Miles to Go

*blows dust off*

Today my friend Heidi posted this, a beautiful, poignant piece about how she's spent the past week.  This post was especially resonant to me because I spent some hours last week in the same headspace.  I could write a whole post -- and probably will -- about fear, but instead of hijacking her Facebook comments, I actually felt an urge to write and so decided to document my experiences for myself.

About a week and a half ago, I went in for my annual breast MRI. My doctor recommends that I have a mammogram AND an MRI annually because of my family history with breast cancer.  Long story short, both my maternal grandmother and my mother have both had breast cancer.  For many years I had sort of a resigned attitude about my chances of having breast cancer -- it was more a matter of WHEN, not if.  In a way, I thought my attitude was my armor.  When it came - and it would -- I would be ready to fight.  I would be that bad-ass woman who did whatever it took to beat cancer.  I would be strong, I would be confident and most importantly, I wouldn't be afraid. 

Looking back on that, it seems almost laughable now.  And I felt a little bit ashamed of how quickly those feelings were squashed by a feeling of dread when the radiologist called to say that they saw something on my MRI and that I needed to come in for an ultrasound.  I literally felt a wave of fear wash over my body.  I felt it most in the back of my knees (my kneepits as my daughter calls them) -- that place that starts to feel kind of funny when I stand too close to a precipice. 

I don't say this lightly when I say that I thank God that I only had to wait a day and a half for my test. In that short period of time, however, fear took over.  I was ill tempered and spoke harshly to my children. Everything my husband did was on my last nerve. From the outside, it was probably obvious that my fear was making me act this way, but 40 years of squashing fear and pushing it down and pretending it's something else is a hard habit to break. Over the past year my awesome therapist has made me work hard to identify the things I fear and has helped me to be vulnerable and admit them.  (If you're looking for a good therapist, let me know and I'll hook you up -- she's amazing!)

Blessedly, what they saw turned out be nothing serious, but the experience has forced me to look at myself and how I respond to stress, fear and pressure.  I've come a long way in the last year, but I feel like I still have a ways to go.  As my friend Wendi so succinctly put it, I have "miles to go before I sleep."  And thank God for that. 

You Never Know What You'll See With Night Vision Goggles

Wow.  What's up with the chick who wrote that last post? She sounds like a real downer.

So, uh, it turns out that when you turn 40, at least in my experience, no matter what kind of grand plans you have about 40 being the new 30 and kicking 40's ass, sometimes your body has other plans.  Can you say hormones gone haywire.  Good times.  Good times.

Let's cleanse the palate with funny story, shall we?  Tonight as we were watching America's Funniest Home Videos, I was reminded of the time we almost submitted a tape to the show. 

When Bubba was small, he was obsessed with trains, as many little boys are.  We fed that obsession with a steady diet of Thomas the Tank engine DVDs, The Polar Express, and his Polar Express train that he got for Christmas many years ago.

When we heard about the Polar Express train ride that you could take in the North Carolina mountains, we knew we had to do it.  You might be familiar with such things -- you go and get on the train, it goes about an hour in one direction while you have hot cocoa and listen to The Polar Express read over the intercom.  You stop in a quaint little town for about 30 minutes and then you head back down the track while Santa makes his way down the train visiting with all the kids and handing out jingle bells.  What's not to love about that?

Being relatively new parents, of course wehad  the obligatory video camera and because we had only one child we actually got it out and used it.  Poor Punkin, no video of her exists.

Anyhoo, we had a great time as we chugged down the tracks.  I taped Bubba looking out the window and drinking his hot chocolate.  There was a family across the aisle from us and while we didn't actually talk to them, we all smiled at each other in the friendly way that you do when you're sharing a pleasant experience with strangers.  Their kids were cute and we smiled at their happiness.  They returned the favor, obviously enjoying Bubba's joy at his first train ride.

As it turns out, our track went through a tunnel.  It was pitch black as we made we our way through and it was kind of cool to experience that total blackness.  On the way back down the track, Mr. Daddy had the bright idea to use the night vision lens on the video camera to video tape ourselves.

As we entered the tunnel, I flipped on the night vision switch.  Mr. Daddy and Bubba glowed back at me, both obviously blind in the complete darkeness.  I decided to pan around and see what else there was to see. 

I panned over to the family across the aisle and they WERE TOTALLY MAKING OUT!!  The dad had the daughter stiff armed away from them and the mom had her hand firmly on the little boy.  I don't know WHERE their other hands were, but they were GOING AT IT.

