I find myself thinking, "If I could just . . ." and then filling-in the elipse with any number of things: get these papers graded, finish-up the laundry, read that chapter, spend more time with the buddies, actually see my husband when we're both not exhausted . . .
I wonder what the second half of that thought is though. For example, "If I could just get the house picked-up . . ." then what? I would feel better? Be complete? Win a million dollars? Hm. I'm curious where I got the idea to talk to myself like this, why I continue to do so, and what exactly I think I'll "win" if the "If" would always come true?
I suspect that I'm not alone in this type of self-talk. Actually, my guess is that most women with too much on their plates and too many expectations of themselves recite this or other similiar mantras almost daily. Or hourly. Perhaps my experiment for this weekend should be that everyone time I hearing myself "If I could just . . ." I'll fill it in with " . . .sit here" or " . . . pray" or " . . . do nothing at all." My guess is that while this is what I need to do, it will feel very uncomfortable. Now, if I could just get through the rest of the day so that I could start this experiment . . .
Friday, October 28, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Philos
from the Greek, often used to refer to love for one's family. Also, "of one's own." Its opposite, (those Greeks loved antithesis) is "Ecthros," or, "not of one's one." Also frequently used to mean, "evil," or "the enemy." Love these words. I can't think of any more perfect way to describe how one feels about familial love, or how one might better describe evil in this world--"not of one's own"--something rejected, something decidely "other."
I've been teaching these words to my AP students, as we read Antigone, but I am fully aware that I'm more in love with rolling around in their meanings than are my students:) In order to avoid being too heavy on this cold and rainy October day, I'll just throw out for kicks a few things that are definitely "of my own":
Anything red. Especially red Mary Janes.
Anything involving carbohydrates.
Musicals.
High School and College Football.
American History.
A Damn Good Book--particularly if it is Historical Fiction.
Anything that involves me wearing "wubbies"--family code for jammy pants and sweatshirts.
Jewelry.
My three men, and a young lady.
Definitely NOT "of my own" a.ka. things that I find to be evil:
Mayonaise.
Mushrooms.
Math.
Mean people.
(I'm sensing an allterative trend . . .)
Grading 90 of the same Sophomore Essays.
Overlong summer vacations.
Did I say Mayonaise?
Crimes against the Holy Spirit.
Okay, better stop before this becomes too much fun. Back to the ungraded essays.
I've been teaching these words to my AP students, as we read Antigone, but I am fully aware that I'm more in love with rolling around in their meanings than are my students:) In order to avoid being too heavy on this cold and rainy October day, I'll just throw out for kicks a few things that are definitely "of my own":
Anything red. Especially red Mary Janes.
Anything involving carbohydrates.
Musicals.
High School and College Football.
American History.
A Damn Good Book--particularly if it is Historical Fiction.
Anything that involves me wearing "wubbies"--family code for jammy pants and sweatshirts.
Jewelry.
My three men, and a young lady.
Definitely NOT "of my own" a.ka. things that I find to be evil:
Mayonaise.
Mushrooms.
Math.
Mean people.
(I'm sensing an allterative trend . . .)
Grading 90 of the same Sophomore Essays.
Overlong summer vacations.
Did I say Mayonaise?
Crimes against the Holy Spirit.
Okay, better stop before this becomes too much fun. Back to the ungraded essays.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
It Doesn't Get Any Better
It has been a good weekend around here for the ten-year-old. We must first consider that he eats/drinks/sleeps football, and then we must remember that if it is Notre Dame football, then we begin to hear angels sing as well.
It began Friday afternoon when he got to walk in the high school Homecoming Parade wearing is Irish jersey. Then we attended the high school game, where my boys won--and 10-year-olds' favorite players were in true form. Saturday morning 10-year-old went with Mom back to school to help decorate for the dance, and besides the two donuts he scored from the deal, he also got to hang-out with the high schoolers, and be helpful handyman, moving chairs and tables, taping-down balloons, and just being generally useful-- all right up his alley.
Saturday afternoon brought THE BIG GAME. Having lost to their town rivals, the Cardinals earlier in the season, 10-year-old and his fellow Irish have been focused on nothing except beating them this time around to finish their season and to give the Cardinals their first loss. The football gods were a'smilin' on the blue and gold as my little quarterback/linebacker helped his team win 18-12. Anyone in attendance might have thought that they had just won the Super Bowl and the World Series--simultaneously. After the game, he got to meet the grandfather of one of his teammates who was a REAL Irish player--a Notre Dame football alum from the 1960s. Yep, he got is picture taken with him.
