A little more than a year ago, I stood outside with my 11-year-old as she took pictures of a rare winter landscape here.
“I am where I am,” I said, of course, in 27-degree weather wearing shark pajama bottoms with a curious child who goes out of her way to spend time with me. It’s also where I am, at the bottom of stairs looking up at where I hope to be or at least feel like I am someday.
Yes, you’re way down here, I told myself, but you’re looking the right direction.
Who knows what path I’ll take. But parenting, the divergent routes and surprises and development and growth and discovery of ourselves on the journey will power me upward. Meredith, who writes the blog The Mom of the Year, inspired this post.
Who hasn’t thought this? In those moments we’re out of gas, out of time or out of toilet paper (or all three). At times when we follow our favorite adorable pro golfer just to see she has three names now, just like those old-school 80s Olympic sprinters.
I like being me, though.
So much so that I would hate to not be me, to miss out on late-night ginger snaps and Sunlounger and Cher Lloyd on Pandora. On coaching my girls, raising my kids or writing my blog. Did I mention ginger snaps?
I tried to hop back in the news cycle over the weekend.
Not a full-fledged jump, but just a peek, just a bit of what’s going on in the world beyond the scope of my new glasses frames. I’m out of practice, the as you know. I’ve traded in my NPR loves and headlines everywhere for audiobooks and meditation.
Y’all’s world? It’s nuts.
I haven’t felt that lost since … well, any math class I’ve ever taken. Severe lack of comprehension. I didn’t recognize the hashtags and references, the shots and pans. I saw little room for light and peace.
I’ve sat on this one forever. Not an elephant. I have ridden one before. It was like being on a second-story leather couch. Kind of stinky. No, I’ve been sitting on this post, one I wanted to write about elephants – and not their couch-like qualities and aromas.
Months ago, I wanted to write about elephants and the lessons we could learn from them.
Life got in the way. Coaching, deadlines, commutes and being a dad. Time spent confused and busy and resentful for not being able to be here. Those days are gone for now, and even though I’m a day late on this post, it’s live, isn’t it? (Two days, technically.)
A soccer mom and a writer, she has the best of both worlds. She underestimates her sense of humor, and can turn everyday events into stellar blog posts. She’s Los Angeles’ saving grace, if you ask me. (Go dodgers, and take the lakers with you).
Today, she graces the pages of the CD with a post about choosing your relatives.
Bet you didn’t know you could do that, did you? She has seven kids – which makes me think instantly of a 6v6 soccer youth team with a substitute. And she has several pets, which … makes me think of a 6v6 youth soccer team with a substitute.
One of my girls has asked this. More than once. Did she know daddy was a Religious Studies minor in college? Blasphemous at it sounds, I’ve asked the same question. I wonder if a Sunday morning is better spent doing good than mumbling through Psalms and Old Testament lessons.
Ultimately, I think there’s good to be found in going to church, mostly in fellowship and stewardship.
Our church was recently closed. The diocese called the congregation together on a Wednesday night, told us we were troubled and in debt and not able to be saved, not even as a mission, and locked the doors for Sunday service. We’ve mostly found new church homes in places that have accepted us. But, how “good” are the people who take away someone’s church?
Missing: One cheap little MP3 player and lots of 70’s stuff on it.
Last seen in the presence of a kid who looks a lot like me. DNA testing would be conclusive, I’m sure. It’s true … that’s AC/DC’s “Back in Black” and “Hells Bells” ringing in Madison’s ears through her stolen electronics.
But at least it’s not songs from role models Demi Lovato, Miley Cyrus, or Lil Kim.
I got the MP3 free for earning points after drinking more Coke products than recommended by the Surgeon General. (My pancreas may never rust if what they say about Coke’s bumper-cleansing properties rings true.)