a morning off

One of the perks of working in a school is having the day off when the kids do. (I know many businesses have the day off today, too, but my husband would not if he hadn't taken a vacation this week.) At one time, a day off like this would have meant a day trip somewhere, or a weekend up at Mom and Dad's or something. Anymore, it just means a lazy wake up, and a bit of hanging around.

Today, having the morning off meant snuggling in with Guy and both the dogs, coffee in bed while goofing off on my laptop, and a walk with a dear friend while Guy is at practice. Afterwards, we'll get the porch ready to paint, have lunch, and drop Mom and Henry off for appointments before Guy goes to practice again this evening. I'm looking forward to the short week, even though the calendar is already jammed with appointments, soccer game security, a letter or two to write, and Homecoming to cap off the week. It'll be a good busy, for once. My entire outlook is better, and I have my family and my faith to thank.

I continue to pray for the strength to just be myself. I've discovered the power in being true to oneself, as it allows me to let my faith guide me as much as my gut. I'm also very thankful for all I have in my life: my family, my husband, my peace of mind. This is where I should be, and where I intend to jump off from for the rest of my journey. Life is more the journey than any destination, and I am well on my way. I have a map for when I need it--for when I get lost--but mostly, I make it up as I go along. With me, I finally have the right companions, with Faith as my guide.

What a beautiful morning. I feel so alive!

take your mark

I have the best life these days. I love it! For the first time since I can remember, I went to a swim meet, and not only enjoyed it, but looked forward to it! Since we are with a new team, I was not anticipating having anyone to sit with, which, in and of itself, would have been a treat. (I have mentioned how much I enjoy being alone, even in groups and crowds.) I go to the meets to see my kids swim, not so much to socialize. All I need is a clear view of my progeny, a book and a bottle of water. I double lucked out, though, because my dear, sweet husband directed me to a dad from our new team, who not only introduced me to his wife and another set of parents, but none of them minded that I talked a little, and read a lot. (Interestingly, the book I was reading is Quiet : The power of introverts in a world that can't stop talking, by Susan Cain -- my new hero!) I got to see my Joseph swim, and I watched their kids swim, too, without the need to critique everything, or make comments on who looked like what. I got to go to the meet and be a mom AND be myself -- the best combination ever!!

As a bonus, I get to see my husband in action. He shines when he talks to the kids before and after their events. His love of the sport is evident in the way he interacts with his fellow coaches, especially the ones he now works with. For the first time, in a very long time, he looks like himself on deck, and I couldn't be more proud.

There's another side to my joyful anticipation today: I am not working at a pool. Summer meets for the past few years have been trying for me, as I still felt like I was at work, even though it was someone else's pool. In the wintertime, I didn't quite have the same feeling, but I did find myself keeping a close eye on how the meets were running, since we hosted a major meet at the pool where I worked this summer; I knew what I was doing, and how I envisioned the meet, but I kept looking for that one thing that goes wrong that could have been avoided "if only." For the first time, I did not need to worry about that meet (the next time that meet will happen at that pool will be in seven years. No way will I still be there then!)

So, for the first time in a long time, I was quite relaxed going to a swim meet. No duties, no responsibilities, no worries. And on the way home, we stopped for fro-yo, chatted, laughed and rehashed. Just like the "old days" before swimming got stressful -- the days when we first met. I'm glad our boys are getting to know that man: the man that I married.

morning bliss

Morning coffee time is wonderful. One of my favorite times. This morning, I'm sitting with my coffee and two dogs, browsing on my computer, and I am alone. Blissfully alone. Guy is at a swim meet, the boys are still asleep, and, for all intents and purposes, so are the dogs. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed my coffee alone; just me and my thoughts. And, truly, I realize I've missed it.

Not that I don't love my usual mornings lately: weekday runs before sunrise, and coffee at work; Saturday mornings chatting with Guy over coffee; Sundays on the porch with coffee and the paper. I love all of that, too. There's just something special about being able to savor the moment alone, and be content with it, while looking forward to my own plans for the day.

As I sit here, I've scrolled through my Facebook news feed, cleaned up my email folders, and peeked at my blogger stats. I almost opened Post Secret, but realized it's Saturday morning, not Sunday, and laughed out loud at myself. I've picked up the bits of trash the dogs pulled out of the wastebasket while Guy and I had our weekly hammock date, and resolved to tie it up and take it out after I remove my nail polish. I've debated the priority of altering the curtains in the living room--start today, or sometime next week? I've considered whether I want to do some more weeding (before or after yoga?) today, since the forecast today is better than the last one I saw for today. And how much time will I need to get ready for the wedding we are going to tonight?