 I was so shocked that I quickly turned the camera off and a few seconds later we came back into daylight.  Mr. Daddy took one look at my face and my wide eyes and was like "What?"

"I'll have to tell you later," I managed to squeak out.  Needless to say, I couldn't make eye contact with the nice family across the aisle for the rest of the trip.   When we got to the car I rewound the tape and played it back for Mr. Daddy.  We both howled.

I would LOVE to have submitted that to AFV, but you have to have permission from the people in the video and there was NO way I was going to ask them that.

While it was very unexpected and gave me and Mr. Daddy a good laugh -- and still does lo these many years later -- you have to give that couple credit for finding some excitement in the most unlikely of places.

The Toughest Job

Sometimes the tedium of motherhood feels like more than I can bear.  The constant hanging up of jackets and bookbags, tossed willy nilly as they come in the door.  The constant reminder to put dirty socks in the hamper, their simple refusal to rinse out the sink when they brush their teeth.  The dirty handprint on the light switch that nobody will claim as theirs, much less clean up.

I think these times are worse when I've had a weekend away.  I lived a sort of fantasy life this weekend, a life where I had a chance to be just Leandra.  Just me.  Not mom.  Not wife.  Not daughter, not sister.  Just me.   I hung out with some really cool people and I talked about books and movies and art and nature and politics and music.  As me.  Just Leandra. 

I did what I wanted to do.  I went where I wanted to go.

That's one of the things I've been struggling with since turning 40.   I've sort of forgotten what I like to do.  I've sort of forgotten how to be me.  There just doesn't feel like time to do all that the things that have to be done and all the things that I want to do.

I know it's just for a short time and the kids will be gone before I know it.  I know I need to cherish these moments.  And I do.  I know being a mom means making sacrifices.  I just didn't realize that what I would be sacrificing is me.

She's An American Girl

The other day I made a total rookie mistake.  You'd almost think I'd never done this mom thing before, that I hadn't learned anything in the last 10 years.

As we pulled into the driveway, I checked the mail.  There, amongst the grocery store circulars, was an American Girl catalog.  And without thinking, I handed it into the backseat to Punkin.  Did you hear that loud scratching sound last Wednesday?  That was the needle of realization scratching across the record of my consciousness. 

What had I done?

Sure enough, before I had even put the car in drive, "Look, Mommy!  There's a doll in here named Punkin! And she has blonde hair just like me! And a pony! And a nightgown! And a sleeping bag!"

And the coup de grace, "I want an American Girl doll, Mommy."  Cha-ching!

Oh Lord.  This, from a girl who has never once played with a doll for more than five minutes.  I don't really care that she doesn't play with dolls.  She comes by it naturally.  The running joke in my family was that within five minutes all my dolls were naked in a box under my bed.  The only time I seriously played with Barbies was when I chopped all the hair off one of them and "punked" her up by using magic markers to streak her hair and apply more makeup.

I actually kind of like the idea of American Girl dolls because of the stories that accompany them.  What I don't like is their price tag or the fact that I know that she wouldn't play with it for five minutes.  I'd rather just get her some books.

Now, where DID that American Girl catalog get to, anyway? 

May I Have This Dance

So, hey guys -- and I mean this literally when I say guys.  This is a heads up to all the fellas out there.  So, I know most of you don't really like to dance.  If pressed, you might admit to taking to the dance floor when you've had one too many, but most of you can probably count on one hand the number of times you've danced willingly, right?

But here's the thing.  Do any of you have any idea how much a woman loves a man who can dance?  I'm not talking about any of this So You Think You Can Dance business, or Dancing With the Stars (though that's closer to what I'm talking about).  There is something supremely attractive about a man who is confident enough in his masculinity to dance, who can place his hand on the small of your back and lead you around the dance floor.  Or hell, even one who just places his hand on the small of your back and shuffles in a circle but acts like he knows what he's doing.

Haven't you guys seen the movies?   Dirty Dancing?  Urban Cowboy?  Magic Mike? Okay, that last one wasn't strictly the dancing, but you get my point.  Women like the guys who have some moves and the guys who have the moves always get the girl.

So, fellas, don't leave your lady on the sidelines.  She'll just feel like a wallflower and you can bet your bottom dollar that she's wishing you'd take her for a spin, no matter how great (or not) your moves are.

