April 10, 2014
Dear Diary,
Deciding to put the kids in school has seemed to work out well. Everyone is thriving and I have a lot more time to focus on getting things put away in the new house. I know I may have said this before, but this may very well be the happiest time of our lives.
Yesterday started out very promising. I signed up to chaperone a field trip to the Smithsonian Natural History Museum with Michael's class. Lucy was able to come along and I was very much looking forward to seeing the caveman exhibit I heard about on NPR. An artist/anthropologist has rethought how to reconstruct early man beginning at the bones and sculpting from the inside out. I was also pretty excited at the thought that I could put Michael back on the bus and go to the Cherry Blossom Festival with Lucy. I've never been in 15 years of living in DC and with homeschooling in our rear view mirror, this was the perfect time.
We got up early, packed a yummy lunch, put on our best walking shoes and got set to hit the town. That is when our plan unravelled.
First of all, I got separated from the school bus I was following, which if you know DC traffic you will understand that this spells disaster. As the bus sailed through a yellow light at a main thoroughfare and into the city of gridlock and tunnels, I felt like I was waving to the launching space shuttle from terra firma. Farewell. Hope to see you again someday.
I then employed the help of my frenemy (mostly enemy) Siri. I think I said something like this, "Siri, I know we have had our differences in the past but I really need you to get me to the Natural History Museum. The Smithsonian. In Washington DC." Apparently Siri hasn't forgiven me for all the times I have cursed her and wished her dead over the years, because what I heard back was, "Starting route to … Hayden Planetarium" the one in New Flipping York. I then screamed some obscenities at Siri and told her I really did wish her dead. And I do.
I used my very own homing skills to get us to the Natural History Museum and as I turned the corner I saw Michael's bus. Victory. That is when I heard Lucy in the back say, "Mommy, my tummy hurts….. blaaahhhhhhhh!" She vomited all over herself and the seat of the car. Game over. I called one of the moms that I knew on the bus and got the message to Michael that we had to go home. He was fine. He enjoyed the trip but never did get to see the cavemen.
Lucy and I took the long way home. She used one of Grant's old shirts to mop up the vomit and sucked her fingers as we drove the route of the cherry blossoms.
Someday I will make it to that festival, and when I do, I am sure that I will find myself wistful for the days of vomit and field trips. All in, I count myself very fortunate. Very fortunate indeed.
Showing posts with label Dear Diary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dear Diary. Show all posts
Friday, April 11, 2014
Thursday, October 10, 2013
A Stream of Consciousness
Today, I heard an advertisement on the radio for a casting call catering to young girls. They asked if your daughter likes to "sing and dance," and has ever "dreamed of being on their favorite shows such as Wizards of Waverly Place or The Suite Life." I wondered who falls for this load of bull anymore. Don't we have a collective awareness that turning our kids into commodities is dangerous - if not fatal?
A friend (who I've actually never met, in real life) posted the following video on Facebook. I have to confess that I loved it. Miley Cyrus strips down We Can’t Stop! And while I am a huge lover of the party anthem and dance music, if you look at the poor child who is at the literal center of the music, you will see an addicted, broken shell who needed protection about ten years ago.
I've had an uncharacteristically difficult time transitioning from Homeschooling-Mother-of-5-Kids to Public-Schooling-Mother-With-Only-One-At-Home. You can hate me or think I am a baby when I confess to you in all humility that I don't know what to do with myself. This is not something that I think is cute or humblebragging. I am wont for a purpose and those are difficult waters to navigate. So, in an effort to get out of the house, Lucy and I went to H&M where I purchased a pair of MC Hammer pants, or what the upstarts like to call harem pants. Here's the thing friends: they are hella fresh. I am fairly certain that they will be my new uniform until such time that Doc Martins and prairie skirts come back "in" and then I WILL BE ALL OVER IT.
I am contemplating using natural deodorant.
This week, I joined Twitter because, I don't know. My foray into the Twitter-verse has forced my sweet husband to shut his own account down. Sometimes I feel like Pepe LePew and the Cat with him on the internet. Good thing he loves the daylights out of me, IRL.
Sometimes I feel guilty if I don't blog for a long time. Like, someday when my kids are poring over my writings after I have gone to Jesus, they will wish that I had continued my tribute-journal to our life together. So, if that is indeed the case, dear children this is my contribution to our posterity.
A friend (who I've actually never met, in real life) posted the following video on Facebook. I have to confess that I loved it. Miley Cyrus strips down We Can’t Stop! And while I am a huge lover of the party anthem and dance music, if you look at the poor child who is at the literal center of the music, you will see an addicted, broken shell who needed protection about ten years ago.