Guy and I have an ongoing debate about which is the better time of day. He likes the moments before sleep comes, when he reviews his day, and mentally shuts down. I, on the other hand, prefer morning-time, when I can plan and reorganize my day, without the  obstacles of other people's plans, wants and needs. I over plan my days. Not in the sense that I structure it too much. Rather, in the morning, the day seems so big, so full of possibilities, that I tend to want to accomplish more than will fit in the hours available. Funny, though, that is not the case at work: there I am pretty accurate in my predictions of how much I have time to accomplish. For that reason alone, I know it is not an inability to plan; more it is excitement at the vast possibilities, the scope of a blank day.

Especially one that is unexpected. I had planned on going to the swim meet today, to see Henry swim, but his shoulder hurts, and his physical therapist recommended waiting a little longer. Being at the meet would have taken the entire morning, and by the time we got home and got something to eat, would have taken us right up to get-dressed-for-the-wedding time. Therefore, this blank slate of a day is a gift, of sorts, and like a piece of artwork, I try many alternative spots before deciding to hammer a nail in the wall. Tomorrow I will immerse myself in a swim meet, watching Joseph.

Meanwhile, I will indulge in my coffee alone. Content.

re cal' cu lat ing

Sometimes the hardest decisions to make are the ones that at one time would have taken no thought. There's just something about walking a mile that makes all the difference. And the funny thing is, sometimes that mile feels like six, and sometimes walking it feels like just looking at the route on a map.

At one time, I made snap decisions, and liked the results, regardless of where they led. Of course, I was really just a kid then, and had fewer responsibilities. And really, only myself to worry about. Now, though, my children, my husband, even my friends sometimes, weigh on choices I make. Not that I ask around when it comes to big, important decisions; but still. These days, I prefer to not make decisions based on emotional responses. It might make me a little boring, but I prefer to be rational; to consider my past, present and future, my mental and physical health, my children's wants and needs, my relationship with my husband, and, to a slightly lesser extent, my friendships. (Because I have learned that while friends are necessary to sanity, they don't always follow the same route or like the scenery!)

Today, I made a decision that may have been life-changing, in that my reasons for it will require me to follow through with another change in direction. I asked for guidance, and two words came to mind, repeatedly. My only option is to go with them. I've already started the ball rolling, now to chase it down.

One mile at a time.

made it myself

I hate clothes shopping. I can't stand the hunting. The trying on is bad, too, but every once in a while, the right stuff ends up in my arms and the trying on is bearable. Who am I trying to kid--that rarely happens. More often, I wind up pulling, grunting, squinting and twisting, only to ultimately wonder (often aloud) who the heck thought this piece of clothing would fit a human being! They look great on the hanger, or on the mannequin (who, by the way, was not wearing arms when she was put into that sling you call a 'top'). Of course, it is so easy to forget that the hanger is only two dimensional and the mannequin does not need to breathe.

Despite the frustrations of clothes shopping, I do happen to have some clothes that I actually wear--and like! I've found a couple of lines that work well with my body, and I've learned what fabrics like me and which do not. I'm still working on the whole "wardrobe" concept; I much prefer fun pieces, and end up with minimal "goes with"s. Oh, well, I make it work, and tend to feel pretty good in the process. Of course, some of that has to do with the key pieces that I have made myself and love to show off!

I used to downplay the articles of clothing I made. When someone would comment, I would respond politely, and skirt around the answer if they asked the origin. I don't know why I did this. I don't know if it was some level of insecurity, or a feeling that if it was homemade it was worth less. Or maybe I just didn't want to get involved in any discussion. At all. Nowadays, though, when I am complimented, I follow up my thanks with a cheerful, "I made it." Which is invariably followed by a "What? You made it?" I smile sweetly and nod. Just once.

It's not the noticing that has changed for me: it's the personal affirmation of my talents. The "I made it" does more for my emotional health than the original compliment, or the subsequent discussion. I don't tell about making my clothes for the "bond" it might create between me and the compliment maker, although it is nice to chat and take that little break from our days. Rather, talking about it is more to remind me that I am someone, something, other than what I do, day in and day out. I feel most alive and productive when I am sitting at my sewing table, focusing on guiding the fabric under the needle. When I am matching fabric with style of pattern to create something that says "ME!" I love that feeling of "me-ness" that comes from knitting a scarf or a wrap or socks that no one else will ever have.

Where once I was concerned how I would be regarded if people know that I make stuff, I now see the value in sharing that bit of myself with others. And I guess that's what it came down to: I was feeling guarded. Now I have, for various reasons, no reason to hide behind myself.