Reflection

So, I went for it, that opportunity in my last post.  I didn't think it was likely to work out.  I wasn't really sure I wanted it to, but I went for it.  I did it mostly to break free of the fear, but also just for the experience.

As it turns out, I didn't have enough of it -- experience, that is.  But it's funny how taking an opportunity to examine your life and what you want to do with it can help you clarify just what it is that you do want to do, or what you want to try.   I'm not making any major changes, but I'm stepping up my game just a little.  I'm tired of coasting. 

I don't know.  Maybe it's my birthday that is quickly -- so quickly -- approaching.  It's a milestone year, 40 is.  I don't have any real anxiety about turning 40.  In fact, I feel energized in some ways.  Maybe part of it is that life feels like it's going by so quickly.  Wasn't it just Monday night?  And here it is Monday night again?  I want to take advantage of as many opportunities as I can.  Be the best I can be.  Does that sound hokey?  Maybe it's true that we get more sentimental, cheesier as we get older.  Or maybe it's just an appreciation.

My husband threw a surprise party for me Saturday night.  I was completely taken by surprise and it was so much fun hanging out with people from so many different parts of my life.  I looked at my life and realized that you know what?  I've got it pretty good.  It's a good life.  It's going to be a good year.

What Am I Scared Of?

I'm not sure when the fear started.  My mother used to marvel at my ability to walk into social situations alone.  I'm still not afraid of large crowds of people I don't know.  I can make conversation with the best of them.  I'm confident that I can find common ground somewhere.

That's not the fear that I feel right now.

I am pretty sure that most of the adults in my life during my formative years had high expectations of me.  I was an achiever.  I got good grades.  I won awards.  But somehow, sometimes, I feel like I didn't live up to that potential.  Somewhere along the way, I quit striving.   I began to settle for what's easy, what's comfortable.  I began to let fear of failure hold me back.

An opportunity has presented itself to me.  An opportunity to stretch very far outside of my comfort zone.  Immediately the little voice in my head started up.  I'm not qualified.  It's too hard.  It's too far away.  They wouldn't want me. 

Is any of this really true, or is this just my way of staving off failure?  If, somehow, this opportunity came to fruition, it would be the hardest thing I've ever done.   But deep down I think I could do it.  So, what then am I afraid of?

I'm afraid of putting myself out there.

I'm afraid of letting someone that I respect see my resumé, which feels paltry.

I'm afraid of being found wanting.

I'm afraid of change.

I'm afraid of wanting it.

I'm afraid of not wanting it.

What if they don't want me?

What if they do?

But I'm also afraid of living my life never trying again.  Never striving to be better.  To be more.  To live up to my potential.

So, I'm taking that step.  What's that old saying?  The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step?  Nobody told me that single step would feel like stepping off a cliff.

We Are Nothing If Not Practical.

I think I've told this story here before, but when I was about 5 or 6 years old, I was IN LOVE with one of my brother's friends.  I mean, ALL CAPS-hearts and flowers-wanted to marry in love.  My mother tried to convince me that I was too young, but I wasn't having it.

Finally, she took me into the kitchen and stood me next to the stove.  I barely cleared the top of the range.  "Look," she said.  "When you're married, you have to cook for your husband.  You can't even reach the stove."

Huh.  Well.  Apparently, that satisfied me and I no longer wanted to rush down the aisle.

Recently, out of the blue, Punkin announced that she wasn't going to college.

"Really?" I asked.  "You don't HAVE to you know.  But it makes it a lot easier to get a job."

"Oh, I'm not going to get a job either," she blithely replied.

That's what you think, sister, I thought to myself. 

"What about that convertible you said you wanted," I reminded her.  "The black one with pink and purple flames?" (I can't WAIT to have that parked in my yard!) 

"How are you going to pay for gas to drive it?  You have to have money to buy gas to make your car run."

"Okay, I'll get a job."

Practicality, like stubbornness apparently, runs in the family I guess.

Tales of a Third Grade Bubba

There is a lot I could write about Punkin here today.  A lot more about friendships and how to be a friend and girls and mean girls and what a wonderful thing it is to have a truly good friend, but it feels like too much and there's too much to say and right now it's all too jumbled in my head, so instead, I'm going to give y'all an update on Bubba.

Oh, Bubba.  My sweet, uncomplicated boy.

