the mud

Waiting.  It is something we learn from a very early age.  Wait.  Wait for me.  Wait for your turn.  Wait just a minute.  Wait up.  Then it evolves into waiting for news.  Waiting for a report.  Waiting rooms.  Waiting for graduation.  Waiting until they are grown up.  Waiting until this happens or that doesn't happen. Last week I was waiting for something.  I can't even remember what exactly it was.  I was in the car I think.  And suddenly this peace, excitement, this buzz came over me.  What if...?  What if I get what I want?  What if the news is good?  What if he notices me?  What if she asks me?  What if?  That is the best part of waiting.  We can have the fantasy!  We are all waiting for something.  Let the buzz set in and enjoy the wait. My students were waiting for Christmas.  Starting in late October.  I had one student tell me he was sad.  "Do you know why I'm sad?" he asked.  "Because it's not Christmas!" he answered his own question.  So

We are SO busy.  We can't breathe.  We can't talk.  We can't think.  We've got so much on our list.  We've got so much to DO.  It's not good.  It's the never-ending tasks that seem to put us into auto-mode, as in automaton, that we can't be creative, we can't be funny, we can't be be generous, we are just pushing through to get through.  But I'm trying.  I'm trying to keep a smile on my face and pretend that we are all under control.  And I see your smiles too.  Just stop.  Please. I was driving through north Philly this week and got stuck.  Behind a trolley.  In rush hour. The traffic light changes.  The trolley doesn't move.  The light changes again.  No one moves.  The light changes AGAIN.  Cars are honking.  Cars are trying to switch lanes and go back.  And then I see the wheelchair being lowered from the trolley car and the woman in it is clutching her bag. The trolley conductor slowly lowers her lift, gets her off and switche

Asking for what we need is important.  Asking for what we want is a Christmas tradition.  From the very best Christmas specials, It's a Wonderful Life,  and Miracle on 34th Street,  we are encouraged to ask and ask big - I mean, a House!  Really?  Yes, Virginia, really.   Go for it!  Live Big!  Dream Big! It's Christmas! It's the season of Miracles!  The new Lexus in the driveway - it happens!  All those dreams being dreamed right now, being fulfilled by little elves, from the jewelers at Tiffany's to the Toys-R-Us stock room people.  Dream and keep the dream alive!  Write the list and make it a long one!  What would your fantasy list look like, if money and time were no object?  Go ahead, write it! Even so, we temper our wants and our desires.  My children are not asking for much.  My husband and I are not exchanging gifts this year, so no lists.  Our lists to Santa have evolved into those grownup Christmas lists, so beautifully sung about in the song by the same nam

Last weekend I was inspired to try to write for 25 days of Christmas.  I had some pretty good ideas.  I just didn't write.  And here we are 5 days later and no writing.  So this morning, in the shower, I thought, maybe 12 days?  12 days of writing?  Is that too much to ask?  I don't think so.  And here's why... Last week was Thanksgiving, co-mingled with lots of pre-Christmas shopping, on Thanksgiving, after Thanksgiving, on cyber Monday and before cyber Monday.  I didn't engage until late on Sunday afternoon, when I thought I might be missing deals.  This year we are on a strict budget.  The kids have every electronic known to man, or at least to adults, or at least to me , and I can't imagine they are in need of one more device or screen.  Toys are pretty much outgrown in this house and we aren't quite into the luxury teenage items, thankfully.  Still, the lists may be lean, but they are a little long.  So I found an online guide this year.  Each person wi

Promises When I first came to this place over twenty years ago, I think we were engaged.    It seemed odd then to be invited in when we weren’t married yet.   I remember the anxiety I felt as we climbed the mountains and took the hairpin turn.   Would I like it here?   Would they like me?   I slept in the small open bedroom (yes, there is no door) and he slept on the sleeping porch.   I fell in love with the place.   And now we have come back countless times, each time with one more notch, one more step our milestones.   Married.   Married with one child.   Married with two children.   Married but only he went with one child.   Etc. Etc.   Each time different.   Each time magical.   Each time the promise that we will return.     That first year, I never knew.   I never knew that this would be our place.   I never imagined that we would keep coming back.   I imagined it, maybe, but didn’t know it would last the way it has.   Now our children have fallen in love with it.   How could