I've had an uncharacteristically difficult time transitioning from Homeschooling-Mother-of-5-Kids to Public-Schooling-Mother-With-Only-One-At-Home. You can hate me or think I am a baby when I confess to you in all humility that I don't know what to do with myself. This is not something that I think is cute or humblebragging. I am wont for a purpose and those are difficult waters to navigate. So, in an effort to get out of the house, Lucy and I went to H&M where I purchased a pair of MC Hammer pants, or what the upstarts like to call harem pants. Here's the thing friends: they are hella fresh. I am fairly certain that they will be my new uniform until such time that Doc Martins and prairie skirts come back "in" and then I WILL BE ALL OVER IT.
I am contemplating using natural deodorant.
This week, I joined Twitter because, I don't know. My foray into the Twitter-verse has forced my sweet husband to shut his own account down. Sometimes I feel like Pepe LePew and the Cat with him on the internet. Good thing he loves the daylights out of me, IRL.
Sometimes I feel guilty if I don't blog for a long time. Like, someday when my kids are poring over my writings after I have gone to Jesus, they will wish that I had continued my tribute-journal to our life together. So, if that is indeed the case, dear children this is my contribution to our posterity.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Observation
April 19, 2013
Dear Diary,
Today in Boston two suspects have been identified in the bombings that happened earlier this week at the Boston Marathon. The suspects, legally in the United States and Chechen citizens, happen to be brothers.
Never mind the commentary on where our world seems to be heading. Never mind the reality of terrorism seems to have crept into the American reality like Ireland and Israel, there is one aspect of this particular crime that seems to haunt me: Their family is in utter shock. They refuse to believe that two smart, accomplished, ambitious young men could possibly be involved with something so sinister and heinous.
The father was interviewed by a Boston radio station and stated that his children 'hated terrorism.' They hated guns and violence. He was so proud of them and believed so much in their capacity for good. They had aspirations to become physicians. He called to check on them in the wake of the bombings to make sure they were ok and they assured him and their sister that they were safe. Dear God! How? Why?
I grieve with America for the loss of innocent life. I think of Martin Richard and his family who will never have their little boy again. I pray for the wellness of the people who were privy to the carnage and their future emotional stability. I pray that they will be able to identify with Christ crucified and his capacity for understanding of the people who called for His brutal death. This is a fallen world. A fallen, desperate world.
While we grieve with the Americans, please friends, remember that father in Chechnya. Remember that man who held his sons as babies and encouraged them to pursue their dreams. He, too, was deceived. He believed so passionately in the capacity of his sons who disgraced him so completely. He is a victim, too. I pray, as well, for all victims of deceit. The emotional wounds run deep and leave scars that will never heal.
Live in the light, my friends. Let your yeas be yeas and let your neighs be neighs.
We will stand back up. We will rise again; but now? Now is the time for grief.
Yours truly, Sharon
PS. Tomorrow I will review the Mandarin Spinach Salad. I was too sad today.
Dear Diary,
 |
| Photo Credit |
Never mind the commentary on where our world seems to be heading. Never mind the reality of terrorism seems to have crept into the American reality like Ireland and Israel, there is one aspect of this particular crime that seems to haunt me: Their family is in utter shock. They refuse to believe that two smart, accomplished, ambitious young men could possibly be involved with something so sinister and heinous.
The father was interviewed by a Boston radio station and stated that his children 'hated terrorism.' They hated guns and violence. He was so proud of them and believed so much in their capacity for good. They had aspirations to become physicians. He called to check on them in the wake of the bombings to make sure they were ok and they assured him and their sister that they were safe. Dear God! How? Why?
I grieve with America for the loss of innocent life. I think of Martin Richard and his family who will never have their little boy again. I pray for the wellness of the people who were privy to the carnage and their future emotional stability. I pray that they will be able to identify with Christ crucified and his capacity for understanding of the people who called for His brutal death. This is a fallen world. A fallen, desperate world.
While we grieve with the Americans, please friends, remember that father in Chechnya. Remember that man who held his sons as babies and encouraged them to pursue their dreams. He, too, was deceived. He believed so passionately in the capacity of his sons who disgraced him so completely. He is a victim, too. I pray, as well, for all victims of deceit. The emotional wounds run deep and leave scars that will never heal.
Live in the light, my friends. Let your yeas be yeas and let your neighs be neighs.
We will stand back up. We will rise again; but now? Now is the time for grief.
Yours truly, Sharon
PS. Tomorrow I will review the Mandarin Spinach Salad. I was too sad today.
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