I love it!

weed and seed

Yesterday, as I weeded one of the flowerbeds, I realized the similarity to my life lately. In all aspects of my life, I have been doing lots of weeding: at work, in my closets and drawers, in my circles, everywhere. And it's an amazing feeling!

At work, we've been tasked with weeding the collection, and I've wandered the stacks frequently looking for falling-apart and outdated materials, as well as securing the help of others who are more learned in categories than I am, or ever will be. Additionally, we've been weeding out cards, magazines, and soon, decorations. I have some apprehension about this weeding in some ways, as I don't quite know what the ultimate goal is, but there is still that certain satisfaction that comes with getting rid of something that's old, broken and unused.

My closets and drawers are getting a much-needed -- and long overdue!-- combing, too. There are still things I can't bear to part with, but many stained and outdated clothing has made its way out, along with games and puzzles missing pieces, toys that no longer have any appeal, expired medicines, and the other plain, old junk that makes its way into storage areas instead of the trash for various reasons, and then is forgotten about.

Similarly, I've been weeding the gardens and flowerbeds. Again, a long overdue project. At times, I marvel that I had time and energy to create the beds in the first place; painstakingly digging out, turning over, and bordering each of them with bricks. I remember that I worked each morning at 5:30am, until our oldest son would come out and let me know he was awake. Planting was the easy part, but I also remember that the weeding and deadheading happened in the evening, when my husband came home from work and could occupy the boys for a while, giving me a break -- literally and figuratively. Each year, as the boys got older, they got busier, and Guy coached more, leaving me less time to get at those pesky weeds. For the past three years, I've worked full-time in the summer, into the evening, giving me even less time to get out into the yard. So spring and fall have become my weeding the beds times. In between, I just hope not too many people notice how sloppy they start to look.

My personal life has needed major weeding, too. Some of it takes care of itself, like seeing a dandelion and pulling it out by the roots. But most of it requires careful extrication, much like untangling and unwinding the wild morning glory choking the lilies and the clematis. I will persevere, though, because the results in my heart and soul will be, ultimately, very similar to the results in my yard, my closets, and the shelves: clean, neat, open and tidy.

Occasionally, pulling a weed results in losing one of the pretty plants intended to be in the garden. I see the same thing happen in my life: my boys will lose some playmates, some babysitting jobs. I have no problem being open and honest with them. It's important for them to know that some people need to drop out of our lives in order to move forward. Never will I say mean, nasty or slanderous things about any of these formerly "important" people in my life, but I will certainly not pretend that "maybe one of these days" the relationship will be what it once was. Or, more truthfully, what I mistakenly thought it would be forever.

I'd prefer for my life to be less sloppy, and more what I choose it to be. For too long, I went along adding some color here and there, just to fill in the blanks. Not everything I ended up seeing was what I liked, or wanted to see; but I let them go, not realizing how much they would be able to take over, given just a little space. I'm learning to mulch and fertilize. And examining the shoots and seedlings more carefully.

And I feel much freer for it.

me, myself and that's it

So many of my posts are born of a need to release some sort of pent up emotional energy. There are times when I wonder if, in snippets, I appear to be a coiled up spring, ready to explode. At one time, I was. Too much of my energy was focused on looking like I was playing a part: the part of mother, coach's wife, homeowner, friend--a grown-up. Oddly, the people I most admired had no concerns about what a grown-up looked like, acted like. With them, I could be myself (and at home, with my family), and I would come away from my time with them rejuvinated, refreshed and renewed. And with a promise to myself that I would continue the feeling of being "real" by being myself instead of who I was "supposed to" be.

It wasn't until a crisis that I was able to make the break. Repeatedly, I've been told that my ability to be true to myself was the inspiration needed to move forward.

Perhaps you see me as a bit socially awkward. Good! I am! I have no desire to make small talk, as I've said before. Sooner or later, if I see that you are someone I can let in, I will join the conversation. It may take minutes, hours, days, years. The point is, if you feel uncomfortable with my quiet nature at first, you probably will be later. And in the long run, I've found that the people that are most uncomfortable with those who don't jump in immediately, people like me, are frequently pretty uncomfortable with themselves. I have a number of very outgoing friends -- people who will talk to anyone, anywhere; people who could probably make friends with a stone statue, and no one would think anything of it. But they are quite comfortable with the differences in people, and can not only tolerate those who reserve their spirit for times when they are more comfortable.

Where I've gone wrong is in believing I "should" make friends with the people who strike up conversations with me repeatedly. In going against my nature, and trying to follow someone else's lead.