We all love Va-cations.  We even look forward to Sta-cations.  We can do all the long list of things that have to get done and that we save for our time at home when there are no extra outside pressures.  The List becomes this dumping ground for all the projects we just can't do on a Saturday because we are at track meets and crew regattas and other sports that take up entirely too much of our Saturday.  Entirely too much.  Like five hours.  How is this a sport?  It's more like Spectator What-Does-Not-Kill-Us-Makes-Us-Stronger.  I'm not getting any fitness in but it's nice to know my kids are fit.  Did I mention that is was 27 degrees Fahrenheit?  That it was Windy.  That I was trying to help write down race times at the track meet and my pencil was frozen to my rigid fingers.  Anyway, that's where the list came in.  I was going to attempt to do all the jobs I hadn't done throughout the year during my five days of spring break.  Here are the jobs: Convert our o

So it's the middle of a long, long, long, long winter.  Well it's almost the end.  Just for fun, on these last days of our winter retreat, when we snuggle down with books and laptops and are all caught up on paper work and reading and SCANDAL, and are looking forward to spring and summer, let's prepare with a little light shopping.  Just for fun.  Just for us.  Just for shopping.  There is something in the brain that gets a little excited by shopping and all that eye candy out there.  I have written in the past about my grandmothers and how they taught me to shop.  (There was always lunch involved!) It's primal for women.  It's good for us.  It's therapy without price or tears.    From Ballard Designs...  $33 with free monogramming! From Kate Spade... sale price $106.  The image on the link is really cute. From Mecha Chocolate  ... $10 a hidden gem right here in Haddon Township.  (I Really Like South Jersey!)  I haven't been there yet

I am writing to you tonight as a parent and an educator.  It has come to my attention that there is an opportunity for boys to participate in Spring Basketball but that a decision has yet to be made as to whom is invited.  One decision would be that only boys already on the team are allowed to play and the other is that it is open to everyone. Everyone is included. I would like to state my argument for the latter.  My son was heart-broken this fall when he did not "make the team". While he may not be the caliber player that others his age are, he should have the chance to be on the team.   Being on the team is a lot more than playing basketball.  Being on the team is building skills in a whole array of human development.  Being on the team is being included among his peers and developing socially.  Being on the team is learning from role models about coaching and listening and thinking as a team.  Being on the team is hard work.  Being on the team is representing his sch

Well, there should be a comma in there to show that I don't mean the goldfish are dancing.  Or something like that.  I am referring to a first grader of mine who, with utter abandon, was dancing to a video with a mouthful of goldfish that he was trying to eat while singing Apples and Bananas by Raffi. For a split second I just wished I could have been him.  The pure expression of joy on his face, the complete surrender to the music, the total engagement with the sounds and the rhythms did nothing to distract him from what he also needed to accomplish, which was eating his snack.  Others sat and passively watched the video and then watched the Dancer with a bit of confusion.  "How do you do that?" they seemed to think, while they hurriedly tried to finish their snacks so that then they would be able to get up and dance.  He was the Dancer, the Singer, the Eater, and the Participator all in complete flow. Most of my days are spent Dancing Eating Goldfish.  I am trying to

Today is the first day back to school after break.   We are breaking into my mother’s house to steal an Ugly Sweater at 5 in the morning because it is Ugly Sweater Day and we have driven home from a gathering through the night up and down hilly, unlit, back roads where we saw a family of deer who spoke to us to tell us we were on the wrong road and they directed us back to a traffic-filled highway and on the roof we have tied some old evergreen branches that we will try to form into a tree because we forgot to get a Christmas tree when we had to take my son to the emergency room because he was spouting blood from his finger and while we were there my other son had a bloody nose and they were going to take him into surgery… But then I woke up.   The first day of school is not until tomorrow.   Today is January 4.   It is the Changing of Seasons around here.    Changing from the season of sleeping in and wearing pajamas, drinking 5 cups of coffee, some with Bailey’s, while watching