Many of y'all know we moved last year and Bubba started a new school.  He was a little nervous but I wasn't really because Bubba has never met a stranger and has always made friends easily.  He was placed in a class with all of the other Challenge students (i.e., the Gifted and Talented program.  Hey, I"m his mom.  I can brag) and boy has he thrived.  He's found his crew -- boys who like the same kinds of things he likes, read the same kinds of books he reads, boys who like to form the same types of clubs he does.  And these are good boys, too.  The girls are nice girls too, though Bubba will never admit to liking any of them.  I think we teased him a little too unmercifully the one time he admitted liking a girl and now I despair that he'll ever tell us the truth again (though I suspect that there might be one girl that he likes.  Just a little.)

Bubba started playing the drums this year.  He takes from a local guy who plays in a band (or a couple of bands, really) and he tells me that Bubba is actually pretty talented.  Bubba played a short piece for our church's talent show and he wasn't nervous a bit and loved all the attention.  He's even written his own music -- his teacher was blown away and said that he'd never had a student do that, especially not one Bubba's age.  Those of you who follow me on Facebook have already seen this video, but here's Bubba rockin' out.  Oh, I must tell you that he begged me to upload this to You Tube and vehemently objected to my titling this video "My Little Drummer Boy."  Only 9 years old and already managing his image.

Last year we could barely get Bubba to participate in his school's Accelerated Reader program.  This year  his reading has taken off.  I let him read the Harry Potter series (though I really wanted him to wait until he was just a bit older) and that sort of lit the fire.  His AR goal for the year was 32 points.  Guess how many AR points he has?  Go on, guess.  648.  Six.Hundred.Forty.Eight.  The Librarian told him it was a school record.  She estimates that he's read 4 million words this school year. 

Lest you think that all he does is read, he's also become an avid video gamer.  He got a Kindle Fire for Christmas and his favorite hobby is watching stupid silly Annoying Orange YouTube videos and downloading apps.  He's sold his PS2 and all his games and is saving up for a PS3 because it has "better graphics."  Uh, ok. 

Now it hasn't been all smooth sailing.  Bubba is 9 now and is starting to test the boundaries just a little.  He's had a few friendship issues that he's had to navigate, but all in all, Bubba's doing just fine.

And thank God, too.  Mama needs one uncomplicated child. 

Take a Moment

The other day as I was leaving work, some crows in a tree above my head were going crazy.  There must have been at least 4 of them and they were hopping up and down on the branches and cawing like crazy.  I looked a little closer and there, nestled among the branches, was a hawk.  A BIG hawk.

The crows must have finally gotten to him (her?) because all of a sudden, the hawk took off.  It wasn't very high up in a tree to start with and when it took flight, it felt like it swooped right over my head.  I might have even ducked.  I was near the bus stop on campus, which was crowded with students.  Do you know that not one single person looked up to watch the drama that was being played out above our heads?

Since then I've seen the hawk three times.  I don't think he's necessarily my spirit guide, like Sarah's (though I *love* the idea of this).  I mean, nothing super awesome has happened after I've seen him.  I just love the fact that this hawk, this beautiful animal, has made his home on North Campus.  I love this little bit of nature in the middle of town.  Hawks are probably tied with owls as my favorite bird and I'm thrilled every time I see him.

This morning it was the crows that again tipped me off to his presence.  Again, I was the only one who saw him.  I wanted to stop and yell out "Look everybody!  Look at that beautiful bird.  Look at this beautiful world we live in."

In the words of Ferris Bueller, life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Friendship: It's harder than it looks

Recently I was talking to a friend about Punkin and her seeming lack of social skills and her self-reported lack of friends at school.  "I just don't think she knows how to be friends" I said.  I've watched her interact with kids in our neighborhood and she just seems...lost.

And I realized over the weekend that the apple truly doesn't fall far from the tree.  I don't know how to be friends either.   I mean, I DO, but I don't feel like I'm good at it.

There have been some times when my feelings have been hurt when I wasn't included in something.  I was talking to Mr. Daddy about it and he said "Well, you haven't really been making any effort.  YOU don't reach out to THEM."  And I realized he was right.

I think some of it goes back to some events in elementary and middle school when a group of girls was mean to me.  That was one of the most painful periods of my life and I think has led to a continued distrust of most females.  It's very difficult for me to let my guard down and be friendly.  I always wonder in the back of my mind, "Do they really like me?"  You'd think after 20+ years I'd be able to let that stuff go.  Not so much, as it turns out.