It was supposed to be all downhill after that--with the exception of the end-of-the-year football banquet this afternoon, BUT when we pulled into the parking lot at church this morning there was an enormous tour bus in the back of the lot . . . taking a pew a few rows in front of our usual one because church was filling-up rapidly, we looked across the congregation to see the Notre Dame Men's Glee Club. They were visiting for Mass after having been in town for a concert the night before. 10-year-old didn't take his eyes off of them--he was enraptured. I'm pretty positive that he doesn't even remember sitting, standing, genuflecting . . .but he could probably tell you every move that each of those young men made. We were treated to a post-Communion hymn by our visitors, and 10-yr-old didn't move a muscle. He left church grinning from ear to ear.
Sometimes, it just doesn't get any better.
It began Friday afternoon when he got to walk in the high school Homecoming Parade wearing is Irish jersey. Then we attended the high school game, where my boys won--and 10-year-olds' favorite players were in true form. Saturday morning 10-year-old went with Mom back to school to help decorate for the dance, and besides the two donuts he scored from the deal, he also got to hang-out with the high schoolers, and be helpful handyman, moving chairs and tables, taping-down balloons, and just being generally useful-- all right up his alley.
Saturday afternoon brought THE BIG GAME. Having lost to their town rivals, the Cardinals earlier in the season, 10-year-old and his fellow Irish have been focused on nothing except beating them this time around to finish their season and to give the Cardinals their first loss. The football gods were a'smilin' on the blue and gold as my little quarterback/linebacker helped his team win 18-12. Anyone in attendance might have thought that they had just won the Super Bowl and the World Series--simultaneously. After the game, he got to meet the grandfather of one of his teammates who was a REAL Irish player--a Notre Dame football alum from the 1960s. Yep, he got is picture taken with him.
It was supposed to be all downhill after that--with the exception of the end-of-the-year football banquet this afternoon, BUT when we pulled into the parking lot at church this morning there was an enormous tour bus in the back of the lot . . . taking a pew a few rows in front of our usual one because church was filling-up rapidly, we looked across the congregation to see the Notre Dame Men's Glee Club. They were visiting for Mass after having been in town for a concert the night before. 10-year-old didn't take his eyes off of them--he was enraptured. I'm pretty positive that he doesn't even remember sitting, standing, genuflecting . . .but he could probably tell you every move that each of those young men made. We were treated to a post-Communion hymn by our visitors, and 10-yr-old didn't move a muscle. He left church grinning from ear to ear.
Sometimes, it just doesn't get any better.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
A little gratitude
I'm thankful for:
Sisters who call and make me laugh.
Sisters who call back and make me laugh even harder.
Dads who like to stay up late talking.
10-yr-olds who still like to snuggle their Momma.
Friends with eternal patience.
Moms who understand. And then some.
Huge black tree trunks with electric yellow leaves.
Moms who love the same trees I do.
Husbands who grocery shop. And grill.
Football.
Pumpkin cake. Pumpkin Ice Cream. Pumpkin Lattes.
8-yr-olds who love to laugh.
A God who sees fit to give me all of this.
Sisters who call and make me laugh.
Sisters who call back and make me laugh even harder.
Dads who like to stay up late talking.
10-yr-olds who still like to snuggle their Momma.
Friends with eternal patience.
Moms who understand. And then some.
Huge black tree trunks with electric yellow leaves.
Moms who love the same trees I do.
Husbands who grocery shop. And grill.
Football.
Pumpkin cake. Pumpkin Ice Cream. Pumpkin Lattes.
8-yr-olds who love to laugh.
A God who sees fit to give me all of this.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
An Ode to the Stomach Flu
Oh Stomach Flu, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways . .
I love you to the depths of my tubs of Chlorox Wipes,
to the breadths of couches and chairs covered in sheets and little boy bed pillows.
Your little germies infiltrate the unsuspecting bellies of my buddies--
cutting short the school day and delivering us all home to rest. We
fidget in the strangeness of daytime television, not quite knowing what to do
with ourselves
who
find our legs in jammies, and heads on pillows when the sun is still high.
Boxes of kleenex, cups of ginger ale, and take-home work juxtaposed with
remote controls and baskets of clean unfolded laundry. All quotidian, yet
strangely out of place.
So, how do I love thee? Not so much. But I did:
Rub backs
Grade Papers
Get Kleenex
Answer Emails
Offer Ice
Update my blog
And wish that it was me instead of them.
I love you to the depths of my tubs of Chlorox Wipes,
to the breadths of couches and chairs covered in sheets and little boy bed pillows.
Your little germies infiltrate the unsuspecting bellies of my buddies--
cutting short the school day and delivering us all home to rest. We
fidget in the strangeness of daytime television, not quite knowing what to do
with ourselves
who
find our legs in jammies, and heads on pillows when the sun is still high.
Boxes of kleenex, cups of ginger ale, and take-home work juxtaposed with
remote controls and baskets of clean unfolded laundry. All quotidian, yet
strangely out of place.
So, how do I love thee? Not so much. But I did:
Rub backs
Grade Papers
Get Kleenex
Answer Emails
Offer Ice
Update my blog
And wish that it was me instead of them.
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