Stop worrying about my yearly theme (I know so many do), January is not yet over. I have one, and shockingly, I've been working on it all year already. Usually I mull over a long list of possibilities before arriving to my conclusion, but this year the rhyming flow was a little slowed by well, the year. Conditions do not promise to improve in the next several years. However, like any good MC, I have a few possibilities that all have merit. Here's where I started:
Hang out with Bergevin.
Make friends with wife of Devin.
Talk to cousin Kevin.
Cook with more leaven.
Visit Seven-Eleven.
Like them all. However, I have settled upon, "Attitude is a Choice, Thank Heaven."
I need to print it out and post it on my closet, and maybe see the results of '04. I've done okay the last couple of years, but it's time to step it up. Right after Christmas, faced with the reality that I would be dealing with my three adorable heathen by myself for a few months, I decided we would be happy anyway. Not blissful every second (A phrase I don't get is, "We're loving every minute." Really? Every minute?), but when the going got crazy, I would put it into perspective and be okay.
The thing about attitude being a choice is a lot of times it sure doesn't feel like a choice. As I've been conscious of trying this month, this keeps going through my head. I've been keeping track of a few moments I wanted to remember (see last post), because they remind me of why I love what I do. No, I don't like living in disaster area, but when one is created, I can take a deep breath. I did pretty great at my goal for 29 days. Gary was impressed, and I was feeling pretty great. Then yesterday, on day 30 at 11 p.m. I had a little meltdown. I felt bad about that, and thought for a minute I was failing. But then I realized nope, I still have a choice. I could let that be that, or I could let it affect me the next day. I decided to have a good day today. Hooray for choices!
I don't want to sound heavy-handed, like I'm so put together and have it all figured out. I'm just saying this is a goal. Something I want to work on. There will be more day 30's, I'm pretty sure. But I'm shooting for the great 31's. Alright, 2011, work your magic.
Since I couldn't go hog-wild with rhyming, may I just mention a great story in the field of rhyme? Josh came home from preschool with a worksheet where he put that snail and shell rhyme. Say them outloud, and if you agree, you might be from Utah. Josh is.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Moments
(Remember when I wrote most of this a couple of months ago? Ah, well.)
There is laundry everywhere. On the table, on the counter, on the couch, on the floor. Breakfast is everywhere. Every carpet has been peed on within the last two hours. Toys have made their way to every corner of the kitchen, and there is milk, cereal, and other breakfast goo still oozing its way accross the floor, spreading farther and farther from the still overturned highchair. And in the middle of it all there is a mommy sitting on the floor hugging her perfect, chubby baby. He is giggling, having forgotten the sad incident with the highchair that made him cry. His big eyes look happily at the mommy, and she looks back adoringly at him, and it is simply the best. The mess around them disappears, and nothing else matters but the baby. Oh, how she loves him!
It's construction paper stapled into a circle, with crepe paper haphazardly attached. But when he holds it and runs, the streamers fly, and his eyes light up. "Look at my windsock, mom!" he exclaims as he passes by. The sun is shining, the grass is green, and the little blonde boy grinning at his homemade windsock makes me realize that happiness is a pretty simple thing, after all.
The lone man stands upright in front of the grave, his hands in front of him. Was it his wife? How long has it been? As I drive by on a busy day, this man seems to ponder the deep matters of life and death. The contrast seems so stark -have I stopped to truly appreciate my carload today?
Painted rocks all over the back porch and kitchen, an abandoned mine in the living room. Another week of teaching preschool has passed, and remembering the smiles, giggles, and amusing comments the activities brought makes me almost giddy, and for one moment I love the mess.
A little towhead in a soccer uniform and his small brother follow their father around the farmer's market, eager for their chance to carry a vegetable or two. The warm fall breeze just touches my face through the car window, and I lay my head back and change my focus to the infant sleeping peacefully in his seat. Content.
-we can run (I don't remember what moment this was supposed to remind me of. But I don't want to delete it, just in case.)
There is laundry everywhere. On the table, on the counter, on the couch, on the floor. Breakfast is everywhere. Every carpet has been peed on within the last two hours. Toys have made their way to every corner of the kitchen, and there is milk, cereal, and other breakfast goo still oozing its way accross the floor, spreading farther and farther from the still overturned highchair. And in the middle of it all there is a mommy sitting on the floor hugging her perfect, chubby baby. He is giggling, having forgotten the sad incident with the highchair that made him cry. His big eyes look happily at the mommy, and she looks back adoringly at him, and it is simply the best. The mess around them disappears, and nothing else matters but the baby. Oh, how she loves him!
It's construction paper stapled into a circle, with crepe paper haphazardly attached. But when he holds it and runs, the streamers fly, and his eyes light up. "Look at my windsock, mom!" he exclaims as he passes by. The sun is shining, the grass is green, and the little blonde boy grinning at his homemade windsock makes me realize that happiness is a pretty simple thing, after all.
The lone man stands upright in front of the grave, his hands in front of him. Was it his wife? How long has it been? As I drive by on a busy day, this man seems to ponder the deep matters of life and death. The contrast seems so stark -have I stopped to truly appreciate my carload today?
Painted rocks all over the back porch and kitchen, an abandoned mine in the living room. Another week of teaching preschool has passed, and remembering the smiles, giggles, and amusing comments the activities brought makes me almost giddy, and for one moment I love the mess.
A little towhead in a soccer uniform and his small brother follow their father around the farmer's market, eager for their chance to carry a vegetable or two. The warm fall breeze just touches my face through the car window, and I lay my head back and change my focus to the infant sleeping peacefully in his seat. Content.
-we can run (I don't remember what moment this was supposed to remind me of. But I don't want to delete it, just in case.)
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