But I was also never one to talk on the phone as a teenager.  I never asked for a phone in my room.  If my friends called, I'd chat for a moment and then say "I gotta go."  I was always comfortable spending time alone (except for that brief period in college to which we will not refer at this time.  ahem.)

I don't know what it is.  I just get home from work and sort of cocoon into my family.  I think this has been made worse recently by the fact that I'm tired and overwhelmed with work and all of my responsibilities.  I've been working on learning to say no  and some of the pressure feels like it's lessening.

This is not to say that I don't have friends.  I do.  But as I texted back to a friend the other day, I just feel like I haven't been a very good one.   And to all those people who are my friends, this time that old cliché is true.  It's not you.  It's me.

A little more grace....

Things that make me smile

Blowing the Dust Off

I'm blowing the dust off over at What Grace Is Given Me....

Have you counted YOUR blessings today?

Reflections on 39

So, I turned 39 a couple of weeks ago. Really, it was no big deal. I don't FEEL 39, whatever that means. I feel like I look pretty good for my age. I'm probably in the best shape of my life (cardio-wise anyway) due to my awesome KG Ladies Running Club (that's the cheesy name we gave ourselves) and the 3.5 miles we run 2-3 times a week.

I wasn't freaking out about turning nearly 40, is what I'm saying.

But then. Then I started getting what I would call "wild hairs." And no, I'm not talking about chin whiskers or anything like that. I'm talking about crazy ideas.

Like getting my nose pierced.

Or having hot pink hair.

See, I've always wanted to do those things and now I feel like it's too late. For one, I can't really have either at my job. I could probably swing the nose stud, but should I? Really?

For Halloween this year I did a modified Goth girl costume. I spiked my hair and put fake studs in my lip and nose and ears. Several people who saw me said "Wow, you really pull that off. I bet you've got a little bit of rocker girl down inside." And you know what, I DO!

There are so many things I wish I'd done when I was younger that now I feel like I'm too old for. Don't get me wrong -- I'm not saying I'm OLD, just too old for these particular things.

I feel like I want to do SOMETHING to prove that I'm still young, still wild at heart if not so much in action. I just don't know what that SOMETHING is.

They're Not the Boss of Me

I'm tired of my appliances telling me what to do.

"Beep beep beep" if I don't attend immediately to whatever the microwave has finished heating. Ninety seconds later "beep beep beep." I'll leave my reheated coffee in there all damn day if I want to.

Also with the beeping is the iron if I leave it too long in one position. Cheesey Pete! Leave me alone! You won't steam otherwise!

And don't even get me started on my coffee maker. It's such a Whiney McWhinerson. "Cleaning Needed" it flashes EVERY DAY. I could clean it every five minutes, make a pot of coffee and it would still say "Cleaning Needed." Needy much?

No, I'm not tired at all. Why do you ask?

Serenity NOW!

They say that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger. I should be as strong as freakin' Hercules after all this.

The sun'll come out tomorrow and all that jazz. Tomorrow is another day.

What I'm saying is that I feel better today. I think I need to take this opportunity to say that I sometimes use this blog as an emotion dump. I think everybody in my real life is sick of hearing me worry about this stuff (not that you guys AREN'T! heh.) and this is a convenient place to just dump everything I'm thinking and feeling.

After my last "woe is me" post, Mr. Daddy asked me "Why do you put all that stuff out there for everybody to read?"

"It makes me feel better for one," I said. "Also, I got at least two "YES, me too!" comments. So it helps me feel like I'm not alone in this and maybe by posting that I'm helping somebody ELSE feel like they're not alone either."

"Oh. Yeah. I can see that," he said.

And that right there, in a nutshell, is why I still blog, even if only occasionally.

Mountains Out of Molehills

So, apparently I do this thing? This thing where I withdraw when I'm feeling stressed. From everything. Even stuff I enjoy? I don't know what this is about, but I'm doing it right now.

We didn't even go to church on Sunday because I felt like I just couldn't deal. I'm only at work because I HAVE to be.

This morning I sighed one of my patented "dragon breath" sighs and Mr. Daddy asked me what's wrong. "I'm stressed," I replied.

"About what?"

"About Punkin." And although he reminded me that really, she's fine, she's healthy, she's smart, she's sweet and really we have NOTHING to worry about, I can't help it.

She breaks my heart. I want the world for her. I look at her little face and she wants to do big things, I can just tell.

