily observing

skittishly avoiding

but I see you

I want to approach

you stunning creature

but I’ll never get close


you’ll never let me.




Emotional Eating

I’m in an eating mood today.  I’m in a cheesy soup, warm biscuit mood. I’m in an eat the whole row of Oreos mood.

The better part of my day was spent in five minutes conferences heaping praise on uber-involved parents of children who are geniuses due to their parent’s amazing rearing practices.  It’s like speed dating.  Please move on and I’ll keep smiling.

Unfortunately the parents I really need to see don’t show up for conferences.

I also have lots on my personal plate. Mostly good stuff, but stressful nonetheless. And I’m always afraid things won’t go my way.

It’s cold and wet-snowing. I love snow in the winter months, but I find snow inhospitable in March. As a result, my cold feet are inconsolable.

And I keep hitting the wrong keys on my keyboard.

Is it time for bed yet?  What else is there to eat around here?!?!?





Emotional Eating

Ticket Madness

Milk cream dog food spinach lemon juice yogurt soup cornbread chicken veggies bananas apples clementines sour cream Windex rice beans

I dictated the above items to my iPhone while begrudgingly heading to Safeway after school today. I have grown to hate grocery shopping.  I hate having to handle each item 5 times before I actually get to use it: I put it in the basket, I take it out of the basket, I put it in the car, I take it out of the car, I put it away; it’s maddening.

But the more maddening thing occurred when the sweet young clerk who checked me out handed me a pile of Monopoly tickets, the latest game at the grocery store. I usually blow off these things, thinking I haven’t got the time or the wherewithal, but I accepted them gracefully, shoved them in my coat packet and went on my way to handle my purchases at least three more times.

As I do most weeknights, I had to pick up my husband from the metro.  As usual, I have few minutes to spare so I figured I’d spend the time on my phone checking messages, surfing the internet or scanning Facebook.  I put my hand into my pocket to find my phone and came upon those damn Monopoly tickets.  I decided to see what the fuss was all about and started folding the perforated edges, ripping off the sides and unfolding the little slips of shiny blue paper.  I was only able to open a small portion of the pile before my husband opened the door and we headed home.

Most people would move on and find something far more interesting or productive to do, but I arrived home with my curiosity peaked. I found the two other piles of the game pieces I’d stashed in a basket of crap in the kitchen and set to obsessively tear through the rest of them, determined to finish before dinner.  My husband took the dogs out for their long evening walk and returned to goad me, asking, “You still at it?” (He thinks what I’m doing is ridiculous.)  I attempted to defend my actions but ultimately stopped to have dinner and watch Jeopardy.

So now here I sit in my living room with the alleged Monopoly board out in front of me on the coffee table splitting these tickets open while my fingers turn blue.  I sure hope the glossy blue dye they use isn’t toxic.  I’ve seen medical dramas about that this kind of thing.

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Although I haven’t found the magic big winner piece (yet),  I did win a free doughnut and some canned vegetables and more Monopoly game tickets [heavy sigh] and coupons for things like Pirate Booty and Mountain Dew (no thanks) and Snapple (maybe) and tissue and Atkins snack bars (yuck).  I haven’t even gotten to the teeny weenie little numbered pieces that I have to match on the game board in order to win $1 million or $10 in grocery cards or a $200 family picnic (that’s a lot of potato salad).

I’m aware that it’s likely after all of this effort I will not win.  In fact, I won’t even use the coupons because coupons irritate me.  But maybe I will win the big one; someone has to, right?  I’ll let you know.  Or maybe I’ll be in Tahiti.

Ticket Madness