Last night I had to nix the violin lessons she's been talking about since she was three. We were at our second lesson and she just wouldn't do anything, again. She picked up the violin and was picking at the strings as the instructor asked her to, but only barely. And when he laughed -- not at her -- she thought that he WAS laughing at her and she melted down. I thanked him for his time and said that perhaps we would try again when she was older. At that point I saw her making an effort to pull herself out of her shell. She reached over to the violin sitting in its case and began plucking at the strings, but when I told her that we were done, she got mad and stormed out of the room.

We went outside and sat on the bench. "Are you sad?" I asked her.

"I wanted to play it," she said, "but I was just so nervous."

I pulled her into my lap and wrapped my arms around her. "You have years and years to learn how to play the violin," I assured her, my quivering voice almost betraying me.

Am I making mountains out of molehills? Maybe. Who knows. I think I feel just as lost as she does.

What a Difference a Day Makes

Yesterday did not start off well. I had a bad mood hangover that was exacerbated by Bubba's refusal to help walk Punkin into school because he would be "embarrassed." So, instead I made him walk in with his MOTHER (oh my GOD!) and I even made him hold my hand for a few feet. That'll learn him!

But last night when I picked them up, I was resolved to make it a wonderful evening. I asked them if they had a good day and Bubba said "Yeah, except for this morning." I apologized for my irritation and vowed to do better.

Punkin had a great day. In her class they have a Green/Yellow/Red behavior system, but they also can move UP on the ladder to blue and purple and she had moved up to blue. She didn't know what she had done to get moved up, but I guess it really doesn't matter.

When we got home I asked if she wanted to help me make dinner. I thought this would be a great way for us to spend some time together, doing something fun. Well, fun-ish. She poured water for the rice, she used the can opener to open the beans and dumped them into the pot. We made corn muffins from a box (Shhhh! Don't tell my grandmother) and she cracked the egg and poured the milk. She stirred them and then I held the bowl while she spooned the batter into the muffin pan.

The whole dinner itself was delightful. Everyone ate their food with no complaints (somebody mark this date on a calendar!), nobody was fussed at for squirming or standing up. Everybody used their utensils properly. Over ice cream dessert we divided into Team Vanilla (me and Bubba) and Team Mint Chocolate Fudge chunk (Mr. Daddy and Punkin). The look of betrayal on Punkin's face when she realized that Mr. Daddy was in fact eating vanilla was priceless and sent us all into fits of giggles.

All in all, it was delightful. And stress free. And there was no yelling.

And boy did I need that.

Lost

Lost. That's how I feel. Frustrated. That's another good one. Confused. Inadequate.

For the first time in a long time I feel like I don't know what in the hell I'm doing as a mother. I don't think I've felt this way since Bubba was a newborn and that "Who made me a parent" panic set in.

We're still struggling with Punkin's behavior. There are some issues going on at school that have spilled over from last school year and there's her behavior at home and I don't know if the two are related, but based on several things that happened last school year, we are having her evaluated for ADD/ADHD.

I just know that I'm tired. So tired of having every interaction with her be a struggle. Nothing is ever easy with her.

You ask her to go get dressed. Ten minutes later I go upstairs and she hasn't done anything. She's playing or just sitting there. Ask her to brush her teeth and ten minutes later you go up there and she "getting some water" or she'll say "I just started thinking and I forgot to brush my teeth."

You say "Punkin, time to take a bath." Her response, EVERY TIME "I don't wanna, I don't wanna."

No matter what you say or ask her to do she has some kind of push back -- "But I just need to (insert stalling tactic here) first" or "but I don't want to."

I let her choose sometimes whether she can stay up a few extra minutes and watch a little tv or she can go to bed right then and get a bedtime story. If she chooses the tv option she will invariably beg for a story. If I hold to my guns and say no she will ask and ask and ask and ask until I lose my temper. I don't know how many times I've said "I've said no and that is my answer so stop asking." "I can't stop thinking about it!" she'll wail!

And sometimes I probably make things worse by giving in but my God I get so tired of the struggle.

Today I feel at the end of my rope. Things seem to have gotten worse lately and I don't know if it's school starting back, the new school and new teachers, the new routine.

I just know I feel lost.

Haiku for Summer Camp

Today is Bubba's last day at the Y, finishing up his 3rd year there. He loves it just as much today as he did on his first day there 3 years ago when he got in the car and said "I had the best day ever!"

The last day of camp

high fives, phone numbers exhanged.

